A Scab'd Horse Cannot Abide The Comb.

Every One Thinkes His Sacke Heaviest.

Of The Smells, Bread; Of The Tastes, Salt.

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.

The Drunkard Forfeits Man And Doth Divest All Wordly Right, Save What He Hath By Beast.

Man Is One World, And Hath / Another To Attend Him.