Golden Lads And Girls All Must As

The Love Of Wicked Men Converts To Fear; That Fear To Hate, And Hate Turns One Or Both To Worthy Danger And Deserved Death.

Neither My Place, Nor Aught I Heard Of Business, Hath Raised Me From My Bed; Nor Doth The General Care Take Hold On Me; For My Particular Grief Is Of So Floodgate And O'erbearing Nature That It Engluts And Swallows Other Sorrows, And It Is Still Itself.

Nothing Comes From Doing Nothing.

Delay Leads Impotent And Snail-paced Beggary.

He That Is Giddy Thinks The World Turns Round.