And oon of hem have I in remembraunce,
Whiche I shal seyn, with good-wyl, as I kan.
But sires, by cause I am a burel man,
At my bigynnyng first I yow biseche,
Have me excused of my rude speche.
I lerned nevere rethorik, certeyn;
Thyng that I speke, it moot be bare and pleyn.
I sleep nevere on the Mount of Parnaso,
Ne lerned Marcus Tullius Scithero.
Colours ne knowe I none, withouten drede,
But swiche colours as growen in the mede,
Or elles swiche, as men dye or peynte.
Colours of rethoryk been me to queynte,
My spirit feeleth noght of swich mateere;
But if yow list, my tale shul ye heere.
While in the lines above, the Franklin discusses colors as they would be discussed literally (for example, as they are in dye), he then switches to a metaphorical meaning. While he claims to be poor with the “colours of rethoryk,” he is in fact using language in a sophisticated way, creating a sense of irony.
The Franklins Prologue in Middle English