Full wise is he that can himselven knowe.

In the stars is written the death of every man.

Many a true word is spoken in jest

For tyme y-lost may not recovered be.

If no love is, O God, what fele I so? And if love is, what thing and which is he? If love be good, from whennes cometh my woo? If it be wikke, a wonder thynketh me

He who accepts his poverty unhurt I'd say is rich although he lacked a shirt. But truly poor are they who whine and fret and covet what they cannot hope to get.

By nature, men love newfangledness.