646

650

Than wolde he speke no word but Latyn.
A fewe termes hadde he, two or thre,
That he had lernèd out of som decree; 640
No wonder is, he herde it al the day;
And eek ye knowen wel, how that a lay
Can clepen Watte,' as well as can the pope.
But who-so coude in other thing him grope,
Thanne hadde he spent al his philosophye;
Ay Questio quid iuris' wolde he crye.
He was a gentil harlot and a kynde;
A bettre felawe sholde men noght fynde.
He wolde suffre for a quart of wyn
A good felawe to have his concubyn
A twelf-month, and excuse him atte fulle:
And prively a finch eek coude he pulle.
And if he fond owher a good felawe,
He wolde techen him to have non awe,
In swich cas, of the erchedeknes curs,
But-if a mannes soule were in his purs;
For in his purs he sholde y-punisshed be.
'Purs is the erchedeknes helle,' seyde he.
But wel I woot he lyèd right in dede;
Of cursing oghte ech gulty man him drede
For curs wol slee right as assoilling sav-
eth-

And also war him of a significavit.
In daunger hadde he at his owne gyse
The yonge girles of the diocyse,

655

661

And knew hir counseil, and was al hir reed.
A gerland hadde he set up-on his heed, 666
As greet as it were for an ale-stake;
A bokeler hadde he maad him of a cake.
With him ther rood a gentil PARDONER
Of Rouncivale, his frend and his compeer,
That streight was comen fro the court of
Rome.
671

Ful loude he song, Come hider, love, to me.'

This somnour bar to him a stif burdoun, Was nevere trompe of half so greet a soun. This pardoner hadde heer as yelow as wex, But smothe it heng, as doth a strike of flex; By ounces henge his lokkes that he hadde, And there with he his shuldres overspradde; But thinne it lay, by colpons oon and oon;

But hood, for Iolitee, ne wered he noon, 680
For it was trussèd up in his walet.
Him thoughte he rood al of the newe Iet;
Dischevele, save his cappe, he rood al bare.
Swiche glaringe eyen hadde he as an hare.
A vernicle hadde he sowèd on his cappe. 685
His walet lay biforn him in his lappe,
Bret-ful of pardoun come from Rome al
hoot.

A voys he hadde as smal as hath a goot.
No berd hadde he, ne nevere sholde have.
As smothe it was as it were late y-shave; 690

But of his craft, fro Berwik into Ware,
Ne was ther swich another pardoner.
For in his male he hadde a pilwe-beer,
Which that, he seyde, was our lady veyl: 695
He seyde he hadde a goblet of the seyl
That seynt Peter hadde, whan that he wente
Up-on the see, til Iesu Crist him hente.
He hadde a croys of latoun, ful of stones,
And in a glas he hadde pigges bones.
But with thise relikes, whan that he fond
A povre person dwelling up-on lond,
Up-on a day he gat him more moneye
Than that the person gat in monthes tweye.
And thus with feynèd flaterye and Iapes, 705
He made the person and the peple his apes.
But trewely to tellen, atte laste,

700

720

725

Why that assemblèd was this compaignye
In Southwerk, at this gentil hostelrye,
That highte the Tabard, faste by the Belle.
But now is tyme to yow for to telle
How that we baren us that ilke night,
Whan we were in that hostelrye alight.
And after wol I telle of our viage,
And al the remenaunt of our pilgrimage.
But first I pray yow of your curteisye,
That ye narette it nat my vileinye,
Thogh that I pleynly speke in this matere,
To telle yow hir wordes and hir chere;
Ne thogh I speke hir wordes proprely.
For this ye knowen al-so wel as I,
Who-so shal telle a tale after a man,
He moot reherce, as ny as evere he can,
Everich a word, if it be in his charge,
Al speke he never so rudeliche and large;
Or elles he moot telle his tale untrewe,

730

735

Or feyne thing, or fynde words newe. He may nat spare, al-thogh he were his brother;

740

He moot as wel seye o word as another.
Crist spak him-self ful brode in holy writ,
And wel ye woot, no vileinye is it.
Eek Plato seith, who-so that can him rede,
The wordes mote be cosin to the dede.
Also I prey yow to foryeve it me,
Al have I nat set folk in hir degree
Here in this tale, as that they sholde stonde;
My wit is short, ye may wel understonde. 746
Greet chere made our hoste us everichon,
And to the soper sette he us anon;
And served us with vitaille at the beste.
Strong was the wyn, and wel to drinke us
leste.

