1
When that April with his showers sweet
2
The drought of March has pierced root deep,
3
And bathed each vein with liquor of such power
4
That engendered from it is the flower,
5
When Zephyrus too with his gentle strife,
6
To every field and wood, has brought new life
7
In tender shoots, and the youthful sun
8
Half his course through the Ram has run,
9
And little birds are making melody,
10
Who all the night with open eye do sleep –
11
Nature their hearts in every way so pricks –
12
Then people long to go on pilgrimage,
13
And palmers who seek out foreign strands,
14
To far-off shrines, renowned in sundry lands;
15
And specially, from every shire’s end
16
Of England, down to Canterbury they wend,
17
The holy blissful martyr there to seek,
18
Who had aided them when they were sick.
19
It befell that in that season on a day,
20
In Southwark at The Tabard as I lay,
21
Ready to set out on my pilgrimage
22
To Canterbury with pious courage,
23
There came at night to that hostelry
24
Quite nine and twenty in a company
25
Of sundry folk who had chanced to fall
26
Into a fellowship, and pilgrims all,
27
That towards Canterbury meant to ride.
28
The chambers and the stables were full wide,
29
And we housed at our ease, and of the best;
30
And shortly, when the sun had gone to rest,
31
I had such speech with each and everyone,
32
That of their fellowship I soon made one,
33
Agreeing I would make an early rise,
34
To take our way there, as I now advise.
35
Nonetheless while I have time and space,
36
Before a step more of my tale I pace,
37
It seems to me in full accord with reason,
38
To tell you everything of their condition,
39
Of each of them, as they appeared to me,
40
And who they were, and of what degree,
41
And what apparel they were travelling in;
42
And with a knight then I will first begin.
43
There was a KNIGHT and he a worthy man,
44
That from the day on which he first began,
45
To ride abroad, had followed chivalry,
46
Truth, honour, courtesy and charity.
47
He had fought nobly in his lord’s war,
48
And ridden to the fray, and no man more,
49
As much in Christendom as heathen place,
50
And ever honoured for his worth and grace.
51
When we took Alexandria was there;
52
Often at table held the place of honour,
53
Above all other nations too in Prussia;
54
Campaigned in Lithuania and Russia,
55
No Christian man of his rank more often.
56
At the siege of Algeciras had he been,
57
In Granada, and on Moroccan shore;
58
He was at Ayash and Antalya
59
When taken, and many times had been
60
In action on the Mediterranean Sea.
61
Of mortal battles he had seen fifteen,
62
And fought for the faith at Tramissene
63
Thrice in the lists and always slain his foe.
64
This same worthy knight had been also
65
With the Emir of Balat once, at work
66
With him against some other heathen Turk;
67
Won him a reputation highly prized,
68
And though he was valiant, he was wise,
69
And in his manner modest as a maid.
70
And never a discourtesy he said
71
In all his life to those who met his sight;
72
He was a very perfect gentle knight.
73
But to tell of his equipment, his array,
74
His horses fine, he wore no colours gay
75
Sported a tunic, padded fustian
76
On which his coat of mail left many a stain;
77
For he was scarcely back from his voyage,
78
And going now to make his pilgrimage.
79
With him there was his son, a young SQUIRE,
80
Lover and lively bachelor entire
81
With locks as crisp as from a curling-press;
82
Of twenty years of age he was, I guess.
83
Of his stature, he was of middle height,
84
Wonderfully agile, powerful in a fight.
85
And had served a while in the cavalry,
86
In Flanders, in Artois and Picardy,
87
And done so well, and in so short a space,
88
He hoped for favour from his lady’s grace.
89
Like to a meadow he was embroidered,
90
One full of fresh flowers white and red.
91
Singing he was, or playing flute all day;
92
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
93
Short was his gown, with sleeves both long and wide;
94
He knew how to sit a horse, and could ride.
95
He could make songs, and compose aright,
96
Joust and dance, and draw things well and write.
97
He loved so hotly night through without fail
98
He slept no more than does the nightingale.
99
Courteous he was, humble, attentive, able,
100
And carved for his father at the table.
101
A YEOMAN had he (servants did forgo
102
Other than this, and chose to travel so),
103
One who was clad in coat and hood of green.
104
A sheaf of peacock arrows, bright and keen
105
Sheathed in his belt he bore right properly –
106
Well could he dress his gear, yeomanly;
107
His arrows never drooped with feathers low –
108
And in his hand he bore a mighty bow.
109
Cropped hair he had, and a nut-brown visage;
110
Of woodcraft he well knew all the usage.
