How Potent Is The Fancy! People Are

But Manly Set The World On Sixe And Sevene; And, If Thou Deye A Martir, Go To Hevene.

But, Lord Crist! Whan That It Remembreth Me Upon My Yowthe, And On My Jolitee, It Tickleth Me Aboute Myn Herte Roote. Unto This Day It Dooth Myn Herte Boote That I Have Had My World As In My Tyme. But Age, Alias! That Al Wole Envenyme, Hath Me Biraft My Beautee And My Pith. Lat Go, Farewel! The Devel Go Therwith! The Flour Is Goon, Ther Is Namoore To Telle; The Bren, As I Best Kan, Now Most I Selle.

What's Said Is Said And Goes Upon Its Way Like It Or Not, Repent It As You May.

The Latter End Of Joy Is Woe.

Strike While The Iron Is Hot.