The Clerk's Tale
Folio 91r
3 of 35 folios
A markys whilom lord was of that lond
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As were his worthi eldres hem bifore
And obesant ay redy to his hond
Were al his lieges bothe lasse and moore
Thus in delite he lyueth and hath doon yore
By loued and dred thrugh fortune
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Bothe of his lordes and of his Commune
Ther wyth he was to speken as of lynage
The gentileste I born of lumbardye
A fair persoon and stronge and yong of age
And ful of honour and of Curtesye
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Discret ynow his contre for to gye
Sauf in sum thinges that he was to blame
And Wauter was this yonge lordes name
I blame him thus he concidred noght
In tyme comyng what myght him bityde
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But on his lust persent was al his thought
And for to hauke and hunt on euery syde
Wel ny al other cures let he slide
And eke he nolde and that was werst of alle
Wedde no wyf for aught that may befalle
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Only that poynt his peple bar so soore
That flokmele on a day to him they went
And on of hem that wisest was of loore
Or elles that the lord wold best assent
That he sholde telle him what the peple ment
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Or elles coude he shew wel swich matere
He to the Marquys seyde as ye shal here
O noble Marquys your humanyte
Assureth vs and yeueth vs hardynesse
As ofte as tyme is of necessite
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That we to yow may telle our heuynesse
Accepteth lord thanne of your gentilnesse
That we wyth pitous hert vnto yow pleyne
And let your eris nat my voys desdeyne