The Lyf So Short, The Craft So

The Guilty Think All Talk Is Of Themselves.

Who Looks At Me, Beholdeth Sorrows All, All Pain, All Torture, Woe And All Distress; I Have No Need On Other Harms To Call, As Anguish, Languor, Cruel Bitterness, Discomfort, Dread, And Madness More And Less; Methinks From Heaven Above The Tears Must Rain In Pity For My Harsh And Cruel Pain.

The Proverbe Saith That Many A Smale Maketh A Grate.

With Emptie Hands Men May No Haukes Lure.

One Shouldn't Be Too Inquisitive In Life Either About God's Secrets Or One's Wife.