"of thy very neighebours That dwellen almost at thy doors, Thou hearest neither that nor this _For when thy labour all done is, And hast made all thy reckonings_, Instead of rest, and of new things, Thou goest home to thine house anon, And all so dumbe as a stone Thou sittest at another book, Till fully dazèd is thy look, And livest thus as a hermíte, Although thine abstinence is lite,"[32] &c. In the love of good living, here acknowledged, we may see the origin of that goodly bulk upon which Harry Bailley, in the 'Canterbury Tales,' banters the poet. "Now," he calls out to the pilgrims, "'Ware yon, sirs, and let this man have place; He in the waist is shapen as well as I: This were a poppet in an arme to embrace For any woman." Through the same medium the poet describes himself as accustomed to look on the ground, to be "elvish" of countenance, silent, and reserved. We need only add to these traits another, also on the best of authorities--his own--namely, the love of walking, and enjoyment of all the sights and sounds of natural phenomena. In his 'Legend of Good Women' he writes-- "And as for me, though that I can but lite,[33] On bookes for to read, I me delight, And to them give I faith and full credénce And in mine heart have them in reverence, So heartily, that there is gamè none That from my bookes maketh me to gone; But it be seldom on the holyday, Save certainly when that the month of May Is comen, and that I hear the fowles[34] sing, And that the flowres 'ginnen for to spring, Farewell my book and my devotïon."