Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.

Narrative Poems: VIII. England

The Canterbury Pilgrims

Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1340–1400)

WHAN that Aprille with hise shourès soote

The droghte of March hath percèd to the roote,

And bathèd every veyne in swich licour,

Of which vertue engendred is the flour;

Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth

Inspirèd hath in every holt and heeth

The tendre croppès, and the yongè sonne

Hath in the Ram his halfè cours y-ronne,

And smalè fowelès 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 straungè strondes,

To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;

And specially, from every shirès ende

Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende

The hooly blisful martir for to seke,

That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.

Bifll 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 in-to that hostelrye

Wel nyne-and-twenty in a compaignye,

Of sondry folk, by aventure y-falle

In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were thei alle,

That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde.

A Knyght ther was, and that a worthy man,

That fro the tymè that he first bigan

To riden out, he lovèd chivalrie,

Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisie,

Ful worthy was he in his lordès werre,

And therto hadde he riden, noman ferre,

As wel in cristendom as in hethenesse,

And evere honoured for his worthynesse.

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.

With hym ther was his sone, a young Squier,

A lovyere and a lusty bacheler,

With lokkès 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 ben 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 fresshè flourès 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 slevès longe and wyde.

Wel cowde he sitte on hors, and fairè ryde.

He koudè songès make and wel enditem

Juste and eek daunce, and weel purtreye and write.

So hoote he lovedè, that by nyghtertale

He sleep no more than dooth a nyghtyngale;

Curteis he was, lovely and servysable,

And carf biforn his fader at the table.

Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse,

That of hire smylyng was ful symple and coy;

Hire gretteste ooth ne was but by seint Loy;

And she was clepèd madame Eglentyne.

Ful weel she soonge the servicè dyvyne,

Entunèd in hir nose ful semeely;

And Frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly,

After the scole of Stratford-attè-Bowe,

For Frenssh of Parys was to hire unknowe.

At metè wel ytaught was she with alle,

She leet no morsel from hir lippès falle,

Ne wett hire fyngres in hire saucè deepe.

Wel koude she carie a morsel and wel kepe,

That no dropè ne fille up-on hire breste;

In curteisie was set ful muchel hir leste.

Hire over-lippè wypèd she so clene,

That in hir coppe ther was no ferthyng sene

Of grecè, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte.

Ful semèly after hir mete she raughte,

And sikerly she was of greet disport,

And ful plesaunt, and amyable of port,

And peynèd hir to countrefetè cheere

Of Court, and to ben estatlich of manere,

And to ben holden digne of reverence;

But for to speken of hire conscience,

She was so charitable and so pitous,

She woldè wepe if that she saugh a mous

Kaught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde.

Of smalè houndès hadde she, that she fedde

With rosted flessh, or mylk and wastel-breed;

But soore wepte she if any of hem were deed,

Or if men smoot it with a yerdè smerte:

And al was conscience and tendre herte.

Ful semlèy hire wympul pynchèd was;

Hir nose tretys, hire eyèn greye as glas,

Hir mouth ful smal, and ther to softe and reed,

But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed;

It was almoost a spannè brood, I trowe,

For hardily she was nat undergrowe.

Ful fetys was hir cloke, as I was war;

Of smal coral aboute hire arm she bar

A peire of bedès gauded al with grene;

And ther-on heng a broch of gold ful schene,

On which ther was first write a crownèd A,

And after, Amor vincit omnia.

Another Nonnè with hire haddè she,

That was hire Chapeleyne, and Preestès thre.

A Clerk ther was of Oxenford also

That un-to logyk haddè longe ygo.

And leenè was his hors as is a rake,

And he was nat right fat, I undertake,

But lookèd holwe, and ther to sobrely;

Full thredbare was his overeste courtepy,

For he hadde geten hym yet no benefice,

Ne was so worldly to have office;

For hym was levere have at his beddes heed

Twenty bookès, clad in blak or reed,

Of Aristotle and his philosophie,

Than robès riche, or fithele, or gay sautrie.

But al be that he was a philosophre,

Yet haddè he but litel gold in cofre;

But al that he mighte of his freendès hente

On bookès and his lernynge he it spente,

And bisily gan for the soulès preye

Of hem that gaf him wher with to scoleye,

Of studie took he moost cure and moost heede,

Noght o word spak he moorè 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 haddè ben at the Parvys,

Ther was also ful riche of excellence.

Discreet he was and of greet reverence;

He semèd swich, hise wordès 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 robès hadde he many oon;

So gret a purchasour was nowher noon.

Al was fee symple to hym in effect,

His purchasyng myghte nat ben infect.

Nowhere so bisy a man as he ther nas,

And yet he semèd bisier than he was.

And good man was ther of religioun,

And was Povre Persoun of a Toun;

But riche he was of hooly thoght and werk;

He was also a lernèd man, a clerk

That Cristès Gospel trewèly wolde preche,

Hise parisshens devoutly wolde he teche.

Benygne he was, and wonder diligent,

And in adversitee ful pacient;

And such he was y-prevèd oftè sithes.

Ful looth were hym to cursè for his tythes,

But rather wolde he geven, out of doute,

Un-to his povrè parisshens aboute,

Of his offryng and eek of his substaunce.

He koude in litel thyng have suffisaunce.

Wyd was his parisshe, and houses fer a-sonder,

But he ne laftè nat for reyn ne thonder,

In siknesse nor in meschief to visite

The ferreste in his parisshe muche and lite

Up-on his feet, and in his hand a staf.

This noble ensample to his sheepe he gaf,

That firste he wroghte, and afterward he taughte.

A bettre preest, I throwe, that nowher noon is:

He waiteth after no pompe and reverence,

Ne makèd him a spicèd conscience,

But Cristès loore, and his Apostles twelve,

He taughte, but first he folwed it hym selve.

Now have I toold you shortly in a clause

The staat, tharray, the nombre, and eek the cause

Why that assembled was this compaignye

In Southwerk at this gentil hostelrye,

That highte the Tabard, fastè by the Belle.

But now is tymè to yow for to telle

How that we baren us that ