The Bisy Larke, Messager Of Day.

But All Thing Which That Shineth As The Gold Ne Is No Gold, As I Have Herd It Told.

The Lyf So Short, The Craft So Long To Lerne.

There Was The Murdered Corpse, In Covert Laid, And Violent Death In Thousand Shapes Displayed; The City To The Soldier's Rage Resigned; Successless Wars, And Poverty Behind; Ships Burnt In Fight, Or Forced On Rocky Shores, And The Rash Hunter Strangled By The Boars; The Newborn Babe By Nurses Overlaid; And The Cook Caught Within The Raging Fire He Made.

The Smylere With The Knyf Under The Cloke.

It Is Nought Good A Sleping Hound To Wake.