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Here is a portrait of him at his labours: The thridde day this marchant up ariseth, And on his nedes sadly hym avyseth, And up into his countour-hous gooth he, To rekene with hymself, as wel may be, Of thilke yeer, how that it with hymn stood, And how that he despended hadde his good, And if that he encressed were or noon.

Here is a specimen from Wycliffe's Gospels: In thilke dayes came Joon Baptist prechynge in the desert of Jude, saying, Do ye penaunce: for the kyngdom of heuens shall neigh. Forsothe this is he of whom it is said by Ysaye the prophete, A voice of a cryinge in desert, make ye redy the wayes of the Lord, make ye rightful the pathes of hym.

And thei worschipen also specyally alle tho that thei han gode meetynge of; and whan thei speden wel in here iorneye, aftre here meetynge; and namely suche as thei han preved and assayed be experience of longe tyme. For thei seyn, that thilke gode meetynge ne may not come, but of the grace of God.

This wydwe, of which I telle yow my tale, Syn thilke day that she was last a wyf, In pacience ladde a ful symple lyf, For litel was hir catel and hir rente. Now if I could have only one of Mr. Masefield's books, I would take The Widow in the Bye Street. Its opening lines have the much-in-little so characteristic of Chaucer.