Monday, December 19, 2005

Time for Chaucer

... Allas! the pitee that was ther,
Cracching of chekes, rending eek of heer.
'Why woldestow be deed,' thise wommen crye,
'And haddest gold ynough and Emelye!'
No man mighte gladen Theseus,
Savinge his olde fader Egeus,
That knew this worldes transmutacioun,
As he hadde seyn it up and doun,
Joye after wo, and wo after gladnesse;
And shewed him ensamples and liknesse....

This world nis but a thurghfare ful of wo,
And we ben pilgrimes passing to and fro;
Deeth is an end of every worldly sore.'
And over al this yet seyde he muchel more
To this effect, ful wysly to enhorte
The peple that they sholde hem reconforte.

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