"And so bifel it on a Saterday, This carpenter was goon til Osenay; And hende Nicholas and Alisoun Acorded been to this conclusioun, That Nicholas shal shapen him a wyle This sely jalous housbond to bigyle."

"Lo! which a greet thyng is affeccioun! Men may dye of imaginacioun, So depe may impressioun be take."

"Jesu Crist, and Seynt Benedight, Blesse this hous from every wikked wight."

"And broghte of mighty ale a large quart."

"I have swich love-longinge, That lyk a turtel trewe is my moorninge; I may nat ete na more than a mayde."

"Whan that the firste cok hath crowe, anon Up rist this joly lover Absolon, And him arrayeth gay, at point-devys. But first he cheweth greyn and lycorys, To smellen swete, er he had kembd his heer."

"Derk was the night as pich, or as the cole, And at the window out she putte hir hole, And Absolon, him fil no bet ne wers, But with his mouth he kiste hir naked ers Ful savourly, er he was war of this. Abak he sterte, and thoghte it was amis, For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd; He felte a thing al rough and long y-herd, And seyde, ‘fy! allas! what have I do?’ ‘Tehee!’ quod she, and clapte the window to; And Absolon goth forth a sory pas. ‘A berd, a berd!’ quod hende Nicholas, ‘By goddes corpus, this goth faire and weel!’"

"This Absolon ne roghte nat a bene."

"He wiste it was the eightetethe day Of April, that is messager to May."

"So was hir joly whistle wel y-wet."

"Maugree thyn heed, thou most for indigence Or stele, or begge, or borwe thy despence!"

"At Cristemasse merie may ye daunce!"

"Sathan, that ever us waiteth to bigyle."

"For he ne made hir nat of the heved of Adam, for she sholde nat clayme to greet lordshipe. / For ther-as the womman hath the maistrie, she maketh to muche desray; ther neden none ensamples of this. The experience of day by day oghte suffyse. / Also certes, god ne made nat womman of the foot of Adam, for she ne sholde nat been holden to lowe; for she can nat paciently suffre: but god made womman of the rib of Adam, for womman sholde be felawe un-to man."

"The bodies sevene eek, lo! hem heer anoon: Sol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe, Mars yren, Mercurie quik-silver we clepe, Saturnus leed, and Jupiter is tin, And Venus coper, by my fader kin!"

"But al thing which that shyneth as the gold Nis nat gold, as that I have herd it told."

"For certein, whan that fortune list to flee, Ther may no man the cours of hir withholde."

"Appetyt flemeth discrecioun."

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

"Allas! a thousand folk hath rakel ire Fully fordoon, and broght hem in the mire. Allas! for sorwe I wol my-selven slee!"

"Thing that is seyd, is seyd; and forth it gooth."

"Kepe wel thy tonge, and thenk up-on the crowe."

"And certeinly, as sooth as god is king, To take a wyf, it is a glorious thing, And namely whan a man is old and hoor; Thanne is a wyf the fruit of his tresor. Than sholde he take a yong wyf and a feir, On which he mighte engendren him an heir, And lede his lyf in joye and in solas, Wher-as thise bacheleres singe ‘allas,’ Whan that they finden any adversitee In love, which nis but childish vanitee. And trewely it sit wel to be so, That bacheleres have often peyne and wo; On brotel ground they builde, and brotelnesse They finde, whan they wene sikernesse. They live but as a brid or as a beste, In libertee, and under non areste, Ther-as a wedded man in his estaat Liveth a lyf blisful and ordinaat, Under the yok of mariage y-bounde; Wel may his herte in joye and blisse habounde. For who can be so buxom as a wyf? Who is so trewe, and eek so ententyf To kepe him, syk and hool, as is his make?"

"The hye god, whan he hadde Adam maked, And saugh him al allone, bely-naked, God of his grete goodnesse seyde than, ‘Lat us now make an help un-to this man Lyk to him-self;’ and thanne he made him Eve."

"For love is blind."

"Ther may no man han parfite blisses two, This is to seye, in erthe and eek in hevene."

"But thus muche of hir beautee telle I may, That she was lyk the brighte morwe of May."

"Ther nis no werkman, what-so-ever he be, That may bothe werke wel and hastily; This wol be doon at leyser parfitly."

"Lyk a bisy bee, with-outen gyle."

"I cannot * * * say that Pan Passeth Apollo in music manyfold; Praisé Sir Thopas for a noble tale, And scorn the story that the Knighté told."

"Chaucer, at Woodstock with the nightingales, At sixty wrote the Canterbury Tales."

"Chaucer's "Rime of Sir Thopas", written towards the close of the fourteenth century, is a jest upon long-winded story-tellers, who expatiate on insignificant detail; for in his day there were many metrical romances written by the ancestors of Mrs. Nickleby. Riding to Canterbury with the other pilgrims, Chaucer good-humouredly takes to himself the part of the companion who jogs along with even flow of words, luxuriating in all trivial detail until he brings Sir Thopas face to face with an adventure, for he meets a giant with three heads. But even then there is the adventure to be waited for. The story-teller finds that he must trot his knight back home to fetch his armour, and when he "is comen again to toune," it takes so many words to get him his supper, get his armour on, and trot him out again, that the inevitable end comes, with rude intrusion of some faint-hearted lording who has not courage to listen until the point of the story can be descried from afar. So the best of the old story-tellers, in a book full of examples of tales told as they should be, burlesqued misuse of his art, and the "Rime of Sir Thopas" became a warning buoy over the shallows."

"Avarice, after the descripcion of seint Augustin, is likerousnesse in herte to have erthely thinges."

"Certes, they been lyk to houndes; for an hound, whan he comth by the roser or by othere [busshes], though he may nat pisse, yet wole he heve up his leg and make a contenaunce to pisse."

"Tak any brid, and put it in a cage, And do al thyn entente and thy corage To fostre it tendrely with mete and drinke, Of alle deyntees that thou canst bithinke, And keep it al-so clenly as thou may; Al-though his cage of gold be never so gay, Yet hath this brid, by twenty thousand fold, Lever in a forest, that is rude and cold, Gon ete wormes and swich wrecchednesse. For ever this brid wol doon his bisinesse To escape out of his cage, if he may; His libertee this brid desireth ay."

"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."

"I am lorn with-outen remedye!"

"Men loven of propre kinde newfangelnesse."

"Fy on possessioun But-if a man be vertuous with-al."

"Servant in love, and lord in mariage."

"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."