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Right as an aspen lefe she gan to quake.
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They demen gladly to the badder end.
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Of studie took he most cure and most hede. Noght o word spak he more than was nede, And that was seyd in forme and reverence, And short and quik, and ful of hy sentence. Souninge in moral vertu was his speche, And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.
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Nowhere so busy a man as he than he, and yet he seemed busier than he was.
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Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.
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O little booke, thou art so unconning, How darst thou put thy-self in prees for drede?
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Of harmes two the lesse is for to cheese.
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For tyme y-lost may not recovered be.
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Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.
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The firste vertue, sone, if thou wilt lere, Is to restreine and kepen wel thy tonge.
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For iii may keep a counsel if twain be away.
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But all thing which that shineth as the gold Ne is no gold, as I have herd it told.
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He was as fresh as is the month of May.
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This flour of wifly patience.
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And therfore, at the kynges court, my brother, Ech man for hymself, ther is noon other.
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We know little of the things for which we pray.
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Go, little booke! go, my little tragedie!
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So was hire joly whistle wel ywette.
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That well by reason men it call may The daisie, or els the eye of the day, The emprise, and floure of floures all.
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By nature, men love newfangledness.