GEOFFREY CHAUCER (1340-1400)

THE PROLOGUE

Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote,

And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth 5
Inspired hath in every holt1 and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
And smale fowles maken melodye,
That slepen al the night with open yë,
(So priketh hem nature in hir corages2):
Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
(And palmers for to seken straunge
strondes)

10

To ferne3 halwes, couthes in sondry londes;

Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre, 10
And therto hadde he riden (no man ferre11)
As wel in Cristendom as hethenesse,
And ever honoured for his worthinesse.
At Alisaundre he was, whan it was wonne;
Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bi-
gonne12

And of his port as meke as is a mayde.
He never yet no vileinye ne sayde
In al his lyf, un-to no maner wight. 16

70

That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde; The chambres and the stables weren wyde, And wel we weren esed atte beste.8

To take our wey, ther as I yow devyse.