The Canterbury Tales: General Prologue 

 

The Canterbury Tales

 The General Prologue

(In a Modern English translation on the left beside the Middle English version on the right.)

When April with his showers sweet with fruit The 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. Befell that, in that season, on a day In Southwark, at the Tabard, as I lay Ready to start upon my pilgrimage To Canterbury, full of devout homage, There came at nightfall to that hostelry Some nine and twenty in a company Of sundry persons who had chanced to fall In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all That toward Canterbury town would ride. The rooms and stables spacious were and wide, And well we there were eased, and of the best. And briefly, when the sun had gone to rest, So had I spoken with them, every one, That I was of their fellowship anon, And made agreement that we'd early rise To take the road, as you I will apprise. But none the less, whilst I have time and space, Before yet farther in this tale I pace, It seems to me accordant with reason To inform you of the state of every one Of all of these, as it appeared to me, And who they were, and what was their degree, And even how arrayed there at the inn; And with a knight thus will I first begin. A knight there was, and he a worthy man, Who, from the moment that he first began To ride about the world, loved chivalry, Truth, honour, freedom and all courtesy. Full worthy was he in his liege-lord's war, And therein had he ridden (none more far) As well in Christendom as heathenesse, And honoured everywhere for worthiness. At Alexandria, he, when it was won; Full oft the table's roster he'd begun Above all nations' knights in Prussia. In Latvia raided he, and Russia, No christened man so oft of his degree. In far Granada at the siege was he Of Algeciras, and in Belmarie. At Ayas was he and at Satalye When they were won; and on the Middle Sea At many a noble meeting chanced to be. Of mortal battles he had fought fifteen, And he'd fought for our faith at Tramissene Three times in lists, and each time slain his foe. This self-same worthy knight had been also At one time with the lord of Palatye Against another heathen in Turkey: And always won he sovereign fame for prize. Though so illustrious, he was very wise And bore himself as meekly as a maid. He never yet had any vileness said, In all his life, to whatsoever wight. He was a truly perfect, gentle knight. But now, to tell you all of his array, His steeds were good, but yet he was not gay. Of simple fustian wore he a jupon Sadly discoloured by his habergeon; For he had lately come from his voyage And now was going on this pilgrimage. With him there was his son, a youthful squire, A lover and a lusty bachelor, With locks well curled, as if they'd laid in press. Some twenty years of age he was, I guess. In stature he was of an average length, Wondrously active, aye, and great of strength. He'd ridden sometime with the cavalry In Flanders, in Artois, and Picardy, And borne him well within that little space In hope to win thereby his lady's grace. Prinked out he was, as if he were a mead, All full of fresh-cut flowers white and red. Singing he was, or fluting, all the day; He was as fresh as is the month of May. Short was his gown, with sleeves long and wide. Well could be sit on horse, and fairly ride. He could make songs and words thereto indite, Joust, and dance too, as well as sketch and write. So hot he loved that, while night told her tale, He slept no more than does a nightingale. Courteous he, and humble, willing and able, And carved before his father at the table. A yeoman had he, nor more servants, no, At that time, for he chose to travel so; And he was clad in coat and hood of green. A sheaf of peacock arrows bright and keen Under his belt he bore right carefully (Well could he keep his tackle yeomanly: His arrows had no draggled feathers low), And in his hand he bore a mighty bow. A cropped head had he and a sun-browned face. Of woodcraft knew he all the useful ways. Upon his arm he bore a bracer gay, And at one side a sword and buckler, yea, And at the other side a dagger bright, Well sheathed and sharp as spear point in the light; On breast a Christopher of silver sheen. He bore a horn in baldric all of green; A forester he truly was, I guess.

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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, Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne, And smale foweles maken melodye, That slepen al the nyght with open ye (so priketh hem Nature in hir corages), Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes, To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes; And specially from every shires ende Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende, The hooly blisful martir for to seke, That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke. Bifil that in that seson on a day, In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage To Caunterbury with ful devout corage, At nyght was come into that hostelrye Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye, Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle, That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde. The chambres and the stables weren wyde, And wel we weren esed atte beste. And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste, So hadde I spoken with hem everichon That I was of hir felaweshipe anon, And made forward erly for to ryse, To take oure wey ther as I yow devyse. But nathelees, whil I have tyme and space, Er that I ferther in this tale pace, Me thynketh it acordaunt to resoun To telle yow al the condicioun Of ech of hem, so as it semed me, And whiche they weren, and of what degree, And eek in what array that they were inne; And at a knyght than wol I first bigynne. A knyght ther was, and that a worthy man, That fro the tyme that he first bigan To riden out, he loved chivalrie, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisie. Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre, And therto hadde he riden, no man ferre, As wel in cristendom as in hethenesse, And evere honoured for his worthynesse. At Alisaundre he was whan it was wonne. Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bigonne Aboven alle nacions in Pruce; In Lettow hadde he reysed and in Ruce, No cristen man so ofte of his degree. In Gernade at the seege eek hadde he be Of Algezir, and riden in Belmarye. At Lyeys was he and at Satalye, Whan they were wonne; and in the Grete See At many a noble armee hadde he be. At mortal batailles hadde he been fiftene, And foughten for oure feith at Tramyssene In lystes thries, and ay slayn his foo. This ilke worthy knyght hadde been also Somtyme with the lord of Palatye Agayn another hethen in Turkye. And everemoore he hadde a sovereyn prys; And though that he were worthy, he was wys, And of his port as meeke as is a mayde. He nevere yet no vileynye ne sayde In al his lyf unto no maner wight. He was a verray, parfit gentil knyght. But, for to tellen yow of his array, His hors were goode, but he was nat gay. Of fustian he wered a gypon Al bismotered with his habergeon, For he was late ycome from his viage, And wente for to doon his pilgrymage. With hym ther was his sone, a yong squier, A lovyere and a lusty bacheler, With lokkes crulle as they were leyd in presse. Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse. Of his stature he was of evene lengthe, And wonderly delyvere, and of greet strengthe. And he hadde been somtyme in chyvachie In Flaundres, in Artoys, and Pycardie, And born hym weel, as of so litel space, In hope to stonden in his lady grace. Embrouded was he, as it were a meede Al ful of fresshe floures, whyte and reede. Syngynge he was, or floytynge, al the day; He was as fressh as is the month of May. Short was his gowne, with sleves longe and wyde. Wel koude he sitte on hors and faire ryde. He koude songes make and wel endite, Juste and eek daunce, and weel purtreye and write. So hoote he lovede that by nyghtertale. He sleep namoore than dooth a nyghtyngale. Curteis he was, lowely, and servysable, And carf biforn his fader at the table. A yeman hadde he and servantz namo At that tyme, for hym liste ride so, And he was clad in cote and hood of grene. A sheef of pecok arwes, bright and kene, Under his belt he bar ful thriftily, (wel koude he dresse his takel yemanly: His arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe) And in his hand he baar a myghty bowe. A not heed hadde he, with a broun visage. Of wodecraft wel koude he al the usage. Upon his arm he baar a gay bracer, And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler, And on that oother syde a gay daggere Harneised wel and sharp as point of spere; A Cristopher on his brest of silver sheene. An horn he bar, the bawdryk was of grene; A forster was he, soothly, as I gesse.

