Quote #12

O yonge fresshe folkes, he or she, In which that love up-groweth with your age, Repeyreth hoom fro worldly vanitee, And of your herte up-casteth the visage To thilke God that after his image Yow made, and thynketh al nis but a faire This world, that passeth sone as floures faire.

More from Geoffrey Chaucer

  1. And for ther is so gret diversite In Englissh and in writyng of oure tonge, So prey I God that non myswrite the, Ne the mysmetre for defaut…
  2. Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swych licour Of which vert…
  3. Oon ere it herde, at tothir out it wente.
  4. And of his port as meke as is a mayde.
  5. For of fortunes sharp adversitee The worst kynde of infortune is this, A man to han ben in prosperitee, And it remembren, whan it passed is.
  6. He was a verray, parfit gentil knyght.
  7. It is nought good a slepyng hound to wake.
  8. He coude songes make, and wel endite.

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