The Franklin's Tale
Folio 134v
5 of 24 folios
Is ther no ship of so many as I se
Wole bryng hom my lord than were myn herte
Al warisshed of hise bittre peynes smerte
¶ A nother tyme there wold she sit and thinke
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And caste hir eyen dounward fro the brynke
But whan she sey the grisly rokkes blake
For verry fere she wolde hir hert quake
That on hir feet she myght hir noght sustene
Than wolde she sitte adoun vpon the grene
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And pitously in to the see biholde
And seyn ryght thus wyth sorweful sykes cold
¶ Eterne god that thurgh thi purueyaunce
Ledest the world by eterne gouernaunce
In ydel as men seyn ye no thing make
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But lord thise grisly feenly rokkes blake
That semen rather a foul confusioun
Of werke than any fair creacioun
Of swich a parfit wis god and stable
Whi han ye wroght this werk vnresonable
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For bi this werk . South . north . ne . west . ne . Est
Ther nys y fostred man ne brid ne beest
It doth no good to my wit but anoyeth
Se ye nat lord how mankynd it destroyeth
An hundred thousant bodyes of mankynde
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Han rokkes slayn al be thei noght in mynde
Which mankynde is so faire a part of thi werke
That thow it madest like to thyn owne merke
¶ Than semed it ye had grete cherite
Toward mankynde but how thanne it may be
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That ye swich menes make it to destroyen
Which menes do no good but euyr anoyen
I wote wel clerkes wol seyn as hem lest
By Argumentis that al is for the best
Thogh I ne can the causes noght y know
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But thilk god that made wynd to blow
As kepe my lord this is my conclusioun