First come, first served.

What loss feels he that wots not what he loses?

But me no buts.

The goal of yesterday will be our starting-point to-morrow.

No greater grief than to remember days Of joy when misery is at hand.

This formal fool, your man, speaks naught but proverbs, And speak men what they can to him he'll answer With some rhyme, rotten sentence, or old saying, Such spokes as ye ancient of ye parish use.