If Love Be Good, From Whence Cometh

It Is Nought Good A Sleping Hound To Wake.

But, Lord Crist! Whan That It Remembreth Me Upon My Yowthe, And On My Jolitee, It Tickleth Me Aboute Myn Herte Roote. Unto This Day It Dooth Myn Herte Boote That I Have Had My World As In My Tyme. But Age, Alias! That Al Wole Envenyme, Hath Me Biraft My Beautee And My Pith. Lat Go, Farewel! The Devel Go Therwith! The Flour Is Goon, Ther Is Namoore To Telle; The Bren, As I Best Kan, Now Most I Selle.

I Gave My Whole Heart Up, For Him To Hold.

Time And Tide Wait For No Man.

Take A Cat, Nourish It Well With Milk And Tender Meat, Make It A Couch Of Silk.