The Riverside Chaucer Quotes

“Ful wys is he that kan himselve knowe.”
― Geoffrey Chaucer, The Riverside Chaucer

“He hath considered shortly, in a clause
The trespas of hem bothe, and eek the cause,
And althogh that his ire hir gilt accused,
Yet in his resoun he hem bothe excused,
As thus: he thoghte wel that every man
Wol helpe himself in love if that he kan,
And eek delivere himself out of prisoun;”
― Geoffrey Chaucer, The Riverside Chaucer

“Balade de Bon Conseyl

Flee fro the prees and dwelle with sothfastnesse;
Suffyce unto thy thing, though it be smal,
For hord hath hate, and climbing tikelnesse,
Prees hath envye, and wele blent overal.
Savour no more than thee bihove shal,
Reule wel thyself that other folk canst rede,
And trouthe thee shal delivere, it is no drede.

Tempest thee noght al croked to redresse
In trust of hir that turneth as a bal;
Gret reste stant in litel besinesse.
Be war therfore to sporne ayeyns an al,
Stryve not, as doth the crokke with the wal.
Daunte thyself, that dauntest otheres dede,
And trouthe thee shal delivere, it is no drede.

That thee is sent, receyve in buxumnesse;
The wrastling for this world axeth a fal.
Her is non hoom, her nis but wildernesse:
Forth, pilgrim, forth! Forth, beste, out of thy stal!
Know thy contree, look up, thank God of al;
Hold the heye wey and lat thy gost thee lede,
And trouthe thee shal delivere, it is no drede.

Envoy

Therefore, thou Vache, leve thyn old wrecchednesse;
Unto the world leve now to be thral.
Crye him mercy, that of his hy goodnesse
Made thee of noght, and in especial
Draw unto him, and pray in general
For thee, and eek for other, hevenlich mede;
And trouthe thee shal delivere, it is no drede.

Explicit Le bon counseill de G. Chaucer”
― Geoffrey Chaucer; (Translator) Frank Ernest Hill; (Illustrators) Edward Burne-Jo, The Riverside Chaucer

“Have do," qoud she, "come of, cand speed the fase, Lest that oure neighbores thee espie."
This Absolon gan wype his mouth ful drie.
Derk was the nyght as pich, or as the cole,
And athe wydnow out she putte hir hole,
And Absolon, hym fil no bet new wers,
but with his mouth he kiste hir naked ers
Ful savourly, er he were war of this.
Abak he stirte, and thoughte it was amys,
For wel he wiste a woman hath no berd.
He felte athyng al rough and long yherd,
And seyde, "Fy! allas! what have Ido?"
"Tehee!" qoud she, and clapte the wyndow to,
And Absolon gooth forth a sory pas.
"A berd! A berd!" qoud hende Nicholas,...”
― Geoffrey Chaucer, The Riverside Chaucer