The Proverbe Saith That Many

Pitee Renneth Soone In Gentil Herte.

Death Is The End Of Every Worldly Pain.

The Devil Can Only Destroy Those Who Are Already On Their Way To Damnation.

If Gold Rusts, What Then Can Iron Do?

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.