‘Weeping and wailing, care and oth… I have enough, on even and on morr… Quoth the Merchant, 'and so have… That wedded be; I trow* that it b… For well I wot it fareth so by me…

In Oxford there once lived a rich… Who had some guest rooms that he r… And carpentry was this old fellow’… A poor young scholar boarded who h… His studies in the liberal arts, b…

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…

Your yën two wol sle me soden… I may the beaute of hem not susten… So woundeth hit through-out my her… And but your word wol helen hastil… My hertes wounde, whyl that hit is…

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…

Fle fro the pres, and dwelle with… Suffise thin owen thing, thei it b… For hord hath hate, and clymbyng t… Prees hath envye, and wele blent o… Savour no more thanne the byhove s…

PROLOGUE Here bygynneth the Book of the ta… Whan that Aprille, with hise shou… The droghte of March hath perced… And bathed every veyne in swich li…

Syn I fro love escaped am so fat, I nere thinke to ben in his prison… Syn I am fre, I count hym not a b… He may answere, and sey this and t… I do no fors, I speke ryght as I…

‘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…

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…

A. Almighty and all-merciable Queen, To whom all this world fleeth for… To have release of sin, of sorrow,… Glorious Virgin! of all flowers f…

Flee from the press, and dwell wit… Suffice thee thy good, though it b… For hoard hath hate, and climbing… Press hath envy, and weal is blent… Savour no more than thee behove sh…

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…

Adam Scrivener, if ever it thee b… Boece or Troilus for to write ane… Under thy long locks thou may’st h… But after my making thou write mor… So oft a day I must thy work rene…

I. 1. Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly I may the beaute of them not suste… So wendeth it thorowout my herte k… And but your words will helen hast…