The Canterbury Tales: The Knight's Tale
'Se how they blede! Be they noght wel arrayed?
Thus hath hir lord, the God of Love, ypayed
Hir wages and hir fees for his servyse!
And yet they wenen for to been ful wyse,
That serven love, for aught that may bifalle!'
But all moot ben assayed, hoot and cold;
A man moot ben a fool, or yong or oold;
I woot it by myself ful yore agon,
For in my tyme a servant was I oon.
And therfore, syn I knowe of loves peyne,
And woot how soore it kan a man distreyne,
As he that hath been caught ofte in his laas,
I yow foryeve al hoolly this trespaas.
First in the temple of Venus maystow se
Wroght on the wal, ful pitous to biholde,
The broken slepes and the sikes colde,
The sacred teeries and the waymentynge,
The firy strokes, and the desirynge
That loves servantz in this lyf enduren;
The othes that her covenantz assuren.