The Prologue
When that Aprilis, with his showers swoot,
The drought of March hath pierced to the root,
And bathed every vein in such licóur,
Of which virtúe engender’d is the flower;
When Zephyrus eke with his swootë breath
Inspired hath in every holt and heath
The tender croppës, and the youngë sun
Hath in the Ram his halfë course y-run,
And smallë fowlës makë melody,
That sleepen all the night with open eye,
(So pricketh them natúre in their coráges);
Then longë folk to go on pilgrimages,
And palmers for to seekë strangë strands,
To fernë hallows couth in sundry lands;
And specially, from every shirë’s end
Of Engleland, to Canterbury they wend,
The holy blissful Martyr for to seek,
That them hath holpen, when that they were sick.
Befell that, in that season on a day,
In Southwark at the Tabard as I lay,
Ready to wenden on my pilgrimage
To Canterbury with devout coráge,
At night was come into that hostelry
Well nine and twenty in a company
Of sundry folk, by áventure y-fall
In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all,
That toward Canterbury wouldë ride.
The chamber, and the stables werë wide,
And well we weren eased at the best.
And shortly, when the sunnë was to rest,
So had I spoken with them every one,
That I was of their fellowship anon,
And madë forword early for to rise,
To take our way there as I you devise.
But natheless, while I have time and space,
Ere that I farther in this talë pace,
Me thinketh it accordant to reasón,
To tell you allë the condition
Of each of them, so as it seemed me,
And which they weren, and of what degree;
And eke in what array that they were in:
And at a Knight then will I first begin.
A Knight there was, and that a worthy man,
That from the timë that he first began
To riden out, he loved chivalry,
Truth and honoúr, freedom and courtesy.
Full worthy was he in his Lordë’s war,
And thereto had he ridden, no man farre,
As well in Christendom as in Heatheness,
And ever honour’d for his worthiness.
At Alisandre he was when it was won.
Full often time he had the board begun
Above allë natións in Prusse.
In Lettowe had he reysed, and in Russe,
No Christian man so oft of his degree.
In Grenade at the siege eke had he be
Of Algesir, and ridden in Belmarie.
At Leyës was he, and at Satalie,
When they were won; and in the Greatë Sea
At many a noble army had he be.
At mortal battles had he been fifteen,
And foughten for our faith at Tramissene.
In listës thriës, and aye slain his foe.
This ilkë worthy knight had been also
Some timë with the lord of Palatie,
Against another heathen in Turkie:
And evermore he had a sovereign price.
And though that he was worthy he was wise,
And of his port as meek as is a maid.
He never yet no villainy ne said
In all his life, unto no manner wight.
He was a very perfect gentle knight.
But for to tellë you of his array,
His horse was good, but yet he was not gay.
Of fustian he weared a gipon,
Allë besmotter’d with his habergeon,
For he was late y-come from his voyáge,
And wentë for to do his pilgrimage.
With him there was his son, a youngë Squire,
A lover, and a lusty bacheler,
With lockës crulle as they were laid in press.
Of twenty year of age he was I guess.
Of his statúre he was of even length,
And wonderly deliver, and great of strength.
And he had been some time in chevachie,
In Flanders, in Artois, and Picardie,
And borne him well, as of so little space,
In hope to standen in his lady’s grace.
Embroider’d was he, as it were a mead
All full of freshë flowers, white and red.
Singing he was, or fluting all the day;
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
Short was his gown, with sleevës long and wide.
Well could he sit on horse, and fairë ride.
He couldë songës make, and well indite,
Joust, and eke dance, and well pourtray and write.
So hot he loved, that by nightertale
He slept no more than doth the nightingale.
Courteous he was, lowly, and serviceable,
And carv’d before his father at the table.
A Yeoman had he, and servánts no mo’
At that timë, for him list ridë so;
And he was clad in coat and hood of green.
A sheaf of peacock arrows bright and keen
Under his belt he bare full thriftily.
Well could he dress his tackle yeomanly:
His arrows drooped not with feathers low;
And in his hand he bare a mighty bow.
