Histoire de la langue :
The Brus: John Barbour, c. 1375
A! Fredome is a noble thing ♦ Fredome mays man to haiff liking. ♦ Fredome all solace to man giffis, ♦ He levys at es that frely levys. ♦ A noble hart may haiff nane es ♦ Na ellys nocht that may him ples ♦ Gyff fredome failyhe, for fre liking ♦ Is yharnyt our all other thing.
Freedom is a noble thing, Freedom causes man to have free choice, freedom gives confort to mankind, who leaves at ease lives freely, a noble heart can have not ease, nothing else that may please him, if freedom fails, for free choice is valued above all other things
The prodigal son : wycliffe’s bible 1382-1395
A man hadde two sonnes; and þe ȝonger of hem seide unto his fadir: Fadir, ȝyve me a porcioun of þe substance þat falliþ me » And þe fadir departide him his goodis. And soone aftir, þis ȝonge sone gederide al þat fel to him, and wente forþ in pilgrimage to a fer contre; and ther he wastide his goodis, lyvynge in lecherie. And after þat he hadde endid alle his goodis, þer fel a gret hungre in þat lond, and he bigan to be nedy
And he wente oute, and clevede to oon of þe citizeins of þat contre, and þis citisein sente him into his toun, to kepe swyn. And þis sone coveitide to fille his beli wiþ pese-holes þat þe hogges eten, and no man ȝaf him. And he, turninge aȝen, seide, « How many hynen in my fadirs hous ben ful of loves, and y perishe here for hungre. Y shal rise, and go to my fadir, and seie to him: Fadir, I have synned in heven, and bifore þee; now y am not worþi to be clepid þi sone, make me as oon of þin hynen »
Trad :
There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.
“Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.
When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinnedagainst heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants
Sir gawain and the green knight 14th century
Part 1
Mony klyf he ouerclambe in contrayez straunge, Fer floten fro his frendez fremedly he rydez. At vche warþe oþer water þer þe wyȝe passed He fonde a foo hym byfore, bot ferly hit were, And þat so foule and so felle þat feȝt hym byhode. So mony meruayl bi mount þer þe mon fyndez, Hit were to tore for to telle of þe tenþe dole. Sumwhyle wyth wormez he werrez, and with wolues als, Sumwhyle wyth wodwos, þat woned in þe knarrez, Boþe wyth bullez and berez, and borez oþerquyle, And etaynez, þat hym anelede of þe heȝe felle; Nade he ben duȝty and dryȝe, and Dryȝtyn had serued, Douteles he hade ben ded and dreped ful ofte.
For werre wrathed hym not so much þat wynter nas wors, When þe colde cler water fro þe cloudez schadde, And fres er hit falle myȝt to þe fale erþe; Ner slayn wyth þe slete he sleped in his yrnes Mo nyȝtez þen innoghe in naked rokkez, Þer as claterande fro þe crest þe colde borne rennez, And henged heȝe ouer his hede in hard iisse-ikkles. Þus in peryl and payne and plytes ful harde Bi contray cayrez þis knyȝt, tyl Krystmasse euen, al one; Þe knyȝt wel þat tyde To Mary made his mone, Þat ho hym red to ryde And wysse hym to sum wone.
Trad
He climbed many a cliff in strange countries, far removed from his friends in foreign parts he fared, and at each waterway that he passed over he found a foe before him, and a wonder, I trow, so terrible in appearance that to fight him he was forced; and many a marvel among the mountains he found, that it would be too tedious to tell the tenth part of what he found. He fought with dragons and wolves, and sometimes with madmen that dwelt among the rocks, and at other times with bulls and bears and boars, and with monsters that attacked him from the high mountain; and had he not been stiff and strong and serving the Lord, doubtless he had been done to death ere this. Fighting troubled him not so much, but the wintry weather was worse; when the clouds shed down upon him cold clear water, freezing ere it reached the fallow earth. Almost slain by the cold sleet, he slept in his harness, more nights than enough amidst the naked rocks where the cold burn ran by clattering from the crest, and hanging high above his head in hard icicles. Thus in perils and many a painful plight this knight wended his way until Christmas Eve arrived. The knight that tide,
To Mary he cried,to show him where to ride
Till some shelter he spied.
Part 2
Bi a mounte on þe morne meryly he rydes Into a forest ful dep, þat ferly watz wylde, Hiȝe hillez on vche a halue, and holtwodez vnder Of hore okez ful hoge a hundreth togeder; Þe hasel and þe haȝþorne were harled al samen, With roȝe raged mosse rayled aywhere, With mony bryddez vnblyþe vpon bare twyges, Þat pitosly þer piped for pyne of þe colde. Þe gome vpon Gryngolet glydez hem vnder, Þurȝ mony misy and myre, mon al hym one, Carande for his costes, lest he ne keuer schulde To se þe seruyse of þat syre, þat on þat self nyȝt
Of a burde watz borne oure baret to quelle; And þerfore sykyng he sayde, ‘I beseche þe, lorde, And Mary, þat is myldest moder so dere, Of sum herber þer heȝly I myȝt here masse, Ande þy matynez to-morne, mekely I ask, And þerto prestly I pray my pater and aue and crede.’ He rode in his prayere, And cryed for his mysdede, He sayned hym in syþes sere, And sayde ‘Cros Kryst me spede!’
Trad :
In the morning he rode merrily by a mountain, through a full deep and wondrous wild forest; high hills were on each side, and woods of huge and hoary oaks, a hundred of them together, beneath him. The hazel and the hawthorn were trailing together with rough, ragged moss spread on all sides. Sorrowful birds sang on the bare twigs and piped piteously through pain of the cold. Upon Gringolet the man glided underneath them, all alone, through mud and mire, careful of his labour, lest he should be too late to see the service of his Lord, who on that night was born of a maiden our strife to be ending. Therefore, sighing, he said, ‘I beseech thee, O Lord, and Mary, our dearest and mildest mother, that ye would grant me some place of rest where I might hear the Mass and matins of this moon. Full meekly I ask it, and thereto I will say full soon my pater and ave and creed.’
He rode as he prayed, And cried for misdeed, And sign of Cross made, And said,’Christ’s Cross me speed.
Canterbury tales 14th
Prologue :
Whan that Aprille with hise shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the
roote
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in euery holt and heeth
The tendre croppes.
Trad :
When in April the sweet showers fall
That pierce March’s drought to the root and all
And bathed every vein in liquor that has power
To generate therein and sire the flower;
When Zephyr also has with his sweet breath,
Filled again, in every holt and heath,
The tender shoots and leaves
The miller :
The Millere was a stout carl for the nones, Ful byg he was of brawn, and eek of bones; That proved wel, for over al, ther he cam, At wrastlynge he wolde have alwey the ram. He was short-sholdred, brood, a thikke knarre, Ther nas no dore that he nolde heve of harre, Or breke it at a rennyng with his heed. His berd, as any sowe or fox, was reed, And therto brood, as though it were a spade. Upon the cope right of his nose he hade A werte, and theron stood a toft of herys, Reed as the brustles of a sowes erys; His nosethirles blake were and wyde; A swerd and a bokeler bar he by his syde; His mouth as wyde was as a greet forneys, He was a janglere and a goliardeys, And that was moost of synne and harlotriës. Wel koude he stelen corn and tollen thriës, And yet he hadde a thombe of gold, pardee. A whit cote and a blew hood wered he. A baggepipe wel koude he blowe and sowne, And therwithal he broghte us out of towne.