Every Honest Miller Has A Golden Thumb.

Pitee Renneth Soone In Gentil Herte.

Death Is The End Of Every Worldly Pain.

With Empty Hand No Man Can Lure A Hawk.

For Out Of Old Fields, As Men Saith, Cometh All This New Corn From Year To Year; And Out Of Old Books, In Good Faith, Cometh All This New Science That Men Learn.

Ful Wys Is He That Kan Hymselven Knowe.