So Was Hir Jolly Whistel Wel Y-wette.

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.

Full Wise Is He That Can Himselven Knowe.

If Gold Rusts, What Then Can Iron Do?

Til That The Brighte Sonne Loste His Hewe; For Th'orisonte Hath Reft The Sonne His Lyght; This Is As Muche To Seye As It Was Nyght!

It Is Nought Good A Sleping Hound To Wake.