Adam scriveyn, if ever it thee bif… Boece or Troylus for to wryten ne… Under thy long lokkes thou most ha… But after my makyng thow wryte mor… So ofte adaye I mot thy werk rene…

THE Cook of London, while the R… For joy he laugh’d and clapp’d him… ‘Aha!’ quoth he, 'for Christes pa… This Miller had a sharp conclusio… Upon this argument of herbergage.*…

With timorous heart, and trembling… Of cunning* naked, bare of eloquen… Unto the *flow’r of port in womanh… I write, as he that none intellige… Of metres hath, nor flowers of se…

THE PROLOGUE. ‘Ho! ’ quoth the Knight, 'good si… That ye have said is right enough,… And muche more; for little heavine… Is right enough to muche folk, I…

The minister and norice* unto vice… Which that men call in English id… The porter at the gate is of delic… T’eschew, and by her contrar’ her… That is to say, by lawful business…

FLY from the press, and dwell wit… Suffice unto thy good, though it b… For hoard hath hate, and climbing… Preise hath envie, and weal is ble… Savor no more than thee behoven sh…

And so bifel, whan comen was the t… Of Aperil, whan clothed is the me… With newe grene, of lusty Veer th… And swote smellen floures white an… In sondry wises shewed, as I rede…

Alone walking In thought plaining, And sore sighing; All desolate, Me rememb’ring

Whan that Aprille with his shoure… The droghte of March hath perced… And bathed every veyne in swich li… Of which vertú engendred is the fl… Whan Zephirus eek with his swete…

With this he took his leve, and ho… And lord, so he was glad and wel b… Criseyde aroos, no lenger she ne s… But streght in-to hire closet went… And set hire doun as stylle as any…

Prohemium. But al to litel, weylaway the whyl… Lasteth swich Ioye, y-thonked be… That semeth trewest, whan she wol… And can to foles so hir song entun…

Somtyme the world was so stedfast… That mannes word was obligacioun, And now it is so fals and deceivab… That word and deed, as in conclusi… Ben nothing lyk, for turned up-so-…

A. Almighty and all-merciable Queen, To whom all this world fleeth for… To have release of sin, of sorrow,… Glorious Virgin! of all flowers f…

Syn I fro love escaped am so fat, I nere thinke to ben in his prison… Syn I am fre, I count hym not a b… He may answere, and sey this and t… I do no fors, I speke ryght as I…

Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne… That hast this wintres wedres over… And driven away the longe nyghtes… Saynt Valentyn, that art ful hy o… Thus syngen smale foules for thy s…