Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright, But looked to near, have neither heat nor light.

Were there no heaven nor hell I should be honest.

Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.

Lay this unto your breast: Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best.

Poor maids have more lovers than husbands.

Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burn brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers, sweethearts, are surest, and old lovers are soundest.

Cowardly dogs bark loudest.