A Clerk there was of Oxenford also, That unto logic haddè long ygo, As leanè was his horse as is a rake, And _he_ was not right fat, I undertake; But lookèd hollow, and thereto soberly. Full threadbare was his overest courtepy; For he had getten him yet no benefice, Ne was so worldly for to have office; For him was liefer have at his bed's head A twenty books, clothèd in black and red, Of Aristotle and his philosophie Than robès rich, or fiddle, or sautrie. But, albe that he was a philosópher, Yet had he but a little gold in coffer; But all that he might of his friendès hent On bookès and on learning he it spent, And busily gan for the soulès pray Of hem that gave him wherewith to scholay. Of study took he most cure and most heed; Not oe word spak he morè than was need; And that was said in form and reverence, And short and quick, and full of high sentence; Souning in moral virtue was his speech, And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach. Or take an out-of-doors' scene from one of Chaucer's reputed minor poems. It is a description of a grove or wood in spring, or early summer:-- In which were oakès great, straight as a line, Under the which the grass, so fresh of hue, Was newly sprung, and an eight foot or nine Every tree well fro his fellow grew, With branches broad, laden with leavès new, That sprungen out agen the sunnè sheen, Some very red, and some a glad light green. Or, for a tidy scene indoors, take this from another poem:-- And, sooth to sayen, my chamber was Full well depainted, and with glass Were all the windows well yglazed Full clear, and not an hole ycrased, That to behold it was great joy; For wholly all the story of Troy Was in the glazing ywrought thus, Of Hector and of King Priamus, Of Achilles and of King Laomedon, And eke of Medea and Jason, Of Paris, Helen, and Lavine; And all the walls with colours fine Weren paint, both text and glose, And all the Rómaunt of the Rose: My windows weren shut each one, And through the glass the sunnè shone Upon my bed with brighte beams. Or take these stanzas of weighty ethical sententiousness (usually printed as Chaucer's, but whether his or not does not matter):-- Fly from the press, and dwell with soothfastness; Suffice unto thy good, though it be small; For hoard hath hate, and climbing tickleness, Press hath envy, and weal is blent in all; Savour no more than thee behovè shall; Rede well thyself that other folk canst rede; And truth shall thee deliver, it is no drede. Painè thee not each crooked to redress In trust of her that turneth as a ball. Great rest standeth in little business; Beware also to spurn against an awl; Strive not as doth a crockè with a wall; Deemè thyself that deemest others dead; And truth shall thee deliver, it is no drede.