Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

So in that season on a day,

In Southwark at the Tabard² as I lay

Ready to wend on my pilgrimage

To Canterbury with full devout courage,

At night was come into that hostelry

Well nine and twenty in a company

Of sundry folk, by sheer chance fallen

Into fellowship, and pilgrims were they all,

Who toward Canterbury would ride.

The rooms and stables were goodsized,

And they gave us among the best.

And shortly, when the sun was to rest,

So had I spoken with them every one

That I was of their fellowship anon,³

And agreed early to arise,

To head out, as I say.

But nevertheless while I have time and space,

Before I further in this tale ride,

Methinks it according to reason

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 knight than wol I first biginne.

A KNIGHT ther was, and that a worthy man

That fro the tyme that he first bigan

To ryden out, he loved chivalrye,

Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisye.

Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre,

And therto hadde he riden (no man ferre)

As wel in Cristendom as hethenesse,

And ever honoured for his worthinesse.

At Alisaundre he was, whan it was wonne;

Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bigonne

Aboven alle naciouns in Pruce.

In Lettow hadde he reysed and in Ruce,

No Cristen man so ofte of his degree.

In Gernade at the sege 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 aryve hadde he be.

At mortal batailles hadde he been fiftene,

And foughten for our feith at Tramissene

In listes thryes, and ay slayn his fo.

This ilke worthy knight had been also

Somtyme with the lord of Palatye,

Ageyn another hethen in Turkye:

And evermore he hadde a sovereyn prys.

And though that he were worthy, he was wys,

And of his port as meke as is a mayde.

He never yet no vileinye ne sayde

In al his lyf, un-to no maner wight.

He was a verray parfit gentil knight.

But for to tellen yow of his array,

His hors were gode, but he was nat gay.

Of fustian he wered a gipoun

Al bismotered with his habergeoun;

To tell you all the calling

Of each of them, so as it seemed to me,

And who they were, and of what character,

And what raiment they were in;

And at a Knight then will first begin.

A KNIGHT there was,⁴ and he a worthy man,

Who from the time that he first began

To ride out, he loved chivalry,

Truth and honor, freedom and courtesy.

He fought bravely in his lords’ wars,

And in them had he ridden, no other man so far,

As well in Christendom as in heathen places,

And ever honored for his worthiness.

At Alexandria he was when it was won;

Full often time he’d sat at head of table

Above all the knights of Prussia.

In Lithuania he’d fought and in Russia,

More often than any other Christian man his rank.

In Grenada also had he been at the siege

Of Algeciras, and ridden in Benmarin.

At Ayeas was he and at Adalia

When they were won; and in the Mediterranean

At many a noble crusade had he been.

In duels to the death had he been fifteen,

And fought for our faith in Tlemecen

In tournaments thrice, and slain his foe.

This same worthy knight had been also

Sometime with the lord of Palatia,

Against another heathen in Turkey;

And evermore he had a sterling name.

And though he was brave, he was wise,

And of his manner as meek as is a maid.

He was never rude

In all his life to any sort of person.

He was a true, perfect, noble knight.

But to tell you of his attire,

His horses were good, but his clothes not bright.

Of rough cloth he wore a tunic

All ruststained by his coat of mail,

For he was late y-come from his viage,

And wente for to doon his pilgrimage.

With him ther was his sone, a yong SQUYER,

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 deliver, and greet of strengthe.

And he had been somtyme in chivachye,

In Flaundres, in Artoys, and Picardye,

And born him wel, as of so litel space,

In hope to stonden in his lady grace.

Embrouded was he, as it were a mede

Al ful of fresshe floures, whyte and rede.

Singinge he was, or floytinge, all the day;

He was as fresh as is the month of May.

Short was his goune, with sieves longe and wyde.

Wel coude he sitte on hors, and faire ryde.

He coude songes make and wel endyte,

Juste and eek daunce, and wel purtreye and wryte.

So hote he lovede, that by nightertale

He sleep namore than dooth a nightingale.

Curteys he was, lowly, and servisable,

And carf biforn his fader at the table.

A YEMAN hadde he, and servaunts namo

At that tyme, for him liste ryde so;

And he was clad in cote and hood of grene;

A sheef of pecok-arwes brighte and kene

Under his belt he bar ful thriftily;

(Wel coude he dresse his takel yemanly:

His arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe),

And in his hand he bar a mighty bowe.

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

Of wode-craft wel coude he al the usage.

Upon his arm he bar a gay bracer,

And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler,

And on that other syde a gay daggere,

Harneised wel, and sharp as point of spere;

A Cristofre on his brest of silver shene.

For he’d no sooner returned from his voyage,

Than he set out to make his pilgrimage.

With him there was his son, a young SQUIRE,

A lover, and a knight he would become,

With locks so curly, you’d think them curling-ironed.

Of twenty years of age he was, I guess.

Of his stature he was average height,

And wonderfully agile, and of great strength.

And he had spent some time in combat

In Flanders, Artois and Picardy,⁵

And carried himself well, for a beginner,

In hope to stand in his lady’s grace.

Embroidered was he, as if a meadow

All full of fresh flowers, white and red.

Singing he was, or piping all the day;

He was as fresh as is the month of May.

Short was his gown, with sleeves long and wide.

Well could he sit a horse and well ride.

He could songs make and poetry indite,

Joust and dance, draw well and write.

So hotly he loved all through the night

He slept no more than a nightingale.

Courteous he was, humble and himself useful made,

And carved meat for his father at the table.

A YEOMAN had he, and servants no more

At that time, for it pleased him to ride so;

And he was clad in coat and hood of green.

A sheaf of peacock-arrows sharp and bright

Under his belt he carried with care.

Well could he keep his gear:

His arrows drooped not with feathers low,

And in his hand he bore a mighty bow.

A close-cropped head had he, with a sun-browned face.

Of woodcraft he knew all the skills.

Upon his arm he bore a fine wrist guard,

And by his side a buckler and sword,

And on his other side a shining dagger,

Hafted well, and sharp as point of spear:

A silver Saint Christopher on his breast shone.

An horn he bar, the bawdrik was of grene;

A forster was he, soothly, as I gesse.

Ther was also a Nonne, a PRIORESSE,

That of hir smyling was ful simple and coy:

Hir gretteste ooth was but by sëynt Loy;

And she was cleped madame Eglentyne.

Ful wel she song the service divyne,

Entuned in hir nose ful semely;

And Frensh she spak ful faire and fetisly,

After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe,

For Frensh of Paris was to hir unknowe.

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

She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle,

Ne wette hir fingres in hir sauce depe.

Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe,

That no drope ne fille up-on hir brest.

In curteisye was set ful muche hir lest.

Hir over lippe wyped she so clene,

That in hir coppe was no ferthing sene

Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte.

Ful semely after hir mete she raughte,

And sikerly she was of greet disport,

And ful plesaunt, and amiable of port,

And peyned hir to countrefete chere

Of court, and been estatlich of manere,

And to ben holden digne of reverence.

But, for to speken of hir conscience,

She was so charitable and so pitous,

She wolde wepe, if that she sawe a mous

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

Of smale houndes had she, that she fedde

With rosted flesh, or milk and wastel-breed,

But sore weep she if oon of hem were deed,

Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte:

And al was conscience and tendre herte.

Ful semely hir wimpel pinched was;

Hir nose tretys; hir eyen greye as glas;

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

But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed;

A horn he carried, with strap of green;

A forester was he in fact, as I guess.

