The Canterbury Tales; PROLOGUE
Whan
that
Aprille,
with
hise
shoures
soote,
The
droghte
of
March
hath
perced
to
the
roote
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
yronne,
And
smale
foweles
maken
melodye,
That
slepen
al
the
nyght
with
open
eye-
So
priketh
hem
Nature
in
hir
corages-
Thanne
longen
folk
to
goon
on
pilgrimages
And
palmeres
for
to
seken
straunge
strondes
To
ferne
halwes,
kowthe
in
sondry
londes;
And
specially,
from
every
shires
ende
Of
Engelond,
to
Caunturbury
they
wende,
The
hooly
blisful
martir
for
the
seke
That
hem
hath
holpen,
whan
that
they
were
seeke.
Bifil
that
in
that
seson,
on
a
day,
In
Southwerk
at
the
Tabard
as
I
lay,
Redy
to
wenden
on
my
pilgrymage
To
Caunterbury,
with
ful
devout
corage,
At
nyght
were
come
into
that
hostelrye
Wel
nyne
and
twenty
in
a
compaignye
Of
sondry
folk,
by
aventure
yfalle
In
felaweshipe,
and
pilgrimes
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
everychon
That
I
was
of
hir
felaweshipe
anon,
And
made
forward
erly
for
to
ryse
To
take
our
wey,
ther
as
I
yow
devyse.
But
nathelees,
whil
I
have
tyme
and
space,
Er
that
I
ferther
in
this
tale
pace,
Me
thynketh
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
knyght
than
wol
I
first
bigynne.
A
knyght
ther
was,
and
that
a
worthy
man,
That
fro
the
tyme
that
he
first
bigan
To
riden
out,
he
loved
chivalrie,
Trouthe
and
honour,
fredom
and
curteisie.
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
worthynesse.
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
seege
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
arive
hadde
he
be.
At
mortal
batailles
hadde
he
been
fiftene,
And
foughten
for
oure
feith
at
Tramyssene
In
lystes
thries,
and
ay
slayn
his
foo.
This
ilke
worthy
knyght
hadde
been
also
Somtyme
with
the
lord
of
Palatye
Agayn
another
hethen
in
Turkye,
And
everemoore
he
hadde
a
sovereyn
prys.
And
though
that
he
were
worthy,
he
was
wys,
And
of
his
port
as
meeke
as
is
a
mayde;
He
nevere
yet
no
vileynye
ne
sayde
In
al
his
lyf
unto
no
maner
wight;
He
was
a
verray
parfit
gentil
knyght.
But
for
to
tellen
yow
of
his
array,
His
hors
weren
goode,
but
he
was
nat
gay.
Of
fustian
he
wered
a
gypoun,
Al
bismotered
with
his
habergeoun;
For
he
was
late
ycome
from
his
viage,
And
wente
for
to
doon
his
pilgrymage.
With
hym
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
of
greet
strengthe.
And
he
hadde
been
somtyme
in
chyvachie
In
Flaundres,
in
Artoys,
and
Pycardie,
And
born
hym
weel,
as
of
so
litel
space,
In
hope
to
stonden
in
his
lady
grace.
Embrouded
was
he,
as
it
were
a
meede,
Al
ful
of
fresshe
floures
whyte
and
reede;
Syngynge
he
was,
or
floytynge,
al
the
day,
He
was
as
fressh
as
is
the
monthe
of
May.
Short
was
his
gowne,
with
sleves
longe
and
wyde.
Wel
koude
he
sitte
on
hors,
and
faire
ryde,
He
koude
songes
make,
and
wel
endite,
Juste,
and
eek
daunce,
and
weel
purtreye
and
write.
So
hoote
he
lovede,
that
by
nyghtertale
He
slepte
namoore
than
dooth
a
nyghtyngale.
Curteis
he
was,
lowely,
and
servysable,
And
carf
biforn
his
fader
at
the
table.
A
Yeman
hadde
he,
and
servantz
namo
At
that
tyme,
for
hym
liste
ride
soo;
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
koude
he
dresse
his
takel
yemanly,
Hise
arwes
drouped
noght
with
fetheres
lowe-
And
in
his
hand
he
baar
a
myghty
bowe.
A
not
-heed
hadde
he,
with
a
broun
visage,
Of
woodecraft
wel
koude
he
al
the
usage.
Upon
his
arm
he
baar
a
gay
bracer,
And
by
his
syde
a
swerd
and
a
bokeler,
And
on
that
oother
syde
a
gay
daggere,
Harneised
wel,
and
sharpe
as
point
of
spere.
A
Cristophere
on
his
brest
of
silver
sheene,
An
horn
he
bar,
the
bawdryk
was
of
grene.
A
Forster
was
he,
soothly,
as
I
gesse.
Ther
was
also
a
Nonne,
a
Prioresse,
That
of
hir
smylyng
was
ful
symple
and
coy.
Hir
gretteste
ooth
was
but
by
Seinte
Loy,
And
she
was
cleped
Madame
Eglentyne.
Ful
weel
she
soong
the
service
dyvyne,
Entuned
in
hir
nose
ful
semely;
And
Frenssh
she
spak
ful
faire
and
fetisly
After
the
scole
of
Stratford-atte-Bowe,
For
Frenssh
of
Parys
was
to
hir
unknowe.
At
mete
wel
ytaught
was
she
withalle;
She
leet
no
morsel
from
hir
lippes
falle,
Ne
wette
hir
fyngres
in
hir
sauce
depe.
