John Lydgate

A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

— John Lydgate

Who lesethe his fredam, in faith! he loseth all.

— John Lydgate

A prowde hert in a beggers brest,It may wele ryme but it accordith nought.

— John Lydgate

Woord is but wynd; leff woord and tak the dede.

— John Lydgate

For love is mor than gold or gret richesse;Gold faileth ofte; love wol abyde.

— John Lydgate

For he owre englishe gilte with his sawes,To whom honour, laude and reuerence.

— John Lydgate

Odyous of olde been comparisonis.

— John Lydgate

Harde to likke hony out of a marbil stoon,For ther is nouthir licour nor moisture.

— John Lydgate

Trouthe wil out maugre of fals enuye,As for a tyme it may been ovirleyn.

— John Lydgate

For a story which is nat pleynli told,Men bi report kan nat the mater shewe.

— John Lydgate

Off oure language he was the lodesterre.

— John Lydgate

There is no roseSpryngyng in gardeyns, but ther be sum thorn.

— John Lydgate

For princis ofte, of furious hastynesse,Ageyn folk absent, thouh ther be non offence.

— John Lydgate

He as a kyng is crowned in Fairie,And repaire ageyn the Rounde Table.

— John Lydgate

The wheel of Fortune tourneth as a ball;Sodeyn clymbyng axeth a sodeyn fall.

— John Lydgate