The Proverbe Saith That Many A Smale

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

Mordre Wol Out, That Se We Day By Day.

Who Then May Trust The Dice, At Fortune's Throw?

Time Lost, As Men May See, For Nothing May Recovered Be.

He Loved Chivalrye Trouthe And Honour, Freedom And Curteisye.