From The Canterbury Tales - anthology.

From The Canterbury Tales - anthology. The writing of 14th-century English poet Geoffrey Chaucer combines influences from many European traditions: secular and religious, comic and philosophical. These elements are brought together in The Canterbury Tales (probably written after 1387) about a group of pilgrims from varied backgrounds who recount often lusty tales on their way to the shrine of Saint Thomas à Becket. In this excerpt from the General Prologue, Chaucer introduces the pilgrims, including the courtly Knight and his party; the lady Prioress; the hunting Monk; and the flattering Friar. From The Canterbury Tales By Geoffrey Chaucer From the General Prologue Whan that April with his showres soote The droughte of March hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veine in swich licour, Of which vertu engendred is the flowr; Whan Zephyrus eek with his sweete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne, And smale fowles maken melodye That sleepen al the night with open yë-- (So priketh hem Nature in hir corages)-- Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes To ferne halwes, couthe in sondry londes; And specially from every shires ende Of Engelond to Canterbury they wende, The holy blisful martyr for to seeke, 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 Canterbury with ful devout corage, At nyght was come into that hostelrye Wel nine and twenty in a compaignye Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle, That toward caunterbury wolden ride. The chambres and the stables weren wide, And wel we weren esed at the beste. And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste, So hadde I spoken with hem everichoon That I was of hir felaweshipe anoon, And made forward erly for to rise, To take oure way ther as I you devise. But nathelees, whil I have tyme and space, Er that I ferther in this tale pace, Me thinketh it acordaunt to resoun To telle yoe al the condicioun Of eech of hem, so as it seemed me, And whiche they were, and of what degree, And eek in what array that they were inne: And at a knight thanne wol I first biginne. A knyght ther was, and that a worthy man, That fro 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 therto hadde he riden, no man ferre, As wel in Cristendom as in hethenesse, And evere honoured for his worthinesse. At Alisaundre he was whan it was wonne; Ful ofte tyme he hadde the boord bigonne Aboven alle nacions in Pruce; In Lettou hadde he reised, 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 Lyes was he and at Satalye, Whan they were wonne; and in the Grete See At many a noble arivee hadde he be. At mortal batailes hadde he been fifteene, And foughten for oure feith at Tramissene In listes thries, and ay slayn his fo. This ilke worthy knyght hadde been also Sometime with the lord of Palatye Again another hethen in Turkye; And everemore he hadde a soverein pris. And though that he were worthy, he was wis, And of his port as meeke as is a maide. He nevere yet no vilainye ne saide In al his lif unto no manere wight. He was a verray, parfit, gentil knight. But, for to tellen yow of his array, His hors were goode, but he was nat gay. Of fustian he wered a gipoun Al bismotered with his habergeoun, For he was late come from his viage, And wente for to doon his pilgrimage. With hym ther was his sone, a yong Squier, A lovere and a lusty bacheler, With lokkes crulle as they were led in presse. Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse. Of his stature he was of evene lengthe, And wonderly delivere, and of greet strengthe. And he hadde been som time in chivachye In Flaundres, in Artois, 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 flowres, white and rede. Singing he was, or floiting, al the day: He was as fressh as is the month of May. Short was his gowne, with sleves longe and wide. Wel coude he sitte on hors, and faire ride. He coude songes make, and wel endite, Juste and eek daunce, and wel portraye and write. So hote he loved that by nightertale He slepte namore than dooth a nightingale. Curteis he was, lowely, and servisable, And carf biforn his fader at the table. A Yeman hadde he and servants namo At that time, for him liste ride so; And he was clad in cote and hood of greene. A sheef of pecok arwes, bright and keene, Under his belt he bar ful thriftily; Wel coude he dresse his takel yemanly: His arwes drouped nought with fetheres lowe. And in his hand he bar a mighty bowe. A not-heed hadde he, with a brown visage. Of wodecraft wel coude he al the usage. Upon his arm he bar a gay bracer, And by his side a swerd and a bokeler, And on that oother syde a gay daggere, Harneised wel and sharp as point of spere; A Cristophre on his brest of silver sheene; An horn he bar, the bawdrik was of greene; A forster was he, soothly, as I gesse. Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse, That of hir smiling was ful simple and coy; Hir gretteste ooth was but by Sainte Loy! And she was cleped Madame Eglentine. 