Felds Hath Eyen, And Wode Have Eres.

Truth Is The Highest Thing That Man May Keep.

Ther Is No Newe Gyse That It Nas Old.

Go, Little Booke! Go, My Little Tragedie!

. . . If Gold Rust, What Then Will Iron Do?/ For If A Priest Be Foul In Whom We Trust/ No Wonder That A Common Man Should Rust. . . .

That Field Hath Eyen, And The Wood Hath Ears.