111
On his arm an archer’s brace he wore,
112
And by his side a buckler and a sword,
113
And at the other side a jaunty dagger
114
Ornamented, and sharp as any spear;
115
On his breast St Christopher did gleam.
116
He bore a horn, the baldric was of green.
117
He truly was a forester, I guess.
118
There was also a nun, a PRIORESS,
119
Her smile itself ingenuous and coy.
120
Her greatest oath was only ‘by Saint Loy’,
121
And she was called Madame Eglentine.
122
Full well she sung the service, divine,
123
Intoning through her nose, all seemly,
124
And fair French she spoke, all elegantly,
125
After the school of Stratford-atte-Bowe;
126
For French of Paris was not hers to know.
127
At meals she had been taught well withal;
128
And from her lips she let no morsel fall,
129
Nor dipped her fingers in the sauce too deep;
130
Well could she take a morsel and then keep
131
The slightest drop from falling on her breast;
132
Courtesy it was that pleased her best.
133
Her upper lip she would wipe so clean
134
That in her cup no trace of grease was seen
135
When she had drunk her draught; and to eat,
136
In a most seemly manner took her meat.
137
And certainly she had a cheerful manner,
138
Pleasant and amiable in her behaviour,
139
Took pains to imitate the ways of court,
140
Display a stately bearing as she ought,
141
And be considered worthy of reverence.
142
As for consideration of her conscience,
143
She was so charitable, tender, anxious,
144
She would weep if she but saw a mouse
145
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled.
146
Of slender hounds she had, that she fed
147
With roasted flesh, or milk, and fine white bread;
148
But wept sorely when one of them was dead
149
Or if men struck it with a stick too hard,
150
And all was sentiment and tender heart.
151
Her wimple was pleated in a seemly way,
152
Her nose was elegant, her eyes blue-grey;
153
Her lips quite fine, and also soft and red,
154
But certainly she had a fair forehead,
155
It was almost a span broad, I deem,
156
For she was not small of build, I mean.
157
Her cloak was very elegant, I saw;
158
Fine coral round her arm she wore
159
A rosary, the larger beads were green,
160
And from it hung a brooch of golden sheen,
161
On which there first was writ a crowned A,
162
And after: ‘Amor vincit omnia’.
163
Another NUN she had with her, and she
164
Was her chaplain, and with them priests three.
165
A MONK there was, of the highest degree,
166
Who loved to hunt, agent of a monastery,
167
A manly man, for an Abbot’s role quite able.
168
Full many a fine horse had he in his stable,
169
His bridle, when he rode, men might hear
170
Jingling in a whistling wind as clear,
171
And quite as loud as does the chapel bell.
172
Now as this lord was prior of his cell,
173
The rule of Saint Benedict and Saint Mawr,
174
As old and somewhat strict he would ignore,
175
This same monk scorned the old world’s pace,
176
And spurred after the new world, apace.
177
He gave not for that text a plucked hen
178
That says that hunters are not holy men,
179
And that a monk when he grows heedless
180
Is like a fish that’s all waterless –
181
That is to say a monk out of his cloister –
182
But he held that text not worth an oyster.
183
And I agreed his views were scarcely bad:
184
What! Should he study, drive himself quite mad,
185
In his cloister over a book must pore,
186
Or labour with his hands, and toil the more
187
As Augustine bids? How would the world run?
188
Let Augustine keep his labour for his own!
189
Therefore he was a hunting man outright.
190
Greyhounds he had, as swift as birds in flight;
191
Tracking with dogs and hunting the hare
192
Was all his pleasure, no cost did he spare.
193
I saw his sleeves were trimmed at the wrist
194
With grey fur, and of the country’s finest;
195
And to fasten his hood beneath his chin,
196
He had a wrought-gold elaborate pin;
197
A love-knot in the larger end there was.
198
His head was bald, and shone like any glass,
199
And his face, as if he had been anointed;
200
He was a lord full fat, and well appointed.
201
His bulging eyeballs, rolling in his head,
202
Glowing like a cauldron-fire well-fed;
203
Supple his boots, his horse in perfect state.
204
Now certainly he was a fair prelate;
205
He was not pale like some tormented ghost.
206
A fat swan he loved best of any roast;
207
His palfrey was as brown as is a berry.
208
A FRIAR there was, a wanton one and merry,
209
A Limiter, a very jovial man.
210
In all the friars’ four orders none that can
211
Lead a discussion in fairer language.
212
And he had arranged many a marriage
213
Of young women, granting each a dower.
