It Is Nought Good A Sleping Hound

Woe To The Cook Whose Sauce Has No Sting.

A Love Grown Old Is Not The Love Once New.

That Of All The Floures In The Mede, Thanne Love I Most These Floures White And Rede, Suche As Men Callen Daysyes In Her Toune.

Look Up On High, And Thank The God Of All.

Hyt Is Not Al Golde That Glareth.