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Geoffrey Chaucer - Truth
Work rating: Low

     Fle fro the pres, and dwelle with sothefastness{.e},
    Suffise thin owen thing, thei it be smal;
    For hord hath hate, and clymbyng tykelness{.e},
    Prees hath envye, and wel{.e} blent overal.
    Savour no more thanne the byhov{.e} schal;
    Reule weel thiself, that other folk canst reed{.e};
    And trouth{.e} schal delyvere, it is no dred{.e}.

     Tempest the nought al croked to redress{.e},
    In trust of hire that tourneth as a bal.
   Myche wel{.e} stant in litel besyness{.e};
   Bywar therfore to spurne ayeyns an al;
   Stryve not as doth the crokk{.e} with the wal.
   Daunt{.e} thiself, that dauntest other{.e}s ded{.e};
   And trouth{.e} shal delyvere, it is no dred{.e}.

    That the is sent, receyve in buxumness{.e};
   The wrestlyng for the worlde axeth a fal.
   Here is non home, here nys but wylderness{.e}.
   Forth, pylgryme, forth! forth, beste, out of thi stal!
   Know thi contré! loke up! thonk God of al!
   Hold the heye weye, and lat thi gost the led{.e};
   And trouth{.e} shal delyvere, it is no dred{.e}.


[L`envoy.]

    Therfore, thou Vache, leve thine olde wrechedness{.e};
   Unto the world leve now to be thral.
   Crie hym mercy, that of hys hie godness{.e}
   Made the of nought, and in espec{.i}al
   Draw unto hym, and pray in general
   For the, and eke for other, hevenelyche med{.e};
   And trouth{.e} schal delyvere, it is no dred{.e}.
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