A crown Golden in show, is but a wreath of thorns, Bring dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nights To him who wears the regal diadem.

He gives twice who gives quickly. [Lat., Bis dat qui cito dat.] - credited to Publius Syrus Mimus,

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise, (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life.

Her prentice han' she tried on man, And then she made the lasses O!

Cock up your beaver.

He that is down needs fear no fall He that is low, no pride.