Summary

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote . . .

(See Important Quotations Explained)

The narrator opens the General Prologue with a description of the return of spring. He describes the April rains, the burgeoning flowers and leaves, and the chirping birds. Around this time of year, the narrator says, people begin to feel the desire to go on a pilgrimage. Many devout English pilgrims set off to visit shrines in distant holy lands, but even more choose to travel to Canterbury to visit the relics of Saint Thomas Becket in Canterbury Cathedral, where they thank the martyr for having helped them when they were in need. The narrator tells us that as he prepared to go on such a pilgrimage, staying at a tavern in Southwark called the Tabard Inn, a great company of twenty-nine travelers entered. The travelers were a diverse group who, like the narrator, were on their way to Canterbury. They happily agreed to let him join them. That night, the group slept at the Tabard, and woke up early the next morning to set off on their journey. Before continuing the tale, the narrator declares his intent to list and describe each of the members of the group.

Analysis

The invocation of spring with which the General Prologue begins is lengthy and formal compared to the language of the rest of the Prologue. The first lines situate the story in a particular time and place, but the speaker does this in cosmic and cyclical terms, celebrating the vitality and richness of spring. This approach gives the opening lines a dreamy, timeless, unfocused quality, and it is therefore surprising when the narrator reveals that he’s going to describe a pilgrimage that he himself took rather than telling a love story. A pilgrimage is a religious journey undertaken for penance and grace. As pilgrimages went, Canterbury was not a very difficult destination for an English person to reach. It was, therefore, very popular in fourteenth-century England, as the narrator mentions. Pilgrims traveled to visit the remains of Saint Thomas Becket, archbishop of Canterbury, who was murdered in 1170 by knights of King Henry II. Soon after his death, he became the most popular saint in England. The pilgrimage in The Canterbury Tales should not be thought of as an entirely solemn occasion, because it also offered the pilgrims an opportunity to abandon work and take a vacation.
In line 20, the narrator abandons his unfocused, all-knowing point of view, identifying himself as an actual person for the first time by inserting the first person—“I”—as he relates how he met the group of pilgrims while staying at the Tabard Inn. He emphasizes that this group, which he encountered by accident, was itself formed quite by chance (25–26). He then shifts into the first-person plural, referring to the pilgrims as “we” beginning in line 29, asserting his status as a member of the group.
The narrator ends the introductory portion of his prologue by noting that he has “tyme and space” to tell his narrative. His comments underscore the fact that he is writing some time after the events of his story, and that he is describing the characters from memory. He has spoken and met with these people, but he has waited a certain length of time before sitting down and describing them. His intention to describe each pilgrim as he or she seemed to him is also important, for it emphasizes that his descriptions are not only subject to his memory but are also shaped by his individual perceptions and opinions regarding each of the characters. He positions himself as a mediator between two groups: the group of pilgrims, of which he was a member, and us, the audience, whom the narrator explicitly addresses as “you” in lines 34 and 38.
On the other hand, the narrator’s declaration that he will tell us about the “condicioun,” “degree,” and “array” (dress) of each of the pilgrims suggests that his portraits will be based on objective facts as well as his own opinions. He spends considerable time characterizing the group members according to their social positions. The pilgrims represent a diverse cross section of fourteenth-century English society. Medieval social theory divided society into three broad classes, called “estates”: the military, the clergy, and the laity. (The nobility, not represented in the General Prologue, traditionally derives its title and privileges from military duties and service, so it is considered part of the military estate.) In the portraits that we will see in the rest of the General Prologue, the Knight and Squire represent the military estate. The clergy is represented by the Prioress (and her nun and three priests), the Monk, the Friar, and the Parson. The other characters, from the wealthy Franklin to the poor Plowman, are the members of the laity. These lay characters can be further subdivided into landowners (the Franklin), professionals (the Clerk, the Man of Law, the Guildsmen, the Physician, and the Shipman), laborers (the Cook and the Plowman), stewards (the Miller, the Manciple, and the Reeve), and church officers (the Summoner and the Pardoner). As we will see, Chaucer’s descriptions of the various characters and their social roles reveal the influence of the medieval genre of estates satire.

 

 

 

By Geoffrey Chaucer

 

Here bygynneth the Book of the tales of Caunterbury

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,

The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,

And bathed every veyne in swich licóur

Of which vertú engendred is the flour;

Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth

Inspired hath in every holt and heeth

The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne

Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,

And smale foweles maken melodye,

That slepen al the nyght with open ye,

So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages,

Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,

And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,

To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;

And specially, from every shires ende

Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,

The hooly blisful martir for to seke,

That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.

