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The rills of pleasure never run sincere,
(Earth has no unpolluted spring)
From the cursed soil some read more
The rills of pleasure never run sincere,
(Earth has no unpolluted spring)
From the cursed soil some dang'rous taint they bear;
So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting.
I abhor the profane rabble and keep them at a distance.
I abhor the profane rabble and keep them at a distance.
Whatsoever was the father of a disease, an ill dyet was the
mother.
Whatsoever was the father of a disease, an ill dyet was the
mother.
Hit the nail on the head.
Hit the nail on the head.
What he has is of no more use to the miser than that which he has
not.
What he has is of no more use to the miser than that which he has
not.
The tongue is not steele, yet it cuts.
The tongue is not steele, yet it cuts.
Hee that lookes not before, finds himselfe behind.
Hee that lookes not before, finds himselfe behind.
