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Fair was this yonge wif, and therwithal
As any wesele hir body gent and smal.
A ceynt she werede barred al of milk,
Upon hir lendes, ful of many a gore.
Whyt was hir smok and broyden al bifore
And eek bihinde, on hir coler aboute,
Of col-blac silk, withinne and eek withoute.
The tapes of hir whyte voluper
Were of the same suyte of hir coler;
Hir filet brood of silk, and set ful hye;
And silkerly she hadde a likerous ye.
Ful smale y-pulled were hir brownes two,
And tho were bent and blake as any sloo.
She was ful more blisful on to see
Than is the newe pere-jonette tree;
And softer than the wolle is of a wether.
And by hir girdel heeng a purs of lether,
Tassld with silk, and perled with latoun.
In al this world, to seken up and down,
There nis no man so wys that coude thenche
So gay a popelote or swich a wenche.
Ful brighter was the shyning of hir here
Than in the tour the noble y-forged newe…


And though that I be old, and may nat see
Beeth to me trewe, my wesele
That art the creature that I best love

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