The Chanouns Yemannes Tale

The Prologue

WHAN ENDED WAS THE lyf of seint Cecyle,

Er we had ridden fully fyve myle,

At Boghton under Blee us gan atake

A man, that clothed was in clothes blake,

And undernethe he hadde a whyt surplys.

His hakeney, that was al pomely grys,

So swatte, that it wonder was to see;

It semed he had priked myles three.

The hors eek that his yeman rood upon

So swatte, that unnethe mighte it gon.

Aboute the peytrel stood the foom ful hye,

He was of fome al flekked as a pye.

A male tweyfold on his croper lay,

It semed that he caried lyte array.

Al light for somer rood this worthy man,

And in myn herte wondren I bigan

What that he was, til that I understood

How that his cloke was sowed to his hood;

For which, when I had longe avysed me,

I demed him som chanon for to be.

His hat heng at his bak doun by a laas,

For he had riden more than trot or paas;

He had ay priked lyk as he were wood.

A clote-leef he hadde under his hood

For swoot, and for to kepe his heed from hete.

But it was joye for to seen him swete!

His forheed dropped as a stillatorie,

Were ful of plantain and of paritorie.

And whan that he was come, he gan to crye,

“God save,” quod he, “this joly companye!

Faste have I priked,” quod he, “for your sake,

By-cause that I wolde yow atake,

To ryden in this mery companye.”

His yeman eek was ful of curteisye,

And seyde, “sires, now in the morwe-tyde