The Cat Would Eat Fish But Would

But All Thing Which That Shineth As The Gold Ne Is No Gold, As I Have Herd It Told.

The Cat Would Eat Fish But Would Not Get Her Feet Wet.

If Love Be Good, From Whence Cometh My Woe?

Trouthe Is The Hyest Thyng That Man May Kepe.

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.