Yblessed be god that I have wedded fyve!

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote

And therefore, at the kynges court, my brother,

For out of olde feldes, as men seyth,

O yonge, fresshe folkes, he or she,

And ther he saugh, with ful avysement

For of fortunes sharpe adversitee

That lyf so short,

And she was fayr as is the rose in May.

A likerous mouth moste han a likerous tayl.