"Have ye nat seyn som tyme a pale face, Among a prees, of him that hath be lad Toward his deeth, wher-as him gat no grace, And swich a colour in his face hath had, Men mighte knowe his face, that was bistad, Amonges alle the faces in that route."

"Thou lokest as thou woldest finde an hare, For ever up-on the ground I see thee stare."

"This may wel be rym dogerel."

"‘By god,’ quod he, ‘for pleynly, at a word, Thy drasty ryming is nat worth a tord."

"For o thing, sires, saufly dar I seye, That frendes everich other moot obeye, If they wol longe holden companye. Love wol nat ben constreyned by maistrye; Whan maistrie comth, the god of love anon Beteth hise winges, and farewel! he is gon! Love is a thing as any spirit free; Wommen of kinde desiren libertee, And nat to ben constreyned as a thral; And so don men, if I soth seyen shal."

"I sleep never on the mount of Pernaso, Ne lerned Marcus Tullius Cithero."

"Pacience is an heigh vertu certeyn."

"Til that the brighte sonne loste his hewe; For thorisonte hath reft the sonne his light; This is as muche to seye as it was night."

"And the same Seneca also seith: ‘I am born to gretter thinges than to be thral to my body, or than for to maken of my body a thral.’"

"Flesh is so newefangel, with meschaunce, That we ne conne in no-thing han plesaunce That souneth in-to vertu any whyle."

"As many hedes, as many wittes ther been. They murmureden as dooth a swarm of been."

"The Pegasee, The hors that hadde winges for to flee."

"They demen gladly to the badder ende."

"A doghter hadde this worthy king also, That yongest was, and highte Canacee."

"Be ay of chere as light as leef on linde, And lat him care, and wepe, and wringe, and waille!"

"But for to telle yow al hir beautee, It lyth nat in my tonge, nin my conning; I dar nat undertake so heigh a thing. Myn English eek is insufficient; It moste been a rethor excellent, That coude his colours longing for that art, If he sholde hir discryven every part. I am non swich, I moot speke as I can."

"Therfor bihoveth him a ful long spoon That shal ete with a feend."

"O stormy peple! unsad and ever untrewe!"

"Thus with hir fader, for a certeyn space, Dwelleth this flour of wyfly pacience, That neither by hir wordes ne hir face Biforn the folk, ne eek in hir absence, Ne shewed she that hir was doon offence."

"Grisilde is deed, and eek hir pacience, And bothe atones buried in Itaille; For which I crye in open audience, No wedded man so hardy be tassaille His wyves pacience, in hope to finde Grisildes, for in certein he shall faille!"

"Ye been our lord, doth with your owene thing Right as yow list."

"And though your grene youthe floure as yit, In crepeth age alwey, as stille as stoon, And deeth manaceth every age, and smit In ech estaat, for ther escapeth noon: And al so certein as we knowe echoon That we shul deye, as uncerteyn we alle Been of that day whan deeth shal on us falle."

"Love is noght old as whan that it is newe."

"Ye archewyves, stondeth at defence, Sin ye be stronge as is a greet camaille; Ne suffreth nat that men yow doon offence. And sclendre wyves, feble as in bataille, Beth egre as is a tygre yond in Inde; Ay clappeth as a mille, I yow consaille."

"Men loven of propre kinde newfangelnesse."

"He is as angry as a pissemyre."

"This Frere bosteth that he knoweth helle, And god it woot, that it is litel wonder; Freres and feendes been but lyte a-sonder. For pardee, ye han ofte tyme herd telle, How that a frere ravisshed was to helle In spirit ones by a visioun; And as an angel ladde him up and doun, To shewen him the peynes that ther were, In al the place saugh he nat a frere; Of other folk he saugh y-nowe in wo. Un-to this angel spak the frere tho: “Now, sir,” quod he, “han freres swich a grace That noon of hem shal come to this place?” “Yis,” quod this angel, “many a millioun!” And un-to Sathanas he ladde him doun. “And now hath Sathanas,” seith he, “a tayl Brodder than of a carrik is the sayl. Hold up thy tayl, thou Sathanas!” quod he, “Shewe forth thyn ers, and lat the frere see Wher is the nest of freres in this place!” And, er that half a furlong-wey of space, Right so as bees out swarmen from an hyve, Out of the develes ers ther gonne dryve Twenty thousand freres in a route, And thurgh-out helle swarmeden aboute; And comen agayn, as faste as they may gon, And in his ers they crepten everichon. He clapte his tayl agayn, and lay ful stille."

"The lady of the hous ay stille sat."

"Jesu Crist us sende Housbondes meke, yonge, and fresshe a-bedde, And grace toverbyde hem that we wedde. And eek I preye Iesu shorte hir lyves That wol nat be governed by hir wyves; And olde and angry nigardes of dispence, God sende hem sone verray pestilence."

"That he is gentil that doth gentil dedis."

"The carl spak oo thing, but he thoghte another."

"With bely stif and toght As any tabour."

"He can nat stinte of singing by the weye."

"O wombe! O bely! O stinking cod, Fulfild of donge and of corrupcioun!"

"Mordre wol out, certein, it wol nat faille."

"They yelleden as feendes doon in helle; The dokes cryden as men wolde hem quelle; The gees for fere flowen over the trees; Out of the hyve cam the swarm of bees."

"Certes, he Jakke Straw, and his meynee, Ne made never shoutes half so shrille, Whan that they wolden any Fleming kille, As thilke day was maad upon the fox."

"Experience, though noon auctoritee Were in this world, were right y-nough to me To speke of wo that is in mariage."

"But ye that holden this tale a folye, As of a fox, or of a cok and hen, Taketh the moralitee, good men. For seint Paul seith, that al that writen is, To our doctryne it is y-write, y-wis. Taketh the fruyt, and lat the chaf be stille."

"I preche of no-thing but for coveityse. Therfor my theme is yet, and ever was— “Radix malorum est cupiditas.”"

"‘Lordings,’ quod he, ‘in chirches whan I preche, I peyne me to han an hauteyn speche, And ringe it out as round as gooth a belle, For I can al by rote that I telle.’"

"Than peyne I me to strecche forth the nekke, And est and west upon the peple I bekke."

"And thou shalt kisse the reliks everichon, Ye, for a grote! unbokel anon thy purs."

"He wolde sowen som difficultee, Or springen cokkel in our clene corn."

"Housbondes at chirche-dore I have had fyve; For I so ofte have y-wedded be; And alle were worthy men in hir degree."

"Men may devyne and glosen up and doun. But wel I woot expres, with-oute lye, God bad us for to wexe and multiplye; That gentil text can I wel understonde."

"Povert is hateful good, and, as I gesse, A ful greet bringer out of bisinesse."

"Povert ful ofte, whan a man is lowe, Maketh his god and eek him-self to knowe. Povert a spectacle is, as thinketh me, Thurgh which he may his verray frendes see."

"Lyk an aspen leef he quook."

"But, though my-self be gilty in that sinne, Yet can I maken other folk to twinne From avaryce, and sore to repente."