This Flour Of Wifly Patience.

A Love Grown Old Is Not The Love Once New.

With Empty Hand No Man Can Lure A Hawk.

And Gladly Wolde He Lerne, And Gladly Teche.

Death Is The End Of Every Worldly Pain.

Purity In Body And Heart May Please Some--as For Me, I Make No Boast. For, As You Know, No Master Of A Household Has All Of His Utensils Made Of Gold; Some Are Wood, And Yet They Are Of Use.