John Heywood

All is fish that comth to net.

Went in at the tone eare and out at the tother.

A penny for your thought.

It is a deere collop
That is cut out of th' owne flesh.

The nere to the churche, the ferther from God.

Burnt child fire dredth.

Many handis make light warke.

She speaketh as she would créepe into your bosome. And when the meale mouth hath woon the bottome of your stomake, than will the pickthanke it tell To your most enmies, you to bye and fell. To tell tales out of schoole, that is hir great lust. Looke what she knowth, blab it wist, out it must.

And while I at length debate and beate the bushe, There shall steppe in other men, and catche the burdes, And by long time lost in many vayne wurdes.

Enough is as good as a feast.

One good turne asketh another.

Rome was not built in one daie (quoth he) and yet stood Till it was finist, as some say, full faire.

The cat would eate fish, and would not wet her feete.

The tide tarrieth no man.

The rolling stone never gathereth mosse.