Ther Is No Newe Gyse That It

Who Looks At Me, Beholdeth Sorrows All, All Pain, All Torture, Woe And All Distress; I Have No Need On Other Harms To Call, As Anguish, Languor, Cruel Bitterness, Discomfort, Dread, And Madness More And Less; Methinks From Heaven Above The Tears Must Rain In Pity For My Harsh And Cruel Pain.

One Eare It Heard, At The Other Out It Went.

Love Will Not Be Constrain'd By Mastery. When Mast'ry Comes, The God Of Love Anon Beateth His Wings, And, Farewell, He Is Gone. Love Is A Thing As Any Spirit Free.

By God, If Women Had Written Stories, As Clerks Had Within Here Oratories, They Would Have Written Of Men More Wickedness Than All The Mark Of Adam May Redress.

The Devil Can Only Destroy Those Who Are Already On Their Way To Damnation.