Poems of Chaucer: Selections from His Earlier and Later Works

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Macmillan, 1911 - 257 pages

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Page 87 - And sikerly she was of greet desport, And ful plesaunt and amyable of port, And peyned hire to countrefete cheere Of Court, and been estatlich of manere, And to ben holden digne of reverence.
Page 84 - In lystes thries, and ay slayn his foo. This ilke worthy knyght hadde been also Somtyme with the lord of Palatye 65 Agayn another hethen in Turkye. And everemoore he hadde a sovereyn prys; And though that he were worthy, he was wys, And of his port as meeke as is a mayde. He nevere yet no vileynye ne sayde 70 In al his lyf unto no maner wight. He was a verray, parfit, gentil knyght.
Page 83 - But natheles, whyl I have tyme and space, Er that I ferther in this tale pace, Me thinketh 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 knight than wol I first biginne.
Page 100 - Ther nas no dore that he nolde heve of harre, 550 Or breke it, at a renning, with his heed. His berd as any sowe or fox was reed, And ther-to brood, as though it were a spade. Up-on the cop...
Page 83 - A KNYGHT ther was, and that a worthy man, That fro the tyme that he first bigan To riden out, he loved chivalrie, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisie.
Page 106 - Or ellis he moot telle his tale untrewe, Or feyne thyng, or fynde wordes newe. He may nat spare, althogh he were his brother; He moot as wel seye o word as another. Crist spak hymself ful brode in hooly writ, And wel ye woot no vileynye is it.
Page 82 - And bathed every veyne in swich licour. Of which vertu engendred is the flour; Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, And smale fowles maken melodye, That slepen al the night with open ye, (So priketh hem nature in hir corages), Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages...
Page 87 - Hir nose tretys ; hir eyen greye as glas ; Hir mouth ful smal, and ther-to softe and reed; But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed; It was almost a spanne brood, I trowe ; For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe.
Page 92 - But al be that he was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre ; But al that he myghte of his freendes hente On bookes and his lernynge he it spente, 300 And bisily gan for the soules preye Of hem that yaf hym wher-with to scoleye.
Page 87 - But sore weep she if oon of hem were deed, Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte : And al was conscience and tendre herte.

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