That Field Hath Eyen, And The Wood

He Who Accepts His Poverty Unhurt I'd Say Is Rich Although He Lacked A Shirt. But Truly Poor Are They Who Whine And Fret And Covet What They Cannot Hope To Get.

Harde Is His Heart That Loveth Nought In May.

The Lyf So Short, The Craft So Longe To Lerne. Th' Assay So Hard, So Sharp The Conquerynge, The Dredful Joye, Alwey That Slit So Yerne; Al This Mene I Be Love... For Out Of Olde Feldes, As Men Seith, Cometh Al This New Corn Fro Yeer To Yere; And Out Of Olde Bokes, In Good Feith, Cometh Al This Newe Science That Men Lere.

But All Thing Which That Shineth As The Gold Ne Is No Gold, As I Have Herd It Told.

Filth And Old Age, I'm Sure You Will Agree, Are Powerful Wardens Upon Chastity.