Geoffrey Chaucer

“ No wonder was, she mighte hit nat endure. And what that Anthony saw that aventure, "Allas!" quod he, "the day that I was born! My worshipe in this day thus have I lorn!" 660And for dispeyr out of his witte he sterte, And roof him-self anoon through-out the herte Er that he ferther wente out of the place. His wyf, that coude of Cesar have no grace, To Egipte is fled, for drede and for distresse; But herkneth, ye that speke of kindenesse. Ye men, that falsly sweren many an ooth That ye wol dye, if that your love be wrooth, Heer may ye seen of women whiche a trouthe! ”

“ Was never unto hir love a trewer quene." And with that word, naked, with ful good herte, Among the serpents in the pit she sterte, And ther she chees to han hir buryinge. Anoon the neddres gonne hir for to stinge, 700And she hir deeth receyveth, with good chere, For love of Antony, that was hir so dere: -- And this is storial sooth, hit is no fable. Now, er I finde a man thus trewe and stable, And wol for love his deeth so freely take, I pray god lat our hedes never ake! ”

“ And she was fair as is the rose in May. ”