The Friar was very fond of playing and played so madly as if he were a puppy-dog in spite of this his eyes twinkled in his head in the same way as the stars do in the frosty night, while playing the harp.
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"Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote, The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swich licour Of which vertu engendred is the flour;"
"A good felawe, ye, a verray charitee!"
"The smalest worm that crepeth by the weye, Is in his kynde as parfit as the grete."
"His palfrey was as broun as is a berye."
"That he is gentil that dooth gentil dedis."
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