"This somnour bar to hym a stif burdoun; / Was nevere trompe of half so greet a soun."

"He was a Reve, a sly and a trechour, And by his maister knew he every flour."

"Wommen are so variable, and so unstable, That ther is no trust in hem, by my fey."

"What is this world? what asketh men to have? Now with his love, now in his colde grave, Allone, withouten any compaignye."

"Upon the cop right of his nose he hade A werte, and theron stood a tuft of heres rede, As bristles of a sowes eerys olde."