The Friar’s Tale
The Prologue
This worthy limitour, this noble Frere,
He made always a manner louring cheer
Upon the Sompnour; but for honesty
No villain word as yet to him spake he:
But at the last he said unto the Wife:
“Damë,” quoth he, “God give you right good life,
Ye have here touched, all so may I thé,
In school matter a greatë difficulty.
Ye have said muchë thing right well, I say;
But, Damë, here as we ride by the way,
Us needeth not but for to speak of game,
And leave authorities, in Goddë’s name,
To preaching, and to school eke of clergy.
But if it like unto this company,
I will you of a Sompnour tell a game;
Pardie, ye may well knowë by the name,
That of a Sompnour may no good be said;
I pray that none of you be evil paid;
A Sompnour is a runner up and down
With mandements for fornicatioún,
And is y-beat at every townë’s end.”
Then spake our Host; “Ah, sir, ye should be hend
And courteous, as a man of your estate;
In company we will have no debate:
Tell us your tale, and let the Sompnour be.”
“Nay,” quoth the Sompnour, “let him say by me
What so him list; when it comes to my lot,
By God, I shall him quiten every groat!
I shall him tellë what a great honoúr
It is to be a flattering limitour
And his offíce I shall him tell y-wis.”
Our Host answered, “Peace, no more of this.”
And afterward he said unto the frere,
“Tell forth your tale, mine owen master dear.”
The Tale
Whilom there was dwelling in my countrý
An archdeacon, a man of high degree,
That boldëly did executión,
In punishing of fornicatión,
Of witchëcraft, and eke of bawdery,
Of defamation, and adultery,
Of churchë-reevës, and of testaments,
Of contracts, and of lack of sacraments,
And eke of many another manner crime,
Which needeth not rehearsen at this time,
Of usury, and simony also;
But, certes, lechours did he greatest woe;
They shouldë singen, if that they were hent;
And smallë tithers werë foul y-shent,
If any person would on them complain;
There might astert them no pecunial pain.
For smallë tithës, and small offering,
He made the people piteously to sing;
For ere the bishop caught them with his crook,
They weren in the archëdeacon’s book;
Then had he, through his jurisdictión,
Power to do on them correctión.
He had a Sompnour ready to his hand,
A slier boy was none in Engleland;
For subtlely he had his espiaille,
That taught him well where it might aught avail.
He couldë spare of lechours one or two,
To teachë him to four and twenty mo’.
For—though this Sompnour wood be as a hare—
To tell his harlotry I will not spare,
For we be out of their correctión,
They have of us no jurisdictión,
Ne never shall have, term of all their lives.
“Peter; so be the women of the stives,”
Quoth this Sompnour, “y-put out of our cure.”
“Peace, with mischance and with misáventure,”
Our Hostë said, “and let him tell his tale.
Now tellë forth, and let the Sompnour gale,
Nor sparë not, mine owen master dear.”
This falsë thief, the Sompnour (quoth the Frere),
Had always bawdës ready to his hand,
As any hawk to lure in Engleland,
That told him all the secrets that they knew—
For their acquaintance was not come of new;
They were his approvers privily.
He took himself at great profit thereby:
His master knew not always what he wan.
Withoutë mandement, a lewëd man
He could summon, on pain of Christë’s curse,
And they were inly glad to fill his purse,
And make him greatë feastës at the nale.
And right as Judas haddë purses smale,
And was a thief, right such a thief was he,
His master had but half his duëty.
He was (if I shall givë him his laud)
A thief, and eke a Sompnour, and a bawd.
And he had wenches at his retinue,
That whether that Sir Robert or Sir Hugh,
Or Jack, or Ralph, or whoso that it were
That lay by them, they told it in his ear.
Thus were the wench and he of one assent;
And he would fetch a feigned mandement,
And to the chapter summon them both two,
And pill the man, and let the wenchë go.
Then would he say, “Friend, I shall for thy sake
Do strike thee out of ourë letters blake;
Thee thar no more as in this case travail;
I am thy friend where I may thee avail.”
