 Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, lines 1 to 18 by Geoffrey Chaucer, read for LibriVox.org by Alan Clare. One that's April, with his showers, soot to the drill to march hath pierced to the root. And bade every bane in switch liquor, of which virtue engendered is the flower. When Zafira seek with his sweet breath, inspired hath in every halt and heath the tender crops. And the youngest son hath in the ram is half a corsa run. And smaller fowls make a melody that's sleepin' all the night with open eyes, so prick at them nature in here courages. That long hath folk to go on pilgrimages and parmas for to seek, and strange as strongs to fair and hallowes, cooth in sondry lawns, and specially from every shire's end of England, to Canterbury they wend. The holy blissful martyr for to seek, that hath hopeen won that they were seek. End of poem This recording is in the public domain. Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, lines one through eighteen, by Jeffrey Chaucer, read for lubervox.org by Erewet. One that April, with his showers soot, the drill to march hath pierced to the root. And bade every bane in switch liquor, of which virtue engendered is the flower. When Zafira seek with his sweet breath, inspired hath in every halt and heath, the tender crops. And the youngest son hath in the ram is half a corsa run. And smaller fowls make in melody, that sleepen of the night with open e, so preceth him nature in here carriages, than lunging folk to goon on pilgrimages, and palmer for to seek and strongest strongs, to fair and hallowes, cooth in sondry lawns, and specially from every shire's end of England, to Canterbury they wend. The holy blissful martyr for to seek, that him hath hopeen won that they were seek. End of poem Prologue to the Canterbury Tales. Lines 1 to 18 by Geoffrey Chaucer. Read for Librevox.org by Kara Shalaburg. Juan Batapril with his showers soot, the draught of march hath pierced to the root. And bade every bane in switch liquor, of which virtue engendered is the flower. When Zafira seek with his sweet breath, inspired hath in every halt and heath, the tenderer cropes, and the youngest son, hath in the ram his half a course hereon, and smaller fowl as mac and melody, that sleepen all the nicht with open ear, so pricketh him natur in here carriages, than lunging folk to goon on pilgrimages, and palmer for to seek and strongest strongs, to fair and hallowes, cooth in sondry lawns, and specially from every shire's end of England, to Canterbury they wend, the holy blissful martyr for to seek, that him hath hulpen when that they were seek. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Prologue to the Canterbury Tales. Lines 1-18 by Geoffrey. The End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. Chosa, read for LibriVox.org by Karen Savage. One that april with his surest sota, the draught of marcha persa to the rota, and bathered every vein in suchlikur, of which vertu engendrid is the floor. One Zafira's ache with his sweeter breath, in spirred hath in every holt and haith the tendered cropus, and the youngest sonna hath in the ram his hava-corsi rona, and small afoolas makin melodia, that sleep in alde-nicht with open ear. So prigith hem natur in hir corages, than lungan folk to goon on pilgrimages, and palmer's fortisacan strongest throndus, to ferna halwis, cooth and sondri londus, and specially from every sheeris enda of engelond to canteburi they wenda, the holly blissful martyr fortisacan, that hem hath holpen one that they were sacre. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Prologue to the Canteburi Tales. One Zafira's ache with his sweet breath, in spirred hath in every holt and haith the tendered cropus, and the youngest sonna hath in the ram his hava-corsi rona, and small afoolas makin melodia, that sleep in alde-nicht with open ear. So prigith hem natur in hir corages, than lungan folk to goon pilgrimages, and palmer's fortisacan strongest throndus, to ferna halwis, cooth and sondri londus, and specially from every sheeris enda of engelond to canteburi they wenda, the holly blissful martyr fortisacan, that hem hath holpen one that they were sacre. End of poem. This recording.