No Profit Grows Where No

The Man That Hath No Music In Himself, Nor Is Not Moved With Concord Of Sweet Sounds, Is Fit For Treasons, Stratagems And Spoils.

Most Subject Is The Fattest Soil To Weeds.

It Was Always Yet The Trick Of Our English Nation, If They Have A Good Thing, To Make It Too Common.

The Sweat Of Industry Would Dry And Die, But For The End It Works To.

Thou Speak'st Like Him's Untutored To Repeat: Who Makes The Fairest Show Means Most Deceit.