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 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
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 XI. 
 XIV. 
XIV. Man, be war, be war, be war, And kep the that thou have no car.
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18

XIV. Man, be war, be war, be war,
And kep the that thou have no car.

Thi tunge is mad of fleych and blod,
Evele to spekyn it is not good,
But Cryst, that deyid upon the rood,
So ȝyf us grace our tunge to spare.
Thi lyppis arn withoute bon;
Spek non evyl of thi fon;
Man, I rede, be seynt Jon,
Of evyl speche that thou be war.
Quan thou seyst thi evyl seying,
Be it of eld, be it of ȝyng,
Among many men thi speche may spring,
And make thin herte of blysse ful bare.

19

Therfore I telle the, be seynt Austyn,
Ther xal non man of evele speche wyn
But sorwe and schame and moche syn,
And to his herte meche care.
Prey we to God and seynt Margerete,
That we mown our tunges kepe,
Qwether we wake or slepe,
And our body fro evele fare.