Geoffrey Chaucer

And after winter folweth grene May.

doctors & druggists wash each other's hands

I know that my singing doesn__ make the moon rise, nor does it make the stars shine. But without my song, the night would seem empty and incomplete. There is more to daybreak than light, just as there is more to nighttime than darkness.

you are the cause by which I die

earn what you can since everything's for sale

Chese now," quod she, "oon of thise thynges tweye:To han me foul and old til that I deye,And be to yow a trewe, humble wyf,And nevere yow displese in al my lyf,Or elles ye wol han me yong and fair,And take youre aventure of the repairThat shal be to youre hous by cause of me,Or in som oother place, may wel be.Now chese yourselven, wheither that yow liketh.

Thus in this heaven he took his delight And smothered her with kisses upon kisses Till gradually he came to know where bliss is.