If The Staffe Be Crooked, The Shadow

Take Heed Of Mad Folks In A Narrow Place.

Only A Sweet And Virtuous Soul, Like Season'd Timbered, Never Gives; But Though The Whole World Turn To Coal, Then Chiefly Lives.

Harken To Reason Or Shee Will Bee Heard.

The Honey Is Sweet, But The Bee Stings.

The Tree That God Plants, No Winde Hurts It.