Wel
koude
she
carie
a
morsel,
and
wel
kepe
That
no
drope
ne
fille
upon
hir
brist.
In
curteisie
was
set
ful
muche
hir
list;
Hire
over-lippe
wyped
she
so
clene,
That
in
hir
coppe
ther
was
no
ferthyng
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
plesaunt,
and
amyable
of
port,
And
peyned
hir
to
countrefete
cheere
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
Kaught
in
a
trappe,
if
it
were
deed
or
bledde.
Of
smale
houndes
hadde
she,
that
she
fedde
With
rosted
flessh,
or
milk
and
wastel-breed.
But
soore
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
semyly
hir
wympul
pynched
was,
Hire
nose
tretys,
hir
eyen
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
fetys
was
hir
cloke,
as
I
was
war;
Of
smal
coral
aboute
hir
arm
she
bar
A
peire
of
bedes,
gauded
al
with
grene,
An
theron
heng
a
brooch
of
gold
ful
sheene,
On
which
ther
was
first
write
a
crowned
`A,'
And
after,`Amor
vincit
omnia.'
Another
Nonne
with
hir
hadde
she,
That
was
hire
Chapeleyne,
and
preestes
thre.
A
Monk
ther
was,
a
fair
for
the
maistrie,
An
outridere,
that
lovede
venerie,
A
manly
man,
to
been
an
abbot
able.
Ful
many
a
deyntee
hors
hadde
he
in
stable;
And
whan
he
rood,
men
myghte
his
brydel
heere
Gynglen
in
a
whistlynge
wynd
als
cleere,
And
eek
as
loude,
as
dooth
the
chapel
belle,
Ther
as
this
lord
was
keper
of
the
celle.
The
reule
of
Seint
Maure,
or
of
Seint
Beneit,
Bycause
that
it
was
old
and
somdel
streit-
This
ilke
Monk
leet
olde
thynges
pace,
And
heeld
after
the
newe
world
the
space.
He
yaf
nat
of
that
text
a
pulled
hen,
That
seith
that
hunters
beth
nat
hooly
men,
Ne
that
a
monk,
whan
he
is
recchelees,
Is
likned
til
a
fissh
that
is
waterlees-
This
is
to
seyn,
a
monk
out
of
his
cloystre-
But
thilke
text
heeld
he
nat
worth
an
oystre!
And
I
seyde
his
opinioun
was
good,
What
sholde
he
studie,
and
make
hymselven
wood,
Upon
a
book
in
cloystre
alwey
to
poure,
Or
swynken
with
his
handes
and
laboure
As
Austyn
bit?
How
shal
the
world
be
served?
Lat
Austyn
have
his
swynk
to
him
reserved;
Therfore
he
was
a
prikasour
aright,
Grehoundes
he
hadde,
as
swift
as
fowel
in
flight;
Of
prikyng
and
of
huntyng
for
the
hare
Was
al
his
lust,
for
no
cost
wolde
he
spare.
I
seigh
his
sleves
ypurfiled
at
the
hond
With
grys,
and
that
the
fyneste
of
a
lond;
And
for
to
festne
his
hood
under
his
chyn
He
hadde
of
gold
ywroght
a
curious
pyn;
A
love-knotte
in
the
gretter
ende
ther
was.
His
heed
was
balled,
that
shoon
as
any
glas,
And
eek
his
face,
as
it
hadde
been
enoynt.
He
was
a
lord
ful
fat
and
in
good
poynt,
Hise
eyen
stepe,
and
rollynge
in
his
heed,
That
stemed
as
a
forneys
of
a
leed;
His
bootes
souple,
his
hors
in
greet
estaat;
Now
certeinly
he
was
a
fair
prelaat!
He
was
nat
pale
as
a
forpyned
goost,
A
fat
swan
loved
he
best
of
any
roost.
His
palfrey
was
as
broun
as
is
a
berye,
A
Frere
ther
was,
a
wantowne
and
a
merye,
A
lymytour,
a
ful
solempne
man,
In
alle
the
ordres
foure
is
noon
that
kan
So
muchel
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,
And
wel
biloved
and
famulier
was
he
With
frankeleyns
overal
in
his
contree
And
eek
with
worthy
wommen
of
the
toun,
For
he
hadde
power
of
confessioun,
As
seyde
hymself,
moore
than
a
curat,
For
of
his
ordre
he
was
licenciat.
Ful
swetely
herde
he
confessioun,
And
plesaunt
was
his
a
absolucioun,
He
was
an
esy
man
to
yeve
penaunce
Ther
as
he
wiste
to
have
a
good
pitaunce;
For
unto
a
povre
ordre
for
to
yive
Is
signe
that
a
man
is
wel
yshryve;
For,
if
he
yaf,
he
dorste
make
avaunt,
He
wiste
that
a
man
was
repentaunt.
For
many
a
man
so
harde
is
of
his
herte,
He
may
nat
wepe,
al
thogh
hym
soore
smerte;
Therfore,
in
stede
of
wepynge
and
preyeres,
Men
moote
yeve
silver
to
the
povre
freres.
His
typet
was
ay
farsed
ful
of
knyves
And
pynnes,
for
to
yeven
yonge
wyves.
And
certeinly
he
hadde
a
murye
note,
Wel
koude
he
synge,
and
pleyen
on
a
rote,
Of
yeddynges
he
baar
outrely
the
pris.
