Nothing is a courtesy unless it be meant us, and that friendly and lovingly. We owe no thanks to rivers that they carry our boats, or winds that they be favoring and fill our sails, or meats that they be nourishing; for these are what they are necessarily. Horses carry us, trees shade us; but they know it not.

The burnt child dreads the fire.

He threatens many that hath injured one.

The voice so sweet, the words so fair, As some soft chime had stroked the air; And though the sound had parted thence, Still left an echo in the sense.

I perceive affection makes a fool Of any man too much the father.

Who casts to write a living line, must sweat.

Neither do thou lust after that tawny weed tobacco.