Maxioms by Sir Thomas Overbury
She makes her hand hard with labour, and her heart soft with
pity: and when winter evenings fall early read more
She makes her hand hard with labour, and her heart soft with
pity: and when winter evenings fall early (sitting at her merry
wheel), she sings a defiance to the giddy wheel of
fortune . . . and fears no manner of ill because she means none.
The man who has not anything to boast of but his illustrious
ancestors is like a potato,--the only good read more
The man who has not anything to boast of but his illustrious
ancestors is like a potato,--the only good belonging to him is
under ground.
