The Canterbury Tales

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

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

"For dronkenesse is verray sepulture Of mannes wit and his discrecioun."

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

"And lightly as it comth, so wol we spende."

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

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

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

"Blessed be god that I have wedded fyve! Welcome the sixte, whan that ever he shal. For sothe, I wol nat kepe me chast in al; Whan myn housbond is fro the world y-gon, Som Cristen man shal wedde me anon."

"Th'Apostle seith, that I am free To wedde, a goddes half, wher it lyketh me. He seith that to be wedded is no sinne; Bet is to be wedded than to brinne."

"Men may conseille a womman to been oon, But conseilling is no comandement; He putte it in our owene jugement. For hadde god comanded maydenhede, Thanne hadde he dampned wedding with the dede."

"And certes, if ther were no seed y-sowe, Virginitee, wher-of than sholde it growe?"

"Who hath no wyf, he is no cokewold."

"This Carpenter had wedded newe a wyf Which that he lovede more than his lyf."

"Men sholde wedden after hir estaat, For youthe and elde is often at debaat."

"A barmclooth eek as whyt as morne milk Up-on hir lendes."

"She was ful more blisful on to see Than is the newe pere-jonette tree."

"She was a prymerole, a pigges-nye For any lord to leggen in his bedde, Or yet for any good yeman to wedde."

"She was so propre and swete and likerous. I dar wel seyn, if she had been a mous, And he a cat, he wolde hir hente anon."

"And wafres, pyping hote out of the glede."

"And broghte of mighty ale a large quart."

"‘Now John,’ quod Nicholas, ‘I wol nat lye; I have y-founde in myn astrologye, As I have loked in the mone bright, That now, a Monday next, at quarter-night, Shal falle a reyn and that so wilde and wood, That half so greet was never Noës flood.’"

"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."

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

"This Nicholas was risen for to pisse, And thoghte he wolde amenden al the jape, He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape. And up the windowe dide he hastily, And out his ers he putteth prively Over the buttok, to the haunche-bon; And ther-with spak this clerk, this Absolon, ‘Spek, swete brid, I noot nat wher thou art.’ This Nicholas anon leet flee a fart, As greet as it had been a thonder-dent, That with the strook he was almost y-blent; And he was redy with his iren hoot, And Nicholas amidde the ers he smoot."

"Yet in our asshen olde is fyr y-reke."

"Thurgh thikke and thurgh thenne."

"Ye conne by argumentes make a place A myle brood of twenty foot of space."

"She is mirour of alle curteisye."

"For in the sterres, clerer than is glas, Is writen, god wot, who-so coude it rede, The deeth of every man, withouten drede."

"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."

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

"Whan our Lord hadde creat Adam our forme-fader, he seyde in this wyse: “it is nat good to been a man allone; make we to him an help semblable to himself.”"

"Wel seyn they, that defenden every wight to assaye any thing of which he is in doute, whether he may parfourne it or no."

"Tullius seith: that “long apparailling biforn the bataille maketh short victorie.”"

"A povre widwe, somdel stope in age, Was whylom dwelling in a narwe cotage, Bisyde a grove, stonding in a dale."

"She hadde a cok, hight Chauntecleer, In al the land of crowing nas his peer. His vois was merier than the mery orgon On messe-dayes that in the chirche gon; Wel sikerer was his crowing in his logge, Than is a clokke, or an abbey orlogge."

"We alle desyren, if it mighte be, To han housbondes hardy, wyse, and free, And secree, and no nigard, ne no fool, Ne him that is agast of every tool, Ne noon avauntour, by that god above!"

"Certes this dreem, which ye han met to-night, Cometh of the grete superfluitee Of youre rede colera."

"Macrobeus, that writ the avisioun In Affrike of the worthy Cipioun, Affermeth dremes, and seith that they been Warning of thinges that men after seen."

"Reed eek of Joseph, and ther shul ye see Wher dremes ben somtyme (I sey nat alle) Warning of thinges that shul after falle."

"For whan I see the beautee of your face, Ye ben so scarlet-reed about your yën, It maketh al my drede for to dyen."

"And she was al his chere, as in his herte."

"As blak he lay as any cole or crowe, So was the blood y-ronnen in his face."

"What is this world? what asketh men to have? Now with his love, now in his colde grave Allone, with-outen any companye."

"‘Right as ther deyed never man,’ quod he, ‘That he ne livede in erthe in som degree, Right so ther livede never man,’ he seyde, ‘In al this world, that som tyme he ne deyde. This world nis but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we ben pilgrimes, passinge to and fro; Deeth is an ende of every worldly sore.’"

"What maketh this but Jupiter the king? The which is prince and cause of alle thing, Converting al un-to his propre welle, From which it is deryved, sooth to telle. And here-agayns no creature on lyve Of no degree availleth for to stryve. Thanne is it wisdom, as it thinketh me, To maken vertu of necessitee, And take it wel, that we may nat eschue, And namely that to us alle is due."

"If that I misspeke or seye, Wyte it the ale of Southwerk, I yow preye."

"The bacoun was nat fet for hem, I trowe, That som men han in Essex at Dunmowe."