There was also a Nun, a PRIORESSE,

Whose smile was full simple and modest—

Her greatest oath was but by Saint Eligius!—

And she was called Madame Eglentyne.

Full well she sang the service divine,

Intoning in her nose full seemly;

And French she spoke with elegant fluency,

After the School of Stratford at Bow, ⁶

For French of Paris was to her unknown.

At table well taught was she withal:

She let no morsel from her lips fall,

Nor wet her fingers in her sauce too deep.

Well could she convey a spoonful, and take care

That no drop fell upon her breast.

She took much pleasure in etiquette.

Her upper lip she wiped so clean,

That in her cup was no drop seen

Of grease, when she had drunk her draft.

Full politely for her food she reached,

And certainly she was a cheerful sort,

And full pleasant, nice deportment,

And she took pains to reflect the manners

Of court, and to be stately in her carriage,

And to be held worthy of reverence.

But, for to speak of her compassion,

She was so charitable and kind,

She would weep if she saw a mouse

Caught in a trap, or if it were dead or bleeding.

Some small hounds had she, that she fed

With roasted flesh, or milk and fine white bread.

But sorely wept she if one of them were dead,

Or if someone beat it with a stick;

She was all feeling and tender heart.

Full seemly her wimple pleated was,

Her nose graceful, her eyes gray as glass,

Her mouth full small, lips soft and red,

But certainly she had a fair forehead—

It was almost a spanne brood, I trowe;

For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe.

Ful fetis was hir cloke, as I was war.

Of smal coral aboute hir arm she bar

A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene;

And ther-on heng a broche of gold ful shene,

On which ther was first write a crowned A,

And after, Amor vincit omnia.

Another NONNE with hir hadde she,

That was hir chapeleyne, and PREESTES THREE.

A MONK ther was, a fair for the maistrye,

An out-rydere, that lovede venerye;

A manly man, to been an abbot able.

Ful many a deyntee hors hadde he in stable:

And, whan he rood, men mighte his brydel here

Ginglen in a whistling wind as clere,

And eek as loude as dooth the chapel-belle

Ther as this lord was keper of the celle.

The reule of seint Maure or of seint Beneit,

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

This ilke monke leet olde thinges pace,

And held after the newe world the space.

He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen,

That seith, that hunters been nat holy men;

Ne that a monk, whan he is cloisterlees,

Is lykned til a fish that is waterlees;

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

But thilke text held he nat worth an oistre;

And I seyde, his opinioun was good.

What sholde he studie, and make himselven wood,

Upon a book in cloistre alwey to poure,

Or swinken with his handes, and laboure,

As Austin bit? How shal the world be served?

Lat Austin have his swink to him reserved.

Therefore he was a pricasour aright,

Grehoundes he hadde, as swifte as fowel in flight

Of priking and of hunting for the hare

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

I seigh his sieves purfiled at the hond

It was almost a span broad, I believe—

For in no way was she undersized.

Full elegant was her cloak, as I was aware.

About her arm she bore a coral rosary,

The beads set off with stones green;

And thereon hung a broach, of shining gold,

On which there was first written a crowned A,

And after, Amor vincit omnia.⁷

Another NUN with her had she,

Who was her chaplain, and PRIESTS THREE.

A MONK there was, and a good one too,

An estate manager, who also loved to hunt:

A manly man, and an abbot able.

Full many a fine horse had he in stable,

And when he rode men might his bridle hear

Jingling in a whistling wind as clear

And loud as doth the chapel bell,

There where this lord ran a priory.

The rule of Saint Maurus or of Saint Benedict, ⁸

Because it was old and somewhat strict,

This same monk let slide,

And held after the new world for his guide.

He gave not for that text a plucked hen,

That said hunters should not be holy men,

Nor that a monk when he neglects his vows,

Is like a fish out of water

(That is to say a monk out of his cloister);

But that doctrine held he not worth an oyster.

And I said his opinion was good:

Why should he study, and make himself a nut,

Upon a book in cloister always to pore,

Or work with his hands and labor,

As Augustine⁹ bid? How shall the world be served?

Let Augustine have his work for him reserved!

So he rode energetically all right:

Greyhounds he had, as swift as birds in flight;

Of riding and of hunting for the hare

Was all his lust, for it no cost would he spare.

I saw his sleeves trimmed at the cuff

With grys, and that the fyneste of a lond;

And, for to festne his hood under his chin

He hadde of gold y-wroght a curious pin:

A love-knotte in the gretter end ther was.

His heed was balled, that shoon as any glas,

And eek his face, as he had been anoint.

He was a lord ful fat and in good point;

His eyen stepe, and rollinge in his heed,

That stemed as a forneys of a leed;

His botes souple, his hors in greet estat.

Now certeinly he was a fair prelat;

He was nat pale as a for-pyned goost.

A fat swan loved he best of any roost.

His palfrey was as broun as is a berye.

A FRERE ther was, a wantown and a merye,

A limitour, a ful solempne man.

In alle the ordres foure is noon that can

So muche of daliaunce and fair langage.

He hadde maad ful many a mariage

Of yonge wommen, at his owne cost.

Un-to 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 had power of confessioun,

As seyde him-self, more than a curat,

For of his ordre he was licentiat.

Ful swetely herde he confessioun,

And plesaunt was his absolucion;

He was an esy man to yeve penaunce

Ther as he wiste to han a good pitaunce;

For unto a povre ordre for to yive

Is signe that a man is wel y-shrive.

For if he yaf, he dorste make avaunt,

He wiste that a man was repentaunt.

For many a man so hard is of his herte,

He may nat wepe al-thogh him sore smerte.

Therfore, in stede of weping and preyeres,

Men moot yeve silver to the povre freres.

With gray fur and that the finest in the land;

And to fasten his hood under his chin,

He had of gold crafted a full curious pin:

A love-knot in the larger end there was.

His head was bald, and shone like glass,

And his face as well, as if anointed.

He was a lord full fat and yet his muscles fit:

His eyes protruding, and rolling in his head,

That glowed like the fire under a cauldron;

His boots supple, his horse in great condition—

Now certainly he was a fair prelate.

He was not pale as a tortured ghost;

A fat swan loved he best of any roast.

And brown as a berry was his horse.

A FRIAR¹⁰ there was, a lecher and a merry,

A licensed beggar, with his own territory.

Among the orders four was none who knew

So much of dalliance and fair language.

He had arranged full many a marriage

Of young women, at his own cost.

Unto his order he was a noble post.

Full well beloved and familiar was he

With rich franklins throughout his territory,

And with the worthy women of the town;

For he had power of confession,¹¹

As he said himself, more than a local curate,

For of his order he was licentiate.

Full sweetly he heard confession,

And pleasant was his absolution;

He was an easy man to make penance

Wherever he could expect a nice remembrance.

For unto a poor order to give

Is a sign that a man is well shriven—

For if he gave something, the Friar could be content,

That a man was truly repentant.

For many a man is so hard of heart,

He may not weep though it sore smarts:

Therefore instead of weeping and prayers,

Men may give silver to the poor freres.

His tipet was ay farsed ful of knyves

And pinnes, for to yeven faire wyves.

And certeinly he hadde a mery note;

Wel coude he singe and pleyen on a rote.

Of yeddinges he bar utterly the prys.

