The Nonne Preestes Tale

The Prologue

“Ho!” QUOD THE KNIGHT, “good sir, na-more of this,

That ye han seyd is right y-nough, y-wis,

And mochel more; for litel hevinesse

Is right y-nough to mochel folk, I gesse.

I seye for me, it is a greet disese

Wher-as men han ben in greet welthe and ese,

To heren of hir sodeyn fal, alias!

And the contrarie is joie and greet solas,

As whan a man hath been in povre estaat,

And clymbeth up, and wexeth fortunat,

And ther abydeth in prosperitee,

Swich thing is gladson, as it thinketh me,

And of swich thing were goodly for to telle.”

“Ye,” quod our hoste, “by seint Poules belle,

Ye seye right sooth; this monk, he clappeth loude,

He spak how ‘fortune covered with a cloude’

I noot never what, and als of a ’Tragedie’

Right now ye herde, and parde! no remedie

It is for to biwaille ne compleyne

That that is doon, and als it is a peyne,

As ye han seyd, to here of hevinesse.

Sir monk, na-more of this, so god yow blesse!

Your tale anoyeth al this companye;

Swich talking is nat worth a boterflye;

For ther-in is ther no desport ne game.

Wherfor, sir Monk, or dan Piers by your name,

I preye yow hertely, telle us somwhat elles

For sikerly, nere clinking of your belles,

That on your brydel hange on every syde,

By heven king, that for us alle dyde,

I sholde er this han fallen doun for slepe,

Although the slough had never been so depe;

Than had your tale al be told in vayn.

For certeinly, as that thise clerkes seyn,

‘Wher-as a man may have noon audience,