The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne.
Harde is his heart that loveth nought In May.
Murder will out, this my conclusion.
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.
First he wrought, and afterwards he taught.
If were not foolish young, were foolish old.