Habit maketh no monk, ne wearing of gilt spurs maketh no knight.
Harde is his heart that loveth nought In May.
Whoso will pray, he must fast and be clean, And fat his soul, and make his body lean.
. . . if gold rust, what then will iron do?/ For if a priest be foul in whom we trust/ No wonder that a common man should rust. . . .
Many a true word is spoken in jest
For tyme ylost may nought recovered be.