THE PROLOGUE.

v. 1-62.

WHANNE that April with his shoures sote

The droughte of March hath perced to the rote,
And bathed every veine in swiche licour,
Of whiche vertue engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eke with his sote brethe
Enspired bath in every holt and hethe
The tendre croppes, and the yonge Sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne,
And smale foules maken melodie,
That slepen alle night with open eye,
So priketh hem nature in bir corages;
Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken strange strondes,
To serve halwes couth in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shires ende

Of Englelond, to Canterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martyr for to seke,

That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke.
Befelle, that, in that seson on a day,
In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay,
Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage.
To Canterbury with devoute corage,
At night was come into that hostelrie
Wel nine and twenty in a compagnie
Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle

in felawship, and pilgrimes were they alle,
That toward Canterbury wolden ride.
The chambres and the stables weren wide,

And wel we weren esed atte beste.

And shortly, whan the Sonne was gone to reste, So hadde I spoken with hem everich on, That I was of hir felawship anon,

And made forword erly for to rise,

To take oure way ther as I you devise.

But natheles, while I have time and space,
Or that I forther in this tale pace,
Mc thinketh it accordant to reson,
To tellen you alle the condition
Of ech of hem, so as it semed me,
And whiche they weren, and of what degre;
And eke in what araie that they were inne:
And at a knight than wol I firste beginne.

A KNIGHT ther was, and that a worthy man, That fro the time that he firste began To riden out, he loved chevalrie, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie. Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre, And thereto hadde he ridden, no man ferre, As wel in Cristendom as in Hethenesse, And ever honoured for his worthinesse.

At Alisandre he was whan it was wonne.
Ful often time he badde the bord begonne
Aboven alle nations in Pruce.

In Lettowe hadde he reysed and in Ruce,
No cristen man so ofte of his degre.

In Gernade at the seige eke hadde he be
Of Algesir, and ridden in Belmarie.

At Leyes was he, and at Satalie,

Whan they were wonne; and in the Grete see At many a noble armee hadde he be.

At mortal batailles hadde he ben fiftene,

And foughten for our faith at Tramissene

In listes thries, and ay slain his fo.

This ilke worthy knight hadde ben also
Somtime with the lord of Palatie,
Agen another hethen in Turkie:

And evermore he hadde a sovereine pris.
And though that he was worthy he was wise,
And of his port as meke as is a mayde.
He never yet no vilanie ne sayde
In alle his lif, unto no manere wight.
He was a veray parfit gentil knight.

But for to tellen you of his araie,

His hors was good, but he ne was not gaie.
Of fustian he wered a gipon,

Alle besmotred with his habergeon,
For he was late ycome fro his viage,
And wente for to don his pilgrimage

With him ther was his sone a young SQUIER,
A lover, and a lusty bacheler,
With lockes crull as they were laide in presse.
Of twenty yere of age he was I gesse.
Of his stature he was of even lengthe,
And wonderly deliver, and grete of strengthe.
And he hadde be somtime in chevachie,
In Flaundres, in Artois, and in Picardie,
And borne him wel, as of so litel space,
In hope to stonden in his ladies
grace.

Embrouded was he, as it were a mede
Alle ful of freshe floures, white and rede.
Singing he was, or floyting alle the day,
He was as freshe, as is the moneth of May.
Short was his goune, with sleves long and wide.
Wel coude he sitte on hors, and fayre ride.
He coude songes make, and wel endite,
Juste and eke dance, and wel pourtraie and write.
So hote he loved, that by nightertale
He slep no more than doth the nightingale.
Curteis he was, lowly, and servisable,
And carf before his fader at the table.

Ne wette hire fingres in hire sauce depe.
Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe,
Thatte no drope ne fell upon hire brest.
In curtesie was sette ful moche hire lest.
Hire over lippe wiped she so clene,
That in hire cuppe was no ferthing sene
Of grese, whan she dronken hadde hire draught.
Ful semely after hire mete she raught.
And sikerly she was of grete disport,
And ful plesant, and amiable of port,
And peined hire to contrefeten chere
Of court, and ben estatelich of manere,
And to ben holden digne of reverence.

But for to speken of hire conscience,
She was so charitable and so pitous,
She wolde wepe if that she saw a mous
Caughte in a trappe, if it were ded or bledde.
Of smale houndes hadde she, that she fedde
With rosted flesh, and milk, and wastel brede.
But sore wept she if on of hem were dede,
Or if men smote it with a yerde smert:
And all was conscience and tendre herte.

Ful semely hire wimple ypinched was;
Hire nose tretis; hire eyen grey as glas;
Hire mouth ful smale, and therto soft and red;
But sikerly she hadde a fayre forehed.
It was almost a spanne brode I trowe;
For hardily she was not undergrowe.

Ful fetise was hire cloke, as I was ware.
Of smale corall aboute hire arm she bare
A pair of bedes, gauded all with grene;
And theron heng a broche of gold ful shene,
On whiche was first ywriten a crouned A,
And after, Amor vincit omnia.

Another NONNE also with hire hadde she,
That was hire chapelleine, and PREESTES thre.

A MONK there was, a fayre for the maistrie,
An out-rider, that loved venerie;

A manly man, to ben an abbot able.
Ful many a deinte hors hadde he in stable:
And whan he rode, men mighte his bridel here,
Gingeling in a whistling wind as clere,
And eke as loude, as doth the chapell belle,
Ther as this lord was keper of the celle.

The reule of seint Maure and of seint Beneit,
Because that it was olde and somdele streit,
This ilke monk lette olde thinges pace,
And held after the newe world the trace.
He yave not of the text a pulled hen,
That saith, that hunters ben not holy men;
Ne that a monk, whau he is rekkeles,
Is like to a fish that is waterles;
This is to say, a monk out of his cloistre.
This ilke text held he not wroth an oistre.
And I say his opinion was good.

