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…

Incipit carmen secundum ordinem li… Almighty and al merciable q… To whom that al this world fleeth… To have relees of sinne, of sorwe,… Glorious virgine, of alle floures…

THE PROLOGUE. WHEN ended was the life of Sain… Ere we had ridden fully five mile, At Boughton-under-Blee us gan o’e… A man, that clothed was in clothes…

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,

Incipit prohemium tercii libri. O blisful light of whiche the beme… Adorneth al the thridde hevene fai… O sonnes lief, O Ioves doughter d… Plesaunce of love, O goodly debon…

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…

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-…

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…

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…

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.

Alone walking In thought plaining, And sore sighing; All desolate, Me rememb’ring

BOOK I Incipit liber primus. God turne us every dreem to gode! For hit is wonder, be the rode, To my wit, what causeth swevens Either on morwes, or on evens;

Flee from the press, and dwell wit… Suffice thee thy good, though it b… For hoard hath hate, and climbing… Press hath envy, and weal is blent… Savour no more than thee behove sh…

WHEN ended was my tale of Melibe… And of Prudence and her benignity… Our Hoste said, 'As I am faithfu… And by the precious corpus Madria… I had lever* than a barrel of ale,…

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