His nekke whyt 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 un-to swich a worthy man as he

Acorded nat, as by his facultee,

To have with seke lazars aqueyntaunce.

It is nat honest, it may nat avaunce

For to delen with no swich poraille,

But al with riche and sellers of vitaille.

And over-al, ther as profit sholde aryse,

Curteys he was, and lowly of servyse.

Ther nas no man no-wher so vertuous.

He was the beste beggere in his hous;

And yaf a certeyn ferme for the graunt;

Noon of his bretheren cam ther in his haunt;

For thogh a widwe hadde noght a sho,

So plesaunt was his “In principio,”

Yet wolde he have a ferthing, er he wente.

His purchas was wel bettre than his rente.

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

In love-dayes ther coude he muchel helpe.

For there he was nat lyk a cloisterer,

With a thredbar cope, as is a povre scoler,

But he was lyk a maister or a pope.

Of double worsted was his semi-cope,

That rounded as a belle out of the presse.

Somwhat he lipsed, for his wantownesse,

To make his English swete up-on his tonge;

And in his harping, whan that he had songe,

His eyen twinkled in his heed aright,

As doon the sterres in the frosty night.

This worthy limitour was cleped Huberd.

His cape was always full of knives

And pins for to give fair wives.

And certainly he had a nice voice;

Well could he sing and pluck the strings:

For ballad singing he was first choice.

His neck white was as the lily flower;

Plus he had a champion’s muscle power.

He knew the taverns well in every town,

And every innkeeper and every bargirl

Better than he knew any leper or lady beggar,

For such a worthy man as he

Should not, in his belief,

Have acquaintance with sick lepers:

It was not dignified and did him no good

To deal with such poor suffering souls,

But always with rich folk and food purveyors.

And everywhere—anywhere—profit promised to arise,

Courteous he was, and humble in service.

There was no man anywhere near so virtuous.

He was the best beggar in his order’s house,

(And gave a certain payment for the grant:¹²

None of his brothers trespassed on his haunts.)

For though a widow had not a shoe,

So pleasant was his In principio,¹³

That he would have a farthing before he went.

His income was well better than his rent.

And he could be charming as a pup.

To resolve disputes he could often help,

For he was not like a cloisterer,

With threadbare cape, as is a poor scholar.¹⁴

But he was like a master or a pope:

Of double-worsted was his half-cape,

That swelled around him like a bell.

Somewhat he lisped, in affectation,

To make his English sweet upon his tongue;

And when he had played his harp and sung,

His eyes twinkled in his head aright

As do the stars on a frosty night.

This worthy friar was called Huberd.

A MARCHANT was ther with a forked berd,

In mottelee, and hye on horse he sat,

Up-on his heed a Flaundrish bever hat;

His botes clasped faire and fetisly.

His resons he spak ful solempnely,

Souninge alway th‘encrees of his winning.

He wolde the see were kept for any thing

Bitwixe Middelburgh and Orewelle.

Wel coude 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 governaunce,

With his bargaynes, and with his chevisaunce.

For sothe he was a worthy man with-alle,

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

A CLERK ther was of Oxenford also,

That un-to logik hadde longe y-go.

As lene was his hors as is a rake,

And he nas nat right fat, I undertake;

But loked holwe, and ther-to soberly.

Ful thredbar was his overest courtepy;

For he had geten him yet no benefyce,

Ne was so worldly for to have offyce.

For him was lever have at his beddes heed

Twenty bokes, clad in blak or reed,

Of Aristotle and his philosophye,

Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrye.

But al be that he was a philosophre,

Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre;

But al that he mighte of his freendes hente,

On bokes and on lerninge he it spente,

And bisily gan for the soules preye

Of hem that yaf him wher-with to scoleye.

Of studie took he most cure and most hede.

Noght o word spak he more than was nede,

And that was seyd in forme and reverence,

And short and quik, and ful of hy sentence.

Souninge in moral vertu was his speche,

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.

A MERCHANT there was with forked beard,

In patterned cloth, and high on his horse he sat;

Upon his head a Flemish beaverfur hat,

His boots well tied and neat.

His opinions he pompously offered,

Proclaiming always the increase of his profit.

He wanted the pirates at any price expelled

Between Middleburgh and Orowelle.¹⁵

Well could he exchange French coins.

This worthy man full well his wit employed:

No one knew he was in debt,

So careful was he of his outward impression,

With his bargains and his (perhaps) shady lending.

He was a worthy man, all the same;

But in truth I do not know his name.

A SCHOLAR there was of Oxford also,

Who unto logic had himself devoted,

All lean was his horse as is a rake,

And he was not fat, I undertake,

But looked hollow and also soberly.

Full threadbare was his over cloak,

For he had received yet no benefice,

Nor did he worldly work for his daily bread;

For he would rather have at his bed’s head

Twenty books clad in black or red,

Of Aristotle and his philosophy,

Than robes rich, psaltery or harp.

Albeit that he was a philosopher,

Yet had he but little gold in his coffer;

And all that his friends might him lend,

On books and learning he it spent,

And busily did for the souls pray

Of those who for his tuition gave.

Of study took he most care and most heed.

Not one word spoke he more than was needed,

And that was said in correct form and respect,

And short and quick, and full of high intellect.

Resounding in moral virtue was his speech,

And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach.

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 wyse.

Justyce he was ful often in assyse,

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 no-wher noon.

Al was fee simple to him in effect,

His purchasing mighte nat been infect.

No-wher so bisy a man as he ther nas,

And yet he semed bisier than he was.

In termes hadde he caas and domes alle,

That from the tyme of king William were falle.

Therto he coude endyte, and make a thing,

Ther coude no wight pinche at his wryting;

And every statut coude 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 companye;

Whyt was his berd, as is the dayesye.

Of his complexioun he was sangwyn.

Wel loved he by the morwe a sop in wyn.

To liven in delyt was ever his wone,

For he was Epicurus owne sone,

That heeld opinioun, that pleyn delyt

Was verraily felicitee parfyt.

An housholdere, and that a greet, was he;

Seint Julian he was in his contree.

His breed, his ale, was alwey after oon;

A bettre envyned man was no-wher noon.

With-oute bake mete was never his hous,

Of fish and flesh, and that so plentyous,

It snewed in his hous of mete and drinke,

Of alle deyntees that men coude thinke.

After the sondry sesons of the yeer,

A SERGEANT OF THE LAW,¹⁶ alert and wise,

Who had often been at the parvis,¹⁷

There was also, full rich of excellence.

Discreet he was and worthy of great respect:

He seemed such, his words were so wise.

Judge he was full often in assizes cases,¹⁸

With full authority from the king;

For his knowledge and for his high renown,

Of fees and robes had he many a one.

So sharp a wheeler-dealer was nowhere known:

All contracts were with no strings attached;

His ownership might not be attacked.

Nowhere so busy a man as he there was;

And yet he seemed busier than he was.

He knew the details of all the cases,

That from the time of King William had taken place.

Thereto he could write and draw up papers;

No one could find fault with his writing,

And every statute he knew by heart.

He rode unfancily in a multicolored coat,

Girt with a cinch of silk with stripes narrow;

Of his outfit I will no more tell.

A FRANKLIN¹⁹ was in his company.

White was his beard as is the daisy;

Of his temperament he was sanguine.²⁰

Well he loved a breakfast cake soaked in wine.

To live in delight was ever his custom,

For he was Epicurus’ own son,

Who held opinion that complete delight

Was the true measure of perfection.

