The Canterbury Tales - The Summoner
The summoners eyes were narrow,
he was hot and lecherous as a sparrow,
He had the power to bite
clean up or cure his whelks of knobby white,
He allowed one quart of wine,
any good lad to keep a concubine,
Twelve months and dispense him altogether!
and he had finches of his own feather,
a round one, which it was his joke to wield,
as if it were intended for a shield.
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