Daily Chaucer Quote

The wery hunter, slepynge in his bed, To wode ayeyn his mynde goth anon; The juge dremeth how his plees been sped (PF)

Defaute of slep and hevynesse Hath sleyn my spirit of quyknesse That I have lost al lustyhede. (BD)

The speces of Penitence been three. That oon of hem is solempne, another is commune, and the thridde is privee. (ParsT)

Whan Phebus dwelled heere in this erthe adoun, As olde bookes maken mencioun, He was the mooste lusty bachiler In al this world (MancT)

Watres rubifiying, and boles galle, Arsenyk, sal armonyak, and brymstoon; And herbes koude I telle eek many oon (CYT)

And, for that feith is deed withouten werkis, So for to werken yif me wit and space, That I be quit fro thennes that most derk is! (SecNT)

A day or two ye shul have digestyves Of wormes, er ye take youre laxatyves Of lawriol, centaure, and fumetere (NPT)

"Allas!" she seith, "that evere I was shape To wedden a milksop, or a coward ape, That wol been overlad with every wight!" (MkT)

Salomon seith that right as motthes in the shepes flees anoyeth to the clothes,...right so anoyeth sorwe to the herte. (Mel)

Sire Thopas wax a doghty swayn; Whit was his face as payndemayn,... And I yow telle in good certayn, He hadde a semely nose. (Thop)

This hooly monk, this abbot, hym meene I, His tonge out caughte, and took awey the greyn, And he yaf up the goost ful softely. (PrT

Swich salutaciouns and contenaunces Passen as doth a shadwe upon the wal; Bu wo is hym that payen moot for al! (ShipT)

I wol nat do no labour with myne handes, Ne make baskettes, and lyve therby, By cause I wol nat beggen idylly. (PardProl)

For she was strong of freendes, and eek she Confermed was in swich soverayn bountee, That wel he wiste he myghte hire nevere wynne (PhysT)

Doun of his hors Aurelius lighte anon, And with this magicien forth is he gon Hoom to his hous, and maden hem wel at ese. (FranklT)

The norice of digestioun, the sleep, Ganon hem wynke and bad hem taken keep That muchel drynke and labour wolde han reste (SqT)

"Rys up, my wyf, my love, my lady free! The turtles voys is herd, my dowve sweete; The wynter is goon with alle his reynes weete."(MerchT)

And, for his tale sholde seme the bettre, Accordant to his wordes was his cheere, As techeth art of speche hem that it leere. (SqT)

But on his lust present was al his thoght, As for to hauke and hunte on every syde. Wel ny alle othere cures leet he slyde (Clerk'sT)