214
He was a noble pillar of his Order.
215
Well-beloved and intimate was he
216
With Franklins within his boundary,
217
And also worthy women of the town;
218
Had power to confess coat and gown –
219
As he said himself – more than a curate,
220
Having licence from his bishop to do it.
221
Full sweetly he would hear confessions,
222
And very pleasant were his absolutions.
223
He was an easy man at granting penance
224
From which he made more than a pittance.
225
When to a poor Order alms are given
226
It is a token that a man’s well-shriven;
227
Since he dared claim that from the intent,
228
Of giving, then the man was penitent.
229
For many a man is so hard of heart
230
He cannot weep, though he feels the smart.
231
Therefore instead of weeping and prayer,
232
Better to give the poor friars silverware.
233
His sleeve’s end was stuffed with pocket-knives
234
And gilded pins, to give to pretty wives.
235
He could hold a note for sure; could sing
236
And play quite sweetly on the tuneful string.
237
Such competitions he won easily.
238
His neck was white as the fleur-de-lis;
239
And he was as strong as any champion.
240
He knew the taverns well in every town,
241
And all the barmaids and innkeepers,
242
Rather than the lepers and the beggars
243
Since such a worthy man as he
244
It suited not his calling or degree,
245
With such lepers to maintain acquaintance.
246
It is not seemly – helps no man advance –
247
To have dealings with such poor people,
248
Only with the rich, sellers of victuals.
249
An everywhere a profit might arise,
250
He wore a courteous and humble guise;
251
There was no man half so virtuous.
252
He was the finest beggar of his house
253
– and paid a fixed fee for the right;
254
None of his brethren poached in his sight.
255
For though a widow lacked a shoe
256
So pleasant was his ‘In principio’,
257
He yet would gain a farthing as he went.
258
His income was far greater than his rent,
259
And he romped around, like any whelp.
260
In settling disputes he could help,
261
Not like a friar from a cloister,
262
With threadbare cloak, like needy scholar,
263
But he was like a doctor or a pope;
264
Of double worsted was his demi-cloak,
265
A bell shaped from the mould, its fashion.
266
He lisped a little out of affectation,
267
To sound his English sweet upon the tongue;
268
And in his harping, whenever he had sung,
269
His eyes would twinkle in his head aright
270
As do the stars on high in frosty night.
271
Hubert his name, this worthy Limiter.
272
A MERCHANT was there, with a forked beard,
273
Dressed in motley, high on horse he sat.
274
Upon his head a Flemish beaver hat,
275
Buckled his boots were, fair and neatly.
276
He made his comments solemnly, fully,
277
Boasting of profits ever increasing,
278
Wishing sea-trade secure, more than anything,
279
Twixt Middleburgh and the River Orwell.
280
He could exchange monies, buy and sell.
281
This worthy man made such use of his wits;
282
No one knew he was beset by debts,
283
So stately his manner of behaving,
284
In his bargaining, and money-lending.
285
Truly a worthy man then, all in all,
286
But truth to tell, I know not what he’s called.
287
A CLERK there was of Oxford town also,
288
Who had set himself to logic long ago.
289
Thinner was his horse than many a rake,
290
And he was none too fat, I’ll undertake,
291
But gazed quite hollowly, and soberly.
292
His jacket threadbare, where the eye could see;
293
For he had not yet found a benefice,
294
Far too unworldly ever to seek office.
295
He would rather have at his bed-head
296
Twenty books, clad in black or red,
297
Of Aristotle and his philosophy,
298
Than rich robes, fiddle, and sweet psaltery.
299
But though he was a true philosopher
300
No stone for making gold lay in his coffer!
301
But every single penny his friends lent,
302
On books and on learning it was spent,
303
And for the souls he offered up a prayer,
304
Of those who funded him to be a scholar.
305
Of study he took most care, and most heed.
306
He spoke not one word more than he need,
307
And that was formal, said with reverence,
308
Short, and quick, and in a noble sentence.
309
Agreeing with moral virtue all his speech,
310
And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach.
311
A SERGEANT AT LAW, wise and cautious,
312
Often consulted at St Paul’s porch and such,
313
Was also there, rich in excellence.
314
Discreet he was, a man for reverence –
315
Or so he seemed, his words being so wise.
316
He had often been a Justice at assize,
317
By letters patent and by full commission.
318
By his science and his high renown
319
Of fees and robes he garnered many a one.
320
So great a buyer of land was never known;
321
All was his in fee-simple, in effect.
322
His purchases were not the least suspect.
323
More business than he had, no man has,
324
And yet he seemed busier than he was.
325
He had correctly cases, judgements, all
326
From King William’s time in men’s recall.
327
Moreover he could draw up anything,
328
That no man might find fault with its drafting;
329
And every statute he could cite by rote,
330
He rode along in a simple striped coat,
331
Tied with a silken belt, its clasps of metal;
332
Of his array I will no further tell.
333
A FRANKLIN was in his company;
334
White was his beard as is the daisy.
335
Of his complexion he was sanguine;
336
He loved a sop in wine each morning.
337
To live in delight was ever his wont,
338
For he was Epicurus’ very son,
339
Who held the view that perfect delight
340
Was the true felicity outright.
341
A hospitable householder was he
342
Saint Julian he was to his county.
343
His bread and ale always second to none;
344
And no better wine than his was known.
345
His house was never short of fish and flesh,
346
Of pastry dishes, and all so plenteous
347
It snowed in his house with meat and drink,
348
And all the dainties of which men might think.
349
In accordance with the seasons of the year,
350
So he changed his dinner and his supper.
351
Full many a fat partridge had he in coop,
352
And many a bream and pike in the pool.
353
Woe to his cook unless his sauces were
354
Pungent and tasty, and every dish prepared!
355
His table fixed in his hall stood always
356
Ready set with covers, every day.
357
At court-sessions he was lord and sire;
358
And oftentimes was Member for the Shire.
359
A two-edged dagger and a purse of silk
360
Hung at his girdle, white as morning milk.
361
A Sheriff had he been, and a lawyer;
362
Nowhere lived so worthy a landowner.
363
A HABERDASHER, CARPENTER, a WEAVER
364
A DYER too, and TAPESTRY-MAKER,
365
Were there all clothed in the livery
366
Of their imposing guild fraternity.
367
Full fresh and new their costume was;
368
Their knives were mounted not with brass
369
But all with silver, wrought clean and well,
370
Their girdles and their pouches as befell.
371
Each of them seemed a splendid burgess
372
Fit to grace a guildhall on a dais.
373
Each owning as much wisdom as man can,
374
Was suitable to be an alderman,
375
For they had property enough and rent,
376
And wives too who would give their assent.
377
They would be blamed for sure were it not done;
378
It is a fine thing to be called ‘Madame’,
379
And go to vigil before the celebration,
380
With mantle royally carried, on occasion.
381
A COOK they had with them I own
382
To boil the chickens with the marrow-bones,
383
And pungent flavouring, spices without fail.
384
Well could he distinguish London ale;
385
He could roast and seethe and boil and fry,
386
Make thick soup and bake a tasty pie.
387
But a mortal pity, it seemed to me,
388
That on his shin an ulcerous sore had he.
389
Yet a fricassee, he made it with the best.
390
A SHIPMAN was there, from out the west;
391
A Dartmouth man for all I understood.
392
He rode a hired hack, as best he could,
393
In a woollen gown that reached his knee,
394
A dagger hanging on a cord had he,
395
About his neck, under his arm, and down.
396
The summer heat had tanned his visage brown.
397
And certainly he was a splendid fellow;
398
Full many a draught of wine he made flow
399
From Bordeaux, the merchant fast asleep,
400
The nicer rules of conscience did not keep:
401
If he fought, and gained the upper hand,
402
He sent men home by water to every land.
403
As for his skill in calculating tides,
404
Currents, and every other risk besides,
405
Harbours and moons, on every voyage,
406
There was none such from Hull to Carthage.
407
Hardy he was, wise in his undertakings,
408
In many a tempest had his beard been shaken.
409
He knew all the havens that there were
410
From Gotland’s Isle to Cape Finisterre,
411
And every creek in Brittany and Spain;
412
The barque he owned was called the Magdalene.
413
With us there was a DOCTOR OF PHYSIC.
414
In all this world none ever saw his like
415
On points of physic and of surgery,
416
For he was grounded in astronomy.
417
He knew the best hours for the sick,
418
By the power of his natural magic.
419
And could select the right ascendant
420
For making talismans for his patient.
421
He knew the cause of every malady,
422
Whether of hot or cold, or moist and dry,
423
And where engendered, of what humour;
424
He was a truly perfect practitioner.
425
The cause known, and of the ill its root,
426
He gave the sick man remedy to suit.
427
To send him medicines, his apothecaries
428
And potions too, they were ever ready,
429
For each enhanced the other’s profiting –
430
There needed no new friendship there to win.
