Against Women Unconstant

Madame, for youre newefangelnesse,

Many a servant have ye put out of grace.

I take my leve of your unstedefastnesse,

For wel I woot, whil ye have lives space,

Ye can not love ful half yeer in a place,

To newe thing youre lust is ay so keene;

In stede of blew, thus may ye were al greene.

Right as a mirour nothing may enpresse,

But, lightly as it cometh, so mote it pace,

So fareth youre love, youre werkes bereth witnesse.

Ther is no faith that may your herte enbrace;

But, as a wedercok, that turneth his face

With every wind, ye fare, and this is seene;

In stede of blew, thus may ye were al greene.

Ye might be shrined, for youre brothelnesse,

Bet that Dalida, Criseide or Candace;

For ever in chaunging stant youre sikernesse;

That tache may no wight fro yuor herte arace.

If ye lese oon, ye can wel twain purchace;

Al light for somer, ye woot wel what I mene,

In stede of blew, thus may ye were al greene.