A Journying Woman Speakes Much Of All,

Though The Mastiffe Be Gentile, Yet Bite Him Not By The Lippe.

Long Jesting Was Never Good.

Sorrow Was All My Soul; I Scarce Believed, Till Grief Did Tell Me Roundly, That I Lived.

Were There No Fooles, Badd Ware Would Not Passe.

For All May Have, If They Dare To Try, A Glorious Life, Or Grave.