Mordre Wol Out, That Se We Day

To Maken Vertue Of Necessite.

Love Will Not Be Constrain'd By Mastery. When Mast'ry Comes, The God Of Love Anon Beateth His Wings, And, Farewell, He Is Gone. Love Is A Thing As Any Spirit Free.

Fo Lo, The Gentil Kind Of The Lioun! For When A Flye Offendeth Him Or Byteth, He With His Tayl Awey The Flye Smyteth Al Esily, For, Of His Genterye, Him Deyneth Net To Wreke Him On A Flye, As Cloth A Curre Or Elles Another Beste.

There's No Workman, Whatsoever He Be, That May Both Work Well And Hastily.

I Hold A Mouses Wit Not Worth A Leke, That Hath But On Hole For To Sterten To.