Legend of Good Women, Prologue, Text F, ll. 1-39

A thousand tymes have I herd men telle, That ther ys joy in hevene and peyne in helle, And I acorde wel that hit ys so; But, natheles, yet wot I wel also That ther nis noon dwellyng in this contree That eyther hath in hevene or helle ybe, Ne may of hit non other weyes witen But as he hath herd seyd or founde hit writen; For by assay ther may no man it preve. But God forbede but men shulde leve Wel more thing then men han seen with ye! Men shal nat wenen every thing a lye But yf himself yt seeth or elles dooth; For, God wot, thing is never the lasse sooth, Thogh every wight ne may hit nat ysee. Bernard the monk ne saugh nat al, pardee! Than mote we to bokes that we fynde, Thurgh whiche that olde thinges ben in mynde, And to the doctrine of these olde wyse, Yeve credence, in every skylful wise, That tellen of these olde appreved stories, Of holynesse, of regnes, of victories, Of love, of hate, of other sondry thynges, Of whiche I may not maken rehersynges. And yf that olde bokes were aweye, Yloren were of remembraunce the keye. Wel ought us thanne honouren and beleve These bokes, there we han noon other preve. And as for me, though that I konne but lyte, On bokes for to rede I me delyte And to hem yive I feyth and ful credence, And in myn herte have hem in reverence So hertely, that ther is game noon That fro my bokes maketh me to goon, But yt be seldom, on the holyday, Save, certeynly, whan that the month of May Is comen, and that I here the foules synge, And that the floures gynnen for to sprynge, Farewel my bok and my devocioun!