That hoot, cold, hevy, light, [and] moist and dreye
Hath knit by even noumbre of acorde,
In esy vois began to speke and seye,
Foules, tak hede of my sentence, I preye,
And, for your ese, in furthering of your nede,
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As faste as I may speke, I wol me spede.
Ye know wel how, seynt Valentynes day,
By my statut and through my governaunce,
Ye come for to chese—and flee your way—