If Gold Ruste, What Shall Iren Do?

And As For Me, Thogh That I Can But Lyte, On Bakes For To Rede I Me Delyte, And To Hem Yeve I Feyth And Ful Credence, And In Myn Herte Have Hem In Reverence So Hertely, That Ther Is Game Noon, That Fro My Bokes Maketh Me To Goon, But Hit Be Seldom, On The Holyday; Save, Certeynly, When That The Month Of May Is Comen, And That I Here The Foules Singe, And That The Floures Ginnen For To Springe, Farwel My Book And My Devocion.

The Gretteste Clerkes Been Noght Wisest Men.

Thou Shalt Make Castels Thanne In Spayne And Dreme Of Joye, All But In Vayne.

Felds Hath Eyen, And Wode Have Eres.

There's Never A New Fashion But It's Old.