His
nekke
whit
was
as
the
flour
delys;
Therto
he
strong
was
as
a
champioun,
He
knew
the
tavernes
wel
in
every
toun
And
everich
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
aqueyntaunce;
It
is
nat
honeste,
it
may
nat
avaunce,
For
to
deelen
with
no
swich
poraille,
But
al
with
riche
and
selleres
of
vitaille;
And
overal,
ther
as
profit
sholde
arise,
Curteis
he
was,
and
lowely
of
servyse.
Ther
nas
no
man
nowher
so
vertuous;
He
was
the
beste
beggere
in
his
hous,
(And
yaf
a
certeyn
ferme
for
the
graunt
Noon
of
his
brethren
cam
ther
in
his
haunt
For
thogh
a
wydwe
hadde
noght
a
sho,
So
plesaunt
was
his
`In
principio'
Yet
wolde
he
have
a
ferthyng
er
he
wente;
His
purchas
was
wel
bettre
than
his
rente.
And
rage
he
koude,
as
it
were
right
a
whelpe;
In
love-dayes
ther
koude
he
muchel
helpe;
For
there
he
was
nat
lyk
a
cloysterer,
With
a
thredbare
cope,
as
is
a
povre
scoler,
But
he
was
lyk
a
maister
or
a
pope;
Of
double
worstede
was
his
semycope,
That
rounded
as
a
belle
out
of
the
presse.
Somwhat
he
lipsed
for
his
wantownesse
To
make
his
Englissh
sweete
upon
his
tonge,
And
in
his
harpyng,
whan
that
he
hadde
songe,
Hise
eyen
twynkled
in
his
heed
aryght
As
doon
the
sterres
in
the
frosty
nyght.
This
worthy
lymytour
was
cleped
Huberd.
A
Marchant
was
ther,
with
a
forkek
berd,
In
mottelee,
and
hye
on
horse
he
sat,
Upon
his
heed
a
Flaundryssh
bevere
hat,
His
bootes
clasped
faire
and
fetisly.
Hise
resons
he
spak
ful
solempnely,
Sownynge
alway
thencrees
of
his
wynnyng.
He
wolde
the
see
were
kept
for
any
thyng
Bitwixe
Middelburgh
and
Orewelle.
Wel
koude
he
in
eschaunge
sheeldes
selle.
This
worthy
man
ful
wel
his
wit
bisette;
Ther
wiste
no
wight
that
he
was
in
dette,
So
estatly
was
he
of
his
governaunce,
With
his
bargaynes
and
with
his
chevyssaunce.
Forsothe,
he
was
a
worthy
man
with-alle,
But,
sooth
to
seyn,
I
noot
how
men
hym
calle.
A
Clerk
ther
was
of
Oxenford
also,
That
unto
logyk
hadde
longe
ygo.
As
leene
was
his
hors
as
is
a
rake,
And
he
nas
nat
right
fat,
I
undertake,
But
looked
holwe
and
therto
sobrely.
Ful
thredbare
was
his
overeste
courtepy,
For
he
hadde
geten
hym
yet
no
benefice,
Ne
was
so
worldly
for
to
have
office,
For
hym
was
levere
have
at
his
beddes
heed
Twenty
bookes,
clad
in
blak
or
reed,
Of
Aristotle
and
his
plilosophie,
Than
robes
riche,
or
fithele,
or
gay
sautrie.
But
al
be
that
he
was
a
philosophre,
Yet
hadde
he
but
litel
gold
in
cofre;
But
al
that
he
myghte
of
his
freendes
hente,
On
bookes
and
his
lernynge
he
it
spente,
And
bisily
gan
for
the
soules
preye
Of
hem
that
yaf
hym
wherwith
to
scoleye.
Of
studie
took
he
moost
cure
and
moost
heede,
Noght
o
word
spak
he
moore
than
was
neede,
And
that
was
seyd
in
forme
and
reverence,
And
short
and
quyk,
and
ful
of
hy
sentence.
Sownynge
in
moral
vertu
was
his
speche,
And
gladly
wolde
he
lerne,
and
gladly
teche.
A
Sergeant
of
the
Lawe,
war
and
wys,
That
often
hadde
been
at
the
parvys,
Ther
was
also,
ful
riche
of
excellence.
Discreet
he
was,
and
of
greet
reverence,-
He
semed
swich,
hise
wordes
weren
so
wise.
Justice
he
was
ful
often
in
assise,
By
patente,
and
by
pleyn
commissioun.
For
his
science,
and
for
his
heigh
renoun,
Of
fees
and
robes
hadde
he
many
oon.
So
greet
a
purchasour
was
nowher
noon,
Al
was
fee
symple
to
hym
in
effect,
His
purchasyng
myghte
nat
been
infect.
Nowher
so
bisy
a
man
as
he
ther
nas,
And
yet
he
semed
bisier
than
he
was;
In
termes
hadde
he
caas
and
doomes
alle,
That
from
the
tyme
of
Kyng
William
were
falle.
Therto
he
koude
endite,
and
make
a
thyng,
Ther
koude
no
wight
pynche
at
his
writyng.
And
every
statut
koude
he
pleyn
by
rote.
He
rood
but
hoomly
in
a
medlee
cote
Girt
with
a
ceint
of
silk,
with
barres
smale;-
Of
his
array
telle
I
no
lenger
tale.
