Little Wealth, Little Care.

Who Shuts His Hand Has Lost His Gold, Who Opens It Hath It Twice Told.

Ill Natures, The More You Aske Them, The More They Stick.

When War Begins, Then Hell Openeth.

The Goate Must Browse Where She Is Tyed.

Money, Thou Bane Of Bliss, And Source Of Woe, Whence Cam'st Thou, That Thou Art So Fresh And Fine? I Know Thy Parentage Is Base And Low: Man Found Thee Poor And Dirty In A Mine.