User:Swych Licour

When that Aprilis, with his showers swoote,

The drought of March hath pierced to the root,

And bathed every vein in swych licour,

Of which virtue engender'd is the flower;

When Zephyrus eke with his swoote breath

Inspired hath in every holt and heath

The tender croppes and the younge sun

Hath in the Ram his halfe course y-run,

And smalle fowles maken melody,

That sleepen all the nicht with open eye,

(So pricketh hem nature in heir corages);

Then longen folk to go on pilgrimages,

And palmers for to seeke stronge strands,

To ferne hallows couth in sundry lands;

And specially, from every shire's end

Of Engleland, to Canterbury they wend,

The hooly blissful Martyr for to seek,

That them hath holpen, when that they were sick.