Certain he knew of bribers many mo’
Than possible is to tell in yearës two:
For in this world is no dog for the bow,
That can a hurt deer from a wholë know,
Bet than this Sompnour knew a sly lechour,
Or an adult’rer, or a paramour:
And, for that was the fruit of all his rent,
Therefore on it he set all his intent.
And so befell, that once upon a day.
This Sompnour, waiting ever on his prey,
Rode forth to summon a widow, an old ribibe,
Feigning a cause, for he would have a bribe.
And happen’d that he saw before him ride
A gay yeoman under a forest side:
A bow he bare, and arrows bright and keen,
He had upon a courtepy of green,
A hat upon his head with fringes blake.
“Sir,” quoth this Sompnour, “hail, and well o’ertake.”
“Welcome,” quoth he, “and every good felláw;
Whither ridést thou under this green shaw?”
Saidë this yeoman; “wilt thou far to-day?”
This Sompnour answer’d him, and saidë, “Nay.
Here fastë by,” quoth he, “is mine intent
To ridë, for to raisen up a rent,
That longeth to my lordë’s duety.”
“Ah! art thou then a bailiff?” “Yea,” quoth he.
He durstë not for very filth and shame
Say that he was a Sompnour, for the name.
“De par dieux,” quoth this yeoman, “levë brother,
Thou art a bailiff, and I am another.
I am unknowen, as in this countrý.
Of thine acquaintance I will prayë thee,
And eke of brotherhood, if that thee list.
I have gold and silver lying in my chest;
If that thee hap to come into our shire,
All shall be thine, right as thou wilt desire.”
“Grand mercy,” quoth this Sompnour, “by my faith.”
Each in the other’s hand his trothë lay’th,
For to be swornë brethren till they dey.
In dalliance they ridë forth and play.
This Sompnour, which that was as full of jangles,
As full of venom be those wariangles,
And ev’r inquiring upon every thing,
“Brother,” quoth he, “where is now your dwelling,
Another day if that I should you seech?”
This yeoman him answered in soft speech;
“Brother,” quoth he, “far in the North countrý,
Where as I hope some time I shall thee see.
Ere we depart I shall thee so well wiss,
That of mine housë shalt thou never miss.”
“Now, brother,” quoth this Sompnour, “I you pray,
Teach me, while that we ridë by the way,
(Since that ye be a bailiff as am I,)
Some subtilty, and tell me faithfully
For mine offíce how that I most may win.
And sparë not for conscience or for sin,
But, as my brother, tell me how do ye.”
“Now by my trothë, brother mine,” said he,
“As I shall tell to thee a faithful tale:
My wages be full strait and eke full smale;
My lord is hard to me and dangerous,
And mine offíce is full laborious;
And therefore by extortión I live,
Forsooth I take all that men will me give.
Algate by sleightë, or by violence,
From year to year I win all my dispence;
I can no better tell thee faithfully.”
“Now certes,” quoth this Sompnour, “so fare I;
I sparë not to takë, God it wot,
But if it be too heavy or too hot.
What I may get in counsel privily,
No manner conscience of that have I.
N’ere mine extortión, I might not live,
For of such japës will I not be shrive.
Stomach nor consciencë know I none;
I shrew these shriftë-fathers every one.
Well be we met, by God and by St. Jame.
But, levë brother, tell me then thy name,”
Quoth this Sompnour. Right in this meanë while
This yeoman gan a little for to smile.
“Brother,” quoth he, “wilt thou that I thee tell?
I am a fiend, my dwelling is in hell,
And here I ride about my purchasing,
To know where men will give me any thing.
My purchase is th’ effect of all my rent.
Look how thou ridest for the same intent
To winnë good, thou reckest never how,
Right so fare I, for ridë will I now
Into the worldë’s endë for a prey.”
“Ah,” quoth this Sompnour, “benedicite! what say y’?
I weened ye were a yeoman trulý.
Ye have a mannë’s shape as well as I.
Have ye then a figúre determinate
In hellë, where ye be in your estate?”
“Nay, certainly,” quoth he, “there have we none,
But when us liketh we can take us one,
Or ellës make you seem that we be shape
Sometimë like a man, or like an ape;
Or like an angel can I ride or go;
It is no wondrous thing though it be so,
A lousy juggler can deceivë thee,
And pardie, yet can I more craft than he.”
