I gave my whole heart up, for him to hold.

Time and tide wait for no man.

In the stars is written the death of every man.

Lat take a cat, and fostre him wel with milk, And tendre flesh, and make his couche of silk, And let him seen a mous go by the wal; Anon he weyveth milk, and flesh, and al, And every deyntee that is in that hous, Swich appetyt hath he to ete a mous.

In love there is but little rest.

And when a beest is deed, he hath no peyne; But man after his deeth moot wepe and pleyne.

To keep demands as much skill as to win.