The romaunt of the rose. The minor poems. Boethius De consolatione philosophie. Troilus and Criseyde. The hous of fame. The legend of good women. A treatise on the astrolabeT. Y. Crowell, 1900 |
Common terms and phrases
allas alwey anoon awey ayein biforn blisful blisfulnesse certein certes chere cleped comen cometh comune coude Criseyde dede deeth dere dignitees doon doth doun drede dryve erthe eyen freend goon goth graunte gret grete hath herte hevene him-self in-to Ioye knowen lady leve litel loke maner mayst mede moche moeved moneye mowen myn herte natheles necessitee never no-thing nought ofte Pandarus peyne pleyne quod rede resoun richesses seide semeth seyde seye seyn shal shalt shewed sholde sholden shrewes shulde sith sone sonne sorwe soverein speke sterres swete swich thanne thee ther therfore thilke thing thise thou hast thought thyn toun trewe Troilus trouthe trowe Troye tyme un-to up-on verray vertu weren whan who-so whyl wight wikked with-outen wolde wolt woot wrecche wroot wyse y-wis yif thou yvel
Popular passages
Page 118 - I do no fors, I speke right as I mene, Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat, I never thenk to ben in his prison lene.
Page 392 - That, of alle the floures in the mede, Than love I most these floures whyte and rede, Swiche as men callen daysies in our toun. To hem have I so greet affeccioun, As I seyde erst, whan comen is the May, That in my bed ther daweth me no day That I nam...
Page 370 - I fond that on a wal ther was Thus writen, on a table of bras : ' I wol now singe, if that I can, The armes, and al-so the man, That first cam, through his destinee, 145 Fugitif of Troye con tree, In Itaile, with ful moche pyne, Unto the strondes of Lavyne.
Page 231 - Ye knowe eek, that in forme of speche is chaunge With-inne a thousand yeer, and wordes tho That hadden prys, now wonder nyce and straunge Us thinketh hem; and yet they spake hem so, And spedde as wel in love as men now do; Eek for to winne love in sondry ages, In sondry londes, sondry ben usages.
Page 392 - That of alle the floures in the mede, Than love I most thise floures white and rede, Suche as men callen daysyes in her toun. To hem have I so gret affeccioun, As I seyde erst, whan comen is the May, That, in my bed ther daweth "
Page 98 - For out of olde feldes, as men seith, Cometh al this newe corn fro yeer to yere; And out of olde bokes, in good feith, Cometh al this newe science that men lere.
Page 392 - Save, certeynly, whan that the month of May Is comen, and that I here the foules singe, And that the floures ginnen for to springe, Farwel my book and my devocioun...
Page 291 - But whan the cok, comune astrologer, Gan on his brest to bete, and after crowe, And Lucifer, the dayes messager, Gan for to ryse, and out hir bemes throwe...
Page 352 - Alias, of me, un-to the worldes ende, Shal neither been y-writen nor y-songe No good word, for thise bokes wol me shende, O, rolled shal I been on many a tonge! Through-out the world my belle shal be ronge; And wommen most wol hate me of alle. Allas, that swich a cas me sholde falle!
Page 118 - That at a revel whan that I see you daunce, It is an oynement unto my wounde, Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.