Reckon Right, And February Hath One And

A Civil Guest Will No More Talk All, Than Eat All The Feast.

Some Men Plant An Opinion They Seem To Erradicate.

I Envy No Man's Nightingale Or Spring; Nor Let Them Punish Me With Loss Of Rhyme, Who Plainly Say, My God, My King.

Hee Pays Too Deare For Honey That Licks It From Thornes.

Little Losses Amaze, Great Tame.