Help us, Seinte Frideswyde!
A man woot litel what him shal bityde.

Help us, Saint Frideswide!
A man knows little what shall him befall.

From The Wife of Bath's Tale

For, be we never so vicious withinne,
We wol been holden wise and clene of synne.

For, be we never so vicious within,
We would be held wise and clean of sin.

From The Man of Law's Prologue

O hateful harm, condicion of poverte!
With thurst, with coold, with hunger so confoundid!
To asken help thee shameth in thyn herte;
If thou noon aske, with nede artow so woundid
That verray nede unwrappeth al thy wounde hid!
Maugree thyn heed, thou most for indigence
Or stele, or begge, or borwe by despence!

O hateful harm, condition of poverty!
With thirst, with cold, with hunger so confounded!
To ask help shames you in your heart;
If you none ask, with need are you so wounded
That very need unwraps al your wounds hidden!
In spite of your head, you must for indigence
Either steal, or beg, or borrow to live.

From The Pardoner's Tale

And whan that this was doon, thus spak that oon:
"Now lat us sitte and drynke, and make us merie,
And afterward we wol his body berie."

And when that this was done, thus spoke that one:
"Now let us sit and drink, and make us merry,
And afterward we will his body bury."

From The Prioress' Tale

Is this to yow a thyng that is honest,
That swich a boy shal walken as hym lest
In your despit . . . ?

Is this to you a thing that is honest,
That such a boy shall walk as he list
In contempt of you . . . ?

From The Pardoner's Tale

For this was outrely his fulle entente,
To sleen hem bothe, and nevere to repente.

For this was beyond bounds his full intent,
To slay them both, and never to repent.

From The Knight's Tale

Cosyn myn, what eyleth thee,
That art so pale and deedly on to see?

Cousin mine, what ails you,
That you’re so deadly pale to see?

From The Clerk's Tale

But thogh this mayde tendre were of age,
Yet in the brest of hir virginitee
Ther was enclosed rype and sad corage . . .

But although this maid tender were of age
Yet in the breast of her viginity
There was enclosed ripe and wise courage . . .

From The Parson's Tale

Soothly synnes been the weyes that leden folk to helle.

Truly, sins are the ways that lead folk to hell

From The Nun's Priest's Tale

[B]ut God yeve hym meschaunce,
That is so undiscreet of governaunce
That jangleth whan he shoulde holde his pees.

But God give him mischance
That is so indiscreet at self-governing
That [his tongue] jangles when he should hold his peace.

From The Clerk's Tale

To be a mordere is an hateful name.

To be a murderer is a hateful thing.

From The Knight's Tale

For in his huntyng hath he swich delit
That it is al his joye and appetit
To been hymself the grete hertes bane . . .

For in his hunting he has such delight
That it is all his joy and desire
To be himself the great deer’s doom . . .

From The Clerk's Tale

But wel he knew that next hymself, certayn,
She loved hir children best in every wyse . . .
What koude a sturdy housbounde moore devyse
To preeve hir wyfhod and hir stedefastnesse . . . 

But well he knew that next to himself, certainly,
She loved her children best in every way . . .
What could a stern husband better find
To prove her [obedient] wifehood and her steadfastness . . .

From The Prioress' Tale

Mordre wol out, certeyn, it wol nat faille . . .
The blood out crieth on youre cursed dede. 

Murder will out, certainly, it will not fail . . .
The blood cries out on your cursed deed.

From The Knight's Tale

“It nere,” quod he, “to thee no greet honour
For to be fals, ne for to be traitour . . .” 

"It is never," said he, "to thee any great honor,
For to be false nor for to be traitor."

From Dux Moraud

Maydyn so louely and komly of syte,
I prey thee for loue thou wyl lystyn to me;
To here my resun I prey thee wel tythe,
Love so deryn me most schewe to thee . . . 

Maiden so lovely and comely to see,
I pray you for love you will listen to me;
To hear my reason I pray you will quickly,
Love so secret I must show to you . . .