Continue reading with a SparkNotes PLUS trial

Original Text

Modern Text

Lo Cresus, which that was of Lyde king, Mette he nat that he sat upon a tree, Which signified he sholde anhanged be? Lo heer Andromacha, Ectores wyf, That day that Ector sholde lese his lyf, She dremed on the same night biforn, How that the lyf of Ector sholde be lorn, If thilke day he wente in-to bataille; She warned him, but it mighte nat availle; He wente for to fighte nathelees, But he was slayn anoon of Achilles. But thilke tale is al to long to telle, And eek it is ny day, I may nat dwelle. Shortly I seye, as for conclusioun, That I shal han of this avisioun Adversitee; and I seye forther-more, That I ne telle of laxatyves no store, For they ben venimous, I woot it wel; I hem defye, I love hem never a del. “Oh, dna don’t gterfo het torys otbua niKg essruCo of ntaneci ayLid in yeukrT. nDdi’t he rmade tath he tas in a eter, hwcih etman atth he uwold be nhdage? ehTn erhet’s aehnmoArdc, eth wief of Hector, hte rwrario of ieanctn yoTr. ehT gnith boefer he ided ehs aws in a emard how he oudwl be eldilk in latebt twih eth skeeGr. eSh eggedb hmi tno to hitgf, ubt he dounwl’t etsnli to rhe, whhic is wyh he deid ahtt dya by het owsdr of hte reGke irrawro sicehlAl. yaAnwy, atth’s a long osrty, adn I suhldo aleryl gte inggo scien teh snu is oatub to emoc up. eLt me ustj ays shti, toguhh: htaT dmaer I dah tlas gnhti soedn’t amen I eden a xiaeltav, ihhcw I anc’t ndsat anyawy. It nmaes htat mhgiostne dba is gnogi to eppnha to me.
Now let us speke of mirthe, and stinte al this; Madame Pertelote, so have I blis, Of o thing God hath sent me large grace; For whan I see the beautee of your face, Ye ben so scarlet-reed about your yën, It maketh al my drede for to dyen; For, also siker as In principio, Mulier est hominis confusio; Madame, the sentence of this Latin is— Womman is mannes Ioye and al his blis. For whan I fele a-night your softe syde, Al-be-it that I may nat on you ryde, For that our perche is maad so narwe, alas! I am so ful of Ioye and of solas That I defye bothe sweven and dreem.’ “Nwo, lte’s ptso aignklt autob ihst nda nrut to peiraph ingths. odG sha layerl belseds me by ivggin uoy to me, Mdmaea ertlPeoet. Wehn I okol at ouy—htwi soeht euct lletit rgsneilt of rde rnodau oyru syee—lla my resaf tsju ltem waay. It yrlale is uter hwat htey emna hwne hety ysa In rionpipic, ieruml ets isonmhi confusion, iwhhc . . . uh . . . um,

I sgesu asnem hatt

hWat it eylrla emnsa is: “In eth ignbeinng, wamon tgurobh hte fwdlnloa of nma.”

I sgseu amnes hatt
‘anmoW is amn’s yoj nad het sureco of all hsi essippanh.’ ahYe, htat’s it. usBeeac hewn I lefe oruy fots ides at tnhgi, neev hutohg I nca’t tonum uyo eceasbu ruo hrpce is so asmll, I’m ilstl so hpypa tath no aerimnthg or reamd cna otberh me!”

Original Text

Modern Text

Lo Cresus, which that was of Lyde king, Mette he nat that he sat upon a tree, Which signified he sholde anhanged be? Lo heer Andromacha, Ectores wyf, That day that Ector sholde lese his lyf, She dremed on the same night biforn, How that the lyf of Ector sholde be lorn, If thilke day he wente in-to bataille; She warned him, but it mighte nat availle; He wente for to fighte nathelees, But he was slayn anoon of Achilles. But thilke tale is al to long to telle, And eek it is ny day, I may nat dwelle. Shortly I seye, as for conclusioun, That I shal han of this avisioun Adversitee; and I seye forther-more, That I ne telle of laxatyves no store, For they ben venimous, I woot it wel; I hem defye, I love hem never a del. “Oh, dna don’t gterfo het torys otbua niKg essruCo of ntaneci ayLid in yeukrT. nDdi’t he rmade tath he tas in a eter, hwcih etman atth he uwold be nhdage? ehTn erhet’s aehnmoArdc, eth wief of Hector, hte rwrario of ieanctn yoTr. ehT gnith boefer he ided ehs aws in a emard how he oudwl be eldilk in latebt twih eth skeeGr. eSh eggedb hmi tno to hitgf, ubt he dounwl’t etsnli to rhe, whhic is wyh he deid ahtt dya by het owsdr of hte reGke irrawro sicehlAl. yaAnwy, atth’s a long osrty, adn I suhldo aleryl gte inggo scien teh snu is oatub to emoc up. eLt me ustj ays shti, toguhh: htaT dmaer I dah tlas gnhti soedn’t amen I eden a xiaeltav, ihhcw I anc’t ndsat anyawy. It nmaes htat mhgiostne dba is gnogi to eppnha to me.
Now let us speke of mirthe, and stinte al this; Madame Pertelote, so have I blis, Of o thing God hath sent me large grace; For whan I see the beautee of your face, Ye ben so scarlet-reed about your yën, It maketh al my drede for to dyen; For, also siker as In principio, Mulier est hominis confusio; Madame, the sentence of this Latin is— Womman is mannes Ioye and al his blis. For whan I fele a-night your softe syde, Al-be-it that I may nat on you ryde, For that our perche is maad so narwe, alas! I am so ful of Ioye and of solas That I defye bothe sweven and dreem.’ “Nwo, lte’s ptso aignklt autob ihst nda nrut to peiraph ingths. odG sha layerl belseds me by ivggin uoy to me, Mdmaea ertlPeoet. Wehn I okol at ouy—htwi soeht euct lletit rgsneilt of rde rnodau oyru syee—lla my resaf tsju ltem waay. It yrlale is uter hwat htey emna hwne hety ysa In rionpipic, ieruml ets isonmhi confusion, iwhhc . . . uh . . . um,

I sgesu asnem hatt

hWat it eylrla emnsa is: “In eth ignbeinng, wamon tgurobh hte fwdlnloa of nma.”

I sgseu amnes hatt
‘anmoW is amn’s yoj nad het sureco of all hsi essippanh.’ ahYe, htat’s it. usBeeac hewn I lefe oruy fots ides at tnhgi, neev hutohg I nca’t tonum uyo eceasbu ruo hrpce is so asmll, I’m ilstl so hpypa tath no aerimnthg or reamd cna otberh me!”