431
He was well-versed in Aesculapius,
432
And Dioscorides and likewise Rufus,
433
Old Hippocrates, Hali and Galen,
434
Serapion, Rhazes and Avicen,
435
Averroes, Damascenus, Constantinus,
436
Bernard, and Gaddesden, and Gilbertus.
437
In his diet quite moderate was he,
438
For it avoided superfluity,
439
But nourishing it was, digestible.
440
He made little study of the Bible.
441
In red and blue, and colours of that ilk,
442
Lined with taffeta, was clad, and silk.
443
And yet he was most careful of expense;
444
He kept the money won from pestilence.
445
For gold in physic is a cordial;
446
Therefore he loved gold above all.
447
A good WIFE was there from next to BATH,
448
But pity was that she was somewhat deaf.
449
In cloth-making she was excellent,
450
Surpassing those of Ypres and of Ghent.
451
In all the parish there was no wife, so
452
Before her to the Offertory might go –
453
And if they did, indeed, so angry she
454
That she was quite put out of charity.
455
Her kerchiefs were finely wove I found;
456
I dare to swear those weighed a good ten pounds,
457
That on a Sunday she wore on her head.
458
Here hose were of a fine scarlet red,
459
And tightly tied: her shoes full soft and new.
460
Bold was her face, and fair and red of hue.
461
Had been a worthy woman all her life;
462
Husbands at the church-door she had five,
463
Besides other company in her youth –
464
No need to speak of that just now, in truth.
465
And thrice had she been to Jerusalem;
466
She had crossed many a foreign stream.
467
At Boulogne she had been, and Rome,
468
St James of Compostella, and Cologne,
469
And she knew much of wandering by the way,
470
Gap toothed was she, truthfully to say.
471
At ease upon a saddle-horse she sat,
472
Well wimpled, and on her head a hat
473
As wide as a small buckler or large shield,
474
Her large hips an over-skirt concealed,
475
And on her feet a pair of sharp spurs sat.
476
In fellowship she loved to laugh and chat;
477
And remedies for love she had, by chance,
478
For in that art she knew the oldest dance.
479
A holy man there was of good renown,
480
Who was a poor PARSON to a town,
481
But rich he was in holy thought and works.
482
He also was a learned man, a clerk,
483
That Christ’s gospel earnestly would preach;
484
His parishioners devoutly he would teach.
485
Benign he was and wondrous diligent,
486
And in adversity extremely patient,
487
And proven to be such as many times.
488
He was loth to curse men over tithes,
489
But preferred to give, without a doubt,
490
To the poor parishioners round about,
491
From his own goods and the offerings,
492
He found sufficiency in little things.
493
Wide was his parish, and houses far asunder,
494
But he neglected naught, in rain or thunder,
495
In sickness or affliction went to all
496
The farthest in his parish, great or small,
497
Upon his feet, and in his hand a stave.
498
This fine example to his flock he gave,
499
That first he wrought, and afterward he taught.
500
Out of the gospel he those words had caught;
501
And this maxim he would add thereto,
502
That if gold rust, what should iron do?
503
For if the priest be foul in whom we trust,
504
No wonder if the layman turn to rust!
505
And shame it is, and let priests note, to see
506
The shepherd doused in shit, the sheep still clean.
507
The true example the priest ought to give
508
Is by his cleanness how the sheep should live.
509
He did not set his benefice to hire
510
And leave his sheep encumbered in the mire,
511
Running off to London to Saint Paul’s,
512
To work a wealthy chantry for dead souls,
513
Or in guild brotherhood remain enrolled
514
But dwelt at home and cared well for his fold,
515
So that no wolf should make his task miscarry.
516
He was a shepherd not a mercenary.
517
And though he was holy and virtuous,
518
He did not scorn the sinful, nor because
519
Of it in speech was proud or over-fine,
520
But in his teaching was discreet, benign;
521
To draw folk towards heaven by gentleness,
522
By good example – such was his business.
523
But if anyone proved obstinate,
524
Whoever he was, of high or low estate,
525
He would rebuke him sharply, him to punish.
526
A better priest I think there nowhere none is.
527
He never looked for pomp or reverence,
528
Nor showed a too fastidious conscience,
529
But Christ’s lore, and his Apostles’ twelve,
530
He taught, but first he followed it himself.
531
With him there was a PLOUGHMAN, was his brother,
532
Many a load of dung, one time or other,
533
He had carted, a good true worker he,
534
Living in peace and perfect charity.
535
God loved he best with all his whole heart
536
At all times, whether with delight or smart,
537
Then his neighbour loved he as himself.
