Bounty, Being Free Itself, Thinks All Others

Evermore Thanks, The Exchequer Of The Poor

O Heresy In Fair, Fit For These Days, A Giving Hand, Though Foul, Shall Have Fair Praise.

Slander Lives Upon Succession, For Ever Housed Where It Gets Possession.

All That Glitters Is Not Gold; Often Have You Heard That Told: Many A Man His Life Has Sold But My Outside To Behold: Gilded Tombs Do Worms Enfold Had You Been As Wise As Bold, Your In Limbs, In Judgment Old, Your Answer Had Not Been In'scroll'd Fare You Well: Your Suit Is Cold.' Cold, Indeed, And Labour Lost: Then, Farewell, Heat And Welcome, Frost!

The Horn, The Horn, The Lusty Horn Is Not A Thing To Laugh To Scorn.