There is no man, though never so little, but sometimes he can hurt.
Honor and profit lie not all in one sack.
Take heede of an oxe before, of an horse behind, of a monke on all sides.
The constancy of the benefit of the yeere in their seasons argues a Deity.
Faire words makes mee looke to my purse.
Reckon right, and February hath one and thirty daies.