For tyme y-lost may not recovered be.

. . . 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. . . .

For tyme y-lost may not recovered be.

And when a beest is deed, he hath no peyne; But man after his deeth moot wepe and pleyne.

Men sholde nat knowe of Goddes pryvetee Ye, blessed be alwey, a lewed man That noght but oonly his believe kan! So ferde another clerk with astromye, He walked in the feelds, for to prye Upon the sterres, what ther sholde bifalle, Til he was in a marle-pit yfalle.

He loved chivalrye Trouthe and honour, freedom and curteisye.

With empty hand no man can lure a hawk.