538
He would thresh the corn, and dig and delve,
539
For Christ’s sake, grant the poor their hour,
540
Without reward, if it lay in his power.
541
His tithes he paid in full, fair and well,
542
Both of his labour and his capital.
543
In a loose tunic he rode on a mare.
544
There was a REEVE also and a MILLER,
545
A SUMMONER and a PARDONER as well,
546
A college MANCIPLE, and then myself.
547
The MILLER was a strong man I own;
548
A stout fellow, big in brawn and bone.
549
It served him well, for, everywhere, the man,
550
At wrestling, always looked to win the ram.
551
Broad, thick-set, short in the upper arm,
552
Off its hinges, he lifted any door,
553
Or ran at it and broke it with his head.
554
His beard, as any sow or fox, was red,
555
And broad as well, as if it were a spade.
556
On the tip of his nose he displayed
557
A wart, and on it stood a tuft of hair,
558
Red as the bristles in a sow’s ear.
559
His nostrils were as black as they were wide;
560
A sword and buckler he wore at his side.
561
His mouth as great was as a great furnace.
562
He was a loudmouth and to his disgrace
563
Told stories most of sin and harlotry.
564
He stole corn, and made one toll pay three;
565
Yet had the golden thumb, a mystery!
566
A white coat and a blue hood wore he;
567
The bagpipes he could blow well and sound,
568
And that was how he piped us out of town.
569
The MANCIPLE was of the Inner Temple,
570
All purchasers might follow his example
571
Of wisdom in the buying of victuals;
572
For whether he paid cash or owed it all
573
He was so careful always in his purchase,
574
That he was all prepared and acted first.
575
Now is it not a wonder of God’s grace
576
That a man so illiterate can outpace
577
The wisdom of a host of learned men?
578
Of masters he had more than thrice ten,
579
Expert in the law and meritorious,
580
Of whom there were a dozen in that house
581
Worthy to be stewards of rent and land
582
For any lord who lives in England,
583
And show him the income to be had
584
Debt-free, from his estates, less he were mad,
585
Or be as frugal as he should desire;
586
And they were able to assist a shire
587
In any case that chanced to arise –
588
And yet this Manciple outdid the wise.
589
The REEVE was a slender, choleric man.
590
His beard was shaved as close as any can;
591
His hair by his ears was fully shorn;
592
The top was cropped like a priest before.
593
His legs were long, and very lean,
594
Like sticks they were – no calves to be seen.
595
He kept a tidy granary and bin;
596
No auditor could get the best of him.
597
Well could he judge from drought or rain
598
The yield of his seed and of his grain.
599
His lord’s sheep, beef-cattle, and his dairy,
600
His swine, his horses, stock and poultry,
601
Was wholly in this Reeve’s governance
602
And he made reckoning by covenant,
603
Since his lord had only twenty years;
604
No man could find him ever in arrears.
605
No bailiff, cowherd, servant of any kind
606
But their deceits and tricks were in his mind;
607
They feared him like the plague, is my belief.
608
He had a pleasant dwelling on a heath,
609
With green trees shadowed was the sward.
610
He could purchase better than his lord;
611
He had riches of his own privately.
612
He could please his lord subtly,
613
Giving and lending of his own goods,
614
And earn his thank you and a coat and hood.
615
In youth he had a good and learned master;
616
He was a fine craftsman, a carpenter.
617
This Reeve sat on a farm-horse that was
618
All dappled grey and bore the name of Scot.
619
A long bluish top-coat he displayed,
620
And by his side he bore a rusty blade.
621
Of Norfolk was this Reeve of whom I tell,
622
Near a town that men call Bawdeswell.
623
His gown was tucked up like a friar’s about,
624
And he always rode the hindmost on the route.
625
A SUMMONER was with us in that place,
626
Who had a fiery-red cherubim’s face,
627
Carbuncled so, and his eyes were narrow.
628
He was hot and lecherous as a sparrow,
629
With scabby black brows and scrubby beard;
630
Of his visage children were a-feared.
631
No quicksilver, lead salve, or brimstone,
632
Borax, ceruse, or oil of tartar known,
633
No ointment that would cleanse and bite,
634
Could cure him of his pimples white,
635
Or of the lumps rising from his cheeks.
636
Well loved he garlic, onions, and leeks,
637
And to drink strong wine, as red as blood;
638
Making him speak, and cry, as madman would.
639
And when he had drunk, and the wine was in,
640
Then he would speak no word but Latin.
641
A few tags he had, some two or three,
642
That he had learned out of some decree –
643
No wonder, since he heard them every day.
