The Marchantes Tale

The Prologue

“WEPING AND WAYLING, CARE, and other sorwe

I know y-nogh, on even and a-morwe,”

Quod the Marchaunt, “and so don othere mo

That wedded been, I trowe that it be so.

For, wel I woot, it fareth so with me.

I have a wyf, the worste that may be;

For thogh the feend to hir y-coupled were,

She wolde him overmacche, I dar wel swere.

What sholde I yow reherce in special

Hir hye malice? she is a shrewe at al.

Ther is a long and large difference

Bitwix Grisildis grete pacience

And of my wyf the passing crueltee.

Were I unbounden, al-so moot I thee!

I wolde never eft comen in the snare.

We wedded men live in sorwe and care;

Assaye who-so wol, and he shal finde

I seye sooth, by seint Thomas of Inde,

As for the more part, I sey nat alle.

God shilde that it sholde so bifalle!

A! good sir hoost! I have y-wedded be

Thise monthes two, and more nat, pardee;

And yet, I trowe, he that al his lyve

Wyflees hath been, though that men wolde him ryve

Un-to the herte, ne coude in no manere

Tellen so muchel sorwe, as I now here

Coude tellen of my wyves cursednesse!”

“Now,” quod our hoost, “Marchaunt, so god yow blesse,

Sin ye so muchel knowen of that art,

Ful hertely I pray yow telle us part.”

“Gladly,” quod he, “but of myn owene sore,

For sory herte, I telle may na-more.”