the old prouerbe saith mesure is trcsureRemēbre y• sonne thy goodes may slip awayThat bifore were goten in many a sonday deyIncipiens esto cum tempus postulat aut resStulticiā similare loco prudencia summa estIt is no wisedam a man alwey to
Suche old tresour wol make thy shame neweWhat proffiteth plente and gret tresureAnd in pouerte a wreche alwey to endureSi famam seruare cupis dū viuis honestamHac fugias aīo que sunt mala gaudia viteMy sone yf thou desire to reioyse thy
wight shal dye al be it that he be loth or lefAnd as ye old so doth the yong eke amongeDeth stelith ay on as doth a pryue thefFor a geyn deth men may fynde no relefShe is aboute ay
sūtime was lordship ther now is grāgeThe worldes cours is wondre queint & strāgeBut thaugh as now the mā is wex vnkyndeYet is old frendship remembrid ay in myndeGracior officijs quo sis mage carior estoNe nomen subeas quod dicitur officiperdi
carpe¶Of his leud bagpyp which caused ye compani¶To law yet many mo ther wē yf i shuld notly¶Som yong som old both better and werse¶But mo of theyr names can I not reherce¶Of al maner deyntes there was habūdaūce¶Of metes
after that they torned to the feythBut euer in one this yte they kepte alwayFor old customme is hard to put awayAnd also vsage greuyth folk ful soreTo doo away that they haue kepte yoBut at the laste pope SergiusOf
skynBoth in face. body and chynFor that she wold enuyen loTo pyen bet than AppolloThe sawe I eke / famous old and yongPypers of the duce tongeTo lerne houe dauncis spryngesReyes / and the strange thyngesTho sawe I in an
the pepleThat whiche he hath promysed hemEuerard the vpholsterCan well stoppe.A mantel hooledFull agayn carde agaynSkowre agayn a goune.And alle old clothElyas the paynter.Is howsed agayn and remeuyd.Fro thens where was woned to duellHe tarieth so longeMy cloth to dye.That
ipseAnd yf yu leue longe an old man shalt yu beAge wol approche maugre who seith nayThan perceyue beholde aboute and seeHowe aged folk ben treted with al dayAnd so pouruey for thy self a sayInto stouping age whan thou
in verrey surete no wight may stondeSo sodenly crepen the soules outeAl aboute this world in euery londeOf yonge and old for euery wight is bondeTo deth therfore set not thyn affianceIn deth of hym that may ye surviue parchanceExiguū
For as often tymes as any wordly wightDesireth more than right or equiteThan may his request sone replied beAnd it is cleped nycete and gret folyeTo aske ofte that right wol ay denyeIgnotum tibi tu noli preponere notisCognita iudicio
the old prouerbe saith mesure is tresureRemēbre that sone thy goodes may slip a wayThat bifore were goten in many a sondry dayIncipiens esto cum tempus postulat aut resStulticiā similare loco prudencia summa estIt is no wisdam a man alwey
facito {per}lectis {per}lege multaNam miranda canūt sed nō credenda poeteMispende thou no tyme neuer for lachesseBut whilom rede in bookes old and wiseRede and reporte eke with gret attentifnesseBy reding to cūnyng a man may ryseThan rede my sone and
Suche old tresour wol make thy shame neweWhat proffiteth plente & gret tresureAnd in pouerte a wreche al wey to endureSi famam seruare cupis dū viuis honestamac fugias aīo que sunt mala gaudia viteMy sone yf thou desire to reioyse
wight shal dye al be it that he be loth or lefAnd as the old so doth the yong eke amongeDeth stelith ay on as doth a pryue thefFor a gein deth men may finde no relefShe is aboute ay
sūtime was lordship ther now is grāgeThe worldes cours is wondre queint & strāgeBut thaugh as now the man is wex vnkindeYet is old frendship remembrd ay in myndeGracior officijs quo ss mage carior estoNe nomen subeas quod dicitur officiperdi
That serue loue for aught that may falleBut this is yet the beste game of alleThat she for whom they haue this IoliteCan hem therfore as moche thank as meShe wot nomore of al this oot fareBe god thn
And god that al this worlde hath wroughtSente hym his loue that he dere had boughtFor now is Palamon in alle weleLyuynge in blis in riches and in heleAnd Emely hym loueth so tenderlyAnd he here seruith so gentillyThat
knew not Caton for his wit was rudeThat biddith aman wedde his similitudeMen sholde wedde aftir hir astateFor yonthe and old ben often at debateBut sthen he was fallen in the snareHe muse endure as othir folk his careAs ony
crist said sheO clere O woful auter holy croyeRede of the lambis blood ful of pyteThat wesshist the worlde fro old iniquiteMe fro the fend and fro his clawis kepeThat day that I shal drenche in the depeVictorious tre of