A householder, and a great one, was he;

Saint Julian²¹ he was in his country.

His bread, his ale were always good;

A better wine-cellared man was nowhere known.

Without meat pies was never his house,

Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteous

It rained in his house of meat and drink.

Of all delicacies that men could think,

According to the sundry seasons of the year,

So chaunged he his mete and his soper.

Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in mewe,

And many a breem and many a luce in stewe.

Wo was his cook, but-if his sauce were

Poynaunt and sharp, and redy al his gere.

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 knight of the shire.

An anlas and a gipser al of silk

Heng at his girdel, whyt as morne milk.

A shirreve hadde he been, and a countour;

Was no-wher such a worthy vavasour.

An HABERDASSHER and a CARPENTER,

A WEBBE, a DYERE, and a TAPICER,

Were with us eek, clothed in o liveree,

Of a solempne and greet fraternitee.

Ful fresh and newe hir gere apyked was;

Hir knyves were y-chaped noght with bras,

But al with silver, wroght ful clene and weel,

Hir girdles and hir pouches every-deel.

Wel semed ech of hem a fair burgeys,

To sitten in a yeldhalle on a deys.

Everich, for the wisdom that he can,

Was shaply for to been an alderman.

For catel hadde they y-nogh and rente,

And eek hir wyves wolde it wel assente;

And elles certein were they to blame.

It is ful fair to been y-clept “ma dame,”

And goon to vigilyës al bifore,

And have a mantel royalliche y-bore.

A COOK they hadde with hem for the nones,

To boille the chiknes with the marybones,

And poudre-marchant tart, and galingale.

Wel coude he knowe a draughte of London ale.

He coude roste, and sethe, and broille, and frye,

Maken mortreux, and wel bake a pye.

But greet harm was it, as it thoughte me,

That on his shine a mormal hadde he;

So varied his dinner and his supper.

Full many a fat partridge had he in coop,

And many a bream and many a pike in pond.

Woe to his cook, unless his sauces were

Pungent and sharp, and ever-ready all his pans and pots.

His table in his dining hall

Stood always for his dinner set.²²

At meetings of local justices there he was lord and sire;

Full often time he was MP for the shire.

A dagger and a purse all of silk

Hung at his waist, white as morning milk.

A sheriff had he been, and an auditor;

Was nowhere such a worthy landowner.

A HABERDASHER and a CARPENTER,

A WEAVER, a DYER and a TAPESTRY-MAKER,

Were with us also, all clothed in the livery

Of a distinguished and great parish guild.²³

Full fresh and new their dress uniform was;

Their knives were mounted not with brass,

But all with silver, full well made and brightly

Polished, as were their belts and purses.

Well seemed each of them a fair burgher

To sit in guildhall in a place of honor.

Each one of them could have been

An alderman.

For property had they enough and income,

And their wives would say the same;

Or else certain were they to blame.

It is full fair to be called “Madame,”

And go to church at procession’s head,

And have a mantle like royalty carried.

A COOK they had with them for their travel,

To boil the chickens with the marrowbones

And spices—poudre-marchant tart and galingale.

Well could he identify a draught of London ale.

He could roast and boil and broil and fry,

Make stews and well bake a pie.

But great misfortune was it, as it seemed to me,

That on his shin an open sore had he.

For blankmanger, that made he with the beste.

A SHIPMAN was ther, woning fer by weste:

For aught I woot, he was of Dertemouthe.

He rood up-on a rouncy, as he couthe,

In a gowne of falding to the knee.

A daggere hanging on a laas hadde he

Aboute his nekke under his arm adoun.

The hote somer had maad his hewe al broun;

And, certeinly, he was a good felawe.

Ful many a draughte of wyn had he y-drawe

From Burdeux-ward, whyl 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 him bisydes,

His herberwe and his mone, 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 wel alle the havenes, as they were,

From Gootlond to the cape of Finistere,

And every cryke in Britayne and in Spayne;

His barge y-cleped was the Maudelayne.

With us ther was a DOCTOUR OF PHISYK,

In al this world ne was ther noon him lyk

To speke of phisik and of surgerye;

For he was grounded in astronomye.

He kepte his pacient a ful greet del

In houres, by his magik naturel.

Wel coude he fortunen the ascendent

Of his images for his pacient.

He knew the cause of everich maladye,

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

And where engendred, and of what humour;

He was a verrey parfit practisour.

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

Anon he yaf the seke man his bote.

Ful redy hadde he his apothecaries,

For blancmange, that made he with the best.

A SHIPMAN²⁴ was there, living far to the west:

For all I know, he was of Dartmouth.

He rode upon a sturdy little horse, as best he could,

In a heavy wool gown reaching to the knee.

A dagger hanging on a cord had he

About his neck and down beneath his arm.

The high summer had made his hue all brown;

And certainly he was a good fellow.

Full many a draught of wine had he tapped

En route from Bordeaux, while the wine merchant slept.

Of nice conscience he took no heed:

In a fight, if he had the upper hand,

He sent them overboard, far from land.

But of navigation, to reckon well his tides,

His currents and his hazards him nearby,

His harbor and his moon, his compass use,

There was none such from Hull to Carthage.

Hardy he was, and careful in risks taken;

With many a tempest had his beard been shaken.

He knew well all the harbors, as they were,

From Gotland to the Cape of Finisterre,

And every creek in Brittany and Spain;

His ship was called the Magdalen.

With us there was a PHYSICIAN;

In all the world there was none like him

To speak of medicine and of surgery

For he was grounded in astrology.

He tended his patient at just the right

Hours, guided by his magical powers.

Well could he determine the ascendent

Of the signs for his patient.²⁵

He knew the cause of every malady,

Were it hot or cold or moist or dry,

And where engendered and of what humor;

He was a truly perfect practitioner.

The cause known, and of the malady its origin,

Quickly he gave the sick man his medicine.

Full ready had he his apothecaries,

To sende him drogges and his letuaries,

For ech of hem made other for to winne;

Hir frendschipe nas nat newe to biginne.

Wel knew he th’ olde Esculapius,

And Deiscorides, and eek Rufus,

Old Ypocras, Haly, and Galien;

Serapion, Razis, and Avicen;

Averrois, Damascien, and Constantyn;

Bernard, and Gatesden, and Gilbertyn.

Of his diete mesurable was he,

For it was of no superfluitee,

But of greet norissing and digestible.

His studie was but litel on the bible.

In sangwin 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 WYF was ther of bisyde BATHE,

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

Of clooth-making she hadde swiche an haunt,

She passed hem of Ypres and of Gaunt.

In al the parisshe wyf ne was ther noon

That to th’ offring bifore hir sholde goon;

And if ther dide, certeyn, so wrooth was she,

That she was out of alle charitee.

Hir coverchiefs ful fyne were of ground;

I dorste swere they weyeden ten pound

That on a Sonday were upon hir heed.

Hir hosen weren of fyn scarlet reed,

Ful streite y-teyd, and shoos ful moiste and newe.

Bold 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 other companye in youthe;

But therof nedeth nat to speke as nouthe.

And thryes hadde she been at Jerusalem;

She hadde passed many a straunge streem;

To send him drugs and potions,

For each helped the other to make a profit,

Their friendship was not new to begin.

