He Loved Chivalrye Trouthe And Honour, Freedom

Make A Virtue Of Necessity.

And Gladly Wolde He Lerne, And Gladly Teche.

A Love Grown Old Is Not The Love Once New.

Of Alle The Floures In The Mede, Than Love I Most These Floures Whyte And Rede, Swiche As Men Callen Daysies In Our Toun. . . . . Til That Myn Herte Dye. . . . . That Wel By Reson Men Hit Calle May The 'dayesye' Or Elles The 'ye Of Day,' The Emperice And Flour Of Floures Alle. I Pray To God That Faire Mot She Falle, And Alle That Loven Floures, For Hir Sake!

Truth Is The Highest Thing That Man May Keep.