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The old hostelry, which besides its own beauty had this claim also upon our reverence, that it represented in no unworthy fashion the birthplace as it were of English poetry, owes of course all its fame to Chaucer, who lay there on the night before he set out for Canterbury as he tells us: When that Aprille with his shoures sote The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote.... Bifel that, in that season on a day In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage To Caunterbury with ful devout corage, At night was come into that hostelrye Wel nyne and twenty in a companye Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle In felawshipe, and pilgrims were they alle, That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde; The chambres and the shelter weren wyde, And wel we weren esed atte beste And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste, So hadde I spoken with hem everichon, That I was of hir felawshipe anon And made forward erly for to ryse, To take our wey, there as I yow devyse.
"You stole him back again ain't it?" "Stole him back again!" Morris repeated. "What are you talking nonsense, Kleiman? We wouldn't take that feller back in our store, not if we could get him to come to work for two dollars a week." "Yow!" Kleiman exclaimed skeptically. "I don't suppose you know the feller left us at all?"
Shall I go and catch her?" "Yes," said Dick, grinning. "Shall I say, `Sh!" "Nay, if thou'rt going to play tricks, lad, I shall howd my hand. I thowt yow wanted to see me ketch a hare." "Go on, then," said Dick, laughing; "we won't move."
"We've only two horses, you know, and I want you women to ride them." "By by ourselves?" Mrs. Conrad's usually cheerful voice sounded a little frightened. "I couldn't find that trail in the dark; I'm not Li Yow, you know." "The horses will take you." "Oh, please let's keep together!" pleaded Polly. "Why can't we all go in the wagon the way you planned?"
"What d'yer think o' them?" He pointed to a couple of muskets lying on the bench. "Are these yours?" said Tom. "Yes and no, lads. They're for me and Jacob, and we've got orders to be ready at any time to join in and help run down them as does all the mischief; but it's a sorry business, lads. Powther and shot's no use. Yow can't get shut of sperrits that ways. Good goons, aren't they?"
Of a sudden his color hypnotism transported him. "Eee yow!" he howled, brandishing a handful of Naples yellow mixed with coral which he hurled at the canvas. "Zow! Bam! Ooh, la la!" His shrieks roused his escorts and brought a rapidly swelling crowd to the dune, where, to the sound of his own ravings and the plaudits of the spectators, he finished his masterpiece.
It is ill to bring out of the flesh that is bred in the bene. It is a fairy brewing that is not good in the newing. It's tint that is done to old men and bairns. It is a silly flock where the yow bears the bell. Ill win, ill warit. In some mens aught mon the old horse die. It is a sooth board that men sees wakin. In space, comes Grace. It is a sin to lye on the Devil.
The old man faced sharp round on me, swinging the little gig almost over, and then twisted himself back again, and put on a true farmer-like look of dogged, stolid reserve. We rolled on a few minutes in silence. "Dee yow consider, now, that a mon mought be lost, like, into Lunnon?" "How lost?"
I've got the biggest gorby of a mon," she went on, "between Mow Cop and the Cocklow o' Leek. He's gone trapesing off, with our young Ted on his shoulders, to see yow chaps march into Leek. There's about a dozen on 'em gone, as brisk as if they were goin' to Stoke wakes. Fine fools they'll lukken when they comes whom to-nate."
"How do you know that?" I asked. "By the print," was the quick reply. "It tells yow all about him." I fetched the fly-sheet down, held it out to her, and said sharply, "Read it to me!" I thought this would clean beat her, but she said, simply enough, "I canna rade it mysen, but I've heard it read lots o' times." "Have you heard it read?" I asked the man.
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