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Geoffrey Chaucer
Quote #14
And of his port as meke as is a mayde.
More from Geoffrey Chaucer
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…
He was a verray, parfit gentil knyght.
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-ca…
He coude songes make, and wel endite.
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…
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 Strat…
Oon ere it herde, at tothir out it wente.
A Clerk ther was of Oxenforde also.
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