#EnglishWriters
The firste stock-father of gentlen… What man desireth gentle for to be… Must follow his trace, and all his… Virtue to love, and vices for to f… For unto virtue longeth dignity,
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…
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…
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…
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.
Since I from Love escaped am so f… I ne’er think to be in his prison… Since I am free, I count him not… He may answer, and saye this and t… I do no force, I speak right as I…
Pite, that I have sought so yore… With herte soore and ful of besy p… That in this world was never wight… Withoute deth—and yf I shal not f… My purpos was to Pite to compleyn…
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…
THE PROLOGUE. By that the Manciple his tale had… The sunne from the south line was… So lowe, that it was not to my sig… Degrees nine-and-twenty as in heig…
Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne… That hast this wintres wedres over… And driven away the longe nyghtes… Saynt Valentyn, that art ful hy o… Thus syngen smale foules for thy s…
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…
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.*…