Geoffrey Chaucer

“ No man did ther no more that his wyf; And lat us speke of wyves, that is best; Praise every man his owne, as him lest, And with our speche lat us ese our herte." A knight, that highte Colatyne, up sterte, And seyde thus, "nay, for hit is no nede To trowen on the word, but on the dede. I have a wyf," quod he, "that, as I trowe, Is holden good of alle that ever her knowe; 1710Go we to-night to Rome, and we shul see." Tarquinius answerde, "that lyketh me." To Rome be they come, and faste hem dighte To Colatynes hous, and doun they lighte, Tarquinius, and eek this Colatyne. ”

“ For wel, thoghte he, she sholde nat be geten And ay the more that he was in dispair, The more he coveteth and thoghte her fair. His blinde lust was al his covetinge. A-morwe, whan the brid bragan to singe, Unto the sege he comth ful privily, And by himself he walketh sobrely, 1760Thimage of her recording alwey newe ”

“ She feleth no-thing, neither foul ne fair. Tarquinas, that art a kinges eyr, 1820And sholdest, as by linage and by right, Doon as a lord and as a verray knight, Why hastow doon dispyt to chivalrye? Why hastow doon this lady vilanye? Allas! of thee this was a vileins dede! But now to purpos; in the story I rede, Whan he was goon, al this mischaunce is falle. This lady sente after her frendes alle, Fader, moder, husbond, al y-fere; And al dischevele, with her heres clere, 1830In habit swich as women used tho Unto the burying of her frendes go, She sit in halle with a sorweful sighte. ”