human
Canterbury Tales,
gpt
A sompnour was ther with us in that place, Thad hadde a fire-red cherubimes face; For sausefleme he was, with eyen narwe. As hote he was, and likerous as a sparwe, With scalled browes blake, and pilled berd; Of his visage children were sore aferd. Ther n'as quiksilver, litarge, ne brimston, Boras, ceruse, ne oile of Tartre non, Ne oinement that wolde clense or bite, That him might helpen of his whelkes white, Ne of the nobbes sitting on his chekes. Wel loved he garlike, onions, and lekes, And for to drinke strong win as rede as blood. Than wold he speke, and crie as he were wood. And when that he wel dronken had the win, Than wold he speken no word but Latin. A fewe termes coude he, two or three, That he had lerned out of some decree; No wonder is, he herd it all the day. And eke ye knowen wel, how that a jay Can clepen watte, as well as can the pope. But who so wolde in other thing him grope, Than hadde he spent all his philosophie, Ay, _Questio quid juris_ wold he crie.
human
Doctors' Commons, says Defoe,
gpt
London