Every Honest Miller Has A Golden Thumb.

Whoso Will Pray, He Must Fast And Be Clean, And Fat His Soul, And Make His Body Lean.

If Were Not Foolish Young, Were Foolish Old.

Ther Is No Newe Gyse That It Nas Old.

Go, Little Booke! Go, My Little Tragedie!

Death Is The End Of Every Worldly Pain.