Let the dead bury their dead.

Let the dead bury their dead.

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.

He hath great neede of a foole, that plaies the foole himselfe.

He hath great neede of a foole, that plaies the foole himselfe.

Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,
And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs.

Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,
And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs.

All covet, all lose.

All covet, all lose.

Gaming gains a loss.

Gaming gains a loss.

Modesty once lost, never returns into favour.

Modesty once lost, never returns into favour.

The slow, sweet hours that bring us all things good.

The slow, sweet hours that bring us all things good.

But few prize honour more than money.

But few prize honour more than money.