He felle dede doun colde as ony stone

There ys no solas undyr hevene Of al that a man may nevene That shuld a man so mochë glew As a gode womman that loveth trew.

And thy traveyle shalt thou sone ende, For to thy long home sone shalt thou wende.

Als thai haf wryten and sayd Haf I alle in myn Inglis layd, In symple speche as I couthe, That is lightest in mannes mouthe. I mad noght for no disours, Ne for no seggers, no harpours,

No thyng ys to man so dere As wommanys love yn gode manere. A gode womman is mannys blys.

The scene was changed. It was a bark that slowly held its way, And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of evening lay; And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful eyes Upon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise.

So All is diff’rent, and yet All is One.