The Smylere With The Knyf

In April The Sweet Showers Fall And Pierce The Drought Of March To The Root, And All The Veins Are Bathed In Liquor Of Such Power As Brings About The Engendering Of The Flower.

All Good Things Must Come To An End.

It Is Nought Good A Sleping Hound To Wake.

For Out Of Old Fields, As Men Saith, Cometh All This New Corn From Year To Year; And Out Of Old Books, In Good Faith, Cometh All This New Science That Men Learn.

Of Harmes Two The Lesse Is For To Cheese.