A nut-head had he, with a brown viságe:
Of wood-craft coud he well all the uságe:
Upon his arm he bare a gay bracér,
And by his side a sword and a bucklér,
And on that other side a gay daggere,
Harnessed well, and sharp as point of spear:
A Christopher on his breast of silver sheen.
An horn he bare, the baldric was of green:
A forester was he soothly as I guess.
There was also a Nun, a Prioress,
That of her smiling was full simple and coy;
Her greatest oathë was but by Saint Loy;
And she was cleped Madame Eglentine.
Full well she sang the servicë divine,
Entuned in her nose full seemëly;
And French she spake full fair and fetisly
After the school of Stratford attë Bow,
For French of Paris was to her unknow.
At meatë was she well y-taught withal;
She let no morsel from her lippës fall,
Nor wet her fingers in her saucë deep.
Well could she carry a morsel, and well keep,
That no droppë ne fell upon her breast.
In courtesy was set full much her lest.
Her over-lippë wiped she so clean,
That in her cup there was no farthing seen
Of greasë, when she drunken had her draught;
Full seemëly after her meat she raught:
And sickerly she was of great disport,
And full pleasánt, and amiable of port,
And pained her to counterfeitë cheer
Of court, and be estately of mannére,
And to be holden digne of reverence.
But for to speaken of her consciénce,
She was so charitable and so pitous,
She wouldë weep if that she saw a mouse
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled.
Of smallë houndës had she, that she fed
With roasted flesh, and milk, and wastel bread.
But sore she wept if one of them were dead,
Or if men smote it with a yardë smart:
And all was conscience and tender heart.
Full seemly her wimple y-pinched was;
Her nose tretis; her eyen gray as glass;
Her mouth full small, and thereto soft and red;
But sickerly she had a fair forehéad.
It was almost a spannë broad I trow;
For hardily she was not undergrow.
Full fetis was her cloak, as I was ware.
Of small corál about her arm she bare
A pair of beadës, gauded all with green;
And thereon hung a brooch of gold full sheen,
On which was first y-written a crown’d A,
And after, Amor vincit omnia.
Another Nun also with her had she,
[That was her chapelléine, and Priestës three.]
A Monk there was, a fair for the mast’ry,
An outrider, that loved venery;
A manly man, to be an abbot able.
Full many a dainty horse had he in stable:
And when he rode, men might his bridle hear
Jingeling in a whistling wind as clear,
And eke as loud, as doth the chapel bell,
There as this lord was keeper of the cell.
The rule of Saint Maur and of Saint Benet,
Because that it was old and somedeal strait,
This ilkë monk let oldë thingës pace,
And held after the newë world the trace.
He gave not of the text a pulled hen,
That saith, that hunters be not holy men;
Ne that a monk, when he is cloisterless;
Is like to a fish that is waterless;
This is to say, a monk out of his cloister.
This ilkë text held he not worth an oyster;
And I say his opinion was good.
Why should he study, and make himselfë wood,
Upon a book in cloister always pore,
Or swinken with his handës, and laboúr,
As Austin bit? how shall the world be served?
Let Austin have his swink to him reserved.
Therefore he was a prickasour aright:
Greyhounds he had as swift as fowl of flight:
Of pricking and of hunting for the hare
Was all his lust, for no cost would he spare.
I saw his sleevës purfil’d at the hand
With gris, and that the finest of the land.
And for to fasten his hood under his chin,
He had of gold y-wrought a curious pin:
A love-knot in the greater end there was.
His head was bald, and shone as any glass,
And eke his face, as it had been anoint;
He was a lord full fat and in good point;
His eyen steep, and rolling in his head,
That steamed as a furnace of a lead.
His bootës supple, his horse in great estate,
Now certainly he was a fair preláte;
He was not pale as a forpined ghost;
A fat swan lov’d he best of any roast.
His palfrey was as brown as is a berry.
A Friar there was, a wanton and a merry,
A limitour, a full solemnë man.
In all the orders four is none that can
So much of dalliance and fair languáge.
He had y-made full many a marriáge
Of youngë women, at his owen cost.
Unto his order he was a noble post;
Full well belov’d, and familiár was he
With franklins over all in his countrý,
And eke with worthy women of the town:
For he had power of confessión,
As said himselfë, more than a curáte,
For of his order he was licentiate.
