The Student's Chaucer: Being a Complete Edition of His Works

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Macmillan Company, 1894 - 881 pages

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Page 544 - Ne him that is agast of every tool, Ne noon avauntour, by that god above! How dorste ye seyn for shame unto your love, That any thing mighte make yow aferd? Have ye no mannes herte, and han a berd?
Page 424 - She passed hem of Ypres and of Gaunt. In al the parisshe wyf ne was ther noon That to th' offring bifore hir sholde goon; And if ther dide, certeyn, so wrooth was she, That she was out of alle charitee. Hir coverchiefs ful fyne were of ground; I dorste swere they weyeden ten pound That on a Sonday were upon hir heed.
Page 430 - Syn I shal bigynne the game, What, welcome be the cut, a Goddes name! Now lat us ryde, and herkneth what I seye.
Page 572 - As help me God, whan that I saugh hym go After the beere, me thoughte he hadde a paire Of legges and of feet so clene and faire, That al myn herte I yaf unto his hoold.
Page 420 - Harneised wel, and sharp as point of spere; A Cristofre on his brest of silver shene. An horn he bar, the bawdrik was of grene; A forster was he, soothly, as I gesse. Ther was also a Nonne, a PRIORESSE, That of hir smyling was ful simple and coy; Hir gretteste ooth was but by se•ynt Loy; 120 And she was cleped madame Eglentyne.
Page 423 - And many a breem and many a luce in stewe. 350 Wo was his cook, but-if his sauce were Poynaunt and sharp, and redy al his gere. His table dormant in his halle alway Stood redy covered al the longe day.
Page 421 - A love-knotte in the gretter ende ther was. His heed was balled that shoon as any glas, And eek his face as he had been anoint. He was a lord ful fat and in good point...
Page 422 - 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.
Page 428 - Or feyne thing, or finde wordes newe. He may nat spare, al-thogh he were his brother; He moot as wel seye o word as another. Crist spak him-self ful brode in holy writ, And wel ye woot, no vileinye is it. 74 Eek Plato seith, who-so that can him rede, The wordes mote be cosin to the dede.
Page 547 - His seven wyves walking by his syde, Caste up his eyen to the brighte sonne, That in the signe of Taurus hadde y-ronne Twenty degrees and oon, and somwhat more; And knew by kynde,"' and by noon other lore, That it was pryme, and crew with blisful stevene.

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