Praise None Too Much, For

Fortune To One Is Mother, To Another Is Step-mother.

He Thinkes Not Well, That Thinkes Not Againe.

Councell Breakes Not The Head.

The Sundaies Of Man's Life, Thredded Together On Time's String, Make Bracelets To Adorn The Wife Of The Eternal, Glorious King. On Sunday Heaven's Gates Stand Ope; Blessings Are Plentiful And Rife. More Plentiful Than Hope.

Saint Luke Was A Saint And A Physitian, Yet Is Dead.