And but I do, Sirs, let me have the wite; 4752 There was default in somewhat, well I wot.” Another said, the fire was over hot. But be it hot or cold, I dare say this, That we concluden evermore amiss; We fail alway of that which we would have; And in our madness evermore we rave. And when we be together every one, Every man seemeth a Solomon. But all thing, which that shineth as the gold, It is not gold, as I have heard it told; Nor every apple that is fair at eye, It is not good, what so men clap 4753 or cry. Right so, lo, fareth it amongës us. He that the wisest seemeth, by Jesús, Is most fool, when it cometh to the prefe; 4754 And he that seemeth truest, is a thief. That shall ye know, ere that I from you wend; By that I of my tale have made an end.