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Geoffrey Chaucer - The Love Unfeigned
Work rating: Medium

O YONGE fresshe folkes, he or she,   
In which that love up groweth with your age,   
Repeyreth hoom from worldly vanitee,   
And of your herte up-casteth the visage   
To thilke god that after his image          
Yow made, and thinketh al nis but a fayre   
This world, that passeth sone as floures fayre.   
  
And loveth him, the which that right for love   
Upon a cros, our soules for to beye,   
First starf, and roos, and sit in hevene a-bove;   
For he nil falsen no wight, dar I seye,   
That wol his herte al hoolly on him leye.   
And sin he best to love is, and most meke,   
What nedeth feyned loves for to seke?
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