It is a foule byrd that fyleth his owne nest

All a green willow, willow, All a green willow is my garland.

Beware of, Had I wist.

The loss of wealth is loss of dirt, As sages in all times assert; The happy man's without a shirt.

Let the world slide, let the world go; A fig for care, and a fig for woe! If I can't pay, why I can owe, And death makes equal the high and low.

Beaten with his owne rod.

Som thingis that prouoke young men to wed in haste, Show after weddyng, that hast maketh waste.