I trow that countenance cannot lie

I was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.

Uncouthe, unkiste, sayde the olde famous poete Chaucer.

I hate the day, because it lendeth light To see all things, but not my love to see.

So love is Lord of all the world by right.

Death slue not him, but he made death his ladder to the skies.

So now they have made our English tongue, a gallimaufray or hodgepodge of al other speches.