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Macmillan, 1899 - 771 pàgines

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Pàgina 1 - Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swich licour. Of which vertu engendred is the flour...
Pàgina 7 - That to the offrynge bifore hire sholde goon; And if ther dide, certeyn so wrooth was she, That she was out of alle charitee. Hir coverchiefs ful fyne weren of ground; I dorste swere they weyeden ten pound That on a Sonday weren upon hir heed.
Pàgina 140 - But ye that holden this tale a folye, As of a fox, or of a cok and hen, Taketh the moralite, goode men.
Pàgina 151 - This olde man gan loke in his visage, And seyde thus, "for I ne can nat finde A man, though that I walked in-to Inde, Neither in citee nor in no village, That wolde chaunge his youthe for myn age; And therfore moot I han myn age stille, As longe time as it is goddes wille.
Pàgina 5 - A CLERK ther was of Oxenford also 285 That unto logyk hadde longe ygo. As leene was his hors as is a rake, And he nas nat right fat, I undertake, But looked holwe, and therto sobrely.
Pàgina 25 - But this is yet the beste game of alle, That she, for whom they han this jolitee, Kan hem ther-fore as muche thank as me. She woot namoore of al this hoote fare, By God, than woot a cokkow or an hare.
Pàgina 119 - Tragedie is to seyn, a certeyn storie, As olde bookes maken us memorie, Of hym that stood in greet prosperitee And is yfallen out of heigh degree Into myserie, and endeth wrecchedly, And they ben versified communely Of six feet, which men clepen exametron.
Pàgina 3 - After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe, For Frensh of Paris was to hir unknowe. At mete wel y-taught was she with-alle ; She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle, Ne wette hir fingres in hir sauce depe.
Pàgina 8 - But it were any persone obstinat, What so he were, of heigh or lough estat, Hym wolde he snybben sharply for the nonys.
Pàgina 15 - Till it fil ones, in a morwe of May, That Emelye, that fairer was to sene Than is the lylie upon his stalke grene, And fressher than the May with floures newe, — For with the rose colour stroof hire hewe, I noot which was the fyner of hem two, — Er it were day, as was hir wone to do, She was arisen and al redy dight...

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