“Why,” quoth the Sompnour, “ride ye then or gon
In sundry shapes and not always in one?”
“For we,” quoth he, “will us in such form make,
As most is able our prey for to take.”
“What maketh you to have all this laboúr?”
“Full many a causë, levë Sir Sompnoúr,”
Saidë this fiend. “But all thing hath a time;
The day is short and it is passed prime,
And yet have I won nothing in this day;
I will intend to winning, if I may,
And not intend our thingës to declare:
For, brother mine, thy wit is all too bare
To understand, although I told them thee.
But for thou askest why laboúrë we:
For sometimes we be Goddë’s instruments
And meanës to do his commandëments,
When that him list, upon his creatures,
In divers acts and in divérs figúres:
Withoutë him we have no might, certain,
If that him list to standë thereagain.
And sometimes, at our prayer, have we leave
Only the body, not the soul, to grieve:
Witness on Job, whom that we did full woe,
And sometimes have we might on both the two—
This is to say, on soul and body eke,
And sometimes be we suffer’d for to seek
Upon a man, and do his soul unrest
And not his body, and all is for the best,
When he withstandeth our temptatión,
It is a cause of his salvatión,
Albeit that it was not our intent
He should be safe, but that we would him hent.
And sometimes be we servants unto man,
As to the archbishop Saint Dunstan,
And to th’ apostle servant eke was I.”
“Yet tell me,” quoth this Sompnour, “faithfully,
Make ye you newë bodies thus alway
Of th’ elements?” The fiend answered, “Nay:
Sometimes we feign, and sometimes we arise
With deadë bodies, in full sundry wise,
And speak as reas’nably, and fair, and well,
As to the Pythoness did Samuel:
And yet will some men say it was not he.
I do no force of your divinity.
But one thing warn I thee, I will not jape,
Thou wilt algatës weet how we be shape:
Thou shalt hereafterward, my brother dear,
Come, where thee needeth not of me to lear.
For thou shalt by thine own experience
Conne in a chair to rede of this senténce,
Better than Virgil, while he was alive,
Or Dante also. Now let us ride blive,
For I will holdë company with thee,
Till it be so that thou forsakë me.”
“Nay,” quoth this Sompnour, “that shall ne’er betide.
I am a yeoman, that is known full wide;
My trothë will I hold, as in this case;
For though thou wert the devil Satanas,
My trothë will I hold to thee, my brother,
As I have sworn, and each of us to other,
For to be truë brethren in this case,
And both we go abouten our purchase.
Take thou thy part, what that men will thee give,
And I shall mine, thus may we bothë live.
And if that any of us have more than other,
Let him be true, and part it with his brother.”
“I grantë,” quoth the devil, “by my fay.”
And with that word they rodë forth their way,
And right at th’ ent’ring of the townë’s end,
To which this Sompnour shope him for to wend,
They saw a cart, that charged was with hay,
Which that a carter drove forth on his way.
Deep was the way, for which the cartë stood:
The carter smote, and cried as he were wood,
“Heit Scot! heit Brok! what, spare ye for the stones?
The fiend (quoth he) you fetch body and bones,
As farforthly as ever ye were foal’d,
So muchë woe as I have with you tholed.
The devil have all, horses, and cart, and hay.”
The Sompnour said, “Here shall we have a prey;”
And near the fiend he drew, as nought ne were,
Full privily, and rowned in his ear:
“Hearken, my brother, hearken, by thy faith,
Hearest thou not, how that the carter saith?
Hent it anon, for he hath giv’n it thee,
Both hay and cart, and eke his capels three.”
“Nay,” quoth the devil, “God wot, never a deal,
It is not his intent, trust thou me well;
Ask him thyself, if thou not trowest me,
Or ellës stint a while and thou shalt see.”
The carter thwack’d his horses on the croup,
And they began to drawen and to stoop.
“Heit now,” quoth he; “there, Jesus Christ you bless,
And all his handiwork, both more and less!
That was well twight, mine owen liart, boy,
I pray God save thy body, and Saint Loy!
Now is my cart out of the slough, pardie.”
“Lo, brother,” quoth the fiend, “what told I thee?
