Whan that aprill with his shoures soote
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The droghte of march hath perced to the roote,
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And bathed every veyne in swich licour
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Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
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Whan zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
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Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
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Tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
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Hath in the ram his halve cours yronne,
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And smale foweles maken melodye,
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That slepen al the nyght with open ye
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(so priketh hem nature in hir corages);
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Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
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And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
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To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
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And specially from every shires ende
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Of engelond to caunterbury they wende,
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The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
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That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.
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Bifil that in that seson on a day,
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In southwerk at the tabard as I lay
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Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage
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To caunterbury with ful devout corage,
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At nyght was come into that hostelrye
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Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye,
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Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle
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In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle,
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That toward caunterbury wolden ryde.
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The chambres and the stables weren wyde,
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And wel we weren esed atte beste.
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And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste,
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So hadde I spoken with hem everichon
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That I was of hir felaweshipe anon,
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And made forward erly for to ryse,
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To take oure wey ther as I yow devyse.
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But nathelees, whil I have tyme and space,
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Er that I ferther in this tale pace,
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Me thynketh it acordaunt to resoun
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To telle yow al the condicioun
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Of ech of hem, so as it semed me,
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And whiche they weren, and of what degree,
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And eek in what array that they were inne;
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And at a knyght than wol I first bigynne.
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