Many A True Word Is Spoken In

Forbid Us Something, And That Thing We Desire.

Pitee Renneth Soone In Gentil Herte.

Whan That Aprill With His Shoures Soote The Droghte Of March Hath Perced To The Roote.

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

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!