Honor's A Good Brooch To Wear In

Vice Is Like A Fury To The Vicious Mind, And Turns Delight Itself To Punishment.

The Burnt Child Dreads The Fire.

Heaven Prepares Good Men With Crosses; But No Ill Can Happen To A Good Man.

Indeed There's A Woundy Luck In Names.

Still To Be Neat, Still To Be Drest, As You Were Going To A Feast, Still To Be Powder'd, All Perfum'd. Lady, It Is To Be Presumed, Though Art's Hid Causes Are Not Found, All Is Not Sweet, All Is Not Sound.