Tis Hard To Find God, But To

Tears Are The Noble Language Of Eyes, And When True Love Of Words Is Destitute. The Eye By Tears Speak, While The Tongue Is Mute.

A Spark Neglected Makes A Mighty Fire.

Let Wealth Come In By Comely Thrift, And Not By Any Sordid Shift; 't Is Haste Makes Waste; Extremes Have Still Their Fault. Who Gripes Too Hard The Dry And Slipp'ry Sand, Holds None At All, Or Little, In His Hand.

Things Are Evermore Sincere; / Candor Here, And Lustre There / Delighting.

Give House-room To The Best; 'tis Never Known Verture And Pleasure Both To Dwell In One.