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according alway anon body called cause certes Chaucer conseil coude Crist dere doth doun drede edition English entent faire false folke French grace gret hast hath helpe herte hire hold hond honour king lady language live lord manere metre mote never night nought observe passage pray probably quod reason rede sain sayd sayth seems seen Seint shal shuld sinne Sire sith sone sore soule speke story suppose swiche syllables tale tell thee ther therfore thing thise thou thou shalt thought told trewe Troilus trouth unto verse whan wight wise withouten wold woll woman wote yeve
Page 7 - And shortly for to tellen, as it was, Were it by aventure, or sort,*" or cas,** The sothe is this, the cut fil to the...
Page 132 - Ne made never shoutes half so shrille, Whan that they wolden any Fleming kille, As thilke day was maad upon the fox.
Page 2 - Beneit, Because that it was olde and somdele streit, This ilke monk lette olde thinges pace, And held after the newe world the trace. He yave not of the text a pulled hen, That saith, that hunters ben not holy men...
Page 128 - His combe was redder than the fin cora.ll, Enbattelled, as it were a castel wall. His bill was black, and as the jet it shone ; Like asure were his legges and his tone ; His nailes whiter than the lily flour, And like the burned gold was his colour.
Page 70 - is worth a bene; For wedlok is so esy and so clene, That in this world it is a paradys.
Page 4 - A good man ther was of religioun, That was a poure PERSONE of a toun: But riche he was of holy thought and werk. He was also a lerned man, a clerk, That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche. His parishens devoutly wolde he teche. Benigne he was, and wonder diligent, And in adversite ful patient: And swiche he was ypreyed often sithes.
Page 3 - A CLERK ther was of Oxenford also, That un-to logik hadde longe y-go. As lene was his hors as is a rake, And he nas nat right fat, I undertake; But loked holwe, and ther-to soberly.
Page 332 - O yonge fresshe folkes, he or she, In which that love up groweth with your age, Repeyreth hoom from worldly vanitee, And of your herte up-casteth the visage To thilke god that after his image Yow made, and thinketh al nis but a fayre This world, that passeth sone as floures fayre.