Geoffrey Chaucer

   A FRANKELEYN was in his compaignye.
   There was a FRANKLIN in his company;

Whit was his berd as is a dayesye;
White was his beard as is the white daisy.     
Of his complexioun he was sangwyn.
Of sanguine temperament by every sign,

Wel loved he by the morwe a sope in wyn,;
He loved to dip his morning bread in wine.

To lyven in delit was evere his wone,
A pleasing live was the custom he'd won,

For he was Epicurus owene sone,
For he was Epicurus' very son,

That heeld opinioun that pleyn delit
That held opinion that plain and pure delight      
Was verray felicitee parfit.
Was true happiness, perfect and right.

An housholdere, and that a greet, was he;
A householder, and that a great, was he;

Seint Julian was he in his contree.
Saint Julian he was in his own country.

His breed, his ale, was alweys after oon,
His bread, his ale were always good and fine;

A bettre envyned man was nowher noon.
No man had cellars better stocked with wine.   
Withoute bake mete was nevere his hous
His house was never short of food and pies

Of fissh and flessh, and that so plentevous,
Of fish and flesh, and these in large supplies

It snewed in his hous of mete and drynke,
It seemed to snow therein both food and drink

Of alle deyntees that men koude thynke.
Of every dainty that a man could think.

After the sondry sesons of the yeer,
According to the various seasons of the year    
So chaunged he his mete and his soper.
He changed lunch and changed his supper.

Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in muwe,
Very many fattened partridges he kept in a mew,

And many a breem and many a luce in stuwe.
And many a bream and pike in fish-pond too.

Wo was his cook, but if his sauce were
Woe to his cook, unless the sauces were

Poynaunt and sharp, and redy al his geere.
Poignant and sharp, and ready all his gear.  
His table dormant in his halle alway
His dining table, waiting in his hall, I say,

Stood redy covered al the longe day.
Stood ready covered throughout the whole day.

At sessiouns ther was he lord and sire;
At county sessions he was lord and sire,

Ful ofte tyme he was knyght of the shire.
And often acted as a knight of shire.

An anlaas and a gipser al of silk
A dagger and a purse all of silk    
Heeng at his girdel, whit as morne milk.
Hung at his belt, white as morning milk.

A shirreve hadde he been, and a countour.
He had been sheriff and been tax auditor;

Was nowher swich a worthy vavasour.
There was nowhere such a worthy vavasor.

spoken =Brian Ó Broin