Loke wel aboute, ye that lovers be;Lat nat your lustes lede you to dotage;Be nat enamoured on al thing that ye see.Sampson the fort, and Salamon the sageDeceived were, for al hir gret corage;Men deme hit is right as they see at y;Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.I mene, in women, for al hir cheres queinte,Trust nat to moche; hir trouthë is but geson;The fairest outward ful wel can they peinte,Hir stedfastnes endureth but a seson;For they feyn frendlines and worchen treson.And for they be chaungeáble naturally,Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.Though al the world do his besy cureTo make women stonde in stablenes,Hit may nat be, hit is agayn nature;The world is do whan they lak doublenes;For they can laughe and love nat; this is expres.To trust in hem, hit is but fantasy;Bewar therfore; the blind et many a fly.What wight on-lyve trusteth in hir cheresShal haue at last his guerdon and his mede;They can shave nerer then rasóurs or sheres;Al is nat gold that shyneth! Men, take hede;Hir galle is hid under a sugred wede.Hit is ful hard hir fantasy t’aspy;Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.Women, of kinde, have condicions three;The first is, that they be fulle of deceit;To spinne also hit is hir propertee;And women have a wonderful conceit,They wepen ofte, and al is but a sleight,And whan they list, the tere is in the y;Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.What thing than eyr is lighter and meveable?The light, men say, that passeth in a throw;Al if the light be nat so variableAs is the wind that every wey can blow;And yet, of reson, som men deme and trowWomen be lightest of hir company;Bewar therfore; the blind et many a fly.In short to say, though al the erth so wanWere parchëmyn smothe, whyte and scribable,And the gret see, cleped the occian,Were torned in inke, blakker then is sable,Ech stik a penne, ech man a scriveyn able,They coud nat wryte wommannes traitory;Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.