Who Then May Trust The Dice, At

The Bisy Larke, Messager Of Day.

That Field Hath Eyen, And The Wood Hath Ears.

The Smylere With The Knyf Under The Cloke.

Great Peace Is Found In Little Busy-ness.

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.