William Langland Quotes

12 Sourced Quotes

For if hevene be on this erthe, and ese to any soule,
It is in cloistre or in scole.

William Langland
'After sharpest shoures,' quath Pees 'most shene is the sonne;
Is no weder warmer than after watry cloudes.'
Pees = Peace

William Langland
A faire feeld ful of folk fond I ther bitwene—
Of alle manere of men, the meene and the riche,
Werchynge and wandrynge as the world asketh.

William Langland
I kan noght parfitly my Paternoster as the preest it syngeth,
But I kan rymes of Robyn Hood and Randolf Erl of Chestre.

William Langland
In preieres and penaunce putten hem manye,
Al for the love of Oure Lord lyveden ful streyte
In hope to have heveneriche blisse

William Langland
Brewesters and baksters, bochiers and cokes –
For thise are men on this molde that moost harm wercheth
To the povere peple

William Langland
A fair feeld ful of folk fond I ther bitwene –
Of alle manere of men, the meene and the riche,
Werchynge and wandrynge as the world asketh.

William Langland
Suffraunce is a soverayn vertue, and a swift vengeaunce.
Who suffreth moore than God?

William Langland
Innocence is next God, and nyght and day it crieth
'Vengeaunce! Vengeaunce! Forgyve be it nevere
That shente us and shedde oure blood!'

William Langland
For hevene myghte nat holden it, so was it hevy of hymself,
Til it hadde of the erthe eten his fille.
And whan it hadde of this fold flessh and blood taken,
Was nevere leef upon lynde lighter therafter,
And portatif and persaunt as the point of a nedle,
That myghte noon armure it lette ne none heighe walles.
Forthi is love ledere of the Lordes folk of hevene,
And a meene, as the mair is, [inmiddes] the kyng and the commune.

William Langland
In a somer seson, whan softe was the sonne,
I shoop me into shroudes as I a sheep were,
In habite as an heremite unholy of werkes,
Wente wide in this world wondres to here.
Ac on a May morwenynge on Malverne hilles
Me bifel a ferly, of Fairye me thoghte.

William Langland
Al the povere peple tho pescoddes fetten; Benes and baken apples thei broghte in hir lappe, Chibolles and chervelles and ripe chiries manye, And profrede Piers this present to plese with Hunger.

William Langland