A City That Parlies Is

To Fine Folkes A Little Ill Finely Wrapt.

The Fatt Man Knoweth Not, What The Leane Thinketh.

I Envy No Man's Nightingale Or Spring; Nor Let Them Punish Me With Loss Of Rhyme, Who Plainly Say, My God, My King.

Amiens Was Taken By The Fox, And Retaken By The Lion.

Bells Call Others, But Themselves Enter Not Into The Church.