The Third Day Comes A Frost, A

Examine Well Your Blood.

For Grief Is Crowned With Consolation.

Tis Beauty Truly Blent, Whose Red And White Nature's Own Sweet And Cunning Hand Laid On.

Give Every Man Thine Ear, But Few Thy Voice; Take Each Man's Censure, But Reserve Thy Judgment.

Patience Is Sottish, And Impatience Does Become A Dog That's Mad.