Men Love Newfangleness.

The Latter End Of Joy Is Woe.

That Of All The Floures In The Mede, Thanne Love I Most These Floures White And Rede, Suche As Men Callen Daysyes In Her Toune.

He Is Gentle That Doeth Gentle Deeds.

This Flour Of Wifly Patience.

One Flesh They Are; And One Flesh, So I'd Guess, Has But One Heart, Come Grief Or Happiness.