II
OF DEPLORABLE SENTIMENTS
I WOULDN’T sell my noble thirst
For half-a-dozen bags of gold;
I’d like to drink until I burst.
I wouldn’t sell my noble thirst
For lucre filthy and accurst—
Such treasures can’t be bought and sold!
I wouldn’t sell my noble thirst
For half-a-dozen bags of gold.
III
OF LOVE AND LAUGHTER
You scattered joy about my way
And filled my lips with love and laughter
In white and yellow fields of May
You scattered joy about my way.
Though Winter come with skies of grey
And grisly death come stalking after,
You scattered joy about my way
And filled my lips with love and laughter.
A NEW CANTERBURY TALE
IN Italie a mony yeer ago
There lived a little childë Catharine,
With yongë, merrie hertë clere as snow.
From hir first youthful hour she did entwyne
Roses both whyt and reed—Godis columbine
She was. And for hir holy gaiety
Was by hir neighbours clept Euphrosyne.
Ech stepp she took upon hir fadirs staires,
Kneeling she did an Ave Mary say;
With ful devocioun she seid hir prayers
Ere that she wentë forth ech day to play;
Our Blessid Queen was in hir thought alway—
Our Modir Mary whose humility
Hath raiséd hir to hevinës magesté.
When only sevin was this childës age
She vowed hirself to sweet virginity,
Forsweering eny erthly marriáge,
That she the clenë bride of Crist schuld be,
Who on the heavy cross ful cruelly
The Jewës nailéd, hevin to open wide—
Crist for hir husëbond, she Cristës bride.