He That Speaks Ill Of The Mare

Give Me 26 Lead Soldiers And I Will Conquer The World.

Fiction Or Fable Allures To Instruction.

Death Is A Fisherman, The World We See His Fish-pond Is, And We The Fishes Be; His Net Some General Sickness; Howe'er He Is Not So Kind As Other Fishers Be; For If They Take One Of The Smaller Fry, They Throw Him In Again, He Shall Not Die: But Death Is Sure To Kill All He Can Get, And All Is Fish With Him That Comes To Net.

Laziness Travels So Slowly That Poverty Soon Overtakes It.

Those Have A Short Lent Who Owe Money To Be Paid At Easter.