Death Is The End Of Every Worldly

Who Looks At Me, Beholdeth Sorrows All, All Pain, All Torture, Woe And All Distress; I Have No Need On Other Harms To Call, As Anguish, Languor, Cruel Bitterness, Discomfort, Dread, And Madness More And Less; Methinks From Heaven Above The Tears Must Rain In Pity For My Harsh And Cruel Pain.

Harde Is His Heart That Loveth Nought In May.

The Bisy Larke, Messager Of Day.

The Smylere With The Knyf Under The Cloke.

The Devil Can Only Destroy Those Who Are Already On Their Way To Damnation.