Whosoever counts these Lays as fable, may be assured that I am not of his mind.
— Marie de France
Out of five hundred who speak glibly of love, not one can spell the first letter of his name.
I love no woman, for love is a serious business, not a jest.
For what the lover would, that would the beloved; what she would ask of him that should he go before to grant. Without accord such as this, love is but a bond and a constraint.
But sweetly and discreetly love passes from person to person, from heart to heart, or it is nothing worth.
There are divers men who make a great show of loyalty, and pretend to such discretion in the hidden things they hear, that at the end folk come to put faith in them.
Now will I rehearse before you a very ancient Breton Lay. As the tale was told to me, so, in turn, will I tell it over again, to the best of my art and knowledge. Hearken now to my story, its why and its reason.
He who would tell divers tales must know how to vary the tune.
For above all things Love means sweetness, and truth, and measure; yea, loyalty to the loved one and to your word. And because of this I dare not meddle with so high a matter.
Be sure that you speak with unfeigned lips.
The dead and past stories that I have told again in divers fashions, are not set down without authority.
If one of two lovers is loyal, and the other jealous and false, how may their friendship last, for Love is slain!
Great were the lamentation and the cry when the news of this mischance was noised about the city. Such a tumult of mourning was never before heard, for the whole city was moved.
Fairest and dearest, your wrath and anger are more heavy than I can bear; but learn that I cannot tell what you wish me to say without sinning against my honour too grievously.
The fool shouts loudly, thinking to impress the world.
