The fattest hog in Epicurus' sty.

The hog that ploughs not, not obeys thy call, Lives on the labours of this lord of all.

Then on the grounde Togyder rounde With manye a sadde stroke, They roll and rumble, They turne and tumble, As pigges do in a poke.

You have a wrong sow by the ear.

Shear swine, all cry and no wool.

Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.