Time Lost, As Men May See, For

And For To See, And Eek For To Be Seie.

. . . If Gold Rust, What Then Will Iron Do?/ For If A Priest Be Foul In Whom We Trust/ No Wonder That A Common Man Should Rust. . . .

This World Nys But A Thurghfare Ful Of Wo, And We Been Pilgrymes, Passynge To And Fro.

For Many A Pasty Have You Robbed Of Blood, And Many A Jack Of Dover Have You Sold That Has Been Heated Twice And Twice Grown Cold. From Many A Pilgrim Have You Had Christ's Curse, For Of Your Parsley They Yet Fare The Worse, Which They Have Eaten With Your Stubble Goose; For In Your Shop Full Many A Fly Is Loose.

It Is Nought Good A Sleping Hound To Wake.