The Canterbury Tales, and Other Poems by Geoffrey Chaucer
page 444 of 1215 (36%)
page 444 of 1215 (36%)
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How that he wrought I dare not to you tell,
Or whether she thought it paradise or hell; But there I let them worken in their wise Till evensong ring, and they must arise. Were it by destiny, or aventure,* * chance Were it by influence, or by nature, Or constellation, that in such estate The heaven stood at that time fortunate As for to put a bill of Venus' works (For alle thing hath time, as say these clerks), To any woman for to get her love, I cannot say; but greate God above, That knoweth that none act is causeless, *He deem* of all, for I will hold my peace. *let him judge* But sooth is this, how that this freshe May Hath taken such impression that day Of pity on this sicke Damian, That from her hearte she not drive can The remembrance for *to do him ease.* *to satisfy "Certain," thought she, "whom that this thing displease his desire* I recke not, for here I him assure, To love him best of any creature, Though he no more haddee than his shirt." Lo, pity runneth soon in gentle heart. Here may ye see, how excellent franchise* *generosity In women is when they them *narrow advise.* *closely consider* Some tyrant is, -- as there be many a one, -- That hath a heart as hard as any stone, Which would have let him sterven* in the place *die |
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