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semed it to euery mannes sighte Now thanne conclude I thus , þt if I myghte At Orliens , som old felawe yfynde That hadde , this Moones mansions in mynde Or oother Magyk naturel aboue He sholde wel ,
was , as thise bookes me remembre The colde , frosty seson of decembre Phebus wax old , and hewed lyk latoū That in his hote declynacioū Shoon as the burned gold , wt stremys brighte But now in Capricorn
, that he say , bifore hym ryde Feynynge a cause , for he wolde brybe For to somne an old wydewe , a Ribibe This Somnour , euere waityng on his pray And so bifel , that ones on
for blak His longe heer , was kembed bihynde his bak He hadde a Berys Skyn , colblak , for old With nayles yelwe , and brighte as any gold In stide of Cotearmure , ouer his harnays With foure
man , by my sauacioū I trowe he lewedly , telle wolde his tale For were it wyn , or old , or moisty Ale That he hath dronke , he speketh in his nose And fneseth faste , and
god is kyng To take a wyf , it is a glorious thyng And namely , whan a man is old and hoor Thanne is a wyf , the fruyt of his tresor Thanne sholde he take , a yong
, hony swete And for his freendes , on a day he sente To tellen hem , theffect of his entente With face sad , this tale he hath hem told He seyde freendes , I am hoor and old
Noght for no coueitise doutelees But oonly , for the loue I hadde to thee And thogh þt I be old , and may nat see Beth to me trewe , and I wol telle yow why Thre thynges certes
, yet to nyght Ne se ye noght this honurable knyght By cause allas , þt he is blynd and old His owene man , shal make hym Cokewold Lo where he sit the lechour in the tree Now wol
Ialous he was , and heeld hir narwe in Cage For she was wilde and yong , and he was old And demed hym self , been lyk a Cokewold He knew nat Catoū , for his wit was rude
To pleyen , and to romen to and fro And in hir walk this blynde man they mette Croked and old , with eyen faste yshette In name of Crist cryde this blynde Britoun Dame hermengyld , yif me my
of the grete temple of stoon Of Sampson , now wol I namoore sayn Beth war by this ensample , old and playn That no men telle hir conseil , til hir wyues Of swich thyng as they wolde han
make a Statue of gold Sixty cubites long and Seuene in brede To which ymage , he bothe yong and old Comanded to loute , and haue in drede Or in a fourneys , ful of flambes rede He shal
His sweuene , and bad hym for to kepe hym wel For traysoū , but he nas but .vij. yeer old And therfore , litel tale hath he told Of any dreem , so holy was his herte By god
As meke , as euere was any lamb to yow And with that word , anon ther gan appeere An old man , clad in white clothes cleere And gan , biforn Valerian to stonde Valerian as deed , fil
of cloutes and of bones That hath ymaked , hir housbond Cokewold Or any womman , be she yong or old Dar nat for shame , of it yshryuen be If any wight be in this chirche now Goode men
he sat on his bench vp right And sodeynly , he was yslayn to nyght He was pardee , an old felawe of youres It was me told , er ye cam heer two houres Sire quod this boy ,
thy grete worthynesse That I ne may , the weighte nat sustene But as a child , of twelue month old , or lesse That kan vnnethe , any word expersse Right so fare I , and ther fore I
smale Ther was a Monk a fair man and a bold I trowe , a thritty wynter , he was old That euere in oon , was drawyng to that place This yonge Monk that was so fair of face
oghte ynow suffise Fyue houres , for to slepe , vp on a nyght But it were , for an old apalled wight As been thisx wedded men , þt lye and dare As in a forme , sit a