Here bygynneth the Book of the tales of Caunterbury
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licóur
Of which vertú engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye,
So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages,
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.
On this day 620 years ago, Geoffrey Chaucer poet died. The prologue to his most ambitious work is above. It is a tale told by people from various walks of life on their pilgrimage to Canterbury Cathedral. The language is middle English.
Below some more quotes from his work.
“Time and Tide wait for no man”
― Geoffrey Chaucer
“And once he had got really drunk on wine,
Then he would speak no language but Latin.”
― Geoffrey Chaucer
“Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained”
― Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales
“the greatest scholars are not usually the wisest people”
― Geoffrey Chaucer, The Complete Poetry and Prose
