Who Covets More Is Evermore A Slave.

He Loves His Bonds Who, When The First Are Broke, Submits His Neck Into A Second Yoke.

Bid Me To Live, And I Will Live Thy Protestant To Be: Or Bid Me Love, And I Will Give A Loving Heart To Thee, A Heart As Soft, A Heart As Kind, A Heart As Sound And Free As In The Whole World Thou Canst Find, That Heart I'll Give To Thee.

None Pities Him That Is In The Snare, Who Warned Before, Would Not Beware.

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.

Tis Not The Food, But The Content, That Makes The Table's Merriment.