What shulde he studie, and make himselven wood,

Upon a book in cloistre alway to pore,

Or swinken with his hondes, and laboure,
As Austin bit? how shal the world be served ?
Let Austin have his swink to him reserved.
Therfore he was a prickasoure a right:
Greihoundes he hadde as swift as foul of flight:
Of pricking and of hunting for the hare
Was all his lust, for no cost wolde he spare.
I saw his sleves purfiled at the hond
With gris, and that the finest of the lond.
And for to fasten his bood under his chinne,
He hadde of gold ywroughta curious pinne :

A love-knotte in the greter end ther was.
His hed was balled, and shone as any glas,
And eke his face, as it hadde ben anoint.
He was a lord ful fat and in good point.
His eyen stepe, and rolling in his hed,
That stemed as a forneis of a led.
His botes souple, his hors in gret estat,
Now certainly he was a fayre prelat.
He was not pale as a forpined gost.
A fat swan loved he best of any rost..
His palfrey was as broune as is a bery.

A FRERE there was, a wanton and a mery,
A limitour, a ful solempne man.
In all the ordres foure is non that can
So moche of daliance and fayre langage.
He hadde ymade ful many a mariage
Of yonge wimmen, at his owen cost.
Until his order he was a noble post.
Ful wel beloved, and familier was he
With frankeleins over all in his contree,
And eke with worthy wimmen of the toun :
For he had power of confession,

As saide himselfe, more than a curat,
For of his ordre he was licenciat.
Ful swetely herde he confession,
And plesant was his absolution.
He was an esy man to give penance,
Ther as he wiste to han a good pitance:
For unto a poure ordre for to give
Is signe that a man is wel yshrive.
For if he gave, he dorste make avant,
He wiste that a man was repentant.
For many a man so hard is of his herte,
He may not wepe although him sore smerte.
Therfore in stede of weping and praieres,
Men mote give silver to the poure freres.

His tippet was ay farsed ful of knives,
Aud pinnes, for to given fayre wives.
And certainly he had a mery note.
Wel coude he singe and plaien on a rote.
Of yeddinges he bare utterly the pris.
His nekke was white as is the flour de lis.
Thereto he strong was as a champioun,
And knew wel the tavernes in every toun,
And every hosteler and gay tapstere,
Better than a lazer or a beggere,
For unto swiche a worthy man as he
Accordeth nought, as by his faculte,
To haven with sike lazars acquaintance.
It is not honest, it may not avance,
As for to delen with no swiche pouraille,
But all with riche, and sellers of vitaille.
And over all, ther as profit shuld arise,
Curteis he was, and lowly of servise.
Ther n'as no man no wher so vertuous.
He was the beste begger in all his hous:
And gave a certaine ferme for the grant,
Non of his bretheren came in his haunt.
For though a widewe hadde but a shoo,
(So plesant was his In principio)

Yet wold he have a ferthing or he went.
His pourchas was wel better than his rent.
And rage he coude as it hadde ben a whelp,
In lovedayes, ther coude he mochel help.
For ther was he nat like a cloisterere,
With thredbare cope, as is a poure scolere,
But he was like a maister or a pope.
Of double worsted was his semicope,
That round was as a belle out of the presse.
Somwhat he lisped for his wantonnesse,

To make his English swete upon his tonge;
And in his harping, whan that he hadde songe,
His eyen twinkeled in his hed aright,
As don the sterres in a frosty night.
This worthy limitour was cleped Huberd.

A MARCHANT was ther with a forked berd, In mottelee, and highe on hors he sat, And on his hed a Flaundrish bever bat. His botes clapsed fayre and fetisly. His resons spake he ful solempnely, Souning alway the encrese of his winning. He wold the see were kept for any thing Betwixen Middleburgh and Orewell. Wel coud he in eschanges sheldes selle. This worthy man ful wel his wit besette; There wiste no wight that he was in dette, So stedefastly didde he his governance, With his bargeines, and with his chevisance. Forsothe he was a worthy man withalle, But soth to sayn, I n'ot how men him calle.

A CLERK ther was of Oxenforde also, That unto logike hadde long ygo. As lene was his hors as is a rake, And he was not right fat, I undertake; But loked holwe, and therto soberly. Ful thredbare was his overest courtepy, For he hadde geten him yet no benefice, Ne was nought worldly to have an office. For him was lever han at his beddes hed A twenty bokes, clothed in black or red, Of Aristotle, and his philosophie, Than robes riche, or fidel, or sautrie. But all be that he was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre, But all that he might of his frendes hente, On bokes and on lerning he it spente, And besily gan for the soules praie Of hem, that yave him wherwith to scolaie. Of studie toke he moste cure and hede. Not a word spake he more than was nede; And that was said in forme and reverence, And short and quike, and ful of high sentence. Souning in moral vertue was his speche, And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.

A SERGEANT OF THE LAWE ware and wise, That often hadde yben at the paruis, Ther was also, ful riche of excellence. Discrete he was, and of gret reverence: He semed swiche, his wordes were so wise, Justice he was ful often in assise, By patent, and by pleine commissioun; For his science, and for his high renoun, Of fees and robes had he many on. So grete a pourchasour was nowher non. All was fee simple to him in effect, His pourchasing might not ben in suspect. No wher so besy a man as he ther n'as, And yet he semed besier than he was. In termes hadde he cas and domes alle, That fro the time of king Will. weren falle. Therto he coude endite, and make a thing, Ther coude no wight pinche at his writing. And every statute coude he plaine by rote. He rode but homely in a medlee cote, Girt with a seint of silk, with barres smale. Of his array tell I no lenger tale.