Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour...
Thanne longen folk to pleye at gamen
To rule at Dominion and sahtlen Catan.
For every wif and every sone
Liketh to pleye at Carcassonne
And so we gather on the hooly day
To taketh joye in felaweshipe and pleye!
(with apologies to Geoffrey Chaucer)