644
And you well know moreover how a jay
645
Can say ‘Walter’ better than the Pope –
646
But try any other matter’s scope,
647
Then had he spent all his philosophy;
648
Ay ‘Questio quid iuris’ was his plea.
649
He was a noble rogue and a kind;
650
A better fellow no man could find.
651
He would allow, for a quart of wine,
652
A good friend to keep a concubine
653
A twelvemonth and excuse him fully;
654
And he could pluck a fool privately.
655
And if he made a good friend anywhere,
656
He would teach him not to have a care
657
In such a case of the Archdeacon’s curse,
658
Unless a man’s soul lay in his purse,
659
For in his purse he should punished be.
660
‘The purse is the Archdeacon’s hell,’ said he.
661
But well I know he lied in what he said;
662
For his curse each guilty man should dread,
663
Since absolution saves, but slays that writ,
664
And so ware of that word Significavit.
665
He had in his power as he pleased
666
All the young folk of the diocese,
667
Knew their secrets, they by him were led.
668
A garland had he set upon his head,
669
Big as an inn-sign’s holly on a stake;
670
A buckler he had made him of a cake.
671
With him there rode a noble PARDONER
672
Of Charing Cross, his friend and his peer,
673
Returned directly from the Court of Rome.
674
He sang out loud: ‘Come hither, love, to me!’
675
The Summoner sang a powerful bass around;
676
Never a trumpet of half so great a sound.
677
The Pardoner had hair as yellow as wax,
678
But smooth it hung like a hank of flax.
679
In clusters hung the locks he possessed,
680
With which his shoulders he overspread;
681
But thin they fell, in strands, one by one.
682
But hood, to adorn them, he wore none,
683
For it was trussed up in his wallet –
684
He thought he rode fashionably set;
685
Dishevelled, save his cap, he rode all bare.
686
Such bulging eyeballs had he as a hare.
687
A pilgrim badge had he sewn on his cap;
688
His wallet lay before him in his lap,
689
Brimful of pardons, come from Rome hotfoot.
690
A voice he had as small as has a goat;
691
No beard had he, nor ever looked to have;
692
As smooth it were as it were lately shaved –
693
I judge he was a gelding or a mare.
694
But of his craft, from Berwick unto Ware,
695
Never was such another Pardoner.
696
And in his bag a pillow-case was there,
697
Which he claimed was Our Lady’s veil;
698
He said he had a fragment of the sail
699
That Saint Peter used, when he skimmed
700
Upon the sea till Jesus summoned him.
701
He had a cross of brass set with stones,
702
And in a glass, he had pigs’ bones.
703
And with these relics, when he had to hand
704
Some poor parson living on the land,
705
In one day he gathered in more money
706
Than the parson in a month of Sundays.
707
And thus with feigned flattery, his japes
708
Made people and the parson his apes.
709
But to tell true from first to last,
710
He was in church a noble ecclesiast.
711
He read a lesson well or a story,
712
But best of all he sang an Offertory.
713
For well he knew, when that song was sung,
714
He must preach and well tune his tongue
715
To win silver, as he well knew how;
716
Therefore he sang more sweetly and loud.
717
Now I have told you in a brief clause,
718
The array, condition, number and the cause
719
Whereby assembled was this company,
720
In Southwark at that noble hostelry
721
Called The Tabard, fast by The Bell.
722
But now the time has come for me to tell
723
How we behaved on that same night,
724
At that hostelry where we did alight;
725
And after will I tell, at every stage,
726
All the remainder of our pilgrimage.
727
But first I pray you of your courtesy,
728
Not to consider me unmannerly
729
If I speak plainly in this matter,
730
In telling you their words hereafter,
731
Though I speak their words literally;
732
For this you know as well as me,
733
Whoso tells the tale of another man
734
Must repeat as closely as he can
735
Every word, if it be in his power,
736
However coarse or broad his dower
737
Of words, or else his tale will be untrue,
738
Or feign things, inventing words anew.
739
He may spare none, though it were his brother,
740
Must say the one word if he says the other.
741
Christ himself spoke plain in Holy Writ,
742
And you well know no coarseness is in it.
743
As Plato says, to any who can read,
744
The words must be cousin to the deed.
745
Also I beg you, if you will, forgive me
746
If I have not placed folk in due degree
747
Here in this tale, as they indeed should stand;
748
I lack the wit, you may well understand.
749
Our HOST made great cheer for everyone,
750
And down to supper set us all anon.
751
He served us with victuals of the best:
752
Strong was the wine, we drank with zest.
