I Am Right Sorry For Your Heavinesse.

Trouthe Is The Hyest Thyng That Man May Kepe.

Yet In Our Ashen Cold Is Fire Yreken.

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.

Habit Maketh No Monk, Ne Wearing Of Gilt Spurs Maketh No Knight.

Patience Is A Conquering Virtue. The Learned Say That, If It Not Desert You, It Vanquishes What Force Can Never Reach; Why Answer Back At Every Angry Speech? No, Learn Forbearance Or, I'll Tell You What, You Will Be Taught It, Whether You Will Or Not.