O Yonge fresshe folkes, he or she… In which that love up groweth with… Repeyreth hoom from worldly vanite… And of your herte up-casteth the v… To thilke god that after his image

Proverbe of Chaucer What shul these clothes thus manyf… Lo this hote somers day? After grete hete cometh cold; No man caste his pilche away.

Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne… That hast this wintres wedres over… And driven away the longe nyghtes… Saynt Valentyn, that art ful hy o… Thus syngen smale foules for thy s…

Since I from Love escaped am so f… I ne’er think to be in his prison… Since I am free, I count him not… He may answer, and saye this and t… I do no force, I speak right as I…

The minister and norice* unto vice… Which that men call in English id… The porter at the gate is of delic… T’eschew, and by her contrar’ her… That is to say, by lawful business…

A Balade. Ma dame, ye ben of al beaute shryn… As fer as cercled is the mapamonde… For as the cristall glorious ye sh… And lyke ruby ben your chekys roun…

The firste stock-father of gentlen… What man desireth gentle for to be… Must follow his trace, and all his… Virtue to love, and vices for to f… For unto virtue longeth dignity,

Somtyme the world was so stedfast… That mannes word was obligacioun, And now it is so fals and deceivab… That word and deed, as in conclusi… Ben nothing lyk, for turned up-so-…

Your yën two wol sle me soden… I may the beaute of hem not susten… So woundeth hit through-out my her… And but your word wol helen hastil… My hertes wounde, whyl that hit is…

The firste stok, fader of gentiles… What man that desireth gentil for… Must folowe his trace, and alle hi… Vertu to love and vyces for to fle… For unto vertu longeth dignitee

Incipit Prohemium Secundi Libri. Out of these blake wawes for to sa… O wind, O wind, the weder ginneth… For in this see the boot hath swic… Of my conning, that unnethe I it…

Syn I fro love escaped am so fat, I nere thinke to ben in his prison… Syn I am fre, I count hym not a b… He may answere, and sey this and t… I do no fors, I speke ryght as I…

Pite, that I have sought so yore… With herte soore and ful of besy p… That in this world was never wight… Withoute deth—and yf I shal not f… My purpos was to Pite to compleyn…

Sometime this world was so steadfa… That man’s word was held obligatio… And now it is so false and deceiva… That word and work, as in conclusi… Be nothing one; for turned up so d…

My son, keep well thy tongue, and… A wicked tongue is worse than a fi… My son, from a fiend men may them… My son, God of his endless goodne… Walled a tongue with teeth and lip…