If gold rusts, what then can iron do? - Geoffrey Chaucer

For I am shave as nye as any frere. But yit I pray un-to youre curtesye: Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I die.

This you may see that neither wisdom nor riches, beauty nor trickery, strength nor boldness may share power equally with Venus, for as she wishes she may guide the world.

Go litel bok, go, litel myn tragedye,
Ther God thi makere yet, er that he dye,
So sende myght to make in som comedye!
But litel book, no makyng thow n'envie,
But subgit be to alle poesye;
And kis the steppes where as thow seest pace
Virgile, Ovide, Omer, Lucan, and Stace.