God's Mill Grinds Slow, But Sure.

Money, Thou Bane Of Bliss, And Source Of Woe, Whence Cam'st Thou, That Thou Art So Fresh And Fine? I Know Thy Parentage Is Base And Low: Man Found Thee Poor And Dirty In A Mine.

Labour As Long Liu'd, Pray As Even Dying. [labor As Long-lived, Pray As Ever Dying.]

No Love Is Foule, Nor Prison Fair.

Losse Embraceth Shame.

Where There Is No Honour, There Is No Griefe.