Here may ye see, mine owen dearë brother,
The churl spake one thing, but he thought another.
Let us go forth abouten our voyáge;
Here win I nothing upon this carriáge.”
When that they came somewhat out of the town,
This Sompnour to his brother gan to rown;
“Brother,” quoth he, “here wons an old rebeck,
That had almost as lief to lose her neck.
As for to give a penny of her good.
I will have twelvepence, though that she be wood,
Or I will summon her to our offíce;
And yet, God wot, of her know I no vice.
But for thou canst not, as in this countrý,
Winnë thy cost, take here example of me.”
This Sompnour clapped at the widow’s gate:
“Come out,” he said, “thou oldë very trate;
I trow thou hast some friar or priest with thee.”
“Who clappeth?” said this wife; “ben’dicite,
God save you, Sir, what is your sweetë will?”
“I have,” quoth he, “of summons here a bill.
Up pain of cursing, lookë that thou be
To-morrow before our archdeacon’s knee,
To answer to the court of certain things.”
“Now Lord,” quoth she, “Christ Jesus, king of kings,
So wis1y helpë me, as I not may.
I have been sick, and that full many a day.
I may not go so far,” quoth she, “nor ride,
But I be dead, so pricketh it my side.
May I not ask a libel, Sir Sompnoúr,
And answer there by my procúratoúr
To such thing as men would apposë me?”
“Yes,” quoth this Sompnour, “pay anon, let see,
Twelvepence to me, and I will thee acquit.
I shall no profit have thereby but lit:
My master hath the profit and not I.
Come off, and let me ridë hastily;
Give me twelvepence, I may no longer tarry.”
“Twelvepence!” quoth she; “now lady Saintë Mary
So wisly help me out of care and sin,
This widë world though that I should it win,
Ne have I not twelvepence within my hold.
Ye know full well that I am poor and old;
Kithë your almës upon me poor wretch.”
“Nay then,” quoth he, “the foulë fiend me fetch,
If I excuse thee, though thou should’st be spilt.”
“Alas!” quoth she, “God wot, I have no guilt.”
“Pay me,” quoth he, “or, by the sweet Saint Anne,
As I will bear away thy newë pan
For debtë, which thou owest me of old—
When that thou madest thine husbánd cuckóld—
I paid at home for thy correctión.”
“Thou liest,” quoth she, “by my salvatión;
Never was I ere now, widow or wife,
Summon’d unto your court in all my life;
Nor never I was but of my body true.
Unto the devil rough and black of hue
Give I thy body and my pan also.”
And when the devil heard her cursë so
Upon her knees, he said in this mannére;
“Now, Mabily, mine owen mother dear,
Is this your will in earnest that ye say?”
“The devil,” quoth she, “so fetch him ere he dey,
And pan and all, but he will him repent.”
“Nay, oldë stoat, that is not mine intent,”
Quoth this Sompnour, “for to repentë me
For any thing that I have had of thee;
I would I had thy smock and every cloth.”
“Now, brother,” quoth the devil, “be not wroth;
Thy body and this pan be mine by right.
Thou shalt with me to hellë yet tonight,
Where thou shalt knowen of our privity
More than a master of divinity.”
And with that word the foulë fiend him hent.
Body and soul, he with the devil went,
Where as the Sompnours have their heritage;
And God, that maked after his imáge
Mankindë, save and guide us all and some,
And let this Sompnour a good man become.
Lordings, I could have told you (quoth this Frere),
Had I had leisure for this Sompnour here,
After the text of Christ, and Paul, and John,
And of our other doctors many a one,
Such painës, that your heartës might agrise,
Albeit so, that no tongue may devise—
Though that I might a thousand winters tell—
The pains of thilkë cursed house of hell.
But for to keep us from that cursed place
Wake we, and pray we Jesus, of his grace,
So keep us from the tempter, Satanas.
Hearken this word, beware as in this case.
The lion sits in his await alway
To slay the innocent, if that he may.
Disposen aye your heartës to withstond
The fiend that would you makë thrall and bond;
He may not temptë you over your might,
For Christ will be your champion and your knight;
And pray, that this our Sompnour him repent
Of his misdeeds ere that the fiend him hent.