Classic Poem

A Clerk ther was of Cauntebrigge also,
That unto rowing haddè long y-go.
Of thinnè shidès wolde he shippès makè,
And he was nat right fat, I undertakè.
And whan his ship he wrought had attè fullè,
Right gladly by the river wolde he pullè,
And eek returne as blythly as he wentè.
Him rekkèd nevere that the sonne him brentè,
Ne stinted he his cours for reyn ne snowè;
It was a joyè for to seen him rowè!
Yit was him lever, in his shelves newè,
Six oldè textès, clad in greenish hewè,
Of Chaucer and his oldè poesyè
Than ale, or wyn of Lepe, or Malvoisyè.
And therwithal he wex a philosofre;
And peyned him to gadren gold in cofre
Of sundry folk; and al that he mighte hentè
On textès and emprinting he it spentè;
And busily gan bokès to purveyè
For hem that yeve him wherwith to scoleyè.
Of glossaryès took he hede and curè;
And when he spyèd had, by aventurè,
A word that semèd him or strange or rarè,
To henten it anon he noldè sparè,
But wolde it on a shrede of paper wrytè,
And in a cheste he dide his shredès whytè,
And preyèd every man to doon the samè;
Swich maner study was to him but gamè.
And on this wysè many a yeer he wroughtè,
Ay storing every shreed that men him broughtè,
Til, attè lastè, from the noble pressè
Of Clarendoun, at Oxenforde, I gessè,
Cam stalking forth the Gretè Dictionárie
That no man wel may pinche at ne contrárie.
But for to tellen alle his queintè gerès,
They wolden occupye wel seven yerès;
Therefore I passe as lightly as I may;
Ne speke I of his hatte or his array,
Ne how his berd by every wind was shakè
When as, for hete, his hat he wolde of takè.
Souning in Erly English was his spechè,
“And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly techè.”