The Wind In Ones Face Makes One

Praise None Too Much, For All Are Fickle.

It's A Wicked Thing To Make A Dearth Ones Garner.

Though A Lie Be Well Drest, It Is Ever Overcome. [though A Lie Be Well Dressed, It Is Ever Overcome.]

A Caske And An Ill Custome Must Be Broken.

The Morning Sunne Never Lasts A Day.