Classic Poem

Whan said was al this miracle, every man
As sobre was that wonder was to see,
Til that oure Hoste japen he bigan,
And thanne at erst he looked upon me,
And saide thus, "What man artou?" quod he.
"Thou lookest as thou woldest finde an hare,
For evere upon the ground I see thee stare.

Approche neer and looke up merily.
Now ware you, sires, and lat this man have place:
He in the wast is shape as wel as I--
This were a popet in an arm t' enbrace,
For any womman, smal and fair of face;
He seemeth elvissh by his countenaunce,
For unto no wight dooth he daliaunce.

Say now somwhat, sin other folk han said.
Tel us a tale of mirthe, and that anoon."
"Hoste," quod I, "ne beeth nat yvele apaid,
For other tale, certes, can I noon,
But of a rym I lerned longe agoon."
"Ye, that is good," quod he. "Now shul we heere
Som daintee thing, me thinketh by his cheere."