With Emptie Hands Men May No Haukes

All Good Things Must Come To An End.

Trouthe Is The Hyest Thyng That Man May Kepe.

If Gold Rusts, What Then Can Iron Do?

The Latter End Of Joy Is Woe.

For I Have Seyn Of A Ful Misty Morwe Folowen Ful Ofte A Myrie Someris Day.