IX. THE FLOUR OF CURTESYE.
In Fevrier, whan the frosty mone
Was horned, ful of Phebus fyry light,
And that she gan to reyse her stremes sone,
Saint Valentyne! upon thy blisful night
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Of duëtee, whan glad is every wight,
And foules chese (to voyde hir olde sorowe)
Everich his make, upon the nexte morowe;
The same tyme, I herde a larke singe