The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer: Romaunt of the rose. Minor poems

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Clarendon Press, 1899

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Page 551 - I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven ; Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, And recks not his own rede.
Page 530 - Chfe m' e venuta voglia con pietosa Rima di scriver una storia antica, Tanto negli anni riposta e nascosa. Che latino autor non par ne dica, Per quel ch...
Page 389 - For as the cristal glorious ye shyne. And lyke ruby ben your chekes rounde. Therwith ye ben so mery and so jocounde, That at a revel whan that I see you daunce, It is an oynement unto my wounde, Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce...
Page 390 - Know thy contree, look up, thank God of al ; Hold the hye wey, and lat thy gost thee lede: And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede.
Page 391 - Therfore, thou vache, leve thyn old wrecchednesse; Unto the worlde leve now to be thral ; Crye him mercy that of his hy goodnesse Made thee of noght, and in especial Draw unto him, and pray in general For thee, and eek for other, hevenlich mede; And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede.
Page 390 - FLEE fro the prees, and dwelle with sothfastnesse, Suffyce unto thy good, though hit be smal ; For hord hath hate, and climbing tikelnesse...
Page 394 - But-if he can, by som collusioun, Don his neighbour wrong or oppressioun. What causeth this, but wilful wrecchednesse, That al is lost, for lak of stedfastnesse ? Trouthe is put doun, resoun is holden fable ; Vertu hath now no dominacioun, Pitee exyled, no man is merciable.
Page 392 - And noght the revers, saufly dar I deme, Al were he mytre, croune, or diademe. This firste stok was ful of rightwisnesse, Trewe of his word, sobre, pitous, and free, Clene of his goste...
Page 359 - I wok, and othere bokes tok me to, To reede upon, and yit I rede alwey, I hope, ywis, to rede so som day That I shal mete som thyng for to fare The bet, and thus to rede I nyl nat spare.
Page 339 - The juge dremeth how his plees ben sped ; The carter dremeth how his cartes goon ; The riche, of gold ; the knight fight with his foon, The seke met he drinketh of the tonne ; The lover met he hath his lady wonne.

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