Well he knew the old Aesculapius,

Dioscorides, and Rufus,

Old Hippocrates, Hali and Galen,

Serapion, Rhazes and Avicenna, Averroes,

Damascenus and Constantine,

Bernard and Gatesden and Gilbert.²⁶

Of his diet moderate was he,

For it was of no great quantity

But of great nourishment and digestible.

His study was but little on the Bible.

In blood red and blue he clad was all,

Lined with taffeta and fine silk;

And yet he was not quick to spend,

He kept what he earned in time of plague,

For gold is good for the heart in medicine;

Therefore gold he loved especially.

A good WIFE there was, from near Bath,

But she was somewhat deaf, and that was too bad.

Of clothmaking she had such a talent,

She surpassed that of Ypres and of Ghent.²⁷

In all the parish a wife was there none

Who gave more at the church offering;

And if they did, certain so angry was she,

That she was all out of charity.²⁸

Her Sunday shawls were of full fine hand;

I daresay that they weighed ten pounds

That on a Sunday were upon her head.

Her hose were of fine scarlet red,

Full tightly tied, and shoes full soft and new.

Bold was her face, and fair and red of hue.

She was a worthy woman all her life:

Husbands at church door²⁹ she’d had five,

Not counting other company in youth—

But we need not speak of them right now—

And thrice had she been to Jerusalem.

She had crossed many a foreign stream:

At Rome she hadde been, and at Boloigne,

In Galice at seint Jame, and at Coloigne.

She coude muche of wandring by the weye:

Gat-tothed was she, soothly for to seye.

Up-on an amblere esily she sat,

Y-wimpled 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 hir feet a paire of spores sharpe.

In felawschip wel coude she laughe and carpe.

Of remedyes of love she knew perchaunce,

For she coude of that art the olde daunce.

A good man was ther of religioun,

And was a povre PERSOUN of a toun;

But riche he was of holy thoght and werk.

He was also a lerned man, a clerk,

That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche;

His parisshens devoutly wolde he teche.

Benigne he was, and wonder diligent,

And in adversitee ful pacient;

And swich he was y-preved ofte sythes.

Ful looth were him to cursen for his tythes,

But rather wolde he yeven, out of doute,

Un-to his povre parisshens aboute

Of his offring, and eek of his substaunce.

He coude in litel thing han suffisaunce.

Wyd was his parisshe, and houses fer a-sonder,

But he ne lafte nat, for reyn ne thonder,

In siknes nor in meschief, to visyte

The ferreste in his parisshe, muche and lyte,

Up-on 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 ther-to,

That if gold ruste, what shal iren do?

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

No wonder is a lewed man to ruste;

And shame it is, if a preest take keep,

To Rome she had been,³⁰ and to Boulogne,

In Galicia to Saint James, and to Cologne;

She knew much of wandering along the road.

Gap-toothed she was, the truth to say.

Upon an easyriding horse she easily sat,

Wimpled well, and on her head a hat

As broad as is a buckler or a targe;

An overskirt about her hips large,

And on her feet a pair of spurs sharp.

She was full of laughter and of gossip.

Of love remedies she knew by chance,

For she knew the steps of that old dance.

A good man was there of religion,

And he was a poor PARSON of a town,

But rich he was in holy thought and work.

He was also a learned man, a scholar

Who Christ’s gospel truly would preach,

His parishioners devotedly would he teach.

Kindly he was, and very diligent,

And in adversity full patient,

And he proved to be such oftentimes.

Full loath was he to excommunicate for his tithes,³¹

But rather would he give, without a doubt,

Unto his poor parishioners out of

His offerings and his income.

He knew how to have enough with not much.

Wide was his parish, and houses far apart,

But he neglected none, for rain nor thunder,

In sickness nor in misfortune, to visit

The furthest in his parish, great and humble,

Travelling by foot, and in his hand a staff.

This noble example to his sheep he gave,

That first he wrought, and afterward he taught.

From the gospel he these words took,

And this metaphor he added thereto:

That if gold rusts, what should iron do?

For if a priest be corrupt, upon whom we trust,

No wonder is an unlearned man to rust;

And shame it is if a priest be seen,

A shiten shepherde and a clene sheep.

Wel oghte a preest ensample for to yive,

By his clennesse, how that his sheep shold live.

He sette nat his benefice to hyre,

And leet his sheep encombred in the myre,

And ran to London, un-to sëynt Poules,

To seken him 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 miscarie;

He was a shepherde and no mercenarie.

And though he holy were, and vertuous,

He was to sinful man nat despitous,

Ne of his speche daungerous ne digne,

But in his teching discreet and benigne.

To drawen folk to heven by fairnesse

By good ensample, was his bisinesse:

But it were any persone obstinat,

What-so he were, of heigh or lowe estat,

Him wolde he snibben sharply for the nones.

A bettre preest, I trowe that nowher noon is.

He wayted after no pompe and reverence,

Ne maked him a spyced conscience,

But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve,

He taughte, and first he folwed it himselve.

With him ther was a PLOWMAN, was his

brother,

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

A trewe swinker and a good was he,

Livinge in pees and parfit charitee.

God loved he best with al his hole herte

At alle tymes, thogh him gamed or smerte,

And thanne his neighebour right as himselve.

He wolde thresshe, and ther-to dyke and delve,

For Cristes sake, for every povre wight,

Withouten hyre, if it lay in his might.

His tythes payed he ful faire and wel,

Bothe of his propre swink and his catel.

In a tabard he rood upon a mere.

As a shitcovered shepherd with clean sheep.

Well ought a priest example for to give,

By his cleanliness, how his sheep should live.

He rented not his benefice out to hire,

And left his sheep encumbered in the mire,

And ran into London to Saint Paul’s

To seek him a sinecure as a chantry-priest,

Or a retainer as chaplain for a guild,³²

But dwelt at home and kept well his fold.

So that the wolf didn’t make it come to grief;

He was a shepherd and not a mercenary.

And though he holy was, and virtuous,

He was to sinful men not despising,

Nor in speech haughty or disdainful,

But in his teaching discreet and benign.

To draw folk to heaven by fairness,

By good example, that was his business;

But were there any person obstinate,

Whoever he was, of high or low estate,

He would him rebuke sharply in that instance.

A better priest I believe there nowhere is.

He yearned not for pomp and reverence,

Nor made a show of righteousness,

But Christ’s teaching and his apostles twelve,

He taught, and first he followed it himself.

With him there was a PLOWMAN,³³ who was his

brother,

Who had hauled of dung full many a cart.

An honest worker, and a good one was he,

Living in peace and perfect charity.

God loved he best with his whole heart

At all times, both happy and tough,

And his neighbor much as himself.

He would thresh and ditch and shovel,

For Christ’s sake, for every poor soul,

Without payment, if it lay in his power.

His tithes he paid full fair and well,

Both of his work and his property.

In a smock he rode upon a mare.

Ther was also a Reve and a Millere,

A Somnour and a Pardoner also,

A Maunciple, and my-self; there were namo.

The MILLER was a stout carl, for the nones,

Ful big he was of braun, and eek of bones;

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

At wrastling 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 renning, with his heed.

His berd as any sowe or fox was reed,

And ther-to brood, as though it were a spade.

Up-on the cop right of his nose he hade

A werte, and ther-on stood a tuft of heres,

Reed as the bristles of a sowes eres;

His nose-thirles blake were and wyde.

A swerd and 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 most of sinne and harlotryes.

Wel coude he stelen corn, and tollen thryes;

And yet he hadde a thombe of gold, pardee.