Full sweetëly heard he confession,
And pleasant was his absolution.
He was an easy man to give penánce,
There as he wist to have a good pittánce:
For unto a poor order for to give
Is signë that a man is well y-shrive.
For if he gave, he durstë make avant,
He wistë that the man was repentant.
For many a man so hard is of his heart,
He may not weep although him sorë smart.
Therefore instead of weeping and prayéres,
Men must give silver to the poorë freres.
His tippet was aye farsed full of knives,
And pinnës, for to give to fairë wives;
And certainly he had a merry note:
Well could he sing and playen on a rote;
Of yeddings he bare utterly the prize.
His neck was white as is the fleur-de-lis.
Thereto he strong was as a champion,
And knew well the tavérns in every town.
And every hosteler and gay tapstére,
Better than a lazar or a beggére,
For unto such a worthy man as he
Accordeth not, as by his faculty,
To havë with such lazars acquaintánce.
It is not honest, it may not advance,
As for to dealë with no such pouraille,
But all with rich, and sellers of vitaille.
And ov’r all there as profit should arise,
Courteous he was, and lowly of servíce;
There n’as no man nowhere so virtuous.
He was the bestë beggar in all his house:
And gave a certain farmë for the grant,
None of his bretheren came in his haunt.
For though a widow haddë but one shoe,
So pleasant was his In principio,
Yet would he have a farthing ere he went;
His purchase was well better than his rent.
And rage he could and play as any whelp,
In lovëdays; there could he muchel help.
For there was he not like a cloisterer,
With threadbare cope, as is a poor scholer,
But he was like a master or a pope.
Of double worsted was his semicope,
That rounded was as a bell out of press.
Somewhat he lisped for his wantonness,
To make his English sweet upon his tongue;
And in his harping, when that he had sung,
His eyen twinkled in his head aright,
As do the starrës in a frosty night.
This worthy limitour was call’d Hubérd.
A Merchant was there with a forked beard,
In motley, and high on his horse he sat,
Upon his head a Flandrish beaver hat.
His bootës clasped fair and fetisly.
His reasons aye spake he full solemnly,
Sounding alway th’ increase of his winning.
He would the sea were kept for any thing
Betwixtë Middleburg and Orëwell.
Well could he in exchangë shieldës sell.
This worthy man full well his wit beset;
There wistë no wight that he was in debt,
So estately was he of governance
With his bargáins, and with his chevisance.
For sooth he was a worthy man withal,
But sooth to say, I n’ot how men him call.
A Clerk there was of Oxenford also,
That unto logic haddë long y-go.
As leanë was his horse as is a rake,
And he was not right fat, I undertake;
But looked hollow, and thereto soberly.
Full threadbare was his overest courtepy,
For he had gotten him yet no benefice,
Ne was not worldly, to have an office.
For him was lever have at his bed’s head
Twenty bookës, clothed in black or red,
Of Aristotle, and his philosophy,
Than robës rich, or fiddle, or psalt’ry.
But all be that he was a philosópher,
Yet haddë he but little gold in coffer,
But all that he might of his friendës hent,
On bookës and on learning he it spent,
And busily gan for the soulës pray
Of them that gave him wherewith to scholay.
Of study took he mostë care and heed.
Not one word spake he morë than was need;
And that was said in form and reverence,
And short and quick, and full of high senténce.
Sounding in moral virtue was his speech,
And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach.
A Sergeant of the Law, wary and wise,
That often had y-been at the Parvis,
There was also, full rich of excellence.
Discreet he was, and of great reverence:
He seemed such, his wordës were so wise,
Justice he was full often in assize,
By patent, and by plein commission;
For his sciénce, and for his high renown,
Of fees and robës had he many one.
So great a purchaser was nowhere none.
All was fee simple to him, in effect
His purchasing might not be in suspect.
Nowhere so busy a man as he there was,
And yet he seemed busier than he was.
In termës had he case’ and doomës all,
That from the time of King Will. werë fall.
Thereto he could indite, and make a thing,
There couldë no wight pinch at his writing.
And every statute coud he plain by rote.
