The Prioress's Prologue, ll. 1-35 (The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer)

From The Canterbury Tales:
Prologue of the Prioress's Tale

The Prologe of the Prioresses Tale.

Domine dominus noster.

	"O lord oure lord, thy name how merveillous
	Is in this large world ysprad," quod she
	"For noght oonly thy laude precious
	Parfourned is by men of dignitee,
5	But by the mouth of children thy bountee
	Parfourned is, for on the brest soukynge
	Somtyme shewen they thyn heriynge.

Wherfore in laude, as I best kan or may,

Of thee, and of the whyte lylye flour

10 Which that the bar, and is a mayde alway,

To telle a storie I wol do my labour;

Nat that I may encressen hir honour,

For she hirself is honour, and the roote

Of bountee, next hir sone, and soules boote.

15 O mooder Mayde! O mayde Mooder free!

O bussh unbrent, brennynge in Moyses sighte,

That ravysedest doun fro the deitee

Thurgh thyn humblesse, the Goost that in th'alighte,

Of whos vertu, whan he thyn herte lighte,

20 Conceyved was the Fadres sapience,

Help me to telle it in thy reverence.

Lady, thy bountee, thy magnificence,

Thy vertu, and thy grete humylitee,

Ther may no tonge expresse in no science,

25 For somtyme, lady, er men praye to thee,

Thou goost biforn of thy benyngnytee

And getest us the lyght, thurgh thy preyere,

To gyden us unto thy Sone so deere.

My konnyng is so wayk, O blisful Queene,

30 For to declare thy grete worthynesse,

That I ne may the weighte nat susteene,

But as a child of twelf monthe oold, or lesse,

That kan unnethes any word expresse,

Right so fare I; and therfore I yow preye,

35 Gydeth my song that I shal of yow seye."

	Wherfore in laude, as I best kan or may,
	Of thee, and of the whyte lylye flour
10	Which that the bar, and is a mayde alway,
	To telle a storie I wol do my labour;
	Nat that I may encressen hir honour,
	For she hirself is honour, and the roote
	Of bountee, next hir sone, and soules boote.

15	O mooder Mayde! O mayde Mooder free!
	O bussh unbrent, brennynge in Moyses sighte,
	That ravysedest doun fro the deitee
	Thurgh thyn humblesse, the Goost that in th'alighte,
	Of whos vertu, whan he thyn herte lighte,
20	Conceyved was the Fadres sapience,
	Help me to telle it in thy reverence.

	Lady, thy bountee, thy magnificence,
	Thy vertu, and thy grete humylitee,
	Ther may no tonge expresse in no science,
25	For somtyme, lady, er men praye to thee,
	Thou goost biforn of thy benyngnytee
	And getest us the lyght, thurgh thy preyere,
	To gyden us unto thy Sone so deere.

	My konnyng is so wayk, O blisful Queene,
30	For to declare thy grete worthynesse,
	That I ne may the weighte nat susteene,
	But as a child of twelf monthe oold, or lesse,
	That kan unnethes any word expresse,
	Right so fare I; and therfore I yow preye,
35	Gydeth my song that I shal of yow seye."