Certain, when I was born, so long ago, Death drew the tap of life and let it flow; And ever since the tap has done its task, And now there’s little but an empty cask.
For out of old fields, as men saith, Cometh all this new corn from year to year; And out of old books, in good faith, Cometh all this new science that men learn.
The handsome gifts that fate and nature lend us Most often are the very ones that end us.
Thou shalt make castels thanne in Spayne And dreme of joye, all but in vayne.
Of harmes two the lesse is for to cheese.
Go, little booke! go, my little tragedie!
Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.
The proverbe saith that many a smale maketh a grate.
And brought of mighty ale a large quart.
Mordre wol out, that se we day by day.
It is nought good a sleping hound to wake.
Loke who that is most vertuous alway, Prive and apert, and most entendeth ay To do the gentil dedes that he can, And take him for the gretest gentilman.
And so it is in politics, dear brother, Each for himself alone, there is no other.
I am right sorry for your heavinesse.
The latter end of joy is woe.
Yblessed be god that I have wedded fyve! Welcome the sixte, whan that evere he shal.
A yokel mind loves stories from of old, Being the kind it can repeat and hold.
Alas, alas, that ever love was sin! I ever followed natural inclination Under the power of my constellation And was unable to deny, in truth, My chamber of Venus to a likely youth.
Right as an aspen lefe she gan to quake.
The cat would eat fish but would not get her feet wet.