Til That The Brighte Sonne Loste His

Drunkenness Is The Very Sepulcher Of Man's Wit And His Discretion.

Yet Do Not Miss The Moral, My Good Men. For Saint Paul Says That All That’s Written Well Is Written Down Some Useful Truth To Tell. Then Take The Wheat And Let The Chaff Lie Still.

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.

But Al Be That He Was A Philosophre, Yet Hadde He But Litel Gold In Cofre.

First He Wrought, And Afterwards He Taught.