Surfeit slayes mae nor the sword,
A burnt bairn fire dreads.
They were never fain that fidgit.
All overs are ill but over the water.
Meat makes, and clothes shapes, but manners makes a man.
An old seck craves meikle clouting.
He that forsakes missour, missour forsake him.
He is wise, that is ware in time.
Fools set far trystes.
All the speed is in the spurs.