Bifil that in that seson on a day,

In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay,

Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage

To Caunterbury with ful devout corage,

At nyght were come into that hostelrye

Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye

Of sondry folk, by áventure y-falle

In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle,

That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde.

The chambres and the stables weren wyde,

And wel we weren esed atte beste.

And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste,

So hadde I spoken with hem everychon,

That I was of hir felaweshipe anon,

And made forward erly for to ryse,

To take oure wey, ther as I yow devyse.

But nathelees, whil I have tyme and space,

Er that I ferther in this tale pace,

Me thynketh it acordaunt to resoun

To telle yow al the condicioun

Of ech of hem, so as it semed me,

And whiche they weren and of what degree,

And eek in what array that they were inne;

And at a Knyght than wol I first bigynne.

A Knyght ther was, and that a worthy man,

That fro the tyme that he first bigan

To riden out, he loved chivalrie,

Trouthe and honóur, fredom and curteisie.

Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre,

And thereto hadde he riden, no man ferre,

As wel in cristendom as in hethenesse,

And evere honóured for his worthynesse.

At Alisaundre he was whan it was wonne;

Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bigonne

Aboven alle nacions in Pruce.

In Lettow hadde he reysed and in Ruce,—

No cristen man so ofte of his degree.

In Gernade at the seege eek hadde he be

Of Algezir, and riden in Belmarye.

At Lyeys was he, and at Satalye,

Whan they were wonne; and in the Grete See

At many a noble armee hadde he be.

At mortal batailles hadde he been fiftene,

And foughten for oure feith at Tramyssene

In lyste thries, and ay slayn his foo.

This ilke worthy knyght hadde been also

Somtyme with the lord of Palatye

Agayn another hethen in Turkye;

And evermoore he hadde a sovereyn prys.

And though that he were worthy, he was wys,

And of his port as meeke as is a mayde.

He nevere yet no vileynye ne sayde,

In al his lyf, unto no maner wight.

He was a verray, parfit, gentil knyght.

But for to tellen yow of his array,

His hors weren goode, but he was nat gay;

Of fustian he wered a gypon

Al bismótered with his habergeon;

For he was late y-come from his viage,

And wente for to doon his pilgrymage.

With hym ther was his sone, a yong Squiér,

A lovyere and a lusty bacheler,

With lokkes crulle as they were leyd in presse.

Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse.

Of his statúre he was of evene lengthe,

And wonderly delyvere and of greet strengthe.

And he hadde been somtyme in chyvachie

In Flaundres, in Artoys, and Pycardie,

And born hym weel, as of so litel space,

In hope to stonden in his lady grace.

Embrouded was he, as it were a meede

Al ful of fresshe floures whyte and reede.

Syngynge he was, or floytynge, al the day;

He was as fressh as is the month of May.

Short was his gowne, with sleves longe and wyde;

Wel koude he sitte on hors and faire ryde;

He koude songes make and wel endite,

Juste and eek daunce, and weel purtreye and write.

So hoote he lovede that by nyghtertale

He sleep namoore than dooth a nyghtyngale.

Curteis he was, lowely and servysáble,

And carf biforn his fader at the table.

A Yeman hadde he and servántz namo

At that tyme, for hym liste ride soo;

And he was clad in cote and hood of grene.

A sheef of pecock arwes bright and kene,

Under his belt he bar ful thriftily—

Wel koude he dresse his takel yemanly;

His arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe—

And in his hand he baar a myghty bowe.

A not-heed hadde he, with a broun viságe.

Of woodecraft wel koude he al the uságe.

Upon his arm he baar a gay bracér,

And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler,

And on that oother syde a gay daggere,

Harneised wel and sharp as point of spere;

A Cristophere on his brest of silver sheene.

An horn he bar, the bawdryk was of grene.

A forster was he, soothly as I gesse.

Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse,

That of hir smylyng was ful symple and coy;

Hire gretteste ooth was but by seinte Loy,

And she was cleped madame Eglentyne.

Ful weel she soong the service dyvyne,

Entuned in hir nose ful semely;

And Frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly,

After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe,

For Frenssh of Parys was to hire unknowe.

At mete wel y-taught was she with-alle:

She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle,

Ne wette hir fyngres in hir sauce depe.

Wel koude she carie a morsel and wel kepe

Thát no drope ne fille upon hire brist;

In curteisie was set ful muchel hir list.

Hire over-lippe wyped she so clene

That in hir coppe ther was no ferthyng sene

Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte.

Ful semely after hir mete she raughte.

And sikerly she was of greet desport,

And ful plesáunt and amyable of port,

And peyned hire to countrefete cheere

Of court, and been estatlich of manere,

And to ben holden digne of reverence.

But for to speken of hire conscience,

She was so charitable and so pitous

She wolde wepe if that she saugh a mous

Kaught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde.

Of smale houndes hadde she, that she fedde

With rosted flessh, or milk and wastel breed;

But soore wepte she if oon of hem were deed,

Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte;

And al was conscience and tendre herte.

Ful semyly hir wympul pynched was;

Hire nose tretys, her eyen greye as glas,

Hir mouth ful smal and ther-to softe and reed;

But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed;

It was almoost a spanne brood, I trowe;

For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe.

Ful fetys was hir cloke, as I was war;

Of smal coral aboute hire arm she bar

A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene,

And ther-on heng a brooch of gold ful sheene,

On which ther was first write a crowned A,

And after, Amor vincit omnia.

Another Nonne with hire hadde she,

That was hire chapeleyne, and Preestes thre.

A Monk ther was, a fair for the maistrie,

An outridere, that lovede venerie;

A manly man, to been an abbot able.

