He That Keeps Not Crust Nor Crum

There Was Never Yet Fair Woman But She Made Mouths In A Glass.

My Long Sickness Of Health And Living Now Begins To Mend, And Nothing Brings Me All Things.

It Is A Heretic That Makes The Fire, Not She Which Burns In It.

I Have Very Poor And Unhappy Brains For Drinking: I Could Well Wish Courtesy Would Invent Some Other Custom Of Entertainment.

Then Will I Raise Aloft The Milk-white Rose. For Whose Sweet Smell The Air Shall Be Perfumed.