To Keep Demands As Much Skill As

But Al Be That He Was A Philosophre, Yet Hadde He But Litel Gold In Cofre.

That He Is Gentil That Doth Gentil Dedis.

But, Lord Crist! Whan That It Remembreth Me Upon My Yowthe, And On My Jolitee, It Tickleth Me Aboute Myn Herte Roote. Unto This Day It Dooth Myn Herte Boote That I Have Had My World As In My Tyme. But Age, Alias! That Al Wole Envenyme, Hath Me Biraft My Beautee And My Pith. Lat Go, Farewel! The Devel Go Therwith! The Flour Is Goon, Ther Is Namoore To Telle; The Bren, As I Best Kan, Now Most I Selle.

The Bisy Larke, Messager Of Day.

Ful Wys Is He That Kan Hymselven Knowe.