Ego Dormio: All perishes and passes

Wolleward and weetshoed wente I forþ after
As a recchelees renk þat [reccheþ of no wo],
And yede forþ lik a lorel al my lif tyme,
Til I weex wery of þe world and wilned eft to slepe,
And lened me to a lenten, and longe tyme I slepte;
| Reste me þere and rutte faste til Ramis palmarum.
Of gerlis and of Gloria laus gretly me dremed,
And how Osanna by Organye olde folk songen,

In a somer seson, whan softe was þe sonne,
I shoop me into [a] shrou[d] as I a sheep weere,
In habite as an heremite, vnholy of werkes,
Wente wide in þis world wondres to here.
Ac on a May morwenynge on Maluerne hilles
Me bifel a ferly, of Fairye me þoȝte.
I was wery forwandred and wente me to reste
Under a brood bank by a bourn[e] syde;

‘þis were a wikkede wey but whoso hadde a gyde
þat [myȝte] folwen us ech foot’: þus þis folk hem mened.
Quod Perkyn þe Plowman, ‘By Seint Peter of Rome!
I haue an half acre to erie by þe heiȝe weye;
Hadde I eryed þis half acre and sowen it after
I wolde wende wiþ yow and þe wey teche.’
‘þis were a long lettyng,’ quod a lady in a Scleyre.
‘What sholde we wommen werche þe while?’

canto iv

A hard thunder broke my sleep.
As if roused by a god,

I stood straight up;
my rested eyes moved about,

seeking acquaintance
with place.

I found myself

From there he sailed farther on, and sadder.
Standing at the stern he looked out darkly
till the Cyclopes’ land turned slowly into view.
He saw the island’s unfarmed peak
that rose up sharp and high as if to mark itself
apart, and watched a fire’s smoke unfold
from where a shepherd lulled it.
But those who bent to pull the oars

Fle fro the pres, and dwelle with sothefastnesse,
Suffise thin owen thing, thei it be smal;
For hord hath hate, and clymbyng tykelnesse,
Prees hath envye, and wele blent overal.
Savour no more thanne the byhove schal;
Reule weel thiself, that other folk canst reede;
And trouthe schal delyvere, it is no drede.

Tempest the nought al croked to redresse,

You may talk o’ gin and beer
When you’re quartered safe out ’ere,
An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it.
Now in Injia’s sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time

(excerpt)

From Book II With this he took his leve, and hom he wente;
And lord, so he was glad and wel bygon!
Criseyde aroos, no lenger she ne stente,
But streght in-to hire closet wente anon,

(excerpt)

From Book V The morwen com, and gostly for to speke,
This Diomede is come un-to Criseyde;
And shortly, lest that ye my tale breke,
So wel he for hym-selven spak and seyde,