The Works of the English Poets, from Chaucer to Cowper, Volume 1

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Alexander Chalmers
J. Johnson, 1810 - English poetry
 

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Page 5 - But al be that he was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre...
Page 9 - And shortly for to tellen, as it was, Were it by aventure, or sort,*" or cas,** The sothe is this, the cut fil to the...
Page 7 - That first he wrought, and afterward he taught. Out of the gospel he the wordes caught, And this figure he added yet therto, That if gold ruste, what shuld iren do? For if a preest be foule, on whom we trust, No wonder is a lewed man to rust...
Page 3 - In Lettow hadde he reysed and in Ruce, No Cristen man so ofte of his degree. In Gernade at the seege eek hadde he be Of Algezir, and riden in Belmarye. At Lyeys was he and at Satalye, Whan they were wonne; and in the Grete See At many a noble armee hadde he be.
Page 8 - I trowe he were a gelding or a mare. But of his craft, fro Berwike unto Ware, Ne was ther swiche an other pardonere. For in his male he hadde a pilwebere, Which, as he saide, was oure ladies veil : He saide, he hadde a gobbet of the seyl Thate seint Peter had, whan that he went Upon the see, till Jesu Crist him hent.
Page 3 - And specially, from every shires ende Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, The holy blisful martir for to seke, That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke.
Page 6 - Ful many a fat patrich hadde he in mewe, And many a breme, and many a luce in stewe. Wo was his coke, but if his sauce were Poinant and sharpe, and redy all his gere. His table dormant in his halle alway Stode redy covered alle the longe day.
Page 131 - Ha, ha, the fox!" and after him they ran, And eek with staves many another man; Ran Colle our dogge, and Talbot, and...
Page 103 - With modres pitee in hir brest enclosed, She gooth, as she were half out of hir...
Page 130 - Caste up his eyen to the brighte sonne, That in the signe of Taurus hadde y-ronne Twenty degrees and oon, and somwhat more ; And knew by kynde, and by noon other lore, That it was pryme, and crew with blisful stevene. ' The sonne,' he sayde, ' is clomben up on hevene Fourty degrees and oon, and more, y-wis.

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