If Gold Ruste, What Shall Iren Do?

There's Never A New Fashion But It's Old.

If Love Be Good, From Whence Cometh My Woe?

Drunkenness Is The Very Sepulcher Of Man's Wit And His Discretion.

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

Death Is The End Of Every Worldly Pain.