The fault of the horse is put on the saddle.
Litle stickes kindle the fire; great ones put it out.
Thou that hast given so much to me give me one thing more, a grateful heart: not thankful when it pleaseth me, as if Thy blessings had spare days, but such a heart whose pulse may be Thy praise.
Fear keepes and looks to the vineyard, and not the owner.
It's a poore stake that cannot stand one yeare in the ground.
Some had rather lose their friend then their Jest.