The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer, Walter William Skeat
The Franklin’s Prologue
Thise olde gentil Britons in hir dayes Of diverse aventures maden layes, Rymeyed in hir firste Briton tonge; Which layes with hir instruments they songe, Or elles redden hem for hir plesaunce; And oon of hem have I in remembraunce, Which I shal seyn with good wil as I can.
But, sires, by-cause I am a burel man, At my biginning first I yow biseche Have me excused of my rude speche; I lerned never rethoryk certeyn; Thing that I speke, it moot be bare and pleyn. I sleep never on the mount of Pernaso, Ne lerned Marcus Tullius Cithero. Colours ne knowe I none, with-outen drede, But swiche colours as growen in the mede, Or elles swiche as men dye or peynte. Colours of rethoryk ben me to queynte; My spirit feleth noght of swich matere. But if yow list, my tale shul ye here.