Ful many a deyntee hors hadde he in stable;

And whan he rood, men myghte his brydel heere

Gýnglen in a whistlynge wynd als cleere,

And eek as loude, as dooth the chapel belle,

Ther as this lord was kepere of the celle.

The reule of seint Maure or of seint Beneit,

By-cause that it was old and som-del streit,—

This ilke Monk leet olde thynges pace,

And heeld after the newe world the space.

He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen

That seith that hunters ben nat hooly men,

Ne that a monk, whan he is recchelees,

Is likned til a fissh that is waterlees,—

This is to seyn, a monk out of his cloystre.

But thilke text heeld he nat worth an oystre;

And I seyde his opinioun was good.

What sholde he studie and make hymselven wood,

Upon a book in cloystre alwey to poure,

Or swynken with his handes and labóure,

As Austyn bit? How shal the world be served?

Lat Austyn have his swynk to him reserved.

Therfore he was a prikasour aright:

Grehoundes he hadde, as swift as fowel in flight;

Of prikyng and of huntyng for the hare

Was al his lust, for no cost wolde he spare.

I seigh his sleves y-púrfiled at the hond

With grys, and that the fyneste of a lond;

And for to festne his hood under his chyn

He hadde of gold y-wroght a curious pyn;

A love-knotte in the gretter ende ther was.

His heed was balled, that shoon as any glas,

And eek his face, as he hadde been enoynt.

He was a lord ful fat and in good poynt;

His eyen stepe, and rollynge in his heed,

That stemed as a forneys of a leed;

His bootes souple, his hors in greet estaat.

Now certeinly he was a fair prelaat.

He was nat pale, as a forpyned goost:

A fat swan loved he best of any roost.

His palfrey was as broun as is a berye.

A Frere ther was, a wantowne and a merye,

A lymytour, a ful solémpne man.

In alle the ordres foure is noon that kan

So muchel of daliaunce and fair langage.

He hadde maad ful many a mariage

Of yonge wommen at his owene cost.

Unto his ordre he was a noble post.

Ful wel biloved and famulier was he

With frankeleyns over al in his contree,

And eek with worthy wommen of the toun;

For he hadde power of confessioun,

As seyde hym-self, moore than a curát,

For of his ordre he was licenciat.

Ful swetely herde he confessioun,

And plesaunt was his absolucioun.

He was an esy man to yeve penaunce

There as he wiste to have a good pitaunce;

For unto a povre ordre for to yive

Is signe that a man is wel y-shryve;

For, if he yaf, he dorste make avaunt

He wiste that a man was répentaunt;

For many a man so hard is of his herte

He may nat wepe al-thogh hym soore smerte.

Therfore in stede of wepynge and preyéres

Men moote yeve silver to the povre freres.

His typet was ay farsed full of knyves

And pynnes, for to yeven faire wyves.

And certeinly he hadde a murye note:

Wel koude he synge and pleyen on a rote;

Of yeddynges he baar outrely the pris.

His nekke whit was as the flour-de-lys;

Ther-to he strong was as a champioun.

He knew the tavernes wel in every toun,

And everich hostiler and tappestere

Bet than a lazar or a beggestere;

For unto swich a worthy man as he

Acorded nat, as by his facultee,

To have with sike lazars aqueyntaunce;

It is nat honest, it may nat avaunce

Fór to deelen with no swich poraille,

But al with riche and selleres of vitaille.

And over-al, ther as profit sholde arise,

Curteis he was and lowely of servyse.

Ther nas no man nowher so vertuous.

He was the beste beggere in his hous;

[And yaf a certeyn ferme for the graunt,

Noon of his brethren cam ther in his haunt;]

For thogh a wydwe hadde noght a sho,

So plesaunt was his In principio,

Yet wolde he have a ferthyng er he wente:

His purchas was wel bettre than his rente.

And rage he koude, as it were right a whelpe.

In love-dayes ther koude he muchel helpe,

For there he was nat lyk a cloysterer

With a thredbare cope, as is a povre scolér,

But he was lyk a maister, or a pope;

Of double worstede was his semycope,

That rounded as a belle, out of the presse.

Somwhat he lipsed for his wantownesse,

To make his Englissh sweete upon his tonge;

And in his harpyng, whan that he hadde songe,

His eyen twynkled in his heed aryght

As doon the sterres in the frosty nyght.

This worthy lymytour was cleped Hubérd.

A Marchant was ther with a forked berd,

In motteleye, and hye on horse he sat;

Upon his heed a Flaundryssh bevere hat;

His bootes clasped faire and fetisly.

His resons he spak ful solémpnely,

Sownynge alway thencrees of his wynnyng.

He wolde the see were kept for any thing

Bitwixe Middelburgh and Orewelle.

Wel koude he in eschaunge sheeldes selle.

This worthy man ful wel his wit bisette;

Ther wiste no wight that he was in dette,

So estatly was he of his gouvernaunce,

With his bargaynes and with his chevyssaunce.

For sothe he was a worthy man with-alle,

But, sooth to seyn, I noot how men hym calle.

A Clerk ther was of Oxenford also,

That unto logyk hadde longe y-go.

As leene was his hors as is a rake,

And he nas nat right fat, I undertake,

But looked holwe, and ther-to sobrely.

Ful thredbare was his overeste courtepy;

For he hadde geten hym yet no benefice,

Ne was so worldly for to have office;

For hym was lévere háve at his beddes heed

Twénty bookes, clad in blak or reed,

Of Aristotle and his philosophie,

Than robes riche, or fíthele, or gay sautrie.

But al be that he was a philosophre,

Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre;

But al that he myghte of his freendes hente

On bookes and on lernynge he it spente,

And bisily gan for the soules preye

Of hem that yaf hym wher-with to scoleye.

Of studie took he moost cure and moost heede.

Noght o word spak he moore than was neede;

And that was seyd in forme and reverence,

And short and quyk and ful of hy senténce.

Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche;

And gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche.

