That He Is Gentil That Doth Gentil

The Fields Have Eyes, And The Woods Have Ears.

And Then The Wren Gan Scippen And To Daunce.

But All Thing Which That Shineth As The Gold Ne Is No Gold, As I Have Herd It Told.

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!

I Hold A Mouses Wit Not Worth A Leke, That Hath But On Hole For To Sterten To.