A whyt cote and a blew hood wered he.

A baggepype wel coude he blowe and sowne,

And ther-with-al he broghte us out of towne.

A gentil MAUNCIPLE was ther of a temple;

Of which achatours mighte take exemple

For to be wyse in bying of vitaille

For whether that he payde, or took by taille,

Algate he wayted so in his achat,

That he was ay biforn and in good stat.

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 thryes ten,

That were of lawe expert and curious;

Of which there were a doseyn in that hous

Worthy to been stiwardes of rente and lond

Of any lord that is in Engelond,

There was also a Reeve³⁴ and a Miller,

A Summoner³⁵ and a Pardoner³⁶ also,

A Manciple,³⁷ and myself—there were no more.

The MILLER was indeed a stout fellow;

Full big he was of muscle and bones—

Who proved himself, for wherever he went,

At wrestling he would always win the ram.

He was short-shouldered, a broad, thick cudgel:

There was no door he couldn’t yank off its hinges,

Or go through by ramming it with his noggin.

His beard as any sow or fox was red,

And thereto broad, as though it were a spade.

Upon the tip of his nose he had

A wart, and thereon stood a tuft of hairs,

Red as the bristles of a sow’s ears;

His nostrils were black and wide.

A sword and buckler bore he by his side.

His mouth gaped big as a furnace;

He was a talker and a joke teller,

And those mostly of sin and off-color.

Well could he steal wheat, and grind it thrice,

And yet he had a thumb of gold, by God.

A white coat and blue hood wore he.

A bagpipe well could he blow and sing,

And with it he brought us out of town.

A worthy MANCIPLE was there of a law school,

From whom buyers might take example

To be smart in purchasing their needs,

For whether he paid, or put on account,

Always he so carefully watched his pennies

That he was always ahead, and in the black.

Now is that not of God a full fair grace,

That such an uneducated man should surpass

The wisdom of a heap of graduates?

Of masters had he thrice ten

Who were of law expert and skillful,

Among whom there were a dozen in that house

Worthy to be stewards of money and land

For any lord that is in England,

To make him live by his propre good,

In honour dettelees, but he were wood,

Or live as scarsly as him list desire;

And able for to helpen al a shire

In any cas that mighte falle or happe;

And yit this maunciple sette hir aller cappe.

The REVE was a sclendre colerik man,

His berd was shave as ny as ever he can.

His heer was by his eres 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 coude he kepe a gerner and a binne;

Ther was noon auditour coude on him winne.

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

The yelding 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 governing,

And by his covenaunt yaf the rekening,

Sin that his lord was twenty yeer of age;

Ther coude no man bringe him in arrerage.

Ther nas baillif, ne herde, ne other hyne,

That he ne knew his sleighte and his covyne;

They were adrad of him, as of the deeth.

His woning was ful fair up-on an heeth,

With grene trës shadwed was his place.

He coude bettre than his lord purchace.

Ful riche he was astored prively,

His lord wel coude he plesen subtilly,

To yeve and lene him of his owne good,

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

In youthe he lerned hadde a good mister;

He was a wel good wrighte, a carpenter.

This reve sat up-on a ful good stot,

That was al pomely grey, and highte Scot.

A long surcote of pers up-on he hade,

And by his syde he bar a rusty blade.

Of Northfolk was this reve, of which I telle,

Able to make him live within his means

In honor, debt free, unless he had big dreams,

Or to live as frugally as he desired,

And the same dozen were able to help an entire shire,

In any situation that might happen or befall,

And yet this manciple made fools of them all.

The REEVE was a slender choleric man.

His beard was shaved as close as he could;

His hair was by his ears closely shorn,

His top was cut short like a priest’s in front.

Full long were his legs, and full lean,

Like a staff; there was no calf to be seen.

Well could he keep a granary and a bin—

There was no auditor who could catch him short.

Well judged he by the drought and by the rain

The yielding of his seed and of his grain.

His lord’s sheep, his cattle, his dairy herd,

His swine, his horses, his livestock, and his poultry,

Were wholly in this reeve’s governing,

And by his contract he kept the reckoning,

Since his lord was in age but twenty years.

There could no man bring him in arrears.

There was no bailiff, nor herdsman, nor other servant,

But that he knew their tricks and their deceit;

They were afraid of him as of the Death.

His dwelling was full fair upon a heath;

With green trees shadowed was his place.

Better than his lord he could his goods increase.

Full rich he was with private stock;

His lord could he please full subtly,

To give and lend him of his own goods,

And receive thanks, and a gift coat and hood.

In youth he had learned a good trade:

He was a fine craftsman, a carpenter.

This reeve sat upon a full good farm horse

That was all dappled gray and named Scot.

A long coat of blue upon him he had,

And by his side he wore a rusty blade.

Of Norfolk was this reeve of whom I tell,

Bisyde a toun men clepen Baldeswelle.

Tukked he was, as is a frere, aboute,

And ever he rood the hindreste of our route.

A SOMNOUR was ther with us in that place,

That hadde a fyr-reed cherubinnes face,

For sawcefleem he was, with eyen narwe.

As hoot he was, and lecherous, as a sparwe;

With scalled browes blake, and piled berd;

Of his visage children were aferd.

Ther nas quik-silver, litarge, ne brimstoon,

Boras, ceruce, ne oille of tartre noon,

Ne oynement that wolde clense and byte,

That him mighte helpen of his whelkes whyte,

Nor of the knobbes sittinge on his chekes.

Wel loved he garleek, oynons, and eek lekes,

And for to drinken strong wyn, reed as blood.

Than wolde he speke, and crye 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 three,

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

Can clepen “Watte,” as well as can the pope.

But who-so coude in other thing him grope,

Thanne hadde he spent al his philosophye;

Ay “Questio quid iuris” wolde he crye.

He was a gentil harlot and a kinde;

A bettre felawe sholde men noght finde.

He wolde suffre, for a quart of wyn,

A good felawe to have his concubyn

A twelf-month, and excuse him atte fulle:

Ful prively a finch eek coude he pulle.

And if he fond o-wher a good felawe,

He wolde techen him to have non awe,

In swich cas, of the erchedeknes curs,

But-if a mannes soule were in his purs;

For in his purs he sholde y-punisshed be.

“Purs is the erchedeknes helle,” seyde he.

From near a town men call Bawdeswell.

Belted he was as is a friar;

And he rode always the hindmost of our group.

A SUMMONER WaS there with us in that place,

Who had a fire-red cherubim’s face,

For pimpled he was, with eyes narrow.

As hotblooded he was and lecherous as a sparrow,

With scabby black eyebrows, and scraggly beard;

Of his face children were afraid.

There was no quicksilver, lead oxide nor brimstone,

Borax, white lead, nor oil of tartar lotion,

Nor ointment that would cleanse and bite,

That might help him of his pimples cure,

Nor of the bumps sitting on his cheeks.

Well loved he garlic, onions and also leeks,

And for to drink strong wine, red as blood.

Then would he speak, and shout as if he were deranged;

And when he had drunk enough wine,

Then would he speak no word but in Latin.

A few phrases had he, two or three,

That he had learned out of some decree—

No wonder it is, he heard it all the day;

And you know well, how a bird

Can call Walter! as well as can the Pope.

But if you would in other things him query,

Then he’d used up all his philosophy;

Ever Questio quid iuris³⁸ would he cry.

