In The Stars Is Written

Death Is The End Of Every Worldly Pain.

That Of All The Floures In The Mede, Thanne Love I Most These Floures White And Rede, Suche As Men Callen Daysyes In Her Toune.

The Handsome Gifts That Fate And Nature Lend Us Most Often Are The Very Ones That End Us.

Forbid Us Something, And That Thing We Desire.

If Were Not Foolish Young, Were Foolish Old.