A
Frankeleyn
was
in
his
compaignye;
Whit
was
his
berd
as
is
a
dayesye.
Of
his
complexioun
he
was
sangwyn.
Wel
loved
he
by
the
morwe
a
sope
in
wyn,
To
lyven
in
delit
was
evere
his
wone;
For
he
was
Epicurus
owene
sone,
That
heeld
opinioun
that
pleyn
delit
Was
verraily
felicitee
parfit,
An
housholdere,
and
that
a
greet,
was
he;
Seint
Julian
was
he
in
his
contree.
His
breed,
his
ale,
was
alweys
after
oon,
A
bettre
envyned
man
was
nowher
noon.
Withoute
bake
mete
was
nevere
his
hous,
Of
fissh
and
flessh,
and
that
so
plentevous,
It
snewed
in
his
hous
of
mete
and
drynke,
Of
alle
deyntees
that
men
koude
thynke.
After
the
sondry
sesons
of
the
yeer
So
chaunged
he
his
mete
and
his
soper.
Ful
many
a
fat
partrich
hadde
he
in
muwe,
And
many
a
breem
and
many
a
luce
in
stuwe.
Wo
was
his
cook,
but
if
his
sauce
were
Poynaunt,
and
sharp,
and
redy
al
his
geere.
His
table
dormant
in
his
halle
alway
Stood
redy
covered
al
the
longe
day.
At
sessiouns
ther
was
he
lord
and
sire;
Ful
ofte
tyme
he
was
knyght
of
the
shire.
An
anlaas
and
a
gipser
al
of
silk
Heeng
at
his
girdel,
whit
as
morne
milk.
A
shirreve
hadde
he
been,
and
a
countour,
Was
nowher
swich
a
worthy
vavasour.
An
Haberdasshere
and
a
Carpenter,
A
Webbe,
a
Dyere,
and
a
Tapycer-
And
they
were
clothed
alle
in
o
lyveree
Of
a
solempne
and
a
greet
fraternitee.
Ful
fressh
and
newe
hir
geere
apiked
was,
Hir
knyves
were
chaped
noght
with
bras,
But
al
with
silver
wroght
ful
clene
and
weel,
Hir
girdles
and
hir
pouches
everydeel.
Wel
semed
ech
of
hem
a
fair
burgeys
To
sitten
in
a
yeldehalle
on
a
deys.
Everich
for
the
wisdom
that
he
kan
Was
shaply
for
to
been
an
alderman;
For
catel
hadde
they
ynogh,
and
rente,
And
eek
hir
wyves
wolde
it
wel
assente-
And
eles,
certeyn,
were
they
to
blame!
It
is
ful
fair
to
been
ycleped
`ma
Dame,'
And
goon
to
vigilies
al
bifore,
And
have
a
mantel
roialliche
ybore.
A
Cook
they
hadde
with
hem
for
the
nones,
To
boille
the
chiknes
with
the
marybones,
And
poudre-marchant
tart,
and
galyngale.
Wel
koude
he
knowe
a
draughte
of
London
ale;
He
koude
rooste,
and
sethe,
and
broille,
and
frye,
Maken
mortreux,
and
wel
bake
a
pye.
But
greet
harm
was
it,
as
it
thoughte
me,
That
on
his
shyne
a
mormal
hadde
he!
For
blankmanger,
that
made
he
with
the
beste.
A
Shipman
was
ther,
wonynge
fer
by
weste;
For
aught
I
woot,
he
was
of
Dertemouthe.
He
rood
upon
a
rouncy,
as
he
kouthe,
In
a
gowne
of
faldyng
to
the
knee.
A
daggere
hangynge
on
a
laas
hadde
he
Aboute
his
nekke,
under
his
arm
adoun.
The
hoote
somer
hadde
maad
his
hewe
al
broun,
And
certeinly
he
was
a
good
felawe.
Ful
many
a
draughte
of
wyn
had
he
ydrawe
Fro
Burdeuxward,
whil
that
the
chapman
sleep.
Of
nyce
conscience
took
he
no
keep;
If
that
he
faught,
and
hadde
the
hyer
hond,
By
water
he
sente
hem
hoom
to
every
lond.
But
of
his
craft,
to
rekene
wel
his
tydes,
His
stremes,
and
his
daungers
hym
bisides,
His
herberwe
and
his
moone,
his
lodemenage,
Ther
nas
noon
swich
from
Hulle
to
Cartage.
Hardy
he
was,
and
wys
to
undertake,
With
many
a
tempest
hadde
his
berd
been
shake;
He
knew
alle
the
havenes
as
they
were
From
Gootlond
to
the
Cape
of
Fynystere,
And
every
cryke
in
Britaigne
and
in
Spayne.
His
barge
yeleped
was
the
Maudelayne.
With
us
ther
was
a
Doctour
of
Phisik;
In
al
this
world
ne
was
ther
noon
hym
lik,
To
speke
of
phisik
and
of
surgerye;
For
he
was
grounded
in
astronomye.
He
kepte
his
pacient
a
ful
greet
deel
In
houres,
by
his
magyk
natureel.
Wel
koude
he
fortunen
the
ascendent
Of
hisc
ymages
for
his
pacient.
He
knew
the
cause
of
everich
maladye,
Were
it
of
hoot
or
coold,
or
moyste,
or
drye,
And
where
they
engendred,
and
of
what
humour.
He
was
a
verray
parfit
praktisour;
The
cause
yknowe,
and
of
his
harm
the
roote,
Anon
he
yaf
the
sike
man
his
boote.
