This Flour Of Wifly Patience.

The Guilty Think All Talk Is Of Themselves.

For God's Love, Take Things Patiently, Have Sense, Think! We Are Prisoners And Shall Always Be. Fortune Has Given Us This Adversity, Some Wicked Planetary Dispensation, Some Saturn's Trick Or Evil Constellation Has Given Us This, And Heaven, Though We Had Sworn The Contrary, So Stood When We Were Born. We Must Endure It, That's The Long And Short.

For Of Fortunes Sharp Adversitee The Worst Kynde Of Infortune Is This, A Man To Han Ben In Prosperitee, And It Remembren, Whan It Passed Is.

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.

Ther Is No Newe Gyse That It Nas Old.