O yowthe allas why wilt thow nat enclyne, And un-to reuled reform bowe thee? Syn resoun is the verray streighte lyne Þat ledith folk un-to felicitee. - Thomas Hoccleve

If that thise men that lovers hem pretende,
To women weren feythfull good and trewe,
And dreden hem to deceyven or offende,
Women, to love hem, wolde nat eschewe;
But every day hath man an herte newe:
Yt, upon oon, abide can no while.
What fore ys it, swich a wight to be-gile?

O maister deere and Fadir reverent,
Mi maister Chaucer, flour of eloquence,
Mirour of fructuous entendement,
O, universel fadir in science!
Allas! þat þou thyn excellent prudence
In þi bed mortel mightist naght by-qwethe;
What eiled deth? allas! whi wolde he sle the?

Many a servant un-to his lord seith,
"Þat al the world spekith of him honour,"
Whan the contrarie of þat is sooth, in feith.