For, God it woot, men may wel often fynde A lordes sone do shame and vileynye; And he that wole han pris of his gentrye, For he was boren of a gentil hous, And hadde hise eldres noble and vertuous, And nel hymselven do no gentil dedis, Ne folwen his gentil auncestre that deed is, He nys nat gentil, be he duc or erl;
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"He was a Reve, a sly and a trechour, And by his maister knew he every flour."
"If gold rusts, what then can iron do?"
"She would weep if she saw a mouse Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled. She had some small hounds that she fed With roasted meat, or milk and fine white bread."
"Mordre wol out, certeyn, it wol nat fayle."
"Now, good men, God forgive you your trespass, and keep you from the Sin of avarice! Mine holy pardons will save you, if you do give me gold or silver, or else brooches, spoons or rings"
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