The Canterbury tales of Chaucer, with notes by T. Tyrwhitt. [ed. by C.C. Clarke].

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Página xxix - Laud be to God ! — even there my life must end. It hath been prophesied to me many years, I should not die but in Jerusalem ; Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land. — But bear me to that chamber ; there I'll lie ; In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.
Página xxvii - Deeme thyself that deemest others dead : And truth shall thee deliver, it is no drede. That thee is sent receive in buxomness ; The wrestling of this world asketh a fall ; Here is no home, here is but wilderness : Forth, pilgrim ! forth...
Página 27 - Danced full oft in many a greene mead. This was the old opinion as I read; I speak of many hundred years ago ; But now can no man see none elves mo...
Página 229 - With which he mighte slay his fellows tway ; For-why the Fiend found him in such living That he had leave him to sorrow bring, For this was utterly his full intent, To slay them both and never to repent. And forth he go'th, no longer would he tarry, Into the town, unto a pothecary...
Página 157 - To gowren 9 on this horse that standeth so : For it so high was, and so broad and long, So well proportioned for to be strong, Right as it were a steed of Lombardy ; Therewith so horsely, and so quick of eye, As it a gentle...
Página 109 - For piteous joy ; and after her swooning, She both her younge children to her calleth, And in her armes, piteously weeping, Embraceth them, and tenderly kissing, Full like a mother, with her salte tears She bathed both their visage and their hairs.
Página 228 - Whyl that thou strogelest with him as in game, And with thy dagger look thou do the same; And...
Página 215 - Of avarice and of such cursedness Is all my preaching, for to make them free To give their pence, and NAMELY, — UNTO ME ; For mine intent is nought but for to win, And nothing for correction of sin ; I reck never, when that they be buried, Though that their soules gone a blackberried.
Página 154 - Upon his thombe he had of gold a ring, And by his side a naked sword hanging ; And up he rideth to the highe bord. In all the halle ne was ther spoke a word, For mervaille of this knight ; him to behold Full besilv they waiten, young and old.
Página 74 - I will you tell a tale, -which that I Learned at Padua, of a worthy clerk, As proved by his wordes and his work. He is now dead and nailed in his chest ; I pray to God so give his soule rest. Francis Petrarch, the laureate poete, Highte this clerk, whose rheturic sweet Illumined all Itaille of poetry.

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