750

And spak of mirthe amonges othere thinges,
Whan that we hadde maad our rekeninges;
And seyde thus: 'Now, lordinges, trewely
Ye ben to me right welcome hertely:
For by my trouthe, if that I shal nat lye,
I ne saugh this yeer so mery a compaignye
At ones in this herberwe as is now.
Fayn wolde I doon yow mirthe, wiste I how.
And of a mirthe I am right now bithoght,
To doon yow ese, and it shal coste noght.

765

Ye goon to Caunterbury; God yow spede, The blisful martir quyte yow your mede. 770 And wel I woot, as ye goon by the weye, Ye shapen yow to talen and to pleye; For trewely, confort ne mirthe is noon To ryde by the weye doumb as a stoon; And therfore wol I maken yow disport, 775 As I seyde erst, and doon yow som confort. And if yow lyketh alle, by oon assent, Now for to stonden at my Iugement, And for to werken as I shal yow seye, To-morwe, whan ye ryden by the weye, 780 Now, by my fader soule, that is deed, But ye be merye, I wol yeve yow myn heed. Hold up your hond, withoute more speche.' Our counseil was nat longe for to seche; Us thought it was noght worth to make it 785 And graunted him with-outen more avys, And bad him seye his verdit, as him leste. 'Lordinges,' quod he, 'now herkneth for the beste;

wys,

But tak it not, I prey yow, in desdeyn;
This is the poynt, to speken short and pleyn,
That ech of yow, to shorte with our weye, 791
In this viage, shal telle tales tweye,

To Caunterbury-ward, I mene it so,
And hom-ward he shal tellen othere two,
Of aventures that whylom han bifalle.
And which of yow that bereth him best of
alle,

That is to seyn, that telleth in this cas
Tales of best sentence and most solas,
Shal han a soper at our aller cost

795

Here in this place, sitting by this post, 800
Whan that we come agayn fro Caunterbury.
And for to make yow the more mery,
I wol my-selven gladly with yow ryde,
Right at myn owne cost, and be your gyde.
And who-so wol my Iugement withseye 805
Shal paye al that we spenden by the weye.
And if ye vouche-sauf that it be so,
Tel me anon, with-outen wordes mo,
And I wol erly shape me therfore.'

This thing was graunted, and our othes

815

With ful glad herte, and preyden him also
That he wold vouche-sauf for to do so,
And that he wolde been our governour,
And of our tales Iuge and reportour,
And sette a soper at a certeyn prys;
And we wold reulèd been at his devys,
In heigh and lowe; and thus, by oon assent,
We been acorded to his Iugement.
And ther-up-on the wyn was fet anoon;
We dronken, and to reste wente echoon, 820
With-outen any lenger taryinge.

A-morwe, whan that day bigan to springe,
Up roos our host, and was our aller cok,
And gadrede us togidre, alle in a flok,
And forth we riden, a litel more than pas,
Un-to the watering of seint Thomas.
And there our host bigan his hors areste,
And seyde; 'Lordinges, herkneth if yow
leste.

826

Ye woot your forward, and I it yow recorde.
If even-song and morwe-song acorde, 830
Lat se now who shal telle the firste tale.
As evere mote I drinke wyn or ale,
Who-so be rebel to my Iugement
Shal paye for al that by the weye is spent.
Now draweth cut, er that we ferrer twinne;
He which that hath the shortest shal be-
ginne.'

'Sire knight,' quod he, ‘my maister and my lord, 837 Now draweth cut, for that is myn acord. Cometh neer,' quod he, 'my lady prioresse; And ye, sir clerk, lat be your shamfastnesse, Ne studieth noght; ley hond to, every man.'

And telle he moste his tale, as was resoun, By forward and by composicioun,

As ye han herd; what nedeth wordes mo? And whan this goode man saugh it was so, As he that wys was and obedient 851

To kepe his forward by his free assent, He seyde: Sin I shal beginne the game, What, welcome be the cut, a Goddes name! Now lat us ryde, and herkneth what I seye.' And with that word we riden forth our weye; 856

And he bigan with right a mery chere His tale anon, and seyde in this mannere.

THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE

5

10

A povre widwe somdel stope in age,
Was whylom dwelling in a narwe cotage,
Bisyde a grove, stondyng in a dale.
This widwe, of which I telle yow my tale,
Sin thilke day that she was last a wyf,
In pacience ladde a ful simple lyf,
For litel was hir catel and hir rente;
By housbondrye, of such as God hir sente,
She fond hir-self, and eek hir doghtren two.
Three large sowes hadde she, and namo,
Three kyn, and eek a sheep that highte Malle.
Ful sooty was hir bour, and eek hir halle,
In which she eet ful many a sclendre meel.
Of poynaunt sauce hir neded never a deel.
No deyntee morsel passèd thrugh hir throte;
Hir dyete was accordant to hir cote.
Repleccioun ne made hir nevere syk;
Attempree dyete was al hir phisyk,
And exercyse, and hertes suffisaunce.
The goute lette hir no-thing for to daunce, 20
Ne poplexye shente nat hir heed;

16

40

50

His comb was redder than the fyn coral,
And batailed, as it were a castel-wal.
His bile was blak, and as the Ieet it shoon;
Lyk asur were his legges, and his toon;
His nayles whytter than the lilie flour,
And lyk the burned gold was his colour.
This gentil cok hadde in his governaunce 45
Sevene hennes, for to doon al his pleasaunce,
Whiche were his sustres and his paramours,
And wonder lyk to him, as of colours.
Of whiche the faireste hewèd on hir throte
Was clepèd faire damoysele Pertelote.
Curteys she was, discreet, and debonaire,
And compaignable, and bar hir-self so faire,
Sin thilke day that she was seven night old,
That trewely she hath the herte in hold
Of Chauntecleer loken in every lith;
He loved hir so, that wel him was therwith.
But such a Loye was it to here hem singe,
Whan that the brighte sonne gan to springe,
In swete accord, 'my lief is faren in londe.'
For thilke tyme, as I have understonde, 60
Bestes and briddes coude speke and singe.
And so bifel, that in a dawenynge,
As Chauntecleer among his wyves alle
Sat on his perche, that was in the halle,
And next him sat this faire Pertelote,
This Chauntecleer gan gronen in his throte,
As man that in his dreem is drecchèd sore.
And whan that Pertelote thus herde him
rore,

55

65

In al the land of crowing nas his peer.
His vois was merier than the merye orgon
On messe-dayes that in the chirche gon;

30

Upon my body, and wolde han had me deed. His colour was bitwixe yelwe and reed; And tippèd was his tail, and bothe his eres With blak, unlyk the remenant of his heres; His snowte smal, with glowinge eyen tweye. Yet of his look for fere almost I deye;

86

This caused me my groning, douteles.'
'Avoy!' quod she, 'fy on yow, herteles !
Allas!' quod she, for, by that God above,
Now han ye lost myn herte and al my love;
I can nat love a coward, by my feith.
For certes, what so any womman seith,
We alle desyren, if it mighte be,

91

95

To han housbondes hardy, wyse, and free,
And secree, and no nigard, ne no fool,
Ne him that is agast of every tool,
Ne noon avauntour, by that God above!
How dorste ye sayn for shame unto youre
love,

That any thing mighte make yow aferd?

Have ye no mannes herte, and han a berd? Allas! and conne ye been agast of swevenis? No-thing, God wot, but vanitee, in sweven is. Swevenes engendren of replecciouns, 103 And ofte of fume, and of complecciouns, Whan humours been to habundant in a wight.

105

Certes this dreem, which ye han met tonight,

Cometh of the grete superfluitee

Of youre rede colera, pardee,

Which causeth folk to dremen in here dremes

Lo Catoun, which that was so wys a man, Seyde he nat thus, ne do no fors of dremes? Now, sire,' quod she, 'whan we flee fro the bemes,

For Goddes love, as tak som laxatyf;
Up peril of my soule, and of my lyf,
I counseille yow the beste, I wol nat lye, 125
That both of colere, and of malencolye
Ye purge yow; and for ye shul nat tarie,
Though in this toun is noon apotecarie,
I shal my-self to herbes techen yow,
That shul ben for your hele, and for your

160

166

17:

