This Flour Of Wifly Patience.

By God, If Women Had Written Stories, As Clerks Had Within Here Oratories, They Would Have Written Of Men More Wickedness Than All The Mark Of Adam May Redress.

If Love Be Good, From Whence Cometh My Woe?

The Proverbe Saith That Many A Smale Maketh A Grate.

The Guilty Think All Talk Is Of Themselves.

For Many A Pasty Have You Robbed Of Blood, And Many A Jack Of Dover Have You Sold That Has Been Heated Twice And Twice Grown Cold. From Many A Pilgrim Have You Had Christ's Curse, For Of Your Parsley They Yet Fare The Worse, Which They Have Eaten With Your Stubble Goose; For In Your Shop Full Many A Fly Is Loose.