In one consort there sat cruel revenge and rancorous despite, disloyal treason and heart-burning hate.
For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.
Gather therefore the Rose, whilst yet is prime, For soon comes age, that will her pride deflower: Gather the Rose of love, whilst yet is time.
For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
Oft stumbles at a straw.
Thankfulness is the tune of angels.