He rode but homely in a medley coat,
Girt with a seint of silk, with barrës small;
Of his array tell I no longer tale.
A Frankëlin was in this company;
White was his beard, as is the daïsy.
Of his complexión he was sanguíne.
Well lov’d he in the morn a sop in wine.
To liven in delight was ever his won,
For he was Epicurus’ owen son,
That held opinion, that plein delight
Was verily felicity perfíte.
An householder, and that a great, was he;
Saint Julian he was in his countrý.
His bread, his ale, was alway after one;
A better envined man was nowhere none;
Withouten bake-meat never was his house,
Of fish and flesh, and that so plentëous,
It snowed in his house of meat and drink,
Of allë dainties that men couldë think.
After the sundry seasons of the year,
So changed he his meat and his soupére.
Full many a fat partridge had he in mew,
And many a bream, and many a luce in stew.
Woe was his cook, but if his saucë were
Poignant and sharp, and ready all his gear.
His table dormant in his hall alway
Stood ready cover’d all the longë day.
At sessions there was he lord and sire.
Full often time he was knight of the shire.
An anlace, and a gipciere all of silk,
Hung at his girdle, white as morning milk.
A sheriff had he been, and a countour.
Was nowhere such a worthy vavasour.
An Haberdasher, and a Carpenter,
A Webbe, a Dyer, and a Tapiser,
Were with us eke, cloth’d in one livery,
Of a solémn and great fraternity.
Full fresh and new their gear y-picked was.
Their knivës were y-chaped not with brass,
But all with silver wrought full clean and well,
Their girdles and their pouches every deal.
Well seemed each of them a fair burgéss,
To sitten in a guild-hall, on the dais.
Evereach, for the wisdom that he can,
Was shapely for to be an alderman.
For chattels haddë they enough and rent,
And eke their wivës would it well assent:
And ellës certain they had been to blame.
It is full fair to be y-clep’d madáme,
And for to go to vigils all before,
And have a mantle royally y-bore.
A Cook they haddë with them for the nones,
To boil the chickens and the marrow bones,
And powder merchant tart and galingale.
Well could he know a draught of London ale.
He couldë roast, and seethe, and broil, and fry,
Makë mortrewës, and well bake a pie.
But great harm was it, as it thoughtë me,
That, on his shin a mormal haddë he.
For blanc manger, that made he with the best.
A Shipman was there, wonned far by West:
For ought I wot, be was of Dartëmouth.
He rode upon a rouncy, as he couth,
All in a gown of falding to the knee.
A dagger hanging by a lace had he
About his neck under his arm adown;
The hot summer had made his hue all brown;
And certainly he was a good felláw.
Full many a draught of wine he had y-draw
From Bourdeaux-ward, while that the chapmen sleep;
Of nicë consciénce took he no keep.
If that he fought, and had the higher hand,
By water he sent them home to every land.
But of his craft to reckon well his tides,
His streamës and his strandës him besides,
His herberow, his moon, and lodemanage,
There was none such, from Hull unto Carthage.
Hardy he was, and wise, I undertake:
With many a tempest had his beard been shake.
He knew well all the havens, as they were,
From Scotland to the Cape of Finisterre,
And every creek in Bretagne and in Spain:
His barge y-cleped was the Magdelain.
With us there was a Doctor of Physic;
In all this worldë was there none him like
To speak of physic, and of surgery:
For he was grounded in astronomy.
He kept his patiént a full great deal
In hourës by his magic natural.
Well could he fortunë the áscendent
Of his imáges for his patiént.
He knew the cause of every malady,
Were it of cold, or hot, or moist, or dry,
And where engender’d, and of what humoúr.
He was a very perfect practisour
The cause y-know, and of his harm the root,
Anon he gave to the sick man his boot.
Full ready had he his apothecaries,
To send his druggës and his lectuaries,
For each of them made other for to win:
Their friendship was not newë to begin.
Well knew he the old Esculapius,
And Dioscorides, and eke Rufus;
Old Hippocras, Hali, and Gallien;
Serapion, Rasis, and Avicen;
Averrois, Damascene, and Constantin;
Bernard, and Gatisden, and Gilbertin.
