Geoffrey Chaucer

The false lapwynge, full of trecherye.

The false lapwynge, full of trecherye.

The thrustelcok made eek hir lay,
The wode dove upon the spray
She sang ful loude and read more

The thrustelcok made eek hir lay,
The wode dove upon the spray
She sang ful loude and cleere.

For of Fortune's sharpe adversite,
The worste kynde of infortune is this,
A man to hav bent read more

For of Fortune's sharpe adversite,
The worste kynde of infortune is this,
A man to hav bent in prosperite,
And it remembren whan it passed is.

Habit maketh no monke, ne wearing of guilt spurs maketh no
knight.

Habit maketh no monke, ne wearing of guilt spurs maketh no
knight.

For oute of olde feldys, as men sey,
Comyth al this newe corn from yere to yere;
read more

For oute of olde feldys, as men sey,
Comyth al this newe corn from yere to yere;
And out of old bokis, in good fey,
Comyth al this newe science that men lere.