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Thus with hir fader for a certeyn space Dwelleth this flour of wyfly pacience, That neither by hir wordes ne hir face Biforn the folk, ne eek in her absence, Ne shewed she that hir was doon offence.

Geoffrey Chaucer

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Geoffrey Chaucer
Died: 1400
Died: October 25
Astrologer
Linguist
Lyricist
Philosopher
Poet
Politician
Translator
Writer
London
England
Chaucer
Geoffrey Chaucer
Faces
Folk
Patience
Absence
Folks
Thus
Shewed
Neither
Doon
Face
Flour
Space
Offence

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Pitee renneth soone in gentil herte.
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Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.
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How potent is the fancy! People are so impressionable, they can die of imagination.
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The fields have eyes, and the woods have ears.
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Soun is noght but air ybroken, And every speche that is spoken, Loud or privee, foul or fair, In his substaunce is but air For as flaumbe is but lighted smoke, Right so soun is air ybroke.
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Men sholde nat knowe of Goddes pryvetee Ye, blessed be alwey, a lewed man That noght but oonly his believe kan! So ferde another clerk with astromye, He walked in the feelds, for to prye Upon the sterres, what ther sholde bifalle, Til he was in a marle-pit yfalle.
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For tyme y-lost may not recovered be.
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Remember in the forms of speech comes change Within a thousand years, and words that then Were well esteemed, seem foolish now and strange And yet they spake them so, time and again, And thrived in love as well as any men And so to win their loves in sundry days, In sundry lands there are as many ways.
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Many a true word is spoken in jest
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Filth and old age, I'm sure you will agree, are powerful wardens upon chastity.
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The handsome gifts that fate and nature lend us Most often are the very ones that end us.
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For out of old fields, as men saith, Cometh all this new corn from year to year And out of old books, in good faith, Cometh all this new science that men learn.
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But all thing which that shineth as the gold Ne is no gold, as I have herd it told.
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For of fortunes sharp adversitee The worst kynde of infortune is this, A man to han ben in prosperitee, And it remembren, whan it passed is.
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For in their hearts doth Nature stir them so Then people long on pilgrimage to go And palmers to be seeking foreign strands To distant shrines renowned in sundry lands.
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Drunkenness is the very sepulcher Of man's wit and his discretion.
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One eare it heard, at the other out it went.
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Thou shalt make castels thanne in Spayne And dreme of joye, all but in vayne.
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Patience is a conquering virtue. The learned say that, if it not desert you, It vanquishes what force can never reach Why answer back at every angry speech? No, learn forbearance or, I'll tell you what, You will be taught it, whether you will or not.
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Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.
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