Time And Tide Wait For No Man.

Harde Is His Heart That Loveth Nought In May.

Certain, When I Was Born, So Long Ago, Death Drew The Tap Of Life And Let It Flow; And Ever Since The Tap Has Done Its Task, And Now There's Little But An Empty Cask.

If No Love Is, O God, What Fele I So? And If Love Is, What Thing And Which Is He? If Love Be Good, From Whennes Cometh My Woo? If It Be Wikke, A Wonder Thynketh Me

The Fields Have Eyes, And The Woods Have Ears.

Ther Nis No Werkman, Whatsoevere He Be, That May Bothe Werke Wel And Hastily.