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A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.
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John Lydgate |
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Who lesethe his fredam, in faith! he loseth all.
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John Lydgate |
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Woord is but wynd; leff woord and tak the dede.
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John Lydgate |
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For love is mor than gold or gret richesse;Gold faileth ofte; love wol abyde.
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John Lydgate |
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Odyous of olde been comparisonis.
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John Lydgate |
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Harde to likke hony out of a marbil stoon,For ther is nouthir licour nor moisture.
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John Lydgate |
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Off oure language he was the lodesterre.
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John Lydgate |
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There is no roseSpryngyng in gardeyns, but ther be sum thorn.
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John Lydgate |
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The wheel of Fortune tourneth as a ball;Sodeyn clymbyng axeth a sodeyn fall.
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John Lydgate |