A Sergeant of the Lawe, war and wys,

That often hadde been at the Parvys,

Ther was also, ful riche of excellence.

Discreet he was, and of greet reverence—

He semed swich, his wordes weren so wise.

Justice he was ful often in assise,

By patente, and by pleyn commissioun.

For his science and for his heigh renoun,

Of fees and robes hadde he many oon.

So greet a purchasour was nowher noon:

Al was fee symple to hym in effect;

His purchasyng myghte nat been infect.

Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas,

And yet he semed bisier than he was.

In termes hadde he caas and doomes alle

That from the tyme of kyng William were falle.

Ther-to he koude endite and make a thyng,

Ther koude no wight pynche at his writyng;

And every statut koude he pleyn by rote.

He rood but hoomly in a medlee cote,

Girt with a ceint of silk, with barres smale;

Of his array telle I no lenger tale.

A Frankeleyn was in his compaignye.

Whit was his berd as is the dayesye;

Of his complexioun he was sangwyn.

Wel loved he by the morwe a sop in wyn;

To lyven in delit was evere his wone,

For he was Epicurus owene sone,

That heeld opinioun that pleyn delit

Was verraily felicitee parfit.

An housholdere, and that a greet, was he;

Seint Julian he was in his contree.

His breed, his ale, was alweys after oon;

A bettre envyned man was nowher noon.

Withoute bake mete was nevere his hous,

Of fissh and flessh, and that so plentevous,

It snewed in his hous of mete and drynke,

Of alle deyntees that men koude thynke,

After the sondry sesons of the yeer;

So chaunged he his mete and his soper.

Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in muwe,

And many a breem and many a luce in stuwe.

Wo was his cook but if his sauce were

Poynaunt and sharp, and redy al his geere.

His table dormant in his halle alway

Stood redy covered al the longe day.

At sessiouns ther was he lord and sire;

Ful ofte tyme he was knyght of the shire.

An anlaas, and a gipser al of silk,

Heeng at his girdel, whit as morne milk.

A shirreve hadde he been, and a countour;

Was nowher such a worthy vavasour.

An Haberdasshere, and a Carpenter,

A Webbe, a Dyere, and a Tapycer,—

And they were clothed alle in o lyveree

Of a solémpne and a greet fraternitee.

Ful fressh and newe hir geere apiked was;

Hir knyves were chaped noght with bras,

But al with silver; wroght ful clene and weel

Hire girdles and hir pouches everydeel.

Wel semed ech of hem a fair burgeys

To sitten in a yeldehalle, on a deys.

Éverich, for the wisdom that he kan,

Was shaply for to been an alderman;

For catel hadde they ynogh and rente,

And eek hir wyves wolde it wel assente,

And elles certeyn were they to blame.

It is ful fair to been y-cleped Madame,

And goon to vigilies al bifore,

And have a mantel roialliche y-bore.

A Cook they hadde with hem for the nones,

To boille the chiknes with the marybones,

And poudre-marchant tart, and galyngale.

Wel koude he knowe a draughte of Londoun ale.

He koude rooste, and sethe, and broille, and frye,

Máken mortreux, and wel bake a pye.

But greet harm was it, as it thoughte me,

That on his shyne a mormal hadde he;

For blankmanger, that made he with the beste.

A Shipman was ther, wonynge fer by weste;

For aught I woot he was of Dertemouthe.

He rood upon a rouncy, as he kouthe,

In a gowne of faldyng to the knee.

A daggere hangynge on a laas hadde he

Aboute his nekke, under his arm adoun.

The hoote somer hadde maad his hewe al broun;

And certeinly he was a good felawe.

Ful many a draughte of wyn hadde he y-drawe

Fro Burdeux-ward, whil that the chapman sleep.

Of nyce conscience took he no keep.

If that he faught and hadde the hyer hond,

By water he sente hem hoom to every lond.

But of his craft to rekene wel his tydes,

His stremes, and his daungers hym bisides,

His herberwe and his moone, his lode-menage,

Ther nas noon swich from Hulle to Cartage.

Hardy he was and wys to undertake;

With many a tempest hadde his berd been shake.

He knew alle the havenes, as they were,

From Gootlond to the Cape of Fynystere,

And every cryke in Britaigne and in Spayne.

His barge y-cleped was the Maudelayne.

With us ther was a Doctour of Phisik;

In all this world ne was ther noon hym lik,

To speke of phisik and of surgerye;

For he was grounded in astronomye.

He kepte his pacient a ful greet deel

In houres, by his magyk natureel.

Wel koude he fortunen the ascendent

Of his ymáges for his pacient.

He knew the cause of everich maladye,

Were it of hoot, or cold, or moyste, or drye,

And where they engendred and of what humour.

He was a verray, parfit praktisour;

The cause y-knowe, and of his harm the roote,

Anon he yaf the sike man his boote.

Ful redy hadde he his apothecaries

To sende him drogges and his letuaries;

For ech of hem made oother for to wynne,

Hir frendshipe nas nat newe to bigynne.

Wel knew he the olde Esculapius,

And De{"y}scorides, and eek Rufus,

Old Ypocras, Haly, and Galyen,

Serapion, Razis, and Avycen,

Averrois, Damascien, and Constantyn,

Bernard, and Gatesden, and Gilbertyn.

Of his diete mesurable was he,

For it was of no superfluitee,

But of greet norissyng and digestíble.

His studie was but litel on the Bible.

In sangwyn and in pers he clad was al,

Lyned with taffata and with sendal.

And yet he was but esy of dispence;

He kepte that he wan in pestilence.

For gold in phisik is a cordial;

Therfore he lovede gold in special.

A Good Wif was ther of biside Bathe,

But she was som-del deef, and that was scathe.

Of clooth-makyng she hadde swich an haunt

She passed hem of Ypres and of Gaunt.

In al the parisshe wif ne was ther noon

That to the offrynge bifore hire sholde goon;

And if ther dide, certeyn so wrooth was she

That she was out of alle charitee.

