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Better play at small Game than stand out; Give him a Rowland for his Oliver.

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]

Near is my Shirt, but Nearer is my Skin.

The more Haste the worse Speed; When the Sky falls we shall catch Larks.

One good Turn deserves another; He steals a Goose, and gives the Giblets in Alms.

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

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

Need makes the old Wife trot; [woodcut: barefoot old woman hitches up skirts to cross a stream]

Fast bind, fast find; Like Father like Son.

Fat Paunches make Lean Pates.

When the Steed’s stolen, shut the Stable Door.

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

Well begun is half ended; All is well that ends well.

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

Give a Man Luck and throw him into the Sea; Money makes the Mare to go; Much falls between the Cup and the Lip.

A Fool’s Bolt is soon shot; Birds of a Feather flock together; Out of the Frying-Pan into the Fire.

He sets the Fox to keep his Geese. [woodcut: fox watching geese]

After sweet Meat comes sour Sauce; [woodcut of stout man, seated, with bandaged foot]

A Shoemaker must not go beyond his Last

Many Words will not fill a Bushel; The younger Brother the better Gentleman.

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