Were it not for the bone in the legge, all the world would turne Carpenters (to make them crutches).

Many things are lost for want of asking.

A penny spar'd is twice got.

When you are an Anvill, hold you still; when you are a hammer, strike your fill.

Folly growes without watering.

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, a box where sweets compacted lie.

Praise none too much, for all are fickle.