He kept his tippet stuffed with pins for curls, And pocket-knives, to give to pretty girls.
Well is it said that neither love nor power Admit a rival, even for an hour.
Woe to him who is alone, since, if he falls, he has no help to rise.
One night the citizens of Rome revolted Against his tyrannies and mad ambition And, when he heard them mutiny, he bolted Alone and sought his friends for coalition. The more he knocked and begged them for admission The more they shut their doors and said him nay. And then he saw that of his own perdition He was sole author and he fled away. The people yelled for him and rumbled round So that their shouts were dinning in his ear: ‘Where’s Nero? Where’s the tyrant? Treacherous hound!
And after winter folweth grene May.
He was an easy man to mete out Penance when a good gift he expected to receive. Forsooth, to donate generously unto a poor Order is a sign that a man is well shriven. For if a man gave, the Friar dared to assert, he knew that the man was repentant. So hard is the heart of many a man that he cannot weep, though he may sorely suffer for his sins. Therefore, in the stead of weeping and praying, men must give silver to the poor Friars.
But we’ll try anything once hot or cold; A man must be a young food, or an old.
So astute was he in his buying and selling, and in his borrowings, that no one knew if he was in debt.
High in moral virtue was his speech, and gladly would he learn and gladly teach.
By Pluto sent at the request of Saturn. Arcita’s horse in terror danced a pattern And leapt aside and foundered as he leapt, And ere he was aware Arcite was swept Out of the saddle and pitched upon his head Onto the ground, and there he lay for dead; His breast was shattered by the saddle-bow.
And Christ’s law and His Apostles twelve he taught, but first he followed it himself.
Wherever there is drunkenness about No secret can be hidden, make no doubt.
Just as there never died a man,” quoth he, “But he had lived on earth in some degree, Just so there never lived a man,” he said, “In all this world, but must be sometime dead. This world is but a thoroughfare of woe, And we are pilgrims passing to and fro;.
His spirit changed house, and vanished there, Where I have not been, so cannot say where.
A priest should take to heart the shameful scene of shepards filthy while the sheep are clean.
A faithful servant is more diligent in keeping your goods safe than is your own wife, because she will claim a half part of your worth all her life.
Till we be roten, kan we not be rypen?
La avaricia es la causa de todos los vicios.
Los timadores, al final, acaban siendo ellos mismos timados.
Lost money is not lost beyond recall, But loss of time brings on the loss of all.
Having to read a footnote resembles having to go downstairs to answer the door while in the midst of making love.