Bihoold the murye wordes of the Hoost to Chaucer.
Whan seyd was al this miracle, every man
As sobre was, that wonder was to se,
Til that oure Hooste japen tho bigan,
And thanne at erst he looked upon me,
And seyde thus, “What man artow,” quod he,
“Thow lookest as thou woldest fynde an hare,
For ever upon the ground I se thee stare.
Approche neer, and looke up murily;
Now war yow, sires, and lat this man have place.
He in the waast is shape as wel as I;
This were a popet in an arm tenbrace
For any womman smal, and fair of face.
He semeth elvyssh by his contenaunce,
For unto no wight dooth he daliaunce.
Sey now somwhat, syn oother folk han sayd,
Telle us a tale of myrthe, and that anon.”
“Hooste,” quod I, “ne beth nat yvele apayed,
For oother tale certes kan I noon
But of a ryme I lerned longe agoon.”
“Ye, that is good,” quod he, “now shul we heere
Som deyntee thyng, me thynketh by his cheere.”
Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 11:52