Of his diet measúrable was he,
For it was of no superfluity,
But of great nourishing, and digestible.
His study was but little on the Bible.
In sanguine and in perse he clad was, all
Lined with taffeta, and with sendall.
And yet he was but easy of dispence:
He kept that he won in the pestilence.
For gold in physic is a cordial;
Therefore he loved gold in special.
A good Wife was there of besidë Bath,
But she was somedeal deaf, and that was scath.
Of cloth-making she haddë such an haunt,
She passed them of Ypres, and of Gaunt.
In all the parish wifë was there none,
That to the off’ring before her should gon,
And if there did, certain so wroth was she,
That she was out of allë charity.
Her coverchiefs werë full fine of ground;
I durstë swear, they weighedë ten pound
That on the Sunday were upon her head.
Her hosen weren of fine scarlet red,
Full strait y-tied, and shoes full moist and new.
Bold was her face, and fair and red of hue.
She was a worthy woman all her live,
Husbands at the church door had she had five,
Withouten other company in youth;
But thereof needeth not to speak as nouth.
And thrice had she been at Jerusalem;
She haddë passed many a strangë stream;
At Rome she had been, and at Bologne,
In Galice at Saint James, and at Cologne;
She coudë much of wand’ring by the way.
Gat-toothed was she, soothly for to say.
Upon an ambler easily she sat,
Y-wimpled well, and on her head an hat
As broad as is a buckler or a targe.
A foot-mantle about her hippës large,
And on her feet a pair of spurrës sharp.
In fellowship well could she laugh and carp.
Of remedies of love she knew perchance,
For of that art she coud the oldë dance.
A good man there was of religión,
That was a poorë Parson of a town:
But rich he was of holy thought and werk:
He was also a learned man, a clerk,
That Christë’s gospel truly wouldë preach.
His parishens devoutly would he teach.
Benign he was, and wonder diligent,
And in adversity full patient:
And such he was y-proved often sithes.
Full loth were him to cursë for his tithes,
But rather would he given out of doubt,
Unto his poorë parishens about,
Of his off’ring, and eke of his substánce.
He could in little thing have suffisance.
Wide was his parish, and houses far asunder,
But he ne left not, for no rain nor thunder,
In sickness and in mischief to visit
The farthest in his parish, much and lit,
Upon his feet, and in his hand a staff.
This noble ensample to his sheep he gaf,
That first he wrought, and afterward he taught.
Out of the gospel he the wordës caught,
And this figúre he added yet thereto,
That if gold rustë, what should iron do?
For if a priest be foul, on whom we trust,
No wonder is a lewëd man to rust:
And shame it is, if that a priest take keep,
To see a shitten shepherd and clean sheep:
Well ought a priest ensample for to give,
By his own cleanness, how his sheep should live.
He settë not his benefice to hire,
And left his sheep eucumber’d in the mire,
And ran unto London, unto Saint Poul’s,
To seekë him a chantery for souls,
Or with a brotherhood to be withold:
But dwelt at home, and keptë well his fold,
So that the wolf ne made it not miscarry.
He was a shepherd, and no mercenary.
And though he holy were, and virtuous,
He was to sinful men not dispitous
Nor of his speechë dangerous nor dign,
But in his teaching díscreet and benign.
To drawen folk to heaven, with fairness,
By good ensample, was his business:
But it were any person obstinate,
What so he were of high or low estate,
Him would he snibbë sharply for the nonës.
A better priest I trow that nowhere none is.
He waited after no pomp nor reverence,
Nor maked him a spiced consciénce,
But Christë’s lore, and his apostles’ twelve,
He taught, and first he follow’d it himselve.
With him there was a Ploughman, was his brother,
That had y-laid of dung full many a fother.
A true swinker and a good was he,
Living in peace and perfect charity.
God loved he bestë with all his heart
At allë timës, were it gain or smart,
And then his neighëbour right as himselve.
He wouldë thresh, and thereto dike, and delve,
For Christë’s sake, for every poorë wight,
Withouten hire, if it lay in his might.
His tithës payed he full fair and well,
Both of his proper swink, and his chattel.
In a tabard he rode upon a mare.
