There's No Workman, Whatsoever He Be, That

Forbid Us Something, And That Thing We Desire.

If Gold Ruste, What Shall Iren Do?

Lat Take A Cat, And Fostre Him Wel With Milk, And Tendre Flesh, And Make His Couche Of Silk, And Let Him Seen A Mous Go By The Wal; Anon He Weyveth Milk, And Flesh, And Al, And Every Deyntee That Is In That Hous, Swich Appetyt Hath He To Ete A Mous.

The Fields Have Eyes, And The Woods Have Ears.

And Then The Wren Gan Scippen And To Daunce.