Ful
redy
hadde
he
hise
apothecaries
To
sende
him
drogges
and
his
letuaries,
For
ech
of
hem
made
oother
for
to
wynne,
Hir
frendshipe
nas
nat
newe
to
bigynne.
Wel
knew
he
the
olde
Esculapius,
And
Deyscorides
and
eek
Rufus,
Olde
Ypocras,
Haly,
and
Galyen,
Serapioun,
Razis,
and
Avycen,
Averrois,
Damascien,
and
Constantyn,
Bernard,
and
Gatesden,
and
Gilbertyn.
Of
his
diete
mesurable
was
he,
For
it
was
of
no
superfluitee,
But
of
greet
norissyng,
and
digestible.
His
studie
was
but
litel
on
the
Bible.
In
sangwyn
and
in
pers
he
clad
was
al,
Lyned
with
taffata
and
with
sendal-
And
yet
he
was
but
esy
of
dispence;
He
kepte
that
he
wan
in
pestilence.
For
gold
in
phisik
is
a
cordial,
Therfore
he
lovede
gold
in
special.
A
good
wif
was
ther,
of
biside
Bathe,
He
was
to
synful
man
nat
despitous,
Ne
of
his
speche
daungerous
ne
digne,
But
in
his
techyng
discreet
and
benygne;
To
drawen
folk
to
hevene
by
fairnesse,
By
good
ensample,
this
was
his
bisynesse.
But
it
were
any
persone
obstinat,
What
so
he
were,
of
heigh
or
lough
estat,
Hym
wolde
he
snybben
sharply
for
the
nonys.
A
bettre
preest,
I
trowe,
that
nowher
noon
ys.
He
waited
after
no
pompe
and
reverence,
Ne
maked
him
a
spiced
conscience,
But
Cristes
loore,
and
Hise
apostles
twelve
He
taughte,
but
first
he
folwed
it
hym-selve.
With
hym
ther
was
a
Plowman,
was
his
brother,
That
hadde
ylad
of
dong
ful
many
a
fother.
A
trewe
swybnker
and
a
good
was
he,
Lyvynge
in
pees
and
parfit
charitee.
God
loved
he
best
with
al
his
hoole
herte
At
alle
tymes,
thogh
him
gamed
or
smerte,
And
thanne
his
neighebore
right
as
hym-selve;
He
wolde
thresshe,
and
therto
dyke
and
delve,
For
Cristes
sake,
for
every
povre
wight
Withouten
hire,
if
it
lay
in
his
myght.
Hise
tithes
payed
he
ful
faire
and
wel,
Bothe
of
his
propre
swynk
and
his
catel.
In
a
tabard
he
rood,
upon
a
mere.
Ther
was
also
a
Reve
and
a
Millere,
A
Somnour
and
a
Pardoner
also,
A
Maunciple,
and
myself,
ther
were
namo.
The
Millere
was
a
stout
carl
for
the
nones,
Ful
byg
he
was
of
brawn
and
eek
of
bones-
That
proved
wel,
for
overal
ther
he
cam
At
wrastlyng
he
wolde
have
alwey
the
ram.
He
was
short-sholdred,
brood,
a
thikke
knarre,
Ther
was
no
dore
that
he
nolde
heve
of
harre,
Or
breke
it
at
a
rennyng
with
his
heed.
His
berd
as
any
sowe
or
fox
was
reed,
And
therto
brood,
as
though
it
were
a
spade.
Upon
the
cop
right
of
his
nose
he
hade
A
werte,
and
thereon
stood
a
toft
of
heres
Reed
as
the
brustles
of
a
sowes
eres;
Hise
nosethirles
blake
were
and
wyde.
A
swerd
and
bokeler
bar
he
by
his
syde.
His
mouth
as
greet
was
as
a
greet
forneys,
He
was
a
janglere
and
a
goliardeys,
And
that
was
moost
of
synne
and
harlotries.
Wel
koude
he
stelen
corn,
and
tollen
thries,
And
yet
he
hadde
a
thombe
of
gold,
pardee.
A
whit
cote
and
a
blew
hood
wered
he.
A
baggepipe
wel
koude
he
blowe
and
sowne,
And
therwithal
he
broghte
us
out
of
towne.
A
gentil
Maunciple
was
ther
of
a
temple,
Of
which
achatours
myghte
take
exemple
For
to
be
wise
in
byynge
of
vitaille;
For
wheither
that
he
payde
or
took
by
taille,
Algate
he
wayted
so
in
his
achaat
That
he
was
ay
biforn,
and
in
good
staat.
Now
is
nat
that
of
God
a
ful
fair
grace,
That
swich
a
lewed
mannes
wit
shal
pace
The
wisdom
of
an
heep
of
lerned
men?
Of
maistres
hadde
he
mo
than
thries
ten,
That
weren
of
lawe
expert
and
curious,
Of
whiche
ther
weren
a
duszeyne
in
that
hous
Worthy
to
been
stywardes
of
rente
and
lond
Of
any
lord
that
is
in
Engelond,
To
maken
hym
lyve
by
his
propre
good,
In
honour
dettelees,
but
if
he
were
wood;
Or
lyve
as
scarsly
as
hym
list
desire,
And
able
for
to
helpen
al
a
shire
In
any
caas
that
myghte
falle
or
happe-
And
yet
this
manciple
sette
hir
aller
cappe!