There was also a Reeve, and a Millere,
A Sompnour, and a Pardoner also,
A Manciple, and myself, there were no mo’.
The Miller was a stout carle for the nones,
Full big he was of brawn, and eke of bones;
That proved well, for ov’r all where he came,
At wrestling he would bear away the ram.
He was short-shouldered, broad, a thickë gnarr,
There was no door, that he n’old heave off bar,
Or break it at a running with his head.
His beard as any sow or fox was red,
And thereto broad, as though it were a spade.
Upon the cop right of his nose he had
A wart, and thereon stood a tuft of hairs
Red as the bristles of a sowë’s ears.
His nosë-thirlës blackë were and wide.
A sword and buckler bare he by his side.
His mouth as widë was as a furnáce.
He was a jangler, and a goliardais,
And that was most of sin and harlotries.
Well could he stealë corn, and tollë thrice.
And yet he had a thumb of gold, pardie.
A white coat and a blue hood weared he.
A baggëpipe well could he blow and soun’,
And therewithal he brought us out of town.
A gentle Manciple was there of a temple,
Of which achatours mightë take ensample
For to be wise in buying of vitaille.
For whether that he paid, or took by taile,
Algate he waited so in his achate,
That he was aye before in good estate.
Now is not that of God a full fair grace
That such a lewëd mannë’s wit shall pace
The wisdom of an heap of learned men?
Of masters had he more than thriës ten,
That were of law expert and curious:
Of which there was a dozen in that house,
Worthy to be stewárds of rent and land
Of any lord that is in Engleland,
To makë him live by his proper good,
In honour debtless, but if he were wood,
Or live as scarcely as him list desire;
And able for to helpen all a shire
In any case that mightë fall or hap;
And yet this Manciple set their allër cap.
The Reevë was a slender choleric man,
His beard was shav’d as nigh as ever he can.
His hair was by his earës round y-shorn;
His top was docked like a priest beforn.
Full longë were his leggës, and full lean,
Y-like a staff, there was no calf y-seen.
Well could he keep a garner and a bin:
There was no auditor could on him win.
Well wist he by the drought, and by the rain,
The yielding of his seed and of his grain.
His lordë’s sheep, his neat, and his dairy.
His swine, his horse, his store, and his poultrý,
Were wholly in this Reevë’s governing,
And by his cov’nant gave he reckoning,
Since that his lord was twenty year of age;
There could no man bring him in arrearáge.
There was no bailiff, herd, nor other hine,
That he ne knew his sleight and his covine:
They were adrad of him, as of the death.
His wonning was full fair upon an heath,
With greenë trees y-shadow’d was his place.
He couldë better than his lord purchase.
Full rich he was y-stored privily.
His lord well could he pleasë subtilly,
To give and lend him of his owen good,
And have a thank, and yet a coat and hood.
In youth he learned had a good mistére.
He was a well good wright, a carpentére
This Reevë sate upon a right good stot,
That was all pomely gray, and hightë Scot.
A long surcoat of perse upon he had,
And by his side he bare a rusty blade.
Of Norfolk was this Reeve, of which I tell,
Beside a town men clepen Baldeswell.
Tucked he was, as is a friar, about,
And ever rode the hinderest of the rout.
A Sompnour was there with us in that place,
That had a fire-red cherubinnës face,
For sausëfleme he was, with eyen narrow.
As hot he was and lecherous as a sparrow,
With scalled browës black, and pilled beard:
Of his viságe children were sore afeard.
There n’as quicksilver, litharge, nor brimstone,
Boras, ceruse, nor oil of tartar none,
Nor ointëment that wouldë cleanse or bite,
That him might helpen of his whelkës white,
Nor of the knobbës sitting on his cheeks.
Well lov’d he garlic, onións, and leeks,
And for to drink strong wine as red as blood.
Then would he speak, and cry as he were wood;
And when that he well drunken had the wine,
Then would he speakë no word but Latin.
A fewë termës knew he, two or three,
That he had learned out of some decree;
No wonder is, he heard it all the day.
And eke ye knowen well, how that a jay
Can clepen “Wat,” as well as can the Pope.
