The Prologue
When ended was my tale of Melibee,
And of Prudénce and her benignity,
Our Hostë said, “As I am faithful man,
And by the precious corpus Madrian,
I had lever than a barrel of ale,
That goodë lefe my wife had heard this tale;
For she is no thing of such patiénce
As was this Meliboeus’ wife Prudénce.
By Goddë’s bonës! when I beat my knaves
She bringeth me the greatë clubbed staves,
And crieth, ‘Slay the doggës every one,
And break of them both back and ev’ry bone.’
And if that any neighëbour of mine
Will not in church unto my wife incline,
Or be so hardy to her to trespace,
When she comes home she rampeth in my face,
And crieth, ‘Falsë coward, wreak thy wife:
By corpus Domini, I will have thy knife,
And thou shalt have my distaff, and go spin.’
From day till night right thus she will begin.
‘Alas!’ she saith, ‘that ever I was shape
To wed a milksop, or a coward ape,
That will be overlad with every wight!
Thou darest not stand by thy wifë’s right.’
“This is my life, but if that I will fight;
And out at door anon I must me dight,
Or ellës I am lost, but if that I
Be, like a wildë lion, fool-hardý.
I wot well she will do me slay some day
Some neighëbour and thennë go my way;
For I am perilous with knife in hand,
Albeit that I dare not her withstand;
For she is big in armës, by my faith!
That shall he find, that her misdoth or saith.
But let us pass away from this mattére.
My lord the Monk,” quoth he, “be merry of cheer,
For ye shall tell a talë truëlý.
Lo, Rochester stands here fastë by.
Ride forth, mine owen lord, break not our game.
But by my troth I cannot tell your name;
Whether shall I call you my lord Dan John,
Or Dan Thomas, or ellës Dan Albon?
Of what house be ye, by your father’s kin?
I vow to God, thou hast a full fair skin;
It is a gentle pasture where thou go’st;
Thou art not like a penant or a ghost.
Upon my faith thou art some officer,
Some worthy sexton, or some cellarer.
For by my father’s soul, as to my dome,
Thou art a master when thou art at home;
No poorë cloisterer, nor no novíce,
But a govérnor, both wily and wise,
And therewithal, of brawnës and of bones,
A right well-faring person for the nonce.
I pray to God give him confusión
That first thee brought into religión.
Thou would’st have been a treadëfowl aright;
Hadst thou as greatë leave, as thou hast might,
To perform all thy lust in engendrure,
Thou hadst begotten many a creatúre.
Alas! why wearest thou so wide a cope?
God give me sorrow, but, an’ I were pope,
Not only thou, but every mighty man,
Though he were shorn full high upon his pan,
Should have a wife; for all this world is lorn;
Religión hath ta’en up all the corn
Of treading, and we borel men be shrimps:
Of feeble trees there comë wretched imps.
This maketh that our heirës be so slender
And feeble, that they may not well engender.
This maketh that our wives will assay
Religious folk, for they may better pay
Of Venus’ payëmentës than may we:
God wot, no lushëburghës payë ye.
But be not wroth, my lord, though that I play;
Full oft in game a sooth have I heard say.”
This worthy Monk took all in patiénce,
And said, “I will do all my diligence,
As far as souneth unto honesty,
To tellë you a tale, or two or three.
And if you list to hearken hitherward,
I will you say the life of Saint Edward;
Or ellës first tragédies I will tell,
Of which I have an hundred in my cell.
Tragédy is to say a certain story,
As oldë bookës maken us memóry,
Of him that stood in great prosperitý,
And is y-fallen out of high degree
In misery, and endeth wretchedly.
And they be versifiëd commonly
Of six feet, which men call hexámetron;
In prose eke be indited many a one,
And eke in metre, in many a sundry wise.
Lo, this declaring ought enough suffice.
Now hearken, if ye likë for to hear.
But first I you beseech in this mattére,
Though I by order tellë not these things,
Be it of popës, emperors, or kings,
After their ages, as men written find,
But tell them some before and some behind,
As it now cometh to my remembránce,
Have me excused of mine ignorance.”