God's mill grinds slow, but sure.
He puls with a long rope, that waits for anothers death.
Water trotted is as good as oates.
The bit that one eates, no friend makes.
The Chollerick drinkes, the Melancholick eats, the Flegmatick sleepes.
He that is not handsome at 20, nor strong at 30, nor rich at 40, nor wise at 50, will never be handsome, strong, rich or wise.