The
Reve
was
a
sclendre
colerik
man;
His
berd
was
shave
as
ny
as
ever
he
kan,
His
heer
was
by
his
erys
ful
round
yshorn,
His
top
was
dokked
lyk
a
preest
biforn.
Ful
longe
were
his
legges,
and
ful
lene,
Ylyk
a
staf,
ther
was
no
calf
ysene.
Wel
koude
he
kepe
a
gerner
and
a
bynne,
Ther
was
noon
auditour
koude
on
him
wynne.
Wel
wiste
he,
by
the
droghte,
and
by
the
reyn,
The
yeldynge
of
his
seed
and
of
his
greyn.
His
lordes
sheep,
his
neet,
his
dayerye,
His
swyn,
his
hors,
his
stoor,
and
his
pultrye,
Was
hooly
in
this
reves
governyng
And
by
his
covenant
yaf
the
rekenyng,
Syn
that
his
lord
was
twenty
yeer
of
age;
Ther
koude
no
man
brynge
hym
in
arrerage.
Ther
nas
baillif,
ne
hierde,
nor
oother
hyne,
That
he
ne
knew
his
sleighte
and
his
covyne,
They
were
adrad
of
hym
as
of
the
deeth.
His
wonyng
was
ful
faire
upon
an
heeth,
With
grene
trees
shadwed
was
his
place.
He
koude
bettre
than
his
lord
purchace.
Ful
riche
he
was
astored
pryvely;
His
lord
wel
koude
he
plesen
subtilly
To
yeve
and
lene
hym
of
his
owene
good,
And
have
a
thank,
and
yet
a
cote
and
hook.
In
youthe
he
hadde
lerned
a
good
myster,
He
was
a
wel
good
wrighte,
a
carpenter.
This
reve
sat
upon
a
ful
good
stot,
That
was
al
pomely
grey,
and
highte
Scot.
A
long
surcote
of
pers
upon
he
hade,
And
by
his
syde
he
baar
a
rusty
blade.
Of
Northfolk
was
this
reve,
of
which
I
telle,
Bisyde
a
toun
men
clepen
Baldeswelle.
Tukked
he
was,
as
is
a
frere,
aboute,
And
evere
he
rood
the
hyndreste
of
oure
route.
A
Somonour
was
ther
with
us
in
that
place,
That
hadde
a
fyr-reed
cherubynnes
face,
For
sawcefleem
he
was,
with
eyen
narwe.
As
hoot
he
was,
and
lecherous,
as
a
sparwe,
With
scalled
browes
blake,
and
piled
berd,
Of
his
visage
children
were
aferd.
Ther
nas
quyk-silver,
lytarge,
ne
brymstoon,
Boras,
ceruce,
ne
oille
of
tartre
noon,
Ne
oynement,
that
wolde
clense
and
byte,
That
hym
myghte
helpen
of
his
wheldes
white,
Nor
of
the
knobbes
sittynge
on
his
chekes.
Wel
loved
he
garleek,
oynons,
and
eek
lekes,
And
for
to
drynken
strong
wyn,
reed
as
blood;
Thanne
wolde
he
speke
and
crie
as
he
were
wood.
And
whan
that
he
wel
dronken
hadde
the
wyn,
Than
wolde
he
speke
no
word
but
Latyn.
A
fewe
termes
hadde
he,
two
or
thre,
That
he
had
lerned
out
of
som
decree-
No
wonder
is,
he
herde
it
al
the
day,
And
eek
ye
knowen
wel
how
that
a
jay
Kan
clepen
`watte'
as
wel
as
kan
the
Pope.
But
who
so
koude
in
oother
thyng
hym
grope,
Thanne
hadde
he
spent
al
his
plilosophie;
Ay
`questio
quid
juris'
wolde
he
crie.
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-monthe,
and
excuse
hym
atte
fulle-
Ful
prively
a
fynch
eek
koude
he
pulle.
And
if
he
foond
owher
a
good
felawe,
He
wolde
techen
him
to
have
noon
awe,
In
swich
caas,
of
the
erchedekeness
curs,
But
if
a
mannes
soule
were
in
his
purs;
For
in
his
purs
he
sholde
ypunysshed
be,
`Purs
is
the
erchedekenes
helle,'
seyde
he.
But
wel
I
woot
he
lyed
right
in
dede;
Of
cursyng
oghte
ech
gilty
man
him
drede-
For
curs
wol
slee,
right
as
assoillyng
savith-
And
also
war
him
of
a
Significavit.
In
daunger
hadde
he
at
his
owene
gise
The
yonge
girles
of
the
diocise,
And
knew
hir
conseil,
and
was
al
hir
reed.
A
gerland
hadde
he
set
upon
his
heed
As
greet
as
it
were
for
an
ale-stake;
A
bokeleer
hadde
he
maad
him
of
a
cake.
With
hym
ther
rood
a
gentil
Pardoner
Of
Rouncivale,
his
freend
and
his
compeer,
That
streight
was
comen
fro
the
court
of
Rome.
Ful
loude
he
soong
`com
hider,
love,
to
me.'
This
Somonour
bar
to
hym
a
stif
burdoun,
Was
nevere
trompe
of
half
so
greet
a
soun.
This
Pardoner
hadde
heer
as
yelow
as
wex,
But
smothe
it
heeng
as
dooth
a
strike
of
flex;
By
ounces
henge
hise
lokkes
that
he
hadde,
And
therwith
he
hise
shuldres
overspradde;
But
thynne
it
lay
by
colpons
oon
and
oon.