As wel of Ioye as tribulaciouns
That folk enduren in this lyf present.
Ther nedeth make of this noon arguthent;
The verray preve sheweth it in dede.
Oon of the gretteste auctours that men rede
Seith thus, that whylom two felawes wente
On pilgrimage, in a ful good entente;
And happèd so, they come into a toun,
Wher as ther was swich congregacioun
Of peple, and eek so streit of herbergage,
That they ne founde as muche as o cotage,
In which they bothe mighte y-loggèd be. 171
Wherfor thay mosten, of necessitee,
As for that night, departen compaignye;
And ech of hem goth to his hostelrye,
And took his logging as it wolde falle.
That oon of hem was logged in a stalle,
Fer in a yerd, with oxen of the plough;
That other man was loggèd wel y-nough,
As was his aventure, or his fortune,
That us governeth alle as in commune.
And so bifel, that, long er it were day,
This man mette in his bed, ther as he lay,
How that his felawe gan up-on him calle,
And seyde, "Allas! for in an oxes stalle
This night I shal be mordrèd ther I lye. 185
Now help me, dere brother, or I dye;
In alle haste com to me," he sayde.
This man out of his sleep for fere abrayde;
But whan that he was waknèd of his sleep,
He turned him, and took of this no keep;
Him thoughte his dreem nas but a vanitee.
Thus twyes in his sleping dremèd he.
And atte thridde tyme yet his felawe

180

192

210

My gold caused my mordre, sooth to sayn;"
And tolde him every poynt how he was slayn,
With a ful pitous face, pale of hewe.
And truste wel, his dreem he fond ful trewe;
For on the morwe, as sone as it was day, 205
To his felawes in he took the way;
And whan that he cam to this oxes stalle,
After his felawe he bigan to calle.
The hostiler answerde him anon,
And seyde, "Sire, your felawe is agon,
As sone as day he wente out of the toun."
This man gan fallen in suspecioun,
Remembring on his dremes that he mette,
And forth he goth, no lenger wolde he lette,
Unto the west gate of the toun, and fond
A dong-carte, as it were to donge lond, 216
That was arrayèd in that same wyse
As ye han herd the dede man devyse;
And with an hardy herte he gan to crye
Vengeaunce and Iustice of this felonye:
"My felawe mordrèd is this same night, 221
And in this carte he lyth gapinge upright.
I crye out on the ministres," quod he,
"That sholden kepe and reulen this citee;
Harrow! allas! her lyth my felawe slayn!"
What sholde I more un-to this tale sayn? 226
The peple out-sterte, and caste the cart to
grounde,

232

And in the middel of the dong they founde
The dede man, that mordrèd was al newe.
'O blisful God, that art so Iust and trewe!
Lo, how that thou biwreyest mordre alway!
Mordre wol out, that se we day by day.
Mordre is so wlatsom and abhominable
To God, that is so Iust and resonable,
That he ne wol nat suffre it helèd be;
Though it abyde a yeer, or two, or three,
Mordre wol out, this my conclusioun.
And right anoon, ministres of that toun
Han hent the carter, and so sore him pynèd,
And eek the hostiler so sore engynèd,
That thay biknewe hir wikkednesse anoon,
And were an-hangèd by the nekke-boon.

235

240

270

I sette not a straw by thy dreminges,
For swevenes been but vanitees and Iapes.
Men dreme al-day of owles or of apes,
And eek of many a mase therwithal;
Men dreme of thing that nevere was ne shal.
But sith I see that thou wolt heer abyde, 275
And thus for-sleuthen wilfully thy tyde,
God wot it reweth me; and have good day."
And thus he took his leve, and wente his way.
But er that he hadde halfe his cours y-scylèd,
Noot I nat why, ne what mischaunce it
eylèd,

280

285

But casuelly the shippes botme rente,
And ship and man under the water wente
In sighte of othere shippes it byside,
That with hem seylèd at the same tyde.
And therfor, faire Pertelote so dere,
By swiche ensamples olde maistow lere,
That no man sholde been to recchelees
Of dremes, for I sey thee, doutelees,
That many a dreem ful sore is for to drede.
'Lo, in the lyf of seint Kenelm, I rede, 290
That was Kenulphus sone, the noble king
Of Mercenrike, how Kenelm mette a thing;
A lyte er he was mordrèd, on a day,
His mordre in his avisioun he say.
His norice him expounèd every del
His swevene, and bad him for to kepe him
wel

295

For traisoun; but he nas but seven yeer old, And therefore litel tale hath he told