#EnglishWriters
Adieu madam et ma mastres. Adieu mon solas et mon Joy. Adieu iusque vous reuoye, Adieu vous diz per graunt tristess… Adew, madam, and my mystresse,
Whoso that wyll all feattes optayn… In love he must be withowt dysdayn… For love enforyth all nobyle kynd And dysdayne dyscorages all gentyl… Wherefor to love and be not loved
1 Though that men do call it d… 2 Who loveth not wanteth coura… 3 And whosoever may love get, 4 From Venus sure he must it… 5 Or else from her which is he…
The tyme of youthe is to be spent; But vice in it shuld be forfent. Pastymes ther be I nought treulye Whych one may use, and vice denye; And they be plesant to God and ma…
1 Lusty Youth should us ensue… 2 His merry heart shall sure a… 3 For whatsoever they do him t… 4 It is not for him, we know i… 5 For they would have him his…
Alas, what shall I do for love? For love, alasse, what shall I do… Syth now so kynd I do you fynde To kepe yow me unto?
1 Pastime with good company 2 I love and shall unto I die… 3 Grudge whoso will, but none… 4 So God be pleased, this liv… 5 For my pastance
Wherto shuld I expresse My inward hevynes? No myrth can make me fayn Tyl that we mete agayne. Do way, dere hart, not so.
1 Green groweth the holly, 2 So doth the ivy. 3 Though winter blasts blow ne… 4 Green groweth the holly. 5 As the holly groweth green
Helas madam cel que ie me tant soffre que soie voutre humble seru… voutre vumble seruant ie ray a tou… e tant que ie viueray altre naimer… Alas, madam, who I love so much,
1 Though some saith that youth… 2 I trust in age to tarry. 3 God and my right and my duty… 4 From them I shall never… 5 Though some say that you…
Withowt dyscord And bothe acorde Now let us be; Bothe hartes alone To set in one
If love now reynyd as it hath bene And war rewardit as it hath sene, Nobyll men then wold suer enserch All ways wherby thay myght it rech… But envy reynyth with such dysdayn…
Whoso that will for gracë sue His intent must needs be true, And lovë her in heart and deed, Else it were pity that he should s… Many one saith that love is ill,
O my hart and O my hart! My hart it is so sore, Sens I must nedys from my love de… And know no cunse wherefore.
