Geoffrey Chaucer

“ This worthy Phoebus did all that he can
To please her, weening, through such pleasance,
And for his manhood and his governance,
That no man should have put him from her grace;
But, God it wot, there may no man embrace
As to distrain a thing, which that nature
Hath naturally set in a creature. ”

“ Men calle him an outlaw or a thief.
But, for I am a man not textuel,
I will not tell of texts never a deal;
I will go to my tale, as I began.
When Phoebus' wife had sent for her leman,
Anon they wroughten all their lust volage.
This white crow, that hung aye in the cage,
Beheld their work, and said never a word;
And when that home was come Phoebus the lord,
This crowe sung, "Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!"
"What? bird," quoth Phoebus, "what song sing'st thou now?
Wert thou not wont so merrily to sing,
That to my heart it was a rejoicing
To hear thy voice? alas! ”

“ My son, think on the crow, in Godde's name.
My son, keep well thy tongue, and keep thy friend;
A wicked tongue is worse than is a fiend:
My sone, from a fiend men may them bless.
My son, God of his endeless goodness
Walled a tongue with teeth, and lippes eke,
For man should him advise, what he speak.
My son, full often for too muche speech
Hath many a man been spilt, as clerkes teach;
But for a little speech advisedly
Is no man shent, to speak generally. ”