But
hood,
for
jolitee,
wered
he
noon,
For
it
was
trussed
up
in
his
walet.
Hym
thoughte
he
rood
al
of
the
newe
jet,
Dischevele,
save
his
cappe,
he
rood
al
bare.
Swiche
glarynge
eyen
hadde
he
as
an
hare.
A
vernycle
hadde
he
sowed
upon
his
cappe.
His
walet
lay
biforn
hym
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
shave,
I
trowe
he
were
a
geldyng
or
a
mare.
But
of
his
craft,
fro
Berwyk
into
Ware,
Ne
was
ther
swich
another
Pardoner;
For
in
his
male
he
hadde
a
pilwe-beer,
Which
that
he
seyde
was
Oure
Lady
veyl;
He
seyde,
he
hadde
a
gobet
of
the
seyl
That
Seinte
Peter
hadde,
whan
that
he
wente
Upon
the
see,
til
Jesu
Crist
hym
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
persoun
dwellyng
up-on-lond,
Upon
a
day
he
gat
hym
moore
moneye
Than
that
the
person
gat
in
monthes
tweye,
And
thus
with
feyned
flaterye
and
japes
He
made
the
persoun
and
the
peple
his
apes.
But
trewely
to
tellen
atte
laste,
He
was
in
chirche
a
noble
ecclesiaste;
Wel
koude
he
rede
a
lessoun
or
a
storie,
But
alderbest
he
song
an
offertorie,
For
wel
he
wiste,
whan
that
song
was
songe
He
moste
preche,
and
wel
affile
his
tonge;
To
wynne
silver,
as
he
ful
wel
koude,
Therfore
he
song
the
murierly
and
loude.
Now
have
I
toold
you
shortly
in
a
clause
Thestaat,
tharray,
the
nombre,
and
eek
the
cause
Why
that
assembled
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
nyght
Whan
we
were
in
that
hostelrie
alyght,
And
after
wol
I
telle
of
our
viage,
And
all
the
remenaunt
of
oure
pilgrimage.
But
first
I
pray
yow,
of
youre
curteisye,
That
ye
narette
it
nat
my
vileynye,
Thogh
that
I
pleynly
speke
in
this
mateere
To
telle
yow
hir
wordes
and
hir
cheere,
Ne
thogh
I
speke
hir
wordes
proprely.
For
this
ye
knowen
also
wel
as
I,
Who-so
shal
telle
a
tale
after
a
man,
He
moot
reherce
as
ny
as
evere
he
kan
Everich
a
word,
if
it
be
in
his
charge,
Al
speke
he
never
so
rudeliche
or
large;
Or
ellis
he
moot
telle
his
tale
untrewe,
Or
feyne
thyng,
or
fynde
wordes
newe.
He
may
nat
spare,
al
thogh
he
were
his
brother,
He
moot
as
wel
seye
o
word
as
another.
Crist
spak
hym-self
ful
brode
in
Hooly
Writ,
And,
wel
ye
woot,
no
vileynye
is
it.
Eek
Plato
seith,
who
so
kan
hym
rede,
The
wordes
moote
be
cosyn
to
the
dede.
Also
I
prey
yow
to
foryeve
it
me,
Al
have
I
nat
set
folk
in
hir
degree
Heere
in
this
tale,
as
that
they
sholde
stonde-
My
wit
is
short,
ye
may
wel
understonde.
Greet
chiere
made
oure
hoost
us
everichon,
And
to
the
soper
sette
he
us'anon.
He
served
us
with
vitaille
at
the
beste;
Strong
was
the
wyn,
and
wel
to
drynke
us
lestel
A
semely
man
oure
Hooste
was
withalle
For
to
been
a
marchal
in
an
halle.
A
large
man
he
was,
with
eyen
stepe,
A
fairer
burgeys
was
ther
noon
in
Chepe;
Boold
of
his
speche,
and
wys,
and
well
ytaught,
And
of
manhod
hym
lakkede
right
naught.
Eek
therto
he
was
right
a
myrie
man;
And
after
soper
pleyen
he
bigan,
And
spak
of
myrthe
amonges
othere
thynges,
Whan
that
we
hadde
maad
our
rekenynges,
And
seyde
thus:
"Now
lordynges,
trewely,
Ye
been
to
me
right
welcome
hertely,
For
by
my
trouthe,
if
that
I
shal
nat
lye,
I
saugh
nat
this
yeer
so
myrie
a
compaignye
Atones
in
this
herberwe,
as
is
now.
Fayn
wolde
I
doon
yow
myrthe,
wiste
I
how-
And
of
a
myrthe
I
am
right
now
bythoght
To
doon
yow
ese,
and
it
shal
coste
noght.
Ye
goon
to
Caunterbury,
God
yow
speede-
The
blisful
martir
quite
yow
youre
meede-
And
wel
I
woot,
as
ye
goon
by
the
weye,
Ye
shapen
yow
to
talen
and
to
pleye,
For
trewely,
confort
ne
myrthe
is
noon
To
ride
by
the
weye
doumb
as
stoon,
And
therfore
wol
I
maken
yow
disport,
As
I
seyde
erst,
and
doon
yow
som
confort;
And
if
yow
liketh
alle
by
oon
assent
For
to
stonden
at
my
juggement,
And
for
to
werken
as
I
shal
yow
seye,
To-morwe,
whan
ye
riden
by
the
weye,
Now,
by
my
fader
soule
that
is
deed,
But
ye
be
myrie
I
wol
yeve
yow
myn
heed!
