[[Excerpt from 'The House of Fame,' 1374-1385]] `Now turn upward,` quod he, `thy face, And behold this large place, This air; but loke thou ne be Adrad of hem that thou shalt see; For in this regioun, certein, Dwelleth many a citezein, Of which that speketh dan Plato. These ben the eyrish bestes, lo!` And so saw I al that meynee Bothe goon and also flee. `Now,` quod he tho, `cast up thyn ye; See yonder, lo, the Galaxye, Which men clepeth the Milky Wey, For hit is whyt: and somme, parfey, Callen hit Watlinge Strete: That ones was y-brent with hete, Whan the sonnes sone, the rede, That highte Pheton, wolde lede Algate his fader cart, and gye. The cart-hors gonne wel espye That he ne coude no governaunce, And gonne for to lepe and launce, And beren him now up, now doun, Til that he saw the Scorpioun, Which that in heven a signe is yit, And he, for ferde, loste his wit, Of that, and leet the reynes goon Of his hors; and they anoon Gonne up to mounte, and doun descende Til bothe the eyr and erthe brende; Til Iupiter, lo, atte laste, Him slow, and fro the carte caste. Lo, is it not a greet mischaunce, To lete a fole han governaunce Of thing that he can not demeine?` And with this word, soth for to seyne, He gan alway upper to sore, And gladded me ay more and more, So feithfully to me spak he. --------------------------------- Robert Paul The Reed Institute ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html