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Nulla dies sine linea.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Nulla dies sine linea.

The standing poole will quicklie stink and rott,
The currant streame is cleanlie both and cleare:
The idle man is Sathans prey, God wott,
A verteous minde the Devill darr not draw neare,
My fantasies can profit few, and yet
It hurteth none, but doth me good to writ.