ILLUSTRATIONS. Drawn by Page etc. The Knight, the Squier, the Yeoman, the Prioresse, The Sergeant of the Lawe, the Frankelein, the The Shipman, the Wife of Bath, the Cook, the The Reve, the Manciple, the Sompnour, and the GEORGE THOMAS . Miller And with that word we riden forth our way GEORGE THOMAS. GEORGE THOMAS "Ah, sweet! are ye a worldly creature" “Cease,” quoth the Merle, “thy preaching, Nightin-F. W. KEYL. gale" "Blame not my lute" The secret groves which oft we made resound. The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings . With how sad steps, O Moon! thou climb'st the skies. The cottage that affords no pride nor care. His flocks are folded, he comes home at night. Come live with me, and be my love Time goes by turns. Una and the Red-cross Knight Like as a ship, that through the ocean wide Fair Cynthia's silver light The wrathful winter 'proaching on apace Some glory in their birth Blow, blow, thou winter wind 46 87 Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair The hart above the rest, the hunter's noblest game My written rolls of moral counsels. On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope See the chariot at hand here of love. The proclamation made for May The heifer, cow, and ox draw near. I love the sea, she is my fellow-creature Now great Hyperion left his golden throne Thrice, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state The torrent of a voice, whose melody To war and arms I fly. Where Thames among the wanton valleys strays Hence, loathed Melancholy Mirth, admit me of thy crew. Till the dappled dawn doth rise. Drawn by JOHN GILBERT. JOHN GILBERT. E. M. WIMPERIS Page 98 99 100 102 103 JOHN GILBERT. 104 JOHN GILBERT. 105 JOHN GILBERT. 106 GEORGE THOMAS 108 JULIAN PORTCH III JOHN GILBERT. 115 119 121 124 Vulcan, contrive me such a cup Oye groves and crystal fountains At last divine Cecilia came Love has still something of the seas. Built uniform, not little, nor too great To all you ladies now at land Meanwhile he smokes, and laughs at merry tales . Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow. . The victor's shouts and dying groans confound. And all the village wept And on his fist, th' unhooded falcon sits F. TAYLER R. REDGRAVE, R.A. T. CRESWICK, R.A. 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 222 JOHN GILBERT. 228 PROLOGUE TO THE CANTERBURY TALES. BY GEOFFREY CHAUCER. GEOFFREY CHAUCER, the "Father of English Poetry," was born in London in 1328. The rank of his family is unknown, but it must have been respectable. It is believed that he was educated at Cambridge, and that, after leaving that University, he travelled for some time on the Continent, and then devoted himself to the law, but afterwards relinquished the Bar for the Court. He married a sister of the lady who afterwards became the wife of John of Gaunt, and obtained considerable influence through the favour of that Prince, which led to his receiving some profitable appointments, and being sent on embassies. His alleged connexion with the reformer Wycliffe brought upon him many misfortunes, and ended in his being an exile and a prisoner for a long period. He at length regained his liberty, and lived remote from Court, amid the charming shades of Woodstock, where he wrote many of his best poems. The accession of Henry Bolingbroke, the son of his brother-in-law and patron, drew him from his retirement; his fortunes became once more bright, and he spent the evening of his days in ease and abundance. He died in 1400, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. His principal poems are a series known as the " Canterbury Tales," the Prologue to which we have printed as the best example of his style.] WHANNE that Aprille with his shoures sote' The droughte of March hath perced to the rote,3 And bathed every veine in swiche licour, 6 |