'my Lige Lady, Generally,' Quod He, 'wommen

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.

Or As An Ook Comth Of A Litel Spir, So Thorugh This Lettre, Which That She Hym Sente, Encressen Gan Desir, Of Which He Brente.

For Tyme Y-lost May Not Recovered Be.

With Empty Hand No Man Can Lure A Hawk.

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