Hir coverchiefs ful fyne weren of ground;

I dorste swere they weyeden ten pound

That on a Sonday weren upon hir heed.

Hir hosen weren of fyn scarlet reed,

Ful streite y-teyd, and shoes ful moyste and newe.

Boold was hir face, and fair, and reed of hewe.

She was a worthy womman al hir lyve;

Housbondes at chirche dore she hadde fyve,

Withouten oother compaignye in youthe;

But ther-of nedeth nat to speke as nowthe.

And thries hadde she been at Jérusalem;

She hadde passed many a straunge strem;

At Rome she hadde been, and at Boloigne,

In Galice at Seint Jame, and at Coloigne.

She koude muchel of wandrynge by the weye.

Gat-tothed was she, soothly for to seye.

Upon an amblere esily she sat,

Y-wympled wel, and on hir heed an hat

As brood as is a bokeler or a targe;

A foot-mantel aboute hir hipes large,

And on hire feet a paire of spores sharpe.

In felaweshipe wel koude she laughe and carpe;

Of remedies of love she knew per chauncé,

For she koude of that art the olde daunce.

A good man was ther of religioun,

And was a povre Person of a Toun;

But riche he was of hooly thoght and werk.

He was also a lerned man, a clerk,

That Cristes Gospel trewely wolde preche;

His parisshens devoutly wolde he teche.

Benygne he was, and wonder diligent,

And in adversitee ful pacient;

And swich he was y-preved ofte sithes.

Ful looth were hym to cursen for his tithes,

But rather wolde he yeven, out of doute,

Unto his povre parisshens aboute,

Of his offrýng and eek of his substaunce;

He koude in litel thyng have suffisaunce.

Wyd was his parisshe, and houses fer asonder,

But he ne lafte nat, for reyn ne thonder,

In siknesse nor in meschief to visíte

The ferreste in his parisshe, muche and lite,

Upon his feet, and in his hand a staf.

This noble ensample to his sheep he yaf,

That first he wroghte and afterward he taughte.

Out of the gospel he tho wordes caughte;

And this figure he added eek therto,

That if gold ruste, what shal iren doo?

For if a preest be foul, on whom we truste,

No wonder is a lewed man to ruste;

And shame it is, if a prest take keep,

A shiten shepherde and a clene sheep.

Wel oghte a preest ensample for to yive

By his clennesse how that his sheep sholde lyve.

He sette nat his benefice to hyre

And leet his sheep encombred in the myre,

And ran to Londoun, unto Seinte Poules,

To seken hym a chaunterie for soules,

Or with a bretherhed to been withholde;

But dwelte at hoom and kepte wel his folde,

So that the wolf ne made it nat myscarie;

He was a shepherde, and noght a mercenarie.

And though he hooly were and vertuous,

He was to synful man nat despitous,

Ne of his speche daungerous ne digne,

But in his techyng díscreet and benygne.

To drawen folk to hevene by fairnesse,

By good ensample, this was his bisynesse.

But it were any persone obstinat,

What so he were, of heigh or lough estat,

Hym wolde he snybben sharply for the nonys.

A bettre preest I trowe that nowher noon ys.

He waited after no pompe and reverence,

Ne maked him a spiced conscience;

But Cristes loore and his apostles twelve

He taughte, but first he folwed it hymselve.

With hym ther was a Plowman, was his brother,

That hadde y-lad of dong ful many a fother;

A trewe swynkere and a good was he,

Lyvynge in pees and parfit charitee.

God loved he best, with al his hoole herte,

At alle tymes, thogh him gamed or smerte.

And thanne his neighebor right as hymselve.

He wolde thresshe, and therto dyke and delve,

For Cristes sake, for every povre wight,

Withouten hire, if it lay in his myght.

His tithes payede he ful faire and wel,

Bothe of his propre swynk and his catel.

In a tabard he rood upon a mere.

Ther was also a Reve and a Millere,

A Somnour and a Pardoner also,

A Maunciple, and myself,—ther were namo.

The Millere was a stout carl for the nones;

Ful byg he was of brawn and eek of bones.

That proved wel, for over-al, ther he cam,

At wrastlynge he wolde have alwey the ram.

He was short-sholdred, brood, a thikke knarre;

Ther nas no dore that he nolde heve of harre,

Or breke it at a rennyng with his heed.

His berd as any sowe or fox was reed,

And therto brood, as though it were a spade.

Upon the cop right of his nose he hade

A werte, and thereon stood a toft of herys,

Reed as the brustles of a sowes erys;

His nosethirles blake were and wyde.

A swerd and a bokeler bar he by his syde.

His mouth as greet was as a greet forneys;

He was a janglere and a goliardeys,

And that was moost of synne and harlotries.

Wel koude he stelen corn and tollen thries;

And yet he hadde a thombe of gold, pardee.

A whit cote and a blew hood wered he.

A baggepipe wel koude he blowe and sowne,

And therwithal he broghte us out of towne.

A gentil Maunciple was ther of a temple,

Of which achátours myghte take exemple

For to be wise in byynge of vitaille;

For, wheither that he payde or took by taille,

Algate he wayted so in his achaat

That he was ay biforn and in good staat.

Now is nat that of God a ful fair grace,

That swich a lewed mannes wit shal pace

The wisdom of an heep of lerned men?

Of maistres hadde he mo than thries ten,

That weren of lawe expert and curious,

Of whiche ther weren a duszeyne in that hous

Worthy to been stywardes of rente and lond

Of any lord that is in Engelond,

To maken hym lyve by his propre good,

In honour dettelees, but if he were wood,

Or lyve as scarsly as hym list desire;

And able for to helpen al a shire

In any caas that myghte falle or happe;

And yet this Manciple sette hir aller cappe

The Reve was a sclendre colerik man.

