Francis Bacon (1561-1626)
The loss of wealth is loss of dirt, As sages in all times assert; The happy man 's without a shirt.
Beaten with his owne rod.
The fat is in the fire
She looketh as butter would not melt in her mouth.
Rome was not built in one day.
Wedding is destiny, And hanging likewise.
When the iron is hot, strike. I know on which side my bread is buttred.
Who is so deafe or so blinde as is hee That wilfully will neither heare nor see?