For many a pasty have you robbed of blood, And many a Jack of Dover have you sold That has been heated twice and twice grown cold. From many a pilgrim have you had Christ's curse, For of your parsley they yet fare the worse, Which they have eaten with your stubble goose; For in your shop full many a fly is loose.

Make a virtue of necessity.

With emptie hands men may no haukes lure.

By nature, men love newfangledness.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.

In the stars is written the death of every man.

There's no workman, whatsoever he be, That may both work well and hastily.