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 at the Bowe-- For Frenssh of Paris was to hire unknowe. At mete wel ytaught was she withalle: She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle, Ne wette hir fingres in hir sauce deepe; Wel coude she carye a morsel, and wel keepe That no drope ne fille upon hir brest. In curteisye was set ful muchel hir lest. Hir over-lippe wiped she so clene That in hir coppe ther was no ferthing seene Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte; Ful semely after hir mete she raughte. And sikerly she was of greet disport, And ful plesant, and amiable of port, And pained hire to countrefete cheere Of court, and to been statlich of manere, And to been holden digne of reverence. But, for to speken of hir conscience, She was so charitable and so pitous She wolde weepe, if that she saw a mous Caught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde. Of smale houndes hadde she that she fedde With rosted flessh, or milk and wastelbreed. But soore wepte she if oon of hem were deed, Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte; And al was conscience and tendre herte. Ful semyly hir wimpel pinched was, Hir nose tretis, hir yën greye as glas, Hir mouth ful smal, and therto softe and reed, But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed: It was almoost a spanne brood, I trowe; For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe. Ful fetis was hir cloke, as I was war; Of smal coral aboute hir arm she bar A paire of bedes, gauded al with greene, And theron heeng a brooch of gold ful sheene, On which ther was first writen a crowned A, And after, Amor vincit omnia. Another nonne with hire hadde she, That was hir chapelaine, and preestes three. A Monk ther was, a fair for the maistrye, An outridere, that lovede venerye, A manly man, to been an abbot able. Ful many a daintee hors hadde he in stable, And whan he rood, men mighte his bridel heere Ginglen in a whistling wind as clere And eek as loude as dooth the chapel belle Ther as this lord was kepere of the celle, The rule of Saint Maure or of Saint Beneit, By cause that it was old and somdeel strait-- This ilke Monk leet olde thinges pace, And heeld after the newe world the space. He yaf nought of that text a pulled hen, That saith that hunteres been nought holy men, Ne that a monk, whan he is recchelees, Is likned til a fissh that is waterlees-- This is to sayn, a monk out of his cloistre; But thilke text heeld he nat worth an oystre. And I saide his opinion was good: What sholde he studye and make himselven wood, Upon a book in cloistre alway to poure, Or swinke 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 fowl in flight. Of priking and of hunting for the hare Was al his lust, for no cost wolde he spare. I saw his sleeves purfiled at the hand With gris, and that the fineste of a land; And for to festne his hood under his chin, He hadde of gold wrought a ful curious pin; A love-knotte in the grettere ende ther was. His heed was balled, that shoon as any glas, And eek his face, as he hadde been anoint: He was a lord ful fat and in good point; His yën steepe, and rolling in his heed, That stemed as a furnais of a leed, His bootes souple, his hors in greet estat-- Now certainly he was a fair prelat. He was nat pale as a forpined gost: A fat swan loved he best of any rost. His palfrey was as brown as is a berye. A Frere ther was, a wantoune and a merye, A limitour, a ful solempne man. In alle the ordres foure is noon that can So muche of daliaunce and fair langage. He hadde maad ful many a mariage Of yonge wommen at his owene cost; Unto his ordre he was a noble post. Ful wel biloved and familier was he With frankelains over al in his contree, And eek with worthy wommen of the town-- For he hadde power of confessioun, As saide himself, more than a curat, For of his ordre he was licenciat. Ful swetely herde he confessioun, And plesant was his absolucioun: He was an esy man to yeve penaunce, Ther as he wiste to have a good pitaunce; For unto a poore ordre for to yive Is signe that a man is wel yshrive, For if he yaf, he dorste make avaunt He wiste that a man was repentaunt; For many a man so hard is of his herte, He may nat wepe, though hym sore smerte. Therfore, in stede of weeping and prayeres, Men mote yive silver to the poore freres. His tipet was ay farsed ful of knives And pinnes, for to yiven faire wives. And certainly he hadde a merye note; Wel coude he singe and playen on a rote; Of yeddinges he bar outrely the pris. His nekke whit was as the flowr-de-lis; Therto he strong was as a champioun. He knew the tavernes wel in every toun, And every hostiler and tappestere, Bet than a lazar or a beggestere. For unto swich a worthy man as he Acorded nat, as by his facultee, To have with sike lazars aquaintaunce: It is nat honeste, it may nought avaunce, For to delen with no swich poraile, But al with riche, and selleres of vitaile; And over al ther as profit sholde arise, Curteis he was and lowely of servise. Ther was no man nowher so vertuous: He was the beste beggere in his hous. And yaf a certaine ferme for the graunt: Noon of his bretheren cam ther in his haunt. For though a widwe hadde noght a sho, So plesant was his In principio Yet wolde he have a ferthing, er he wente; His purchas was wel bettre than his rente. And rage he coude, as it were right a whelpe; In love-dayes ther coude he muchel helpe, For ther he was nat lik a cloisterer, With a thredbare cope, as is a poore scoler, But he was lik a maister or a pope. Of double worstede was his semicope, That rounded as a belle out of the presse. Somwhat he lipsed for his wantounesse To make his Englissh sweete upon his tonge; And in his harping, whan he hadde songe, His yën twinkled in his heed aright As doon the sterres in the frosty night. This worthy limitour was cleped Huberd. A Marchant was ther with a forked beerd, In motelee, and hye on hors he sat, Upon his heed a Flandrissh bevere hat, His bootes clasped faire and fetisly. His resons he spak ful solempnely, Sounyng alway th' encrees of his winning. He wolde the see were kept for any thing Bitwixen Middelburgh and Orewelle. Wel coude he in eschaunge sheeldes selle. This worthy man ful wel his wit bisette: Ther wiste no wight that he was in dette, So statly was he of his governaunce, With his bargaines, and with his chevissaunce. Forsoothe he was a worthy man withalle, But, sooth to sayn, I noot how men hym calle.