And in an instant, I was taken back to Mr. Rainey's 12th grade English class, when we had to memorize the first stanza of the prologue in middle English. I then began reciting for this poor student the first few lines, which are all that I can remember. She seemed embarrassed for me. Grownups are so weird.
For your reading pleasure:
| WHAN that Aprille with his shoures soote | |
| The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote, | |
| And bathed every veyne in swich licour, | |
| Of which vertu engendred is the flour; | |
| Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth | 5 |
| Inspired hath in every holt and heeth | |
| The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne | |
| Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, | |
| And smale fowles maken melodye, | |
| That slepen al the night with open ye, | 10 |
| (So priketh hem nature in hir corages: | |
| Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, | |
| And palmers for to seken straunge strondes, | |
| To ferne halwes, couthe in sondry londes; | |
| And specially, from every shires ende | 15 |
| Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, | |
| The holy blisful martir for to seke, | |
| That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke. |




