"And yet he was to hym a greet encressour. / Noon auditour koude on his word so wel / Have caught hym in his sleighte, ne in his trayne."

"If gold rusts, what then can iron do?"

"For though the grettest clerkes han it sworen, That ther is no felicitee in mariage, Ne no felicitee but in his lyf, That lyveth out of swich servage."

"For hooly chirche's right is to be fed, / Or elles wolde he have his breed of whete, / And of the flour of his owene seed, / And of his corn a very large meel."

"Full weel she soong the service dyvyne, Entuned in hir nose ful semely."