If Were Not Foolish Young, Were Foolish

And As For Me, Thogh That I Can But Lyte, On Bakes For To Rede I Me Delyte, And To Hem Yeve I Feyth And Ful Credence, And In Myn Herte Have Hem In Reverence So Hertely, That Ther Is Game Noon, That Fro My Bokes Maketh Me To Goon, But Hit Be Seldom, On The Holyday; Save, Certeynly, When That The Month Of May Is Comen, And That I Here The Foules Singe, And That The Floures Ginnen For To Springe, Farwel My Book And My Devocion.

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

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

Oon Ere It Herde, At Tother Out It Went.

If A Man Really Loves A Woman, Of Course He Wouldn't Marry Her For The World If He Were Not Quite Sure That He Was The Best Person She Could Possibly Marry.