"And certeinly, as sooth as god is king, To take a wyf, it is a glorious thing, And namely whan a man is old and hoor; Thanne is a wyf the fruit of his tresor. Than sholde he take a yong wyf and a feir, On which he mighte engendren him an heir, And lede his lyf in joye and in solas, Wher-as thise bacheleres singe ‘allas,’ Whan that they finden any adversitee In love, which nis but childish vanitee. And trewely it sit wel to be so, That bacheleres have often peyne and wo; On brotel ground they builde, and brotelnesse They finde, whan they wene sikernesse. They live but as a brid or as a beste, In libertee, and under non areste, Ther-as a wedded man in his estaat Liveth a lyf blisful and ordinaat, Under the yok of mariage y-bounde; Wel may his herte in joye and blisse habounde. For who can be so buxom as a wyf? Who is so trewe, and eek so ententyf To kepe him, syk and hool, as is his make?"

"Weping and wayling."

"The hye god, whan he hadde Adam maked, And saugh him al allone, bely-naked, God of his grete goodnesse seyde than, ‘Lat us now make an help un-to this man Lyk to him-self;’ and thanne he made him Eve."

"Thing that is seyd, is seyd; and forth it gooth."

"The firste vertu, sone, if thou wolt lere, Is to restreyne and kepe wel thy tonge."

"Kepe wel thy tonge, and thenk up-on the crowe."

"Though I be hoor, I fare as dooth a tree That blosmeth er that fruyt y-woxen be; A blosmy tree nis neither drye ne deed. I fele me nowher hoor but on myn heed; Myn herte and alle my limes been as grene As laurer thurgh the yeer is for to sene."

"Flesh is so newefangel, with meschaunce, That we ne conne in no-thing han plesaunce That souneth in-to vertu any whyle."

"For men han ever a likerous appetyt On lower thing to parfourne hir delyt Than on hir wyves, be they never so faire, Ne never so trewe, ne so debonaire."

"Allas! a thousand folk hath rakel ire Fully fordoon, and broght hem in the mire. Allas! for sorwe I wol my-selven slee!"

"Lat take a cat, and fostre him wel with milk, And tendre flesh, and make his couche of silk, And lat him seen a mous go by the wal; Anon he weyveth milk, and flesh, and al, And every deyntee that is in that hous, Swich appetyt hath he to ete a mous."

"Tak any brid, and put it in a cage, And do al thyn entente and thy corage To fostre it tendrely with mete and drinke, Of alle deyntees that thou canst bithinke, And keep it al-so clenly as thou may; Al-though his cage of gold be never so gay, Yet hath this brid, by twenty thousand fold, Lever in a forest, that is rude and cold, Gon ete wormes and swich wrecchednesse. For ever this brid wol doon his bisinesse To escape out of his cage, if he may; His libertee this brid desireth ay."

"Appetyt flemeth discrecioun."

"My sone, keep wel thy tonge and keep thy freend."

"What that he seith, I holde it ferme and stable; I seye the same, or elles thing semblable."

"Ne every appel that is fair at yë Ne is nat good, what-so men clappe or crye."

"But al thing which that shyneth as the gold Nis nat gold, as that I have herd it told."

"Ye been as bolde as is Bayard the blinde, That blundreth forth, and peril casteth noon; He is as bold to renne agayn a stoon As for to goon besydes in the weye."

"For whan a man hath over-greet a wit, Ful oft him happeth to misusen it."

"For he ne made hir nat of the heved of Adam, for she sholde nat clayme to greet lordshipe. / For ther-as the womman hath the maistrie, she maketh to muche desray; ther neden none ensamples of this. The experience of day by day oghte suffyse. / Also certes, god ne made nat womman of the foot of Adam, for she ne sholde nat been holden to lowe; for she can nat paciently suffre: but god made womman of the rib of Adam, for womman sholde be felawe un-to man."

"The bodies sevene eek, lo! hem heer anoon: Sol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe, Mars yren, Mercurie quik-silver we clepe, Saturnus leed, and Jupiter is tin, And Venus coper, by my fader kin!"

"He was the moste lusty bachiler In al this world, and eek the beste archer."

"For the proverbe seith: that manye smale maken a greet."

"And the same Seneca also seith: ‘I am born to gretter thinges than to be thral to my body, or than for to maken of my body a thral.’"

"Avarice, after the descripcion of seint Augustin, is likerousnesse in herte to have erthely thinges."

"He was of knighthode and of fredom flour."

"Redeth the grete poete of Itaille, That highte Dant, for he can al devyse Fro point to point, nat o word wol he faille."

"Tragedie is noon other maner thing, Ne can in singing crye ne biwaille, But for that fortune alwey wol assaille With unwar strook the regnes that ben proude; For when men trusteth hir, than wol she faille, And covere hir brighte face with a cloude."

"Certes, they been lyk to houndes; for an hound, whan he comth by the roser or by othere [busshes], though he may nat pisse, yet wole he heve up his leg and make a contenaunce to pisse."

"A good wyf, that is clene of werk and thoght, Sholde nat been kept in noon await, certayn; And trewely, the labour is in vayn To kepe a shrewe, for it wol nat be. This holde I for a verray nycetee, To spille labour, for to kepe wyves; Thus writen olde clerkes in hir lyves."

"It is no childes pley To take a wyf with-oute avysement."

"Til that the brighte sonne loste his hewe; For thorisonte hath reft the sonne his light; This is as muche to seye as it was night."

"Tak this for fynal answer as of me."

"It is agayns the proces of nature."

"Servant in love, and lord in mariage."

"Pacience is an heigh vertu certeyn."

"Wel she saugh that it was for the beste."

"Trouthe is the hyeste thing that man may kepe."

"Fy on possessioun But-if a man be vertuous with-al."

"I am lorn with-outen remedye!"

"I sleep never on the mount of Pernaso, Ne lerned Marcus Tullius Cithero."

"Therfor bihoveth him a ful long spoon That shal ete with a feend."

"They demen gladly to the badder ende."

"Men loven of propre kinde newfangelnesse."

"For o thing, sires, saufly dar I seye, That frendes everich other moot obeye, If they wol longe holden companye. Love wol nat ben constreyned by maistrye; Whan maistrie comth, the god of love anon Beteth hise winges, and farewel! he is gon! Love is a thing as any spirit free; Wommen of kinde desiren libertee, And nat to ben constreyned as a thral; And so don men, if I soth seyen shal."