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’Tis too late to spare when all is spent; One Swallow does not make Summer.

He who has a mind to beat a Dog will easily find a Stick; Naught is never in Danger; Faint Heart never won fair Lady.

It’s neither Rhime nor Reason; What is got over the Devil’s Back will be spent under his Belly.

Brag is a good Dog, but Holdfast is a better; The Belly has no Ears; [woodcut: mouse by house perhaps made from candle with snuffer]

An old Dog will learn no Tricks; If you trust before you try, You may repent before you die.

Hungry Dogs will eat dirty Pudding; He that would live at Peace and Rest, Must hear and see, and say the Best.

Curs’d Cows have short Horns; Much falls between the Cup and the Lip. No longer pipe no longer dance.

A Burnt Child dreads the Fire

I talk of Chalk and you of Cheese; Charity begins at Home; Cut your Coat according to your Cloth; What can’t be cur’d must be endur’d.

Good Wine needs no Bush; Kissing goes by Favour; A Lark is better than a Kite

He makes a Rod for his own Breech.

The Traceys have always the Wind in their Faces; To cut large Thongs out of another Man’s Leather; Too much of one Thing is good for nothing

Nothing venture, nothing have; Virtue which parleys is near a Surrender.

title page

As sure as God’s in Gloucestershire; Every Man thinks his own Geese Swans.

Little Pitchers have great Ears; Many talk of Robin Hood who never shot in his Bow.

Cheerful full-page vintage colour border

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