Ther Nis No Werkman, Whatsoevere He Be,

So Was Hir Jolly Whistel Wel Y-wette.

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.

Or As An Ook Comth Of A Litel Spir, So Thorugh This Lettre, Which That She Hym Sente, Encressen Gan Desir, Of Which He Brente.

If Were Not Foolish Young, Were Foolish Old.

This Flour Of Wifly Patience.