Nature, The Vicar Of The Almighty Lord.

He Loved Chivalrye Trouthe And Honour, Freedom And Curteisye.

Soun Is Noght But Air Ybroken, And Every Speche That Is Spoken, Loud Or Privee, Foul Or Fair, In His Substaunce Is But Air; For As Flaumbe Is But Lighted Smoke, Right So Soun Is Air Ybroke.

That Field Hath Eyen, And The Wood Hath Ears.

At The Ches With Me She (fortune) Gan To Pleye; With Her False Draughts (pieces) Dyvers/she Staal On Me, And Took Away My Fers. And When I Sawgh My Fers Awaye, Allas! I Kouthe No Lenger Playe.

Ful Wys Is He That Kan Hymselven Knowe.