His berd was shave as ny as ever he kan;

His heer was by his erys round y-shorn;

His top was dokked lyk a preest biforn.

Ful longe were his legges and ful lene,

Y-lyk a staf, ther was no calf y-sene.

Wel koude he kepe a gerner and a bynne;

Ther was noon auditour koude on him wynne.

Wel wiste he, by the droghte and by the reyn,

The yeldynge of his seed and of his greyn.

His lordes sheep, his neet, his dayerye,

His swyn, his hors, his stoor, and his pultrye,

Was hoolly in this reves governyng;

And by his covenant yaf the rekenyng

Syn that his lord was twenty yeer of age;

There koude no man brynge hym in arrerage.

There nas baillif, ne hierde, nor oother hyne,

That he ne knew his sleighte and his covyne;

They were adrad of hym as of the deeth.

His wonyng was ful fair upon an heeth;

With grene trees shadwed was his place.

He koude bettre than his lord purchace;

Ful riche he was a-stored pryvely.

His lord wel koude he plesen subtilly,

To yeve and lene hym of his owene good,

And have a thank, and yet a cote and hood.

In youthe he hadde lerned a good myster;

He was a wel good wrighte, a carpenter.

This Reve sat upon a ful good stot,

That was al pomely grey, and highte Scot.

A long surcote of pers upon he hade,

And by his syde he baar a rusty blade.

Of Northfolk was this Reve of which I telle,

Biside a toun men clepen Baldeswelle.

Tukked he was as is a frere, aboute.

And evere he rood the hyndreste of oure route.

A Somonour was ther with us in that place,

That hadde a fyr-reed cherubynnes face,

For sawcefleem he was, with eyen narwe.

As hoot he was and lecherous as a sparwe,

With scaled browes blake and piled berd,—

Of his visage children were aferd.

Ther nas quyk-silver, lytarge, ne brymstoon,

Boras, ceruce, ne oille of tartre noon,

Ne oynement that wolde clense and byte,

That hym myghte helpen of his whelkes white,

Nor of the knobbes sittynge on his chekes.

Wel loved he garleek, oynons, and eek lekes,

And for to drynken strong wyn, reed as blood.

Thanne wolde he speke, and crie as he were wood.

And whan that he wel dronken hadde the wyn,

Than wolde he speke no word but Latyn.

A fewe termes hadde he, two or thre,

That he had lerned out of som decree,—

No wonder is, he herde it al the day;

And eek ye knowen wel how that a jay

Kan clepen "Watte" as wel as kan the pope.

But whoso koude in oother thyng hym grope,

Thanne hadde he spent al his philosophie;

Ay "Questio quid juris" wolde he crie.

He was a gentil harlot and a kynde;

A bettre felawe sholde men noght fynde.

He wolde suffre for a quart of wyn

A good felawe to have his concubyn

A twelf month, and excuse hym atte fulle;

And prively a fynch eek koude he pulle.

And if he foond owher a good felawe,

He wolde techen him to have noon awe,

In swich caas, of the erchedekenes curs,

But if a mannes soule were in his purs;

For in his purs he sholde y-punysshed be:

"Purs is the erchedekenes helle," seyde he.

But wel I woot he lyed right in dede.

Of cursyng oghte ech gilty man him drede,

For curs wol slee, right as assoillyng savith;

And also war him of a Significavit.

In daunger hadde he at his owene gise

The yonge girles of the diocise,

And knew hir conseil, and was al hir reed.

A gerland hadde he set upon his heed,

As greet as it were for an ale-stake;

A bokeleer hadde he maad him of a cake.

With hym ther rood a gentil Pardoner

Of Rouncivale, his freend and his compeer,

That streight was comen fro the court of Rome.

Ful loude he soong, "Com hider, love, to me!"

This Somonour bar to hym a stif burdoun;

Was nevere trompe of half so greet a soun.

This Pardoner hadde heer as yelow as wex,

But smothe it heeng as dooth a strike of flex;

By ounces henge his lokkes that he hadde,

And therwith he his shuldres overspradde.

But thynne it lay, by colpons, oon and oon;

But hood, for jolitee, wered he noon,

For it was trussed up in his walét.

Hym thoughte he rood al of the newe jet;

Dischevelee, save his cappe, he rood al bare.

Swiche glarynge eyen hadde he as an hare.

A vernycle hadde he sowed upon his cappe.

His walet lay biforn hym in his lappe,

Bret-ful of pardoun, comen from Rome al hoot.

A voys he hadde as smal as hath a goot.

No berd hadde he, ne nevere sholde have,

As smothe it was as it were late y-shave;

I trowe he were a geldyng or a mare.

But of his craft, fro Berwyk into Ware,

Ne was ther swich another pardoner;

For in his male he hadde a pilwe-beer,

Which that, he seyde, was Oure Lady veyl;

He seyde he hadde a gobet of the seyl

That Seinte Peter hadde, whan that he wente

Upon the see, til Jesu Crist hym hente.

He hadde a croys of latoun, ful of stones,

And in a glas he hadde pigges bones.

But with thise relikes, whan that he fond

A povre person dwellynge upon lond,

Upon a day he gat hym moore moneye

Than that the person gat in monthes tweye;

And thus with feyned flaterye and japes

He made the person and the peple his apes.

But trewely to tellen atte laste,

He was in chirche a noble ecclesiaste;

Wel koude he rede a lessoun or a storie,

But alderbest he song an offertorie;

For wel he wiste, whan that song was songe,

He moste preche, and wel affile his tonge

To wynne silver, as he ful wel koude;

Therefore he song the murierly and loude.

Now have I toold you shortly, in a clause,

Thestaat, tharray, the nombre, and eek the cause

Why that assembled was this compaignye

In Southwerk, at this gentil hostelrye

That highte the Tabard, faste by the Belle.

