I Hold A Mouses Wit Not Worth

But Manly Set The World On Sixe And Sevene; And, If Thou Deye A Martir, Go To Hevene.

Fo Lo, The Gentil Kind Of The Lioun! For When A Flye Offendeth Him Or Byteth, He With His Tayl Awey The Flye Smyteth Al Esily, For, Of His Genterye, Him Deyneth Net To Wreke Him On A Flye, As Cloth A Curre Or Elles Another Beste.

Men Love Newfangleness.

Ther Is No Newe Gyse That It Nas Old.

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.