Every Man's Censure Is First

Evening Words Are Not Like To Morning.

Ever Since We Weare Cloathes, We Know Not One Another.

Who Letts His Wife Goe To Every Feast, And His Horse Drinke At Every Water, Shall Neither Have Good Wife Nor Good Horse.

He That Makes His Bed Ill, Lies There.

Love Bade Me Welcome, But My Soul Drew Back.