"The foule Toade hath a faire stone in his head."

"How at heaven's gates she claps her wings, The morne not waking til she sings."

"Though the Camomill, the more it is trodden and pressed downe the more it spreadeth."

"A clere conscience is a sure carde."

"As lyke as one pease is to another."

"Be valyaunt, but not too venturous. Let thy attyre bee comely, but not costly."

"There can no great smoke arise, but there must be some fire."

"The finest edge is made with the blunt whetstone."

"I cast before the Moone."

"Cupid and my Campaspe play'd At cards for kisses—Cupid paid: He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's dove…"