Burnt Child Fire Dredth.

Let The World Wagge, And Take Mine Ease In Myne Inne.

A Cat May Looke On A King.

I Perfectly Feele Even At My Fingers End.

It's An Ill Wind That Blows No Good.

What A Time Herbs And Weeds, And Such Things Could Talk, A Man In His Garden One Day Did Walk, Spying A Nettle Green (as Th'emeraude) Spread In A Bed Of Roses Like The Ruby Red. Between Which Two Colors He Thought, But His Eye, The Green Nettle Did The Red Rose Beautify. "how Be It," He Asked The Nettle, "what Thing Made Him So Pert? So Nigh The Rose To Spring.