There's No Workman, Whatsoever He Be, That

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

That Of All The Floures In The Mede, Thanne Love I Most These Floures White And Rede, Suche As Men Callen Daysyes In Her Toune.

Soun Is Noght But Air Ybroken, And Every Speche That Is Spoken, Loud Or Privee, Foul Or Fair, In His Substaunce Is But Air; For As Flaumbe Is But Lighted Smoke, Right So Soun Is Air Ybroke.

The Cat Would Eat Fish But Would Not Get Her Feet Wet.

And Gladly Would He Learn, And Gladly Teach