But whoso would in other thing him grope,
Then had he spent all his philosophy,
Aye, Questio quid juris, would he cry.
He was a gentle harlot and a kind;
A better fellów should a man not find.
He wouldë suffer, for a quart of wine,
A good fellow to have his concubine
A twelvemonth, and excuse him at the full.
Full privily a finch eke could he pull.
And if he found owhere a good felláw,
He wouldë teachë him to have none awe
In such a case of the archdeacon’s curse;
But if a mannë’s soul were in his purse;
For in his purse he should y-punished be.
“Purse is the archëdeacon’s hell,” said he.
But well I wot, he lied right indeed:
Of cursing ought each guilty man to dread,
For curse will slay right as assoiling saveth;
And also ’ware him of a significavit.
In danger had he at his owen guise
The youngë girlës of the diocese,
And knew their counsel, and was of their rede.
A garland had he set upon his head,
As great as it were for an alëstake:
A buckler had he made him of a cake.
With him there rode a gentle Pardonere
Of Ronceval, his friend and his compere,
That straight was comen from the court of Romë.
Full loud he sang, “Come hither, lovë, tó me.”
This Sompnour bare to him a stiff burdoun,
Was never trump of half so great a soun’.
This Pardoner had hair as yellow as wax,
But smooth it hung, as doth a strike of flax:
By ounces hung his lockës that he had,
And therewith he his shoulders oversprad.
Full thin it lay, by culpons one and one,
But hood for jollity, he weared none,
For it was trussed up in his wallét.
Him thought he rode all of the newë get,
Dishevel, save his cap, he rode all bare.
Such glaring eyen had he, as an hare.
A vernicle had he sew’d upon his cap.
His wallët lay before him in his lap,
Bretful of pardon come from Rome all hot.
A voice he had as small as hath a goat.
No beard had he, nor ever one should have.
As smooth it was as it were new y-shave;
I trow he were a gelding or a mare.
But of his craft, from Berwick unto Ware,
Ne was there such another pardonere.
For in his mail he had a pillowbere,
Which, as he saidë, was our Lady’s veil:
He said, he had a gobbet of the sail
That Saintë Peter had, when that he went
Upon the sea, till Jesus Christ him hent.
He had a cross of latoun full of stones,
And in a glass he haddë piggë’s bones.
But with these relics, whennë that he fond
A poorë parson dwelling upon lond,
Upon a day he got him more money
Than that the parson got in moneths tway;
And thus with feigned flattering and japes,
He made the parson and the people his apes.
But truëly to tellen at the last,
He was in church a noble ecclesiast.
Well could he read a lesson or a story,
But alderbest he sang an offertóry:
For well he wistë, when that song was sung,
He mustë preach, and well afile his tongue,
To winnë silver, as he right well could:
Therefore he sang full merrily and loud.
Now have I told you shortly in a clause
Th’ estate, th’ array, the number, and eke the cause
Why that assembled was this company
In Southwark at this gentle hostelry,
That hightë the Tabard, fast by the Bell.
But now is timë to you for to tell
How that we baren us that ilkë night,
When we were in that hostelry alight.
And after will I tell of our voyáge,
And all the remnant of our pilgrimage.
But first I pray you of your courtesy,
That ye arette it not my villainy,
Though that I plainly speak in this mattére.
To tellen you their wordës and their cheer;
Not though I speak their wordës properly.
For this ye knowen all so well as I,
Whoso shall tell a tale after a man,
He must rehearse, as nigh as ever he can,
Every word, if it be in his charge,
All speak he ne’er so rudely and so large;
Or ellës he must tell his tale untrue,
Or feignë things, or findë wordës new.
He may not spare, although he were his brother;
He must as well say one word as another.
Christ spake Himself full broad in Holy Writ,
And well ye wot no villainy is it.
Eke Plato saith, whoso that can him read,
The wordës must be cousin to the deed.
Also I pray you to forgive it me,
All have I not set folk in their degree,
Here in this tale, as that they shoulden stand:
My wit is short, ye may well understand.
Great cheerë made our Host us every one,
And to the supper set he us anon:
And served us with victual of the best.
Strong was the wine, and well to drink us lest.
