Стихи и рассказы из категории chaucer

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Women ben full of Ragerie,
Yet swinken not sans secresie
Thilke Moral shall ye understond,
From Schoole-boy's Tale of fayre Irelond:
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Flee from the press, and dwell with soothfastness;
Suffice thee thy good, though it be small;
For hoard hath hate, and climbing tickleness,
Press hath envy, and weal is blent o'er all,
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What should these clothes thus manifold,
Lo
this hot summer's day
After great heate cometh cold;
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An old man in a lodge within a park; The chamber walls depicted all around With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound, And the hurt deer
He listeneth to the lark, Whose song comes with the sunshine through the dark Of painted glass in lea...
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My Master Bukton, when of Christ our
Was asked,
What is truth or soothfastness
He not a word answer'd to that asking,
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To yow, my purse, and to noon other wight Complayne I, for ye be my lady dere
I am so sory, now that ye been lyght;
For certes, but ye make me hevy chere,
Me were as leef be layd upon my bere;
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