"Sire Nonnes Preest," oure Hooste seide anoon, "I-blessed be thy breche, and every stoon! This was a murie tale of Chauntecleer. But by my trothe, if thou were seculer, Thou woldest ben a trede-foul aright. For if thou have corage as thou hast myght, Thee were nede of hennes, as I wene, Yaz, moo than seven tymes seventene. See, whiche braunes hath this gentil preest, So gret a nedeth nat his colour for to dyen With brasile, ne with greyn of Portyngale. Now, sire, faire falle yow for youre tale!" And after that, he, with ful merie chere, Seide unto another, as ye shuln heere. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOUR-LEAF CLOVER by ELLA (RHOADS) HIGGINSON AT BETHLEHEM: 3. TO HIS MOTHER by JOHN BANISTER TABB GOOD FRYDAY by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE TUTELAGE by ROBERT MOWRY BELL SANCTUARY by JOSIE CRAIG BERRY STILL DAYS AND STORMY by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |