Patch Grief With Proverbs.

Truth Will Come To Sight; Murder Cannot Be Hid Long.

And When Love Speaks, The Voice Of All The Gods Makes Heaven Drowsy With The Harmony.

But When I Came, Alas, To Wive, With Hey, Ho, The Wind And The Rain, By Swaggering Could I Never Thrive, For The Rain It Raineth Every Day.

I Will Be Master Of What Is Mine Own: She Is My Goods, My Chattels; She Is My House, My Household Stuff, My Field, My Barn, My Horse, My Ox, My Ass, My Any Thing.

Scorn, At First, Makes After-love The More.