Hyt Is Not Al Golde That Glareth.

He Loved Chivalrye Trouthe And Honour, Freedom And Curteisye.

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.

All Good Things Must Come To An End.

Ful Wys Is He That Kan Hymselven Knowe.

The Latter End Of Joy Is Woe.