Here biginneth the Book of the Tales of Caunterbury.
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 Inspired hath in every holt 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 corages): Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, (And palmers for to seken straunge strondes) To ferne halwes, couthe in sondry londes; And specially, from every shires ende Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, The holy blisful martir for to seke, That hem hath holpen whan that they were seke.
Bifel that, in that seson, on a day,
In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay, Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage To Caunterbury with ful devout corage, At night was come into that hostelrye Wel nyne and twenty in a companye, Of sondry folk, by aventure y-falle In felawshipe, and pilgrims were they alle, That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde. The chambres and the stables weren wyde, And wel we weren esed atte beste.
And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste, So hadde I spoken with hem everichon, That I was of hir felawshipe anon, And made forward erly for to ryse, To take our wey, ther as I yow devyse.
But nathelees, whyl I have tyme and space, Er that I ferther in this tale pace, Me thinketh it acordaunt to resoun To telle yow al the condicioun Of ech of hem, so as it semed me,
And whiche they weren, and of what degree, And eek in what array that they were inne: And at a knight than wol I first biginne.
A Knight ther was, and that a worthy man, That, from the tyme that he first bigan To riden out, he loved chivalrye, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisye. Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre, And thereto hadde he riden (no man ferre) 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 bigonne Aboven alle nacions in Pruce; In Lettow hadde he reysed and in Ruce, No Cristen man so ofte of his degree. In Gernade at the sege eek hadde he be Of Algezir, and riden in Belmarye. At Lyeys was he, and at Satalye, Whan they were wonne; and in the Grete See
At many a noble aryve hadde he be. At mortal batailles hadde he been fiftene, And foughten for our feith at Tramyssene In listes thries, and ay slain his foo. This ilke worthy knight had been also Somtyme with the lord of Palatye Ageyn another hethen in Turkye. And evermore he hadde a sovereyn prys; And though that he were worthy, he was wys, And of his port as meke as is a mayde.
He never yet no vileinye ne sayde In al his lyf unto no maner wight; He was a verray parfit gentil knight. But, for to tellen yow of his array, His hors were gode, but he was nat gay. Of fustian he wered a gipoun, Al bismotered with his habergeoun; For he was late y-come from his viage, And wente for to doon his pilgrimage.
With him ther was his sone, a yong Squier,
A lovyere and a lusty bacheler, With lokkes crulle as they were leyd in presse. Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse. Of his stature he was of evene lengthe, And wonderly delyvere, and greet of strengthe. And he had been somtyme in chivachye, In Flaundres, in Artoys, and Picardye, And born him wel as of so litel space, In hope to stonden in his lady grace. Embrouded was he as it were a mede,
Al ful of fresshe floures, whyte and rede; Singinge he was, or floytinge, al the day; He was as fresh as is the month of May. Short was his gowne, with sleeves longe and wyde. Wel coude he sitte on hors, and faire ryde. He coude songes make and wel endyte, Juste and eek daunce, and wel purtreye and wryte. So hote he loved that by nightertale He sleep namore than dooth a nightingale. Curteis he was, lowly and servisable,
And carf biforn his fader at the table.
A Yeman hadde he and servantz namo At that tyme, for him liste ryde so; And he was clad in cote and hood of grene. A sheef of pecok arwes, bright and kene, Under his belt he bar ful thriftily (Wel coude he dresse his takel yemanly; His arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe), And in his hand he bar a mighty bowe. A not heed hadde he, with a broun visage.
Of wodecraft wel coude he al the usage. Upon his arm he bar a gay bracer, And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler, And on that other syde a gay daggere, Harneised wel and sharp as point of spere. A Cristopher on his brest of silver shene. An horn he bar, the bawdrik was of grene. A forster was he, soothly as I gesse.
Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse, That of hir smyling was ful simple and coy;
Hire gretteste ooth was but by Seynte Loy; And she was cleped Madame Eglentyne. Ful wel she soong the service divine, Entuned in hir nose ful semely; And Frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly, After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe, For Frenssh of Paris was to hir unknowe. At mete wel y-taught was she withalle; She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle, Ne wette hir fyngres in hir sauce depe.
Wel coude she carie a morsel and wel kepe That no drope ne fille upon hir brest. In curteisye was set ful muchel hir lest. Hir over lippe wyped she so clene That in hir coppe was no ferthing sene Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte. Ful semely after hir mete she raughte. And sikerly she was of greet desport, And ful plesant, and amiable of port, And peyned hir to countrefete chere
Of court, and been estatlich of manere, And to ben holden digne of reverence. But, for to speken of hir conscience, She was so charitable and so pitous She wolde wepe if that she saugh a mous Caught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde. Of smale houndes hadde she that she fedde With rosted flesh, or milk and wastel-breed. But sore weep she if oon of hem were deed, Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte;
And al was conscience and tendre herte. Ful semely hir wimpel pinched was; Hir nose tretys; hir eyen greye as glas; Hir mouth ful smal and ther-to softe and reed; But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed; It was almost a spanne brood, I trowe; For, hardily, she was not undergrowe. Ful fetis was hir cloke, as I was war. Of smal coral aboute hir arm she bar A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene,
And ther-on heng a brooch of gold ful shene, On which ther was first write a crowned A, And after, Amor vincit omnia.
Another Nun also with her hadde she, That was her chapeleyne, and preestes thre.
A Monk ther was, a fair for the maistrie, An out-rydere, that lovede venerye; A manly man, to been an abbot able. Ful many a deyntee hors hadde he in stable; And whan he rood, men mighte his brydel here
Gynglen in a whistling wynd als cleere And eek as loude as dooth the chapel belle. Ther as this lord was kepere of the celle, The reule of seint Maure or of seint Beneit, By-cause that it was old and som-del streit, This ilke monk leet olde thinges pace, And held after the newe world the space. He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen, That seith that hunters ben nat holy men; Ne that a monk, whan he is cloisterlees,
Is likned til a fish that is waterlees— This is to seyn, a monk out of his cloistre. But thilke text held he nat worth an oistre. And I seyde, his opinion was good: What sholde he studie and make him-selven wood, Upon a book in cloistre alwey to poure, Or swinken with his handes and laboure, As Austin bit? How shal the world be served? Lat Austin have his swink to him reserved! Therfore he was a prikasour aright;
Grehoundes he hadde, as swift as fowel in flight; Of priking and of hunting for the hare Was al his lust, for no cost wolde he spare. I seigh his sleves purfiled at the hond With grys, and that the fyneste of a lond; And, for to festne his hood under his chin, He hadde of gold y-wroght a curious pin; A love-knotte in the greter ende ther was. His heed was balled, that shoon as any glas, And eek his face, as it hadde been anoint.
He was a lord ful fat and in good point; His eyen stepe, and rollinge in his heed, That stemed as a forneys of a leed; His botes souple, his hors in greet estat. Now certainly he was a fair prelat; He was nat pale as a for-pyned goost. A fat swan loved he best of any roost; His palfrey was as broun as is a berye.
(And so Chaucer proceeds to describe each of the remaining pilgrims in turn — the jolly Friar, the worldly Merchant, the scholarly Clerk, the crafty Wife of Bath, and many more — each with their own distinct attire and personality. After depicting a total of twenty-nine pilgrims, Chaucer ends the General Prologue by recounting how they all agreed to tell stories on their journey to Canterbury.)
And with that word we riden forth our weye;
And he bigan with right a mery chere His tale anon, and seyde in this manere.
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