The Cat Would Eat Fish But Would

Time Lost, As Men May See, For Nothing May Recovered Be.

Mordre Wol Out, That Se We Day By Day.

In April The Sweet Showers Fall And Pierce The Drought Of March To The Root, And All The Veins Are Bathed In Liquor Of Such Power As Brings About The Engendering Of The Flower.

The Handsome Gifts That Fate And Nature Lend Us Most Often Are The Very Ones That End Us.

This Flour Of Wifly Patience.