And So It Is In Politics, Dear

Of Alle The Floures In The Mede, Than Love I Most These Floures Whyte And Rede, Swiche As Men Callen Daysies In Our Toun. . . . . Til That Myn Herte Dye. . . . . That Wel By Reson Men Hit Calle May The 'dayesye' Or Elles The 'ye Of Day,' The Emperice And Flour Of Floures Alle. I Pray To God That Faire Mot She Falle, And Alle That Loven Floures, For Hir Sake!

He That Loveth God Will Do Diligence To Please God By His Works, And Abandon Himself, With All His Might, Well For To Do.

Yblessed Be God That I Have Wedded Fyve! Welcome The Sixte, Whan That Evere He Shal.

With Emptie Hands Men May No Haukes Lure.

In Love There Is But Little Rest.