When Adam dalfe and Eve spane
So spire if thou may spede,
Where was then the pride read more

When Adam dalfe and Eve spane
So spire if thou may spede,
Where was then the pride of man,
That nowe merres his mede?

Keep doing some kind of work, that the devil may always find you
employed.
[Lat., Facito aliquid operis, read more

Keep doing some kind of work, that the devil may always find you
employed.
[Lat., Facito aliquid operis, ut semper te diabolus inveniat
occupatum.]

Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want call quench the eye's bright grace.

Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want call quench the eye's bright grace.

Let no one till his death
Be called unhappy. Measure not the work
Until the day's out read more

Let no one till his death
Be called unhappy. Measure not the work
Until the day's out and the labour done.

Ther n' is no werkman whatever he be,
That may both werken wel and hastily.
This wol read more

Ther n' is no werkman whatever he be,
That may both werken wel and hastily.
This wol be done at leisure parfitly.

There are two kinds of people, those who do the work and those who take the credit. Try to be read more

There are two kinds of people, those who do the work and those who take the credit. Try to be in the first group; there is less competition there.

The uselessness of men above sixty years of age and the
incalculable benefit it would be in commercial, in read more

The uselessness of men above sixty years of age and the
incalculable benefit it would be in commercial, in political, and
in professional life, if as a matter of course, men stopped work
at this age.

Properly speaking, such work is never finished; one must declare
it so when, according to time and circumstances, one read more

Properly speaking, such work is never finished; one must declare
it so when, according to time and circumstances, one has done
one's best.
[Ger., So eine Arbeit wird eigentlich nie fertig; man muss sie
fur fertig erklaren, wenn man nach Zeit und Umstand das
Moglichste getan hat.]

When Darby saw the setting sun
He swung his scythe, and home he run,
Sat down, drank read more

When Darby saw the setting sun
He swung his scythe, and home he run,
Sat down, drank off his quart and said,
"My work is done, I'll go to bed."
"My work is done!" retorted Joan,
"My work is done! Your constant tone,
But hapless woman ne'er can say
'My work is done' till judgment day."