Compleyne ne koude, ne might myn h… My peynes halve, ne what torment… Though that I sholde in your pres… Myn hertes lady, as wisly he me sa… That Bountee made, and Beautee li…

THE PROLOGUE. WHEN ended was the life of Sain… Ere we had ridden fully five mile, At Boughton-under-Blee us gan o’e… A man, that clothed was in clothes…

WHEN ended was my tale of Melibe… And of Prudence and her benignity… Our Hoste said, 'As I am faithfu… And by the precious corpus Madria… I had lever* than a barrel of ale,…

THE PROEM I have gret wonder, be this lighte… How that I live, for day ne night… I may nat slepe wel nigh noght, I have so many an ydel thoght

My son, keep well thy tongue, and… A wicked tongue is worse than a fi… My son, from a fiend men may them… My son, God of his endless goodne… Walled a tongue with teeth and lip…

Whan that Aprille with his shoure… The droghte of March hath perced… And bathed every veyne in swich li… Of which vertú engendred is the fl… Whan Zephirus eek with his swete…

Sometime this world was so steadfa… That man’s word was held obligatio… And now it is so false and deceiva… That word and work, as in conclusi… Be nothing one; for turned up so d…

HYD, Absolon, thy gilte tresses… Ester, ley thou thy meknesse al a-… Hyd, Jonathas, al thy frendly man… Penalopee, and Marcia Catoun, Mak of your wyfhod no comparisoun;

THE Cook of London, while the R… For joy he laugh’d and clapp’d him… ‘Aha!’ quoth he, 'for Christes pa… This Miller had a sharp conclusio… Upon this argument of herbergage.*…

Now welcome Summer with thy sunne… That hast this winter’s weathers o… And driven away the longe nighties… Saint Valentine, that art full hi… Thus singen smalle fowles for thy…

Proverbe of Chaucer What shul these clothes thus manyf… Lo this hote somers day? After grete hete cometh cold; No man caste his pilche away.

‘IN faith, Squier, thou hast thee… And gentilly; I praise well thy w… Quoth the Franklin; 'considering… So feelingly thou speak’st, Sir,… *As to my doom,* there is none tha…

Incipit carmen secundum ordinem li… Almighty and al merciable queene, To whom that al this world fleeth… To have relees of sinne, of sorwe,… Glorious virgine, of alle floures…

Madame, ye ben of al beaute shryne As fer as cercled is the mapamound… For as the cristal glorious ye shy… And lyke ruby ben your chekes roun… Therwith ye ben so mery and so joc…

Alone walking In thought plaining, And sore sighing; All desolate, Me rememb’ring