Woe To The Cook Whose Sauce Has

For Thogh We Slepe, Or Wake, Or Rome, Or Ryde, Ay Fleeth The Tyme; It Nyl No Man Abyde.

So Was Hir Jolly Whistel Wel Y-wette.

For God's Love, Take Things Patiently, Have Sense, Think! We Are Prisoners And Shall Always Be. Fortune Has Given Us This Adversity, Some Wicked Planetary Dispensation, Some Saturn's Trick Or Evil Constellation Has Given Us This, And Heaven, Though We Had Sworn The Contrary, So Stood When We Were Born. We Must Endure It, That's The Long And Short.

Look Up On High, And Thank The God Of All.

And So It Is In Politics, Dear Brother, Each For Himself Alone, There Is No Other.