With Empty Hand No Man Can Lure

But Manly Set The World On Sixe And Sevene; And, If Thou Deye A Martir, Go To Hevene.

Who Then May Trust The Dice, At Fortune's Throw?

The Smylere With The Knyf Under The Cloke.

Hyt Is Not Al Golde That Glareth.

And When A Beest Is Deed, He Hath No Peyne; But Man After His Deeth Moot Wepe And Pleyne.