The Guilty Think All Talk

But, Lord Crist! Whan That It Remembreth Me Upon My Yowthe, And On My Jolitee, It Tickleth Me Aboute Myn Herte Roote. Unto This Day It Dooth Myn Herte Boote That I Have Had My World As In My Tyme. But Age, Alias! That Al Wole Envenyme, Hath Me Biraft My Beautee And My Pith. Lat Go, Farewel! The Devel Go Therwith! The Flour Is Goon, Ther Is Namoore To Telle; The Bren, As I Best Kan, Now Most I Selle.

Nowhere So Busy A Man As He There Was And Yet He Seemed Busier Than He Was.

I Hold A Mouses Wit Not Worth A Leke, That Hath But On Hole For To Sterten To.

Mordre Wol Out, That Se We Day By Day.

If A Man Really Loves A Woman, Of Course He Wouldn't Marry Her For The World If He Were Not Quite Sure That He Was The Best Person She Could Possibly Marry.