It’s neither Rhime nor Reason; What is got over the Devil’s Back will be spent under his Belly.
Fat Paunches make Lean Pates.
All goes down Gutter-lane; As Wise as a Man of Gotham; As good as George of Green; [woodcut: stout man drinks from mug, holds saussage with a fork]
The more Haste the worse Speed; When the Sky falls we shall catch Larks.