753
A handsome man our Host was withal,
754
And fit to be a marshal in a hall.
755
A large man he was with striking eyes;
756
No fairer burgess was there in Cheapside.
757
Bold in his speech, and wise, and well taught,
758
And of honest manhood he lacked naught.
759
Add that he was a truly merry man;
760
And after supper jokingly began
761
To speak of entertainment and other things,
762
After we had paid our reckonings,
763
Saying to us: ‘Now lordings, truly
764
To me you are right welcome, heartily!
765
For by my troth and telling you no lie,
766
I have not seen this year such folk go by
767
As gathered together in this tavern now.
768
And I would entertain, if I knew how,
769
Yet there is an entertainment, in my thoughts,
770
To amuse you and it will cost you naught.
771
You go to Canterbury – God you speed!
772
May the blissful martyr bless you indeed! –
773
And well I know, as you go on your way
774
You intend to chatter and make hay.
775
For truly, comfort and delight is none
776
In riding on the way dumb as a stone.
777
And therefore I offer you some sport,
778
As I first said, to give you some comfort.
779
And if you agree as one and consent
780
Each of you to accept my judgement,
781
And to work it as I to you will say,
782
Tomorrow when you ride on your way,
783
Now, by my father’s soul, he being dead,
784
If you lack merriment, be it on my head!
785
Hold up your hands, without longer speech.’
786
Our decision was not long to seek:
787
We thought it not worth serious debating,
788
And gave him leave, without deliberating,
789
And bade him give his orders as he wished,
790
‘Lordings,’ quoth he, ‘now listen to the rest –
791
But hear me out, I pray, without disdain –
792
Here is the point, to tell you short and plain:
793
That each of you, to speed you on your way,
794
On the journey there, shall tell two tales,
795
Till Canterbury, I mean it so,
796
And on the homeward way another two,
797
Of adventures that did once befall.
798
And which of you that bears them best of all –
799
That is to say, who tells in this case
800
Tales the most serious that most solace –
801
Shall have a supper and we pay the cost,
802
Here in this place, sitting by this post,
803
When that we come again from Canterbury.
804
And to make you all the more merry,
805
I will myself gladly with you ride,
806
All at my own cost, and be your guide.
807
And whoever my judgement does gainsay
808
Shall pay all that we spend by the way.
809
And if you will agree it shall be so,
810
Tell me now, without more ado,
811
And I will get me ready for the dawn.’
812
The thing was agreed, and our oath sworn
813
With right good heart, and we begged also
814
That he accordingly would do so,
815
And that he act then as our governor,
816
And of our tales be judge and recorder,
817
And fix the supper at a certain price,
818
And we would be ruled by his device,
819
In high and low, and thus by one assent
820
We all agreed to his true judgement.
821
And the wine was brought, thereupon
822
We drank, and to rest went everyone,
823
Without our any longer tarrying.
824
Next morning, when the day began to spring,
825
Up rose our Host and roused us like the cock,
826
And gathered us together in a flock;
827
And forth we rode, at barely walking-pace
828
To Saint Thomas, and his watering place.
829
And there our Host held the reins still,
830
And said: ‘Lordings, hearken if you will!
831
You know what you agreed, as I record.
832
If even-song and morning-song accord,
833
Let us see who shall tell the first tale.
834
As ever I hope to drink wine and ale,
835
Whoever is a rebel to my judgement
836
Shall pay for all that on the way is spent.
837
Now draw a straw before our journeying;
838
And he that has the shortest shall begin.
839
‘Sir Knight,’ quoth he, ‘my master and my lord,
840
Now make the draw for that is our accord.
841
Come near,’ quoth he, ‘my lady Prioress,
842
And you, Sir Cleric, hide your bashfulness,
843
No pondering now – a hand from everyone!’
844
At once by each the draw was begun;
845
And to tell you how it was, as I relate,
846
Whether by happenstance or chance or fate,
847
The truth is this: the lot fell to the Knight,
848
Which filled us all with joy and delight.
849
And tell his tale he must, in due season,
850
According to our pact and our decision,
851
As you have heard – what needs more ado?
852
And when this good man saw that it was so,
853
As he was wise and given to obedience
854
And keeping promises with free assent,
855
He said: ‘Since I shall begin the game,
856
Why, welcome is the outcome, in God’s name!
857
Now let us ride, and hark at what I say.’
858
And with that word we rode forth on our way,
859
And he began, all merry and full of cheer
860
His tale anon, and spoke as you may hear.
861
End of the General Prologue
|
