The Poetical Works of Geoffrey Chaucer: To which are Appended Poems Attributed to Chaucer, Volume 3

Capa
Houghton, Osgood, 1879

No interior do livro

Opinião das pessoas - Escrever uma crítica

Não foram encontradas quaisquer críticas nos locais habituais.

Outras edições - Ver tudo

Palavras e frases frequentes

Passagens conhecidas

Página 80 - I feyth and ful credence, And in myn herte have hem in reverence So hertely, that ther is game noon That fro my bokes maketh me to goon...
Página 534 - And shapen was this herber roofe and all As a prety parlour ; and also The hegge as thicke as a castle wall, That who that list without to stond or go, Though he would all day prien to and fro, He should not see if there were any wight Within or no...
Página 82 - And am ful glad yf I may fynde an ere Of any goodly word that ye han left. And thogh it happen me rehercen eft That ye han in your fresshe songes sayd, Forbereth me, and beth not evil apayd5, Syn that ye see I do yt in the honour Of love, and eke in service of the flour, Whom that I serve as I have wit or myght.
Página 85 - And Zepherus and Flora gentilly Yaf to the floures, softe and tenderly, Hire swoote breth, and made hem for to sprede, As god and goddesse of the floury mede; In...
Página 210 - Hard is the hert that loveth nought In May, whan al this mirth is wrought ; Whan he may on these braunches here...
Página 203 - For whiche un-to your mercy thus I crye: Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I dye!
Página 193 - Wei nygh bereft out of my remembraunce; And eke to me it ys a gret penaunce, Syth rym in Englissh hath such skarsete, 80 To folowe word by word the curioaite Of Graunson, flour of hem that make in Fraunce.
Página 80 - And to hem yive I feyth and ful credence, And in myn herte have hem in reverence So hertely...
Página 184 - Her is no home, her is but wyldyrnesse. Forth pilgrime! forth best out of thy stalle! Loke up on hye, and thonke God of alle; Weyve thy lust, and let thy goste the lede, And trouthe shal the delyver, hit is no drede.
Página 81 - As sone as ever the sonne gynneth weste, To seen this flour, how it wol go to reste, For fere of nyght, so hateth she derknesse ! Hire chere is pleynly sprad in the brightnesse Of the sonne, for ther yt wol unclose.

Informação bibliográfica