With empty hand no man can lure a hawk.
For tyme ylost may nought recovered be.
Who then may trust the dice, at Fortune's throw?
It is nought good a sleping hound to wake.
If no love is, O God, what fele I so? And if love is, what thing and which is he? If love be good, from whennes cometh my woo? If it be wikke, a wonder thynketh me
And she was fair as is the rose in May.