Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat, I never thenk to ben in his prison lene; Sin I am free, I counte him not a bene. - Geoffrey Chaucer

Throgh me men gon into that blysful place
Of hertes hele and dedly woundes cure;
Thorgh me men gon unto the welle of grace,
There grene and lusty May shal evere endure.
This is the wey to al good aventure.
Be glad, thow redere, and thy sorwe of-caste;
Al open am I - passe in, and sped thee faste!'

'Thorgh me men gon,' than spak that other side,
'Unto the mortal strokes of the spere
Of which Disdayn and Daunger is the gyde,
There nevere tre shal fruyt ne leves bere.
This strem yow ledeth to the sorweful were
There as the fish in prisoun is al drye;
The'eschewing is only the remedye!

If no love is, O God, what fele I so?
And if love is, what thing and which is he?
If love be good, from whennes cometh my woo?
If it be wikke, a wonder thynketh me

He was an easy man to mete out Penance when a good gift he expected to receive. Forsooth, to donate generously unto a poor Order is a sign that a man is well shriven. For if a man gave, the Friar dared to assert, he knew that the man was repentant. So hard is the heart of many a man that he cannot weep, though he may sorely suffer for his sins. Therefore, in the stead of weeping and praying, men must give silver to the poor Friars.