Thou fool, what is sleep but the image of death? Fate will give an eternal rest.
[Lat., Stulte, quid est somnus, gelidae nisi mortis imago?
Longa quiescendi tempora fata dabunt.]
Wine, not too much, inspires and make the mind,to the soft joys of Venus strong inclined,which, buried in excess, unapt to love,stupidly lies and knows not hom to move
Nothing is so high and above all danger that is not below and in the power of God.
[Lat., Nihil ita sublime est, supraque pericula tendit
Non sit ut inferius suppositumque deo.]