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Geoffrey Chaucer - The House Of Fame
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   Of plentee, and of greet famyne,
   Of chepe, of derth, and of ruyne;
   Of good or mis governement,
   Of fyr, of dyvers accident.
     And lo, this hous, of whiche I wryte,
   Siker be ye, hit nas not lyte;
   For hit was sixty myle of lengthe;
   Al was the timber of no strengthe,
   Yet hit is founded to endure
   Whyl that hit list to Aventure,
   That is the moder of tydinges,
   As the see of welles and springes, —
   And hit was shapen lyk a cage.
     `Certes,` quod I, `in al myn age,
   Ne saugh I swich a hous as this.`
   And as I wondred me, y-wis,
   Upon this hous, tho war was I
   How that myn egle, faste by,
   Was perched hye upon a stoon;
   And I gan streighte to him goon,
   And seyde thus: `I preye thee
   That thou a whyl abyde me
   For goddes love, and let me seen
   What wondres in this place been;
   For yit, paraventure, I may lere
   Som good ther-on, or sumwhat here
   That leef me were, or that I wente.`
     `Peter! that is myn entente,`
   Quod he to me; `therfor I dwelle;
   But certein, oon thing I thee telle,
   That, but I bringe thee ther-inne,
   Ne shalt thou never cunne ginne
   To come in-to hit, out of doute,
   So faste hit whirleth, lo, aboute.
   But sith that Ioves, of his grace,
   As I have seyd, wol thee solace
   Fynally with swiche thinges,
   Uncouthe sightes and tydinges,
   To passe with thyn hevinesse;
   Suche routhe hath he of thy distresse,
   That thou suffrest debonairly —
   And wost thy-selven utterly
   Disesperat of alle blis,
   Sith that Fortune hath maad a-mis
   The fruit of al thyn hertes reste
   Languisshe and eek in point to breste —
   That he, through his mighty meryte,
   Wol do thee ese, al be hit lyte,
   And yaf expres commaundement,
   To whiche I am obedient,
   To furthre thee with al my might,
   And wisse and teche thee aright
   Wher thou maist most tydinges here;
   Shaltow anoon heer many oon lere.`
     With this worde he, right anoon,
   Hente me up bitwene his toon,
   And at a windowe in me broghte,
   That in this hous was, as me thoghte —
   And ther-withal, me thoughte hit stente,
   And no-thing hit aboute wente —
   And me sette in the flore adoun.
   But which a congregacioun
   Of folk, as I saugh rome aboute
   Some within and some withoute,
   Nas never seen, ne shal ben eft;
   That, certes, in the world nis left
   So many formed by Nature,
   Ne deed so many a creature;
   That wel unnethe, in that place,
   Hadde I oon foot-brede of space;
   And every wight that I saugh there
   Rouned ech in others ere
   A newe tyding prevely,
   Or elles tolde al openly
   Right thus, and seyde: `Nost not thou
   That is betid, lo, late or now?`
     `No,` quod the other, `tel me what;` —
   And than he tolde him this and that,
   And swoor ther-to that hit was sooth —
   `Thus hath he seyd,`— and `Thus he dooth` —
   `Thus shal hit be,` — `Thus herde I seye` —
   `That shal he found` — `That dar I leye:` —
   That al the folk that is a-lyve
   Ne han the cunning to discryve
   The thinges that I herde there,
   What aloude, and what in ere.
   But al the wonder-most was this: —
   Whan oon had herd a thing, y-wis,
   He com forth to another wight,
   And gan him tellen, anoon-right,
   The same that to him was told,
   Or hit a furlong-way was old,
   But gan somwhat for to eche
   To this tyding in this speche
   More than hit ever was.
   And nat so sone departed nas
   That he fro him, that he ne mette
   With the thridde; and, or he lette
   Any stounde, he tolde him als;
   Were the tyding sooth or fals,
   Yit wolde he telle hit nathelees,
   And evermo with more encrees
   Than hit was erst. Thus north and southe
   Went every word fro mouth to mouthe,
   And that encresing ever-mo,
   As fyr is wont to quikke and go
   From a sparke spronge amis,
   Til al a citee brent up is.
     And whan that was ful y-spronge,
   And woxen more on every tonge
   Than ever hit was, hit wente anoon
   Up to a windowe, out to goon;
   Or, but hit mighte out ther pace,
   Hit gan out crepe at som crevace,
   And fleigh forth faste for the nones.
     And somtyme saugh I tho, at ones,
   A lesing and a sad soth-sawe,
   That gonne of aventure drawe
   Out at a windowe for to pace;
   And, when they metten in that place,
   They were a-chekked bothe two,
   And neither of hem moste out go;
   For other so they gonne croude,
   Til eche of hem gan cryen loude,
   `Lat me go first!` — `Nay, but let me!
   And here I wol ensuren thee
   With the nones that thou wolt do so,
   That I shal never fro thee go,
   But be thyn owne sworen brother!
   We wil medle us ech with other,
   That no man, be he never so wrothe,
   Shal han that oon of two, but bothe
   At ones, al beside his leve,
   Come we a-morwe or on eve,
   Be we cryed or stille y-rouned.`
   Thus saugh I fals and sooth compouned
   Togeder flee for oo tydinge.
     Thus out at holes gonne wringe
   Every tyding streight to Fame;
   And she gan yeven eche his name,
   After hir disposicioun,
   And yaf hem eek duracioun,
   Some to wexe and wane sone,
   As dooth the faire, whyte mone,
   And leet hem gon. Ther might I seen
   Wenged wondres faste fleen,
   Twenty thousand in a route,
   As Eolus hem blew aboute.
     And, lord! this hous, in alle tymes,
   Was ful of shipmen and pilgrymes,
   With scrippes bret-ful of lesinges,
   Entremedled with tydinges,
   And eek alone by hem-selve.
   O, many a thousand tymes twelve
   Saugh I eek of these pardoneres,
   Currours, and eek messangeres,
   With boistes crammed ful of lyes
   As ever vessel was with lyes.
   And as I alther-fastest wente
   Aboute, and dide al myn entente
   Me for to pleye and for to lere,
   And eek a tyding for to here,
   That I had herd of som contree
   That shal not now be told for me; —
   For hit no nede is, redely;
   Folk can singe hit bet than I;
   For al mot out, other late or rathe,
   Alle the sheves in the lathe; —
   I herde a gret noise withalle
   In a corner of the halle,
   Ther men of love tydings tolde,
   And I gan thiderward beholde;
   For I saugh renninge every wight,
   As faste as that they hadden might;
   And everich cryed, `What thing is that?`
   And som seyde, `I not never what,`
   And whan they were alle on an hepe,
   Tho behinde gonne up lepe,
   And clamben up on othere faste,
   And up the nose and hye caste,
   And troden faste on othere heles,
   And stampe, as men don after eles.
     Atte laste I saugh a man,
   Which that I nevene naught ne can;
   But he semed for to be
   A man of greet auctoritee...

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