CeeJay
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Luna Tribal 6 Baritone and Generation C tin whistle (not filmed)
Here bygynneth the Book of the tales of Caunterbury
Am
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,
G
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
Am
And bathed every veyne in swich licóur
Dm Am
Of which vertú engendred is the flour;
Am
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
G
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
Am
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Dm Am
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
Em
And smale foweles maken melodye,
Am
That slepen al the nyght with open ye,
Em
So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages,
Am
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
B Em
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
B Am
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
Am
And specially, from every shires ende
G
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
Am
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
Dm Am
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.
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When April with his showers sweet with fruitThe drought of March has pierced unto the root
And bathed each vein with liquor that has power
To generate therein and sire the flower;
When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath,
Quickened again, in every holt and heath,
The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun
Into the Ram one half his course has run,
And many little birds make melody
That sleep through all the night with open eye
(So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage)-
Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage,
And palmers to go seeking out strange strands,
To distant shrines well known in sundry lands.
And specially from every shire's end
Of England they to Canterbury wend,
The holy blessed martyr there to seek
Who helped them when they lay so ill and weak.
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