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!

Go, litel bok, go, litel myn tragedye, Ther God thi makere yet, er that he dye, So sende myght to make in som comedye!

Ek gret effect men write in place lite; Th entente is al, and nat the lettres space.

For tyme ylost may nought recovered be.

O on ere it herde, at tother out it went.

For of fortunes sharpe adversitee The worst kynde of in fortune is this, A man to han ben in prosperitee, And it remembren, whan it passed is.

Right as an aspes leef she gan to quake.

For I have seyn of a ful misty morwe Folowen ful ofte a myrie someris day.

It is nought good a slepyng hound to wake.

So longe mote ye lyve, and alle proude, Til crowes feet be growen under youre y‘.

But love a womman that she woot it nought, And she wol quyte it that thow shalt nat fele; Unknowe, unkist, and lost, that is unsought.

That lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne, Th’assay so hard, so sharp the conquerynge.

Ful craftier to pley she was Than Athalus, that made the game First of the ches, so was his name.