Good Counsel of Chaucer

      Flee from the press, and dwell with soothfastness; Suffice thee thy good Though it be small; For hoard hath hate, and climbing tickleness Press Hath envy, and weal is blent o'er all Savour no more than thee behove Shall; Read well thyself, that other folk canst read; And truth thee shall Deliver, it is no dread Paine thee not each crooked to redress In trust of her that turneth as a ball; Great rest standeth in little business: Beware also to spurn against a nail; Strive not as doth a crocke with a wall; Deeme thyself that deemest others' deed And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread What thee is sent, receive in buxomness; The wrestling of this world asketh a fall; Here is no home, here is but wilderness Forth, pilgrim! Forthe beast, out of thy stall! Look up on high, and thank thy God of all! Weive thy lust, and let thy ghost thee lead And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread