Although not many people could read or write during the Middle-ages, this included the nobility  some people who studied literature were taught how to. Some of these people went on to write texts, and some of these texts became very famous. Below are extracts in their original form from various books and texts.
Enjoy reading!


  "Squier, come neer, if it your wille be,
 And sey somwhat of love, for certes,
 ye Konnen theron as muche as any man."      
"Nay sir," quod he, "but I wol seye as I kan,
With hertly wyl, for I wol nat rebelle Agayn your lust
. A tale wol I telle, Have me excused if I speke amys;
 My wyl is good, and lo, my tale is this."


  "Wepyng and waylyng, care and oother sorwe
 I knowe ynogh, on even and a-morwe,"
 Quod the marchant, "and so doon other mo
 That wedded been. I trowe that it be so,
For wel I woot it fareth so with me.
 I have a wyf, the worste that may be;
 For thogh the feend to hire ycoupled were,
 She sholde hym overmacche, I dar wel swere.
 What sholde I yow reherce in special
0Hir hye malice? She is a shrewe at al.
 Ther is a long and large difference
 Bitwix Grisildis grete pacience
 And of my wyf the passyng crueltee.
 Were I unbounden, also moot I thee!
I wolde nevere eft comen in the snare.
 We wedded men lyven in sorwe and care.
 Assaye whoso wole, and he shal fynde
 That I seye sooth, by Seint Thomas of Ynde,
 As for the moore part - I sey nat alle.
God shilde that it sholde so bifalle!
A! goode sire hoost, I have ywedded bee
 Thise monthes two, and moore nat, pardee;
And yet, I trowe, he that al his lyve
 Wyflees hath been, though that men wolde him ryve
Unto the herte, ne koude in no manere
 Tellen so muchel sorwe as I now heere
 Koude tellen of my wyves cursednesse!"
 Now," quod oure hoost, "Marchaunt, so God yow blesse
, Syn ye so muchel knowen of that art
Ful hertely I pray yow telle us part."
"Gladly," quod he, "but of myn owene soore,
 For soory herte, I telle may namoore."


Carles li reis, nostre emperere magnes,
Set anz tuz pleins ad estet en Espaigne.
Tresqu'en la mer cunquist la tere altaigne,
N'i ad castel ki devant lui remaigne
Mur ne citet n'i est remés a fraindre,
Fors Sarraguce, ki est en une muntaingne.
Li reis Marsilie la tient, ki Deu nen aimet,
Mahumet sert e Apollin recleimet:
Nes poet quarder que mals ne l'i ateignet.
Charles the King, our Lord and Sovereign,
Full seven years hath sojourned in Spain,
Conquered the land, and won the western main,
Now no fortress against him doth remain,
No city walls are left for him to gain,
Save Sarraguce, that sits on high mountain.
Marsile its King, who feareth not God's name,
Mahumet's man, he invokes Apollin's aid,
Nor wards off ills that shall to him attain.


Halt sunt li pui e li val tenebrus,
Les roches bises, les destreiz merveillus.
Le jur passerent Franceis a grant dulur,
De .XV. lius en ot hom la rimur.
Puis que il venent a la Tere Majur,
Virent Guascuigne, la tere lur seignur.
Dunc le remembret des fius e des honurs
E des pulcele e des gentilz oixurs:
Cel nen i ad ki de pitet ne plurt.
Sur tuz le altres est Carles anguissus,
As proz d'Espaigne ad lesset sun nevold.
Pitet l'en prent, ne poet muër n'en plurt.
High are the peaks, the valleys shadowful,
Swarthy the rocks, the narrows wonderful.
Franks passed that day all very sorrowful,
Fifteen leagues round the rumour of them grew.
When they were come, and Terra Major knew,
Saw Gascony their land and their seigneur's,
Remembering their fiefs and their honours,
Their little maids, their gentle wives and true;
There was not one that shed not tears for rue.
Beyond the rest Charles was of anguish full,
In Spanish Pass he'd left his dear nephew;
Pity him seized; he could but weep for rue.
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