#EnglishWriters
Somtyme the world was so stedfast… That mannes word was obligacioun, And now it is so fals and deceivab… That word and deed, as in conclusi… Ben nothing lyk, for turned up-so-…
My Master Bukton, when of Christ… Was asked, What is truth or sooth… He not a word answer’d to that ask… As who saith, no man is all true,… And therefore, though I highte to…
Incipit Liber Quintus. Aprochen gan the fatal destinee That Ioves hath in disposicioun, And to yow, angry Parcas, sustren… Committeth, to don execucioun;
Thou ferse god of armes, Mars the… That in the frosty contre called… Within thy grisly temple ful of dr… Honoured art as patroun of that pl… With thy Bellona, Pallas, ful of…
Prohemium. But al to litel, weylaway the whyl… Lasteth swich Ioye, y-thonked be… That semeth trewest, whan she wol… And can to foles so hir song entun…
Alone walking In thought plaining, And sore sighing; All desolate, Me rememb’ring
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 prohemium tercii libri. O blisful light of whiche the beme… Adorneth al the thridde hevene fai… O sonnes lief, O Ioves doughter d… Plesaunce of love, O goodly debon…
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…
In days of old there lived, of mig… A valiant Prince, and Theseus was… A chief, who more in feats of arms… The rising nor the setting sun beh… Of Athens he was lord; much land…
This wrecched worldes transmutacio… As wele or wo, now povre and now h… Withouten ordre or wys discrecioun Governed is by Fortunes errour. But natheles, the lak of hir favou…
Madame, for youre newefangelnesse, Many a servant have ye put out of… I take my leve of your unstedefast… For wel I woot, whil ye have live… Ye can not love ful half yeer in a…
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;
A Balade. Ma dame, ye ben of al beaute shryn… As fer as cercled is the mapamonde… For as the cristall glorious ye sh… And lyke ruby ben your chekys roun…