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My ghostly fader, I me confesse,
First to God and then to you,
That at a window,—wot ye how?—
I stale a cosse of grete sweteness.

— Charles, Duke of Orléans

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More quotes by Charles, Duke of Orléans

Is she not lavishly endowed,
She whom I love so loyally?

The ware that pleaseth is as good as sold.

Though Fortune have fine eyes yet sees she nought.

A dangerous parsimony 'tis
To store up treasure of regrets.

Whether she dance, or sing, or smile,
Or whate'er else may do or be,
Give me a voice impartial, free
From favour or from flattery.

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