Sundays Observe; Think When The Bells Do

Hee That Doth What Hee Will, Doth Not What He Ought.

That Which Will Not Be Spun, Let It Not Come Betweene The Spindle And The Distaffe.

All Things Require Skill But An Appetite.

Sorrow Was All My Soul; I Scarce Believed, Till Grief Did Tell Me Roundly, That I Lived.

The Best Smell Is Bread; The Best Saver, Salt; The Best Love, That Of Children.