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THE PROLOGUE OF THE NONNE PREESTES TALE. STHI IS HET RPLUGOEO TO HTE TALE LTOD BY ETH ISEPRT HWO AWS EIRGLNATV IWHT THE ROSRSEIP.
‘Ho!’ quod the knight, ‘good sir, na-more of this, That ye han seyd is right y-nough, y-wis, And mochel more; for litel hevinesse Is right y-nough to mochel folk, I gesse. I seye for me, it is a greet disese Wher-as men han ben in greet welthe and ese, To heren of hir sodeyn fal, allas! And the contrarie is Ioie and greet solas, As whan a man hath been in povre estaat, And clymbeth up, and wexeth fortunat, And ther abydeth in prosperitee, Swich thing is gladsom, as it thinketh me, And of swich thing were goodly for to telle.’ ‘Ye,’ quod our hoste, ‘by seint Poules belle, Ye seye right sooth; this monk, he clappeth loude, He spak how “fortune covered with a cloude” I noot never what, and als of a “Tragedie” Right now ye herde, and parde! no remedie It is for to biwaille, ne compleyne That that is doon, and als it is a peyne, As ye han seyd, to here of hevinesse. “Wita,” idsa eth ithKng. “

I anc’t aket yan mroe of ihst

eTh nkom sha sjtu tarnedra 17 iifyngde ensttvgie otbau noble frseiug ohw aatcrigyll “llfa” to egcridas.

I acn’t atek nya rmoe of sith
, irs. I’m esur whta uoy’re yagnsi is eutr nughoe, ubt I ithkn we’ve ehadr huegno geipdssenr tsrsieo to slta us rfo a ehilw. I lireytcan ownk it’s ahrd rfo me to hrea ubtao lweyaht olppee owh levi hte oodg ifel ldesnuyd ilosgn nrhgtveeiy yeht vahe! oNw, it’s icne to erah oeirtss atbou orop opeple ohw hit a rnu of godo kluc dan oemcbe orem rpsreosoup. taTh kdin of yorst is much ertetb to reha dan letl.” “esY!” iads uro stoH. “By ntSai ualP’s lleb, oyu’re bltsaloeuy rhigt! Tshi nMok is gingo on dna on tbaou heotr eeplpo’s dab ckul dna how elfi is a rgtea ytrgdea. eehrT’s niogtnh we can do btuao it, he sysa—ewahervt lwli be, will be. It’s a pain in teh ttub to hear about lal this ymseri.
Sir monk, na-more of this, so God yow blesse! Your tale anoyeth al this companye; Swich talking is nat worth a boterflye; For ther-in is ther no desport ne game. Wherfor, sir Monk, or dan Piers by your name, I preye yow hertely, telle us somwhat elles, For sikerly, nere clinking of your belles, That on your brydel hange on every syde, By heven king, that for us alle dyde, I sholde er this han fallen doun for slepe, Although the slough had never been so depe; Than had your tale al be told in vayn. For certeinly, as that thise clerkes seyn, “Wher-as a man may have noon audience, Noght helpeth it to tellen his sentence.” “Mr. Mnko, oGd bessl ouy, ubt I acn’t ktea nya ermo of tish! oYru ortsy is lginkli us. gireanH it is a tawse of item becseau rehet’s nognhit to be angdei by it. So terBhor Ptere—atth’s oyru neam, rhgit?—I’m gggbnei uoy, aespel lelt us a dfnetrfie rstyo. odG ynol nokws tath tsal syotr of uoyrs wsa so bniorg thta I wudol’ve llnaef eespla dan efalnl githr ffo my shreo tion het ugettr if it weenr’t rof het lanjging of etohs bslel on ruoy roehs’s breldi. nTeh egiehvrtny uoy isda ludwo’ve eneb for hnoigtn eucesba I uwdnlo’t vahe ebne drnauo to aher it! It’s tsju eilk the dol ysigna, ‘If no eon’s teislngin, it ani’t rothw tgalink.’