Whist! Geoffrey! Come away.
CHAUCER
[Reads from a parchment.]
“April, May,
Cannot stay;
We be pilgrims—so are they,
And our shrine,
Far away—”
[A bell sounds outside; Chaucer pauses, and draws out a
pocket sun-dial.]
The chapel bell!
Four, by my cylinder. My signorino
Will claim his verses!
[Reads on.]
“And our shrine,