But now is tyme to yow for to telle

How that we baren us that ilke nyght,

Whan we were in that hostelrie alyght;

And after wol I telle of our viage

And al the remenaunt of oure pilgrimage.

But first, I pray yow, of youre curteisye,

That ye narette it nat my vileynye,

Thogh that I pleynly speke in this mateere,

To telle yow hir wordes and hir cheere,

Ne thogh I speke hir wordes proprely.

For this ye knowen al-so wel as I,

Whoso shal telle a tale after a man,

He moot reherce, as ny as evere he kan,

Everich a word, if it be in his charge,

Al speke he never so rudeliche and large;

Or ellis he moot telle his tale untrewe,

Or feyne thyng, or fynde wordes newe.

He may nat spare, althogh he were his brother;

He moot as wel seye o word as another.

Crist spak hymself ful brode in hooly writ,

And wel ye woot no vileynye is it.

Eek Plato seith, whoso kan hym rede,

"The wordes moote be cosyn to the dede."

Also I prey yow to foryeve it me,

Al have I nat set folk in hir degree

Heere in this tale, as that they sholde stonde;

My wit is short, ye may wel understonde.

Greet chiere made oure Hoost us everichon,

And to the soper sette he us anon,

And served us with vitaille at the beste:

Strong was the wyn and wel to drynke us leste.

A semely man Oure Hooste was with-alle

For to been a marchal in an halle.

A large man he was with eyen stepe,

A fairer burgeys was ther noon in Chepe;

Boold of his speche, and wys, and well y-taught,

And of manhod hym lakkede right naught.

Eek thereto he was right a myrie man,

And after soper pleyen he bigan,

And spak of myrthe amonges othere thynges,

Whan that we hadde maad our rekenynges;

And seyde thus: "Now, lordynges, trewely,

Ye been to me right welcome, hertely;

For by my trouthe, if that I shal nat lye,

I saugh nat this yeer so myrie a compaignye

At ones in this herberwe as is now.

Fayn wolde I doon yow myrthe, wiste I how;

And of a myrthe I am right now bythoght,

To doon yow ese, and it shal coste noght.

"Ye goon to Canterbury—God yow speede,

The blisful martir quite yow youre meede!

And wel I woot, as ye goon by the weye,

Ye shapen yow to talen and to pleye;

For trewely confort ne myrthe is noon

To ride by the weye doumb as a stoon;

And therfore wol I maken yow disport,

As I seyde erst, and doon yow som confort.

And if you liketh alle, by oon assent,

For to stonden at my juggement,

And for to werken as I shal yow seye,

To-morwe, whan ye riden by the weye,

Now, by my fader soule, that is deed,

But ye be myrie, I wol yeve yow myn heed!

Hoold up youre hond, withouten moore speche."

Oure conseil was nat longe for to seche;

Us thoughte it was noght worth to make it wys,

And graunted hym withouten moore avys,

And bad him seye his verdit, as hym leste.

"Lordynges," quod he, "now herkneth for the beste;

But taak it nought, I prey yow, in desdeyn;

This is the poynt, to speken short and pleyn,

That ech of yow, to shorte with oure weye

In this viage, shal telle tales tweye,

To Caunterbury-ward, I mene it so,

And homward he shal tellen othere two,

Of aventúres that whilom han bifalle.

And which of yow that bereth hym beste of alle,

That is to seyn, that telleth in this caas

Tales of best sentence and moost solaas,

Shal have a soper at oure aller cost,

Heere in this place, sittynge by this post,

Whan that we come agayn fro Caunterbury.

And, for to make yow the moore mury,

I wol myselven gladly with yow ryde,

Right at myn owene cost, and be youre gyde;

And whoso wole my juggement withseye

Shal paye al that we spenden by the weye.

And if ye vouche-sauf that it be so,

Tel me anon, withouten wordes mo,

And I wol erly shape me therfore."

This thyng was graunted, and oure othes swore

With ful glad herte, and preyden hym also

That he wolde vouche-sauf for to do so,

And that he wolde been oure governour,

And of our tales juge and réportour,

And sette a soper at a certeyn pris;

And we wol reuled been at his devys

In heigh and lough; and thus, by oon assent,

We been acorded to his juggement.

And therupon the wyn was fet anon;

We dronken, and to reste wente echon,

Withouten any lenger taryynge.

Amorwe, whan that day gan for to sprynge,

Up roos oure Hoost and was oure aller cok,

And gadrede us togidre alle in a flok;

And forth we riden, a litel moore than paas,

Unto the wateryng of Seint Thomas;

And there oure Hoost bigan his hors areste,

And seyde, "Lordynges, herkneth, if yow leste:

Ye woot youre foreward and I it yow recorde.

If even-song and morwe-song accorde,

Lat se now who shal telle the firste tale.

As ever mote I drynke wyn or ale,

Whoso be rebel to my juggement

Shal paye for all that by the wey is spent.

Now draweth cut, er that we ferrer twynne;

He which that hath the shorteste shal bigynne.

Sire Knyght," quod he, "my mayster and my lord

Now draweth cut, for that is myn accord.

Cometh neer," quod he, "my lady Prioresse.

And ye, sire Clerk, lat be your shamefastnesse,

Ne studieth noght. Ley hond to, every man."

Anon to drawen every wight bigan,

And, shortly for to tellen as it was,

Were it by áventúre, or sort, or cas,

The sothe is this, the cut fil to the Knyght,

Of which ful blithe and glad was every wyght;

And telle he moste his tale, as was resoun,

By foreward and by composicioun,

As ye han herd; what nedeth wordes mo?

And whan this goode man saugh that it was so,

As he that wys was and obedient

To kepe his foreward by his free assent,

He seyde, "Syn I shal bigynne the game,

What, welcome be the cut, a Goddes name!

Now lat us ryde, and herkneth what I seye."

And with that word we ryden forth oure weye;

And he bigan with right a myrie cheere

His tale anon, and seyde in this manére.