John Gower

So goth the world, now wo, now wel

What is a lond wher men ben none? What ben the men whiche are alone Withoute a kinges governance? What is a king in his ligance, Wher that ther is no lawe in londe? What is to take lawe on honde,

Nevere yit Was non, which half so loste his wit Of drinke, as thei of such thing do Which cleped is the jolif wo.

The beauté faye upon her face Non erthly thing it may desface.

O fol of alle foles, Thou farst as he betwen tuo stoles That wolde sitte and goth to grounde.

He hath the sor which no man heleth, The which is cleped lack of herte.

O Venus, queene of lovës cure, Thou lif, thou lust, thou mannës hele, Behold my cause and my querele, And yif me som part of thi grace.

It hath and schal ben everemor That love is maister wher he wile.

For loves lawe is out of reule.

But in proverbe I have herde say, That who that wel his werk beginneth, The rather a good end he winneth.

Bot for men sein, and soth it is, That who that al of wisdom writ It dulleth ofte a mannes wit To him that schal it aldai rede, For thilke cause, if that ye rede, I wolde go the middel weie

For whan men wene best to have achieved, Ful ofte it is al newe to beginne: The werre hath no thing siker, thogh he winne.