Chaucer for children [selected from the Canterbury tales and minor poems, with a metrical version in mod. Engl.] by mrs. H.R. Haweis

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Page 24 - For if he yaf, he dorste make avaunt, He wiste that a man was repentaunt. For many a man so hard is of his herte, He may nat wepe al-thogh him sore smerte. 230 Therfore, in stede of weping and preyeres, Men moot yeve silver to the povre freres.
Page 21 - She was so charitable and so piteous, She woulde weep if that she saw a mouse Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled.
Page 46 - Ligurge him-self, the grete king of Trace; Blak was his berd, and manly was his face. The cercles of his eyen in his heed, They gloweden...
Page 20 - Upon his arm he bar a gay bracer, And by his side a swerd and a bokeler, And on that other side a gay daggere, Harneysed wel, and scharp as poynt of spere; A Cristofre on his brest of silver schene.
Page 25 - As lene was his hors as is a rake, And he was not right fat, I undertake ; But loked holwe, and therto soberly.
Page 21 - But sore weep she if oon of hem were deed, Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte: And al was conscience and tendre herte.
Page 34 - Than is the lilie on hire stalkes grene. And fresscher than the May with floures newe For with the rose colour strof hire hewe, I...
Page 86 - My brother shal be warisshed hastily; For I am siker that ther be sciences By whiche men make diverse apparences Swiche as thise subtile tregetoures pleye; For ofte at feestes have I wel herd seye That tregetours withinne an halle large Have maad come in a water and a barge, And in the halle rowen up and doun.
Page 21 - And sikerly she was of greet desport, And ful plesaunt, and amyable of port, And peyned hire to countrefete cheere Of court, and to been estatlich of manere, And to ben holden digne of reverence.
Page 102 - That thee is sent receive in buxomness ; The wrestling of this world asketh a fall ; Here is no home, here is but wilderness ; Forth, pilgrim, forth, O beast out of thy stall; Look up on high, and thank thy God of all ; Waiveth thy lust and let thy ghost thee lead, And truth thee shall deliver 'tis no drede.

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