CHAUCER'S CANTERBURY PILGRIMS

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Page 65 - Now cold despair, succeeding in her stead, To livid paleness turns the glowing red. His blood, scarce liquid, creeps within his veins, Like water which the freezing wind constrains. Then thus he said: "Eternal Deities...
Page 67 - He roar'd, he beat his breast, he tore his hair. Dry sorrow in his stupid eyes appears, For wanting nourishment, he wanted tears: His eyeballs in their hollow sockets sink, Bereft of sleep, he loathes his meat and drink.
Page 64 - Of Fortune, Fate, or Providence complain ? God gives us what he knows our wants require, And better things than those which we desire : Some pray for riches ; riches they obtain ; But, watch'd by robbers, for their wealth are slain...
Page 92 - The balls of his broad eyes rolled in his head, And glared betwixt a yellow and a red ; He looked a lion with a gloomy stare, And o'er his eyebrows hung his matted hair ; Big-boned, and large of limbs, with sinews strong, Broad-shouldered, and his arms were round and long.
Page 20 - Embrouded was he, as it were a mede Al ful of fresshe floures, whyte and rede. 90 Singinge he was, or floytinge, al the day ; He was as fresh as is the month of May.
Page 52 - But held the rank of sovereign queen before; Till, thanks to giddy Chance, which never bears That mortal bliss should last for length of years, She cast us headlong from our high estate, And here in hope of thy return we wait, 70 And long have waited in the temple nigh, Built to the gracious goddess Clemency.
Page 52 - He sigh'd ; and could not but their fate deplore, So wretched now, so fortunate before. Then lightly from his lofty steed he flew, And raising one by one the suppliant crew, To. comfort each, full solemnly he swore, " That, by the faith which knights to knighthood bore...
Page 56 - Arose, and dressed herself in rich array; Fresh as the month, and as the morning fair, Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair...
Page 69 - S~o much esteemed, so well beloved as he. So gentle of condition was he known, That through the court his courtesy was blown : All think him worthy of a greater place, And recommend him to the royal grace; That exercised within a higher sphere, His virtues more conspicuous might appear.
Page 71 - Graces lead the dancing Hours, And Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers : When thy short reign is past, the feverish Sun The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly on. So may thy tender blossoms fear no blight, Nor goats with venom'd teeth thy tendrils bite, As thou shalt guide my wandering feet to find The fragrant greens I seek, my brows to bind.

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