Who Hath Bitter In His Mouth, Spits

Take The Gentle Path.

Much Spends The Traveller, More Then The Abider.

If That Thy Fame With Ev'ry Toy Be Pos'd, 'tis A Thin Web, Which Poysonous Fancies Make; But The Great Souldier's Honour Was Compos'd Of Thicker Stuf, Which Would Endure A Shake. Wisdom Picks Friends; Civility Plays The Rest; A Toy Shunn'd Cleanly Passeth With The Best.

A Curst Cow Hath Short Hornes. [a Curst Cow Has Short Horns.]

The God Of Love My Shepherd Is, And He That Doth Me Feed: While He Is Mine, And I Am His, What Can I Want Or Need?