All Keyes Hang Not On One Girdle.

That From Small Fires Comes Oft No Small Mishap.

I Read, And Sigh, And Wish I Were A Tree; For Sure Then I Should Grow To Fruit Or Shade: At Least Some Bird Would Trust Her Household To Me, And I Should Be Just.

He Is Onely Bright That Shines By Himselfe.

Faire Words Makes Mee Looke To My Purse.

The Wolfe Knowes, What The Ill Beast Thinkes.