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1 " Ful wys is he that kan himselve knowe. "
― Geoffrey Chaucer , The Riverside Chaucer
2 " A bettre preest, I trowe that nowher noon is. He wayted after no pompe and reverence, 525 Ne maked him a spyced conscience, But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve, He taughte, and first he folwed it him-selve. "
3 " He hath considered shortly, in a clauseThe 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 manWol helpe himself in love if that he kan,And eek delivere himself out of prisoun; "
4 " 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 ersFul 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,... "
5 " Balade de Bon ConseylFlee 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 redresseIn 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.EnvoyTherefore, thou Vache, leve thyn old wrecchednesse;Unto the world leve now to be thral.Crye him mercy, that of his hy goodnesseMade thee of noght, and in especialDraw unto him, and pray in generalFor thee, and eek for other, hevenlich mede;And trouthe thee shal delivere, it is no drede.Explicit Le bon counseill de G. Chaucer "
