George Whetstone

"Byrds of a fether, best flye together."

"What is this world, a net to snare the soule, A masse of sinne, a desart of deceipt, A momentes ioy, an age of wrecched dole: A lure from grace, for flesh a lothsome baite, Unto the minde a canker worme of care, Unsure, uniust, in rendring man his share."

"Whylst grasse, doth growe ofte sterues the seely stéede."

"The riche mans wealth, is moste enemye vnto his health."

"Well, I wyll set a face of brasse on it."