Chief British Poets of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth CenturiesHoughton, Mifflin Company, 1916 - 442 psl. |
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Allas anon Arcite Chaucer coude dede deeth doon doth doun drede fair flour forto furth Gawain Goddes gold grace grene gret grete gude hast hath herde herte hire hond honour hous king knight lady lord lordis lufe lusty maid maner mede Meed mony mordre mycht myght namore never nocht noght quene quhar quhat Quhen Quhilk quod quoth rede sall saugh schal sche Schir scho seith seyde seye seyn shal sholde sone sorwe speke suld swich syde tale thai thair thame thanne thar thee ther Theseus thilke thing thoght thou thow thurgh thyn Timor Mortis conturbat toun trewe trouthe trow tyme un-to unto up-on wald weill wele wende whan wher whyl wight wolde word wyde wyfe wyff wyse
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95 psl. - Me thynketh it acordaunt to resoun To telle yow al the condicioun Of ech of hem, so as it semed me, And whiche they weren, and of what degree, 40 And eek in what array that they were inne; And at a knyght than wol I first bigynne.
266 psl. - As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies making a mane; The tane unto the t'other say, "Where sail we gang and dine to-day?
262 psl. - And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir, Edward, Edward? And what wul ye lewe to your ain mither deir ? My deir son, now tell me O." "The curse of hell frae me sail ye beir, Mither, mither, The curse of hell frae me sail ye beir, Sic counseils ye gave to me O.
95 psl. - That slepen al the night with open ye, (So priketh hem nature in hir corages) : Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages (And palmers for to seken straunge strondes) To feme halwes, couthe in sondry londes ; And specially, from every shires ende Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, The holy blisful martir for to seke, That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke.
98 psl. - For if he yaf, he dorste make avaunt, He wiste that a man was repentaunt. For many a man so hard is of his herte, He may nat wepe al-thogh him sore smerte. 230 Therfore, in stede of weping and preyeres, Men moot yeve silver to the povre freres.
143 psl. - My tale is of a cok, as ye may here, That took his counseil of his wyf, with sorwe, To walken in the yerd upon that morwe That he had met the dreem, that I yow tolde.
97 psl. - The reule of seint Maure or of seint Beneit, By-cause that it was old and som-del streit, This ilke monk leet olde thinges pace, And held after the newe world the space.
102 psl. - Now is nat that of God a ful fair grace, That swich a lewed mannes wit shal pace The wisdom of an heep of lerned men?
150 psl. - leve moder, leet me in! Lo, how I vanish, flesh, and blood, and skin! Allas! whan shul my bones been at reste? Moder, with yow wolde I chaunge my cheste, That in my chambre longe tyme hath be, Ye ! for an heyre clout to wrappe me ! " But yet to me she wol nat do that grace, For which ful pale and welked is my face.
268 psl. - Here is a royal brand," she said, "That I have found in the green sea; And while your body it is on, Drawn shall your blood never be; But if you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my brand your death shall be.