The Canterbury Tales

Where elves once walked, a holy man now walks instead.

For there as wont to walkë was an elf,There walketh now the limitour himself,In undermelës and in morrownings,And saith his matins and his holy things,As he goes in his limitatioún.Women may now go safely up and down,In every bush, and under every tree;There is none other incubus but he;And he will do to them no dishonoúr.

The cruelest choice is the one you are allowed to make yourself.

Now there ye say that I am foul and old,Then dread ye not to be a cokëwold.For filth, and eldë, all so may I thé,Be greatë wardens upon chastity.But natheless, since I know your delight,I shall fulfil your wordly appetite.Choose now,” quoth she, “one of these thingës tway,To have me foul and old till that I dey,And be to you a truë humble wife,And never you displease in all my life:Or ellës will ye have me young and fair,And take your áventure of the repairThat shall be to your house because of me—Or in some other place, it may well be?

The most honest line in a dishonest sales pitch.

Now, good men, God forgive you your trespáss,And ware you from the sin of avaríce.Mine holy pardon may you all waríce,So that ye offer nobles or sterlings,Or ellës silver brooches, spoons, or rings.Bowë your head under this holy bull.Come up, ye wives, and offer of your will;Your names I enter in my roll anon;Into the bliss of heaven shall ye gon;I you assoil by minë high powére,You that will offer, as clean and eke as clearAs ye were born. Lo, Sirës, thus I preach;And Jesus Christ, that is our soulës’ leech,So grantë you his pardon to receive;