Geoffrey Chaucer Quotes

Ful weel she soong the service dyvyne, Entuned in hir nose ful semely, And Frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly, After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe, For Frenssh of Parys was to hire unknowe.

He was a verray, parfit gentil knyght.

He loved chivalrie, Trout he and honour, fredom and curteisie.

And smale foweles maken melodye, That slepen al the nyght with open ye (So priketh hem nature in hir corages); Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages.

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote.

And for ther is so gret diversite In Englissh and in writing of oure tonge, So prey I God that non myswrite the, Ne the mysmetre for defaute of tonge. And red wherso thow be, or elles songe, That thow be understonde, God I biseche!