The Canterbury Tales

When that Aprilis, with his showers swoot, The drought of March hath pierced to the root, And bathed every vein in such licóur, Of which virtúe engender’d is the flower; When Zephyrus eke with his swootë breath Inspired hath in every holt and heath The tender croppës, and the youngë sun Hath in the Ram his halfë course y-run, And smallë fowlës makë melody, That sleepen all the night with open eye, (So pricketh them natúre in their coráges5); Then longë folk to go on pilgrimages, And palmers for to seekë strangë strands, To fernë hallows couth in sundry lands; And specially, from every shirë’s end Of Engleland, to Canterbury they wend, The holy blissful Martyr for to seek, That them hath holpen, when that they were sick.

Befell that, in that season on a day, In Southwark at the Tabard as I lay, Ready to wenden on my pilgrimage To Canterbury with devout coráge, At night was come into that hostelry Well nine and twenty in a company Of sundry folk, by áventure y-fall In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all, That toward Canterbury wouldë ride. The chamber, and the stables werë wide, And well we weren eased at the best. And shortly, when the sunnë was to rest, So had I spoken with them every one, That I was of their fellowship anon, And madë forword early for to rise, To take our way there as I you devise.

A good Wife was there of besidë Bath, But she was somedeal deaf, and that was scath. Of cloth-making she haddë such an haunt, She passed them of Ypres, and of Gaunt. In all the parish wifë was there none, That to the off’ring before her should gon, And if there did, certain so wroth was she, That she was out of allë charity. Her coverchiefs werë full fine of ground; I durstë swear, they weighedë ten pound That on the Sunday were upon her head. Her hosen weren of fine scarlet red, Full strait y-tied, and shoes full moist and new. Bold was her face, and fair and red of hue. She was a worthy woman all her live, Husbands at the church door had she had five, Withouten other company in youth; But thereof needeth not to speak as nouth. And thrice had she been at Jerusalem; She haddë passed many a strangë stream; At Rome she had been, and at Bologne, In Galice at Saint James, and at Cologne; She coudë much of wand’ring by the way. Gat-toothed was she, soothly for to say. Upon an ambler easily she sat, Y-wimpled well, and on her head an hat As broad as is a buckler or a targe. A foot-mantle about her hippës large, And on her feet a pair of spurrës sharp. In fellowship well could she laugh and carp. Of remedies of love she knew perchance, For of that art she coud the oldë dance.

Our counsel was not longë for to seech: Us thought it was not worth to make it wise, And granted him withoutë more avise, And bade him say his verdict, as him lest.

“Lordings (quoth he), now hearken for the best; But take it not, I pray you, in disdain; This is the point, to speak it plat and plain. That each of you, to shorten with your way In this voyáge, shall tellen talës tway, To Canterbury-ward, I mean it so, And homeward he shall tellen other two, Of aventúres that whilom have befall. And which of you that bear’th him best of all, That is to say, that telleth in this case Talës of best senténce and most solace, Shall have a supper at your allër cost Here in this placë, sitting by this post, When that ye come again from Canterbury. And for to makë you the morë merry, I will myselfë gladly with you ride, Right at mine owen cost, and be your guide. And whoso will my judgëment withsay, Shall pay for all we spenden by the way. And if ye vouchësafe that it be so, Tell me anon withoutë wordës mo’, And I will early shapë me therefore.”

Whilom there was dwelling in Oxenford A richë gnof, that guestës held to board, And of his craft he was a carpentér. With him there was dwelling a poor scholér, Had learned art, but all his fantasy Was turned for to learn astrology. He coudë a certain of conclusions To deemë by interrogations, If that men asked him in certain hours, When that men should have drought or ellës show’rs: Or if men asked him what shouldë fall Of everything, I may not reckon all.

This clerk was called Hendy Nicholas; Of dernë love he knew and of solace; And therewith he was sly and full privy, And like a maiden meekë for to see. A chamber had he in that hostelry Alone, withouten any company, Full fetisly y-dight with herbës swoot, And he himself was sweet as is the root Of liquorice, or any setewall. His Almagest, and bookës great and small, His astrolabe, belonging to his art, His augrim stonës, layed fair apart On shelvës couched at his beddë’s head, His press y-cover’d with a falding red. And all above there lay a gay psalt’ry On which he made at nightës melody, So sweetëly, that all the chamber rang: And Angelus ad virginem950 he sang. And after that he sung the kingë’s note; Full often blessed was his merry throat. And thus this sweetë clerk his timë spent After his friendës finding and his rent.

This carpenter had wedded new a wife, Which that he loved morë than his life: Of eighteen year, I guess, she was of age.

In oldë dayës of the king Arthoúr, Of which that Britons speakë great honoúr, All was this land full fill’d of faërie; The Elf-queen, with her jolly company, Danced full oft in many a green mead. This was the old opinion, as I read; I speak of many hundred years ago; But now can no man see none elvës mo’, For now the great charitý and prayéres Of limitours, and other holy freres, That search every land and ev’ry stream, As thick as motës in the sunnë-beam, Blessing halls, chambers, kitchenës, and bowers, Cities and burghës, castles high and towers, Thorpës and barnës, shepens and dairies, This makes that there be now no faëries: For there as wont to walkë was an elf, There walketh now the limitour himself, In undermelës and in morrownings, And saith his matins and his holy things, As he goes in his limitatioún. Women may now go safely up and down, In every bush, and under every tree; There is none other incubus but he; And he will do to them no dishonoúr.