human
Ah, wot I well what kind of a man that Will Langland, singer of Piers, should be. Stay! If it tortures you to see in the gluttonous, servile chantry priest of yestere'en the poet whom you honored, doth it not hurt more, ay! a thousand-fold more, that very Will Langland? Think you there is one word that these hands have writ that does not rise up and mock at me? Think you it is a light thing to be thus crucified, as it were, by one's own flesh and blood?
gpt
Surely, he went on, after an instant's pause, during which he looked sadly away, far into the distant horizon, as if his own words had stirred many recollections within him,
human
Hold! who am I, indeed, that I should judge thee? Well wot I how oft the deed fits ill with the creed. But stay, canst get a word to one Rose Westel in the Castle? But a hint of my presence, and she will come, as she awaits me.
gpt
I thought you had gone with my Lord,
human
Thou knowest, little one, I could not find it in my heart to leave thee.
gpt
Oh, can you never let me be?
human
So ho, my fine lady! So ho, still scornful even after thy lover has tired of thee and left his beautiful Rose with her petals falling about her on the ground, for him who chooses to pick them up and enjoy their fragrance?
gpt
Then not for you, not for you, Pierre Barsini, shall they lie there, she answered angrily, stamping her foot;
human
Done to me, he repeated,
gpt
Be not so cruel,
human
Sooner than give myself to thee, she cried vehemently,
gpt
I would cheerfully seek out the lowliest churl who slinks on his foul litter.