Hoold
up
youre
hond,
withouten
moore
speche."
Oure
conseil
was
nat
longe
for
to
seche-
Us
thoughte
it
was
noght
worth
to
make
it
wys-
And
graunted
hym,
withouten
moore
avys,
And
bad
him
seye
his
voirdit,
as
hym
leste.
"Lordynges,"
quod
he,
"now
herkneth
for
the
beste,
But
taak
it
nought,
I
prey
yow,
in
desdeyn.
This
is
the
poynt,
to
speken
short
and
pleyn,
That
ech
of
yow,
to
shorte
with
oure
weye,
In
this
viage
shal
telle
tales
tweye,
To
Caunterburyward
I
mene
it
so,
And
homward
he
shal
tellen
othere
two,
Of
aventures
that
whilom
han
bifalle.
And
which
of
yow
that
bereth
hym
best
of
alle-
That
is
to
seyn,
that
telleth
in
this
caas
Tales
of
best
sentence
and
moost
solaas-
Shal
have
a
soper
at
oure
aller
cost,
Heere
in
this
place,
sittynge
by
this
post,
Whan
that
we
come
agayn
fro
Caunterbury.
And
for
to
make
yow
the
moore
mury
I
wol
my-selven
goodly
with
yow
ryde
Right
at
myn
owene
cost,
and
be
youre
gyde.
And
who
so
wole
my
juggement
withseye
Shal
paye
al
that
we
spenden
by
the
weye.
And
if
ye
vouchesauf
that
it
be
so,
Tel
me
anon,
withouten
wordes
mo,
And
I
wol
erly
shape
me
therfore."
This
thyng
was
graunted,
and
oure
othes
swore
With
ful
gald
herte,
and
preyden
hym
also
That
he
wolde
vouchesauf
for
to
do
so,
And
that
he
wolde
been
oure
governour,
And
of
our
tales
juge
and
reportour,
And
sette
a
soper
at
a
certeyn
pris,
And
we
wol
reuled
been
at
his
devys
In
heigh
and
lough;
and
thus
by
oon
assent
We
been
acorded
to
his
juggement;
And
therupon
the
wyn
was
fet
anon,
We
dronken,
and
to
reste
wente
echon
Withouten
any
lenger
taryynge.
Amorwe,
whan
that
day
bigan
to
sprynge,
Up
roos
oure
Hoost,
and
was
oure
aller
cok,
And
gadrede
us
to
gidre,
alle
in
a
flok,
And
forth
we
riden,
a
litel
moore
than
paas,
Unto
the
wateryng
of
Seint
Thomas.
And
there
oure
Hoost
bigan
his
hors
areste,
And
seyde,
"Lordynges,
herkneth
if
yow
leste,
Ye
woot
youre
foreward,
and
I
it
yow
recorde;
If
even-song
and
morwe-song
accorde,
Lat
se
now
who
shal
telle
the
firste
tale.
As
evere
mote
I
drynke
wyn
or
ale,
Whoso
be
rebel
to
my
juggement
Shal
paye
for
al
that
by
the
wey
is
spent.
Now
draweth
cut,
er
that
we
ferrer
twynne,
He
which
that
hath
the
shorteste
shal
bigynne.
Sire
knyght,"
quod
he,
"my
mayster
and
my
lord,
Now
draweth
cut,
for
that
is
myn
accord,
Cometh
neer,"
quod
he,
"my
lady
Prioresse,
And
ye,
Sir
Clerk,
lat
be
your
shamefastnesse,
Ne
studieth
noght;
ley
hond
to,
every
man."
Anon
to
drawen
every
wight
bigan,
And
shortly
for
to
tellen
as
it
was,
Were
it
by
aventure,
or
sort,
or
cas,
The
sothe
is
this,
the
cut
fil
to
the
knyght,
Of
which
ful
blithe
and
glad
was
every
wyght.
And
telle
he
moste
his
tale,
as
was
resoun,
By
foreward
and
by
composicioun,-
As
ye
han
herd,
what
nedeth
wordes
mo?
And
whan
this
goode
man
saugh
that
it
was
so,
As
he
that
wys
was
and
obedient
To
kepe
his
foreward
by
his
free
assent,
He
seyde,
"Syn
I
shal
bigynne
the
game,
What,
welcome
be
the
cut,
a
Goddes
name!
Now
lat
us
ryde,
and
herkneth
what
I
seye."
And
with
that
word
we
ryden
forth
oure
weye,
And
he
bigan
with
right
a
myrie
cheere
His
tale
anon,
and
seyde
in
this
manere.
Oscar Wilde
Oscar Wilde was an Anglo-Irish playwright, novelist, poet, and critic. He is regarded as one of the greatest playwrights of the Victorian Era. In his lifetime he wrote nine plays, one novel, and numerous poems, short stories, and essays. Wilde was a proponent of the Aesthetic movement, which emphasized aesthetic values more than moral or social themes. This doctrine is most clearly summarized in the phrase 'art for art's sake'. Besides literary accomplishments, he is also famous, or perhaps infamous, for his wit, flamboyance, and affairs with men. He was tried and imprisoned for his homosexual relationship (then considered a crime) with the son of an aristocrat.