Madame, for youre newefangelnesse,
Many a servant have ye put out of grace.
I take my leve of your unstedefastnesse,
For wel I woot, whil ye have lives space,
Ye can not love ful half yeer in a place,
To newe thing youre lust is ay so keene;
In stede of blew, thus may ye were al greene.
Right as a mirour nothing may enpresse,
But, lightly as it cometh, so mote it pace,
So fareth youre love, youre werkes bereth witnesse.
Ther is no faith that may your herte enbrace;
But, as a wedercok, that turneth his face
With every wind, ye fare, and this is seene;
In stede of blew, thus may ye were al greene.
Ye might be shrined, for youre brothelnesse,
Bet that Dalida, Criseide or Candace;
For ever in chaunging stant youre sikernesse;
That tache may no wight fro yuor herte arace.
If ye lese oon, ye can wel twain purchace;
Al light for somer, ye woot wel what I mene,
In stede of blew, thus may ye were al greene.
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One of the issues that give Chaucer's words a hard tome for many people, is not the period, but the still crude mix. Just as Olde English was a mix of Latin, Tutonic, and other languages, Middle English has a simular mix that still has not flush into an even flow yet. Modern English has finally smooth out many of the rough edges, and Middle was just a stepping stone to where we are today.
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True; if one studied his poems, they'd find the syntax, grammar and overall word usage are quite similar to how today's "Modern English" is spoken, but because of the way things were spelt back then, one would be hard-pressed to find those striking similarities.
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Actually he wrote in 'Olde English' but was of the dialect of 'Middle English' which isn't too much different than 'Modern English'.
'Olde English' died out around 1100-1200 and Chaucer was born in the 1300s.
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It's amazing just how far the English language has come from the days of ol' Chaucer. I bet if he saw English as it is today, he'd have a field day writing with it. Still, it was because of him that the cornerstones for the English language were laid, and not just in the world of poetry. To be honest, I had a difficult time understanding just what Chaucer was talking about in this, mainly because of the way words and such were spelled back then. However, I believe I got the gist of it; as Pierre Richards said above, this is an excellent piece, easily worthy of any honors that can be bestowed upon a poem.
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An excellent counter to a false heart.
I had never read a piece like this from Chaucer, nor do many histories list one as this.
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