A seemly man Our Hostë was withal
For to have been a marshal in an hall.
A largë man he was with eyen steep,
A fairer burgess is there none in Cheap:
Bold of his speech, and wise and well y-taught,
And of manhoodë lacked him right naught.
Eke thereto was he right a merry man,
And after supper playen he began,
And spake of mirth amongës other things,
When that we haddë made our reckonings;
And saidë thus; “Now, lordingës, truly
Ye be to me welcome right heartily:
For by my troth, if that I shall not lie,
I saw not this year such a company
At once in this herberow, as is now.
Fain would I do you mirth, an I wist how.
And of a mirth I am right now bethought.
To do you ease, and it shall costë nought.
Ye go to Canterbury; God you speed,
The blissful Martyr quitë you your meed;
And well I wot, as ye go by the way,
Ye shapen you to talken and to play:
For truëly comfórt nor mirth is none
To ridë by the way as dumb as stone:
And therefore would I makë you disport,
As I said erst, and do you some comfórt.
And if you liketh all by one assent
Now for to standen at my judgëment,
And for to worken as I shall you say
To-morrow, when ye riden on the way,
Now by my father’s soulë that is dead,
But ye be merry, smiteth off mine head.
Hold up your hands withoutë morë speech.”
Our counsel was not longë for to seech:
Us thought it was not worth to make it wise,
And granted him withoutë more avise,
And bade him say his verdict, as him lest.
“Lordings (quoth he), now hearken for the best;
But take it not, I pray you, in disdain;
This is the point, to speak it plat and plain.
That each of you, to shorten with your way
In this voyáge, shall tellen talës tway,
To Canterbury-ward, I mean it so,
And homeward he shall tellen other two,
Of aventúres that whilom have befall.
And which of you that bear’th him best of all,
That is to say, that telleth in this case
Talës of best senténce and most solace,
Shall have a supper at your allër cost
Here in this placë, sitting by this post,
When that ye come again from Canterbury.
And for to makë you the morë merry,
I will myselfë gladly with you ride,
Right at mine owen cost, and be your guide.
And whoso will my judgëment withsay,
Shall pay for all we spenden by the way.
And if ye vouchësafe that it be so,
Tell me anon withoutë wordës mo’,
And I will early shapë me therefore.”
This thing was granted, and our oath we swore
With full glad heart, and prayed him also,
That he would vouchësafe for to do so,
And that he wouldë be our governour,
And of our talës judge and reportour,
And set a supper at a certain price;
And we will ruled be at his device,
In high and low: and thus by one assent,
We be accorded to his judgëment.
And thereupon the wine was fet anon.
We drunken, and to restë went each one,
Withouten any longer tarrying
A-morrow, when the day began to spring,
Up rose our host, and was our allër cock,
And gather’d us together in a flock,
And forth we ridden all a little space,
Unto the watering of Saint Thomas:
And there our host began his horse arrest,
And saidë; “Lordës, hearken if you lest.
Ye weet your forword, and I it record.
If evensong and morning-song accord,
Let see now who shall tellë the first tale.
As ever may I drinkë wine or ale,
Whoso is rebel to my judgëment,
Shall pay for all that by the way is spent.
Now draw ye cuts, ere that ye farther twin.
He which that hath the shortest shall begin.”
“Sir Knight (quoth he), my master and my lord,
Now draw the cut, for that is mine accord.
Come near (quoth he), my Lady Prioress,
And ye, Sir Clerk, let be your shamefastness,
Nor study not: lay hand to, every man.”
Anon to drawen every wight began,
And shortly for to tellen as it was,
Were it by áventure, or sort, or cas,
The sooth is this, the cut fell to the Knight,
Of which full blithe and glad was every wight;
And tell he must his tale as was reasón,
By forword, and by composition,
As ye have heard; what needeth wordës mo’?
And when this good man saw that it was so,
As he that wise was and obediént
To keep his forword by his free assent,
He said; “Sithen I shall begin this game,
Why, welcome be the cut in Goddë’s name.
Now let us ride, and hearken what I say.”
And with that word we ridden forth our way;
And he began with right a merry cheer
His tale anon, and said as ye shall hear.