Vertues make free, vices make bonde.
To-day is quyk, to-morwe is fay.
Þat knew hym-self, he wolde wonde
Any good of him self wolde say.
Line 200
(26)
¶ What a glosere here or see,
Þouȝ it shulde to shame falle,
He knoweþ in chambre preuytee,
Telleþ his felow in þe halle;
Line 204
And felow to felow, tyl þey knowe alle,
ffro toun to toun, in all contray.
The glosere þe comoun voyce hit calle,
ffor non shulde knowe who first dede say.
Line 208
(27)
¶ A good man doþ a lord gret ese,
Þat is a trewe officere,
Þat wel can serue a lord to plese,
Passe not þe boundes of his powere.
Line 212
In preuyte vnwetand he may come nere.
Be handles, and stele no þyng away;
Be blynd of eyȝe, and deef of here;
Be dombe of mouth, and no þyng say.
Line 216
(28)
¶ I wolde suche a statute were,
And þer-vpon set a payne,
What soget [folio 103b] wolde make his souereyn swere
Þat he tolde in counseil layne.
Line 220
Oft glosere makeþ lordis fayne,
Passe þe boundes of here play.
Al þat trouþe haþ herd and sayne,
All tymes nys not soþ to say.
Line 224
(29)
¶ When al þe world is þurgh souȝt,
In his best tyme is worst to trest.
Þis world is a fayre nouȝt,
A fals lemman, þat chaunge lest;
Line 228