He was a worthy rascal and also kind;

A better pal could no man find:

He would allow, for a quart of wine,

A buddy to have his concubine

For a year, and excuse him in full;

Full secretly a young thing could he seduce.

And if he found somewhere a pal,

He would teach him to have no fear

With regard to the Archdeacon’s curse,³⁹

Unless a man’s soul were in his purse,

For then in his purse should he punished be.

“Purse is the Archdeacon’s hell,” said he.

But wel I woot he lyed right in dede;

Of cursing oghte ech gilty man him drede—

For curs wol slee, right as assoilling saveth—

And also war him of a significavit.

In daunger hadde he at his owne gyse

The yonge girles of the diocyse,

And knew hir counseil, and was al hir reed.

A gerland hadde he set up-on his heed,

As greet as it were for an ale-stake;

A bokeler hadde he maad him of a cake.

With him ther rood a gentil PARDONER

Of Rouncival, his freend and his compeer,

That streight was comen fro the court of Rome.

Ful loude he song, “Com hider, love, to me.”

This somnour bar to him a stif burdoun,

Was never trompe of half so greet a soun.

This pardoner hadde heer as yelow as wex,

But smothe it heng, as dooth a strike of flex;

By ounces henge his lokkes that he hadde,

And ther-with he his shuldres overspradde;

But thinne it lay, by colpons oon and oon;

But hood, for jolitee, ne wered he noon,

For it was trussed up in his walet.

Him thoughte, he rood al of the newe jet;

Dischevele, save his cappe, he rood al bare.

Swiche glaringe eyen hadde he as an hare.

A vernicle hadde he sowed on his cappe.

His walet lay biforn him in his lappe,

Bret-ful of pardoun come from Rome al hoot.

A voys he hadde as smal as hath a goot.

No berd hadde he, ne never sholde have,

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

I trowe he were a gelding or a mare.

But of his craft, fro Berwik into Ware,

Ne was ther swich another pardoner.

For in his male he hadde a pilwe-beer,

Which that, he seyde, was our lady veyl:

He seyde, he hadde a gobet of the seyl

That sëynt Peter hadde, whan that he wente

But well I know he lied indeed:

Excommunication each man should dread—

For curse will slay, as absolution saves—

And also avoid a warrant for arrest.

In his power in his own way had he

The young wenches of the diocese,

And knew their secrets, and gave them advice.

A garland had he set upon his head,

As big as if it were for a tavern sign;

A buckler had he made with a loaf of bread.

With him there rode a gentle PARDONER

Of Rouncival,⁴⁰ his friend and his companion,

Who straight was come from the court of Rome.

Full loud he sang, “Come hither, love, to me.”

The summoner joined in with a strong bass voice,

No trumpet made half so much noise.

This pardoner had hair as yellow as wax,

But in truth it hung, as does a spray of flax;

In thin strands hung the locks that he had,

And therewith his shoulders overspread;

But thin it lay in small locks one by one;

But hood, for fashion’s sake, wore he none,

For it was packed up in his bag.

He thought he rode in the newest style;

With hair loose, save his cap, he rode with head bare.

Such staring eyes had he as a hare.

A veronica⁴¹ had he sewn on his cap.

His bag lay before him in his lap,

Brimful of pardons, fresh and hot from Rome.

A voice he had as small as a goat.

No beard had he, nor ever should have,

His face was smooth as if it were just shaved:

I believe he was a gelding or a mare.

But of his profession, from Berwick to Ware,

Never was there such another pardoner.

For in his bag he had a pillowcase,

That he said was Our Lady’s veil.

He said he had a piece of the sail

That Saint Peter had, when he strode

Up-on the see, til Jesu Crist him 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 dwelling up-on lond,

Up-on a day he gat him more 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 coude 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 affyle his tonge,

To winne silver, as he ful wel coude;

Therfore he song so meriely and loude.

Now have I told you shortly, in a clause,

Th‘estat, th’array, the nombre, and eek the cause

Why that assembled was this companye

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 night,

Whan we were in that hostelrye alight.

And after wol I telle of our viage,

And al the remenaunt of our pilgrimage.

But first I pray yow, of your curteisye,

That ye n‘arette it nat my vileinye,

Thogh that I pleynly speke in this matere,

To telle yow hir wordes and his chere;

Ne thogh I speke hir wordes properly.

For this ye knowen al-so wel as I,

Who-so shal telle a tale after a man,

He moot reherce, as ny as ever he can,

Everich a word, if it be in his charge,

Al speke he never so rudeliche and large;

Or elles he moot telle his tale untrewe,

Or feyne thing, or finde wordes newe.

Upon the sea, till Jesus Christ of him took hold.

He had a cross of metal, full of gems,

And in a glass jar he had pig’s bones.

But with these relics, when he found

A poor parson dwelling in the country

In one day he made himself more money

Than that parson got in two months.

And thus, with feigned flattery and tricks

He made the parson and the people his fools.

But truth to tell, at last,

He was in church a noble preacher.

Well could he read a devotional lesson or story,

But best of all he sang an offertory;

For well he knew, when that song was sung,

He must preach, and file smooth his tongue

To win silver, as he full well could—

Therefore he sang both merrily and loud.

Now have I told you truly, in brief,

The calling, the appearance, the number and the reason

Why assembled was this company

In Southwark, at this good hostelry,

By name of the Tabard, nearby the Bell.⁴²

But now is the time for me to tell

How we conducted ourselves that same night,

When we were in that hostelry settled;

And after will I tell of our journey,

And all the remainder of our pilgrimage.

But first I pray you, of your courtesy,

That you not take it as my bad manners

Even though I speak plainly in this matter,

To tell you their words and their behavior

Even though I speak their words verbatim.

For this you all know as well as I:

Whoso shall tell a tale heard from another man

He must repeat closely as he can

Every word, if it be in his charge,

However rough or rude,

Or else he must tell his tale untrue,

Or make it up, or find words new.

He may nat spare, al-thogh he were his brother;

He moot as wel seye o word as another.

Crist spake him-self ful brode in holy writ,

And wel ye woot, no vileinye is it.

Eek Plato seith, who-so that can him rede,

The wordes mote be cosin to the dede.

Also I prey yow to foryeve it me,

Al have I nat set folk in hir degree

Here in this tale, as that they sholde stonde;

My wit is short, ye may wel understonde.

Greet chere made our hoste us everichon,

And to the soper sette us anon;

And served us with vitaille at the beste.

Strong was the wyn, and wel to drinke us leste.

A semely man our hoste was with-alle

For to han been a marshal in an halle;

A large man he was with eyen stepe,

A fairer burgeys is ther noon in Chepe:

Bold of his speche, and wys, and wel y-taught,

And of manhod him lakkede right naught.

Eek therto he was right a mery man,

And after soper pleyen he bigan,

And spak of mirthe amonges othere thinges,

Whan that we hadde maad our rekeninges;

And seyde thus: “Now, lordinges, trewely,

Ye been to me right welcome hertely:

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

I ne saugh this yeer so mery a companye

At ones in this herberwe as is now.

Fayn wolde I doon yow mirthe, wiste I how.

And of a mirthe I am right now bithoght,

To doon yow ese, and it shal coste noght.

Ye goon to Caunterbury; God yow spede,

The blisful martir quyte yow your mede.

