Allas! allas! that evere love was synne!

 

Allas! allas! that evere love was synne!
--
The Wife of Bath's Prologue, l. 614.

 

Geoffrey Chaucer

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O maister deere and Fadir reverent,
Mi maister Chaucer, flour of eloquence,
Mirour of fructuous entendement,
O, universel fadir in science!
Allas! ?at ?ou thyn excellent prudence
In ?i bed mortel mightist naght by-qwethe;
What eiled deth? allas! whi wolde he sle the?

 

Thomas Occleve

 

O yowthe allas why wilt thow nat enclyne,
And un-to reuled reform bowe thee?
Syn resoun is the verray streighte lyne
?at ledith folk un-to felicitee.

 

Thomas Occleve

 

On a nygth, as this creatur lay in hir bedde wyth hir husbond, sche herd a sownd of melodye so swet and delectable, hir thowt, as sche had ben in paradyse. And therwyth sche styrt owt of hir bedde and seyd, "Alas, that evyr I dede synne, it is ful mery in hevyn."

 

Margery Kempe

 

Oh, love, love, love —
Love on a hilltop high,
Love against a cloudless sky,
Love where the scene is
Painted by a million stars,
Love with martinis
In the cabarets and bars.
Oh, love, love, love...

 

Anthony Burgess

 

I love you more than bears love honey,
I love you more than Jews love money,
I love you more than Asians are good at math.
I love you even if it's not hip,
I love you more than black guys don't tip,
I love you like Puerto Ricans need baths.

 

Sarah Silverman