“A twenty-divel way the wind him drive.”
For which, indeed, Chaucer somewhat deserved (for he ought not to have believed such things of Theseus,) the God of Love’s anger at his drawing too near the daisy. I will write the pretty lines partly in modern spelling for you, that you may get the sense better:—
I, kneeling by this flower, in good intent,
Abode, to know what all the people meant,
As still as any stone; till at the last
The God of Love on me his eyen cast
And said, “Who kneeleth there?” And I answered
Unto his asking,
And said, “Sir, it am I,” and came him near
And salued him.—Quoth he, “What dost thou here