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

Ye shapen yow to talen and to pleye;

For trewely, confort ne mirthe is noon

To ryde by the weye doumb as a stoon;

And therfore wol I maken yow disport,

He may not hold back, even to spare his brother,

He must say as well one word as another.

Christ himself spoke down-to-earth in Holy Writ,

And well you know, no vulgarity is in it.

And Plato says, who can him read,

The words must be cousin to the deed.⁴³

Also I pray you to forgive me,

That I have not described the folk

Here in this tale, in order of their rank;

My wit is short, you may well understand.

Very welcome our Host made us everyone,

And to the supper he set us anon;

He served us the best of food.

Strong was the wine, and it pleased us to drink.

Perfect for his work was our host withal

For he’d presided over a noble’s great hall;

A large man he was with protruding eyes—

No better burgher was there in all Cheapside.

Bold of his speech, and wise, and well-taught,

And of manhood he lacked right nought.

And also he was truly a merry man,

And after supper to jest he began,

And spoke of mirth among many other things—

After we had paid our bills—

And said thus, “Now lords, truly,

You are to me right welcome, heartily.

For by my troth, I shall not lie,

I’ve not seen this year so merry a company

At one time in this inn as is now.

Happily would I offer some merriment, knew I how,

And of such I have just now thought

To give you pleasure, and it shall cost nought.

You go to Canterbury—God you speed;

And may the blissful martyr reward your deed.

And well I know, as you go your way,

That you make plans to share some tales;

For truly, pleasure or merriment is there none

To ride along as dumb as stone;

And therefore will I make you a game,

As I seyde erst, and doon you som confort.

And if yow lyketh alle, by oon assent,

Now for to stonden at my judgment,

And for to werken as I shal yow seye,

To-morwe, whan ye ryden by the weye,

Now, by my fader soule, that is deed,

But ye be merye, I wol yeve yow myn heed.

Hold up your hond, withouten more speche.“

Our counseil was nat longe for to seche;

Us thoughte it was noght worth to make it wys,

And graunted him withouten more avys,

And bad him seye his verdit, as him leste.

“Lordinges,” quod he, “now herkneth for the beste;

But tak it not, I prey yow, in desdeyn;

This is the poynt, to speken short and pleyn,

That ech of yow, to shorte with your weye,

In this viage, shal telle tales tweye,

To Caunterbury-ward, I mene it so,

And hom-ward he shal tellen othere two,

Of aventures that whylom han bifalle.

And which of yow that bereth him best of alle,

That is to seyn, that telleth in this cas

Tales of best sentence and most solas,

Shal have a soper at our aller cost

Here in this place, sitting by this post,

Whan that we come agayn fro Caunterbury.

And for to make yow the more mery,

I wol my-selven gladly with yow ryde,

Right at myn owne cost, and be your gyde.

And who-so wol my jugement withseye

Shal paye al that we spenden by the weye.

And if ye vouche-sauf that it be so,

Tel me anon, with-outen wordes mo,

And I wol erly shape me therfore.”

This thing was graunted, and our othes swore

With ful glad herte, and preyden him also

That he wold vouche-sauf for to do so,

And that he wolde been our governour,

And of our tales juge and reportour,

As I said before, and have some fun.

And if it pleases you all, with one voice,

Now to abide by my judgement,

And to proceed as I will now say,

Tomorrow, when you set out on your way—

Now by my father’s soul who is dead—

Unless you be merry, I will give you my head.

Hold up your hands, without more speech.”

We needed not long to agree;

We thought it not worth too long a ponder,

And granted his terms without thinking longer,

And bade him say his verdict as he pleased.

“Lords,” said he, “now listen well,

But take it not, I pray you, wrong.

This is the point, to speak short and plain:

That each of you, to shorten our journey,

In this journey shall tell tales two,

Toward Canterbury, that is,

And homeward each another two shall tell

Of adventures that once upon a time you befell.

And whichever of you does best of all,

That is to say, who tells to this end

Tales of best wisdom, instruction and delight,

Shall have a supper on the rest of us

Here in this place, this same site,

When we come again from Canterbury.

And for to make you the more merry,

I will myself gladly with you ride,

Right at my own cost, and be your guide.

And whoso will my judgement naysay

Shall pay all we spend along the way.

And if you grant that it be so,

Tell me anon, without words more,

And I will myself quickly prepare.”

This thing was agreed, and our oaths sworn

With full glad heart, and we begged him also

That he would be willing to do so,

And that he would be our governor

And of our tales judge and referee,

And sette a soper at a certeyn prys;

And we wold reuled been at his devys,

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

We been acorded to his jugement.

And ther-up-on the wyn was fet anon;

We dronken, and to reste wente echon,

With-outen any lenger taryinge.

A-morwe, whan that day bigan to springe,

Up roos our host, and was our aller cok,

And gadrede us togidre, alle in a flok,

And forth we riden, a litel more than pas,

Un-to the watering of seint Thomas.

And there our host bigan his hors areste,

And seyde; “Lordinges, herkneth, if yow leste.

Ye woot your forward, and I it yow recorde.

If even-song and morwe-song acorde,

Lat see now who shal telle the firste tale.

As ever mote I drinke wyn or ale,

Who-so be rebel to my jugement

Shal paye for al that by the weye is spent.

Now draweth cut, er that we ferrer twinne;

He which that hath the shortest shal biginne.

Sire knight,” quod he, “my maister and my lord

Now draweth cut, for that is myn acord.

Cometh neer,” quod he, “my lady prioresse;

And ye, sir clerk, lat be your shamfastnesse,

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 aventure, or sort, or cas,

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

Of which ful blythe and glad was every wight;

And telle he moste his tale, as was resoun,

By forward and by composicioun,

As ye han herd; what nedeth wordes mo?

And whan this gode man saugh it was so,

As he that wys was and obedient

To kepe his forward by his free assent,

He seyde: “Sin I shal beginne the game,

And set a supper at a certain price;

And we would be governed by his word

In every way; and thus, by one assent,

We agreed to his judgement.

And thereupon the wine was fetched anon;

We drank, and to bed went each one,

Without any longer tarrying.

In the morning, when day began to spring,

Up rose our host, and was for all our rooster,

And gathered us together, all in a flock;

And forth we rode, at a trot,

To Saint Thomas a Watering,⁴⁴

And there our host stopped his horse,

And said, “Lords, harken, if you please.

You know our agreement, and so

If evensong and morningsong agree,

Let’s see now who shall tell the first tale.

And surely as I may ever drink wine or ale,

Whoso rebels against my judgement

Shall pay for all that on the road we spend.

Now draw lots, before we further go;

He that has the shortest shall begin.

Sir Knight,” said he, “my master and my lord

Now draw your straw, for that is my word.

Come nearer,” said he, “my lady Prioress;

And you, sir Scholar, forget your shyness,

And study not. Lay hand to, every man!”

At once to draw every person began,

And shortly to tell it as it was,

Were it by chance, or fortune or fate,

The truth is, the lot fell to the Knight,

Of which full blithe and glad was every person;

And tell he must his tale, as was right,

By agreement and arrangement,

As you have heard. Who needs more words?

And when this good man saw it was so,

As he was wise and willing

To keep his word

He said, “Since I shall begin the game,

What, welcome be the cut, a Goddes name!

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

And with that word we riden forth our weye;

And he bigan with right a mery chere

His tale anon, and seyde in this manere.

And with that we rode forth on our way:

And he began with right merry cheer

His tale anon, and said as you may hear.