Who Likes Not The Drinke, God Deprives

To Have Money Is A Feare, Not To Have It A Griefe.

A Sleepy Master Makes His Servant A Lowt.

Drink Not The Third Glass, Which Thou Canst Not Tame, When Once It Is Within Thee; But Before Mayst Rule It, As Thou List: And Pour The Shame, Which It Would Pour On Thee, Upon The Floor. It Is Most Just To Throw That On The Ground, Which Would Throw Me There, If I Keep The Round.

Thornes Whiten Yet Doe Nothing.

In Solitude, Be A Multitude To Thyself.