And Then The Wren Gan Scippen And

There's No Workman, Whatsoever He Be, That May Both Work Well And Hastily.

Trouthe Is The Hyest Thyng That Man May Kepe.

Hyt Is Not Al Golde That Glareth.

In April The Sweet Showers Fall And Pierce The Drought Of March To The Root, And All The Veins Are Bathed In Liquor Of Such Power As Brings About The Engendering Of The Flower.

One Flesh They Are; And One Flesh, So I'd Guess, Has But One Heart, Come Grief Or Happiness.