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Autres éditions - Tout afficher
The Canterbury Tales of Geoffrey Chaucer: A New Text with ..., Volume 25
Affichage du livre entier - 1848
The Canterbury Tales of Geoffrey Chaucer: A New Text with ..., Volume 1
Affichage du livre entier - 1847
accidie aftir agayns ageyn anoon Beryn burgeyse certes certis chere cleped cometh coud counsaill covenaunt dede dedly synne deth devel doith doon drede eche evir fals fathir Fawnus frend fuyr fynd Geffrey gret grete Hanybald Harl hath hede hert heven hond Lansd leve litil Lord Jhesu Crist lyve makith maner moche myght nakid nevir noon nought othir oughne penitence peyne quod Beryn quod Geffrey quoth rede resoun saith seint sayde sayn schal sche schulde seith seyd shippis shul sith somwhat sone sorowe sorwe soth speke stert steward stond synne synnere tale thanne thay ther therfore therof thilke thing thou schalt thow thre thurgh tofore toke trewe trowith tyme Tyrwhitt understonde verray watir wele werkes whan wher whils wold woll womman wondir wyff wyth yowr
Page 62 - Lo, swich it is for to be recchelees And necligent, and truste on flaterye. But ye that holden this tale a folye, As of a fox, or of a cok and hen, Taketh the moralite, goode men.
Page 48 - And certes, in the same book I rede, Right in the nexte chapitre after this, (I gabbe nat, so have I joye or blis...
Page 62 - And as he spak that word, al sodeinly This cok brak from his mouth deliverly, And heighe up-on a tree he fleigh anon. And whan the fox saugh that he was y-gon, 'Alias!' quod he, 'O Chauntecleer, alias! I have to yow...
Page 60 - Ha, ha, the fox!" and after him they ran, And eek with staves many another man; Ran Colle our dogge, and Talbot, and...
Page 52 - And with that word he fley doun fro the beem, For it was day, and eek his hennes alle; And with a chuk he gan hem for to calle, For he had founde a corn, lay in the yerd.
Page 43 - fy on yow, herteleesl Alias!' quod she, 'for, by that god above, Now han ye lost myn herte and al my love; I can nat love a coward, by my feith.
Page 59 - Why woldestow suffre him on thy day to dye? O Gaufred, dere mayster soverayn, That, whan thy worthy king Richard was slayn With shot, compleynedest his deth so sore, Why ne hadde I now thy sentence...
Page 61 - Lo, how fortune turneth sodeinly The hope and pryde eek of hir enemy ! This cok, that lay upon the foxes bak, In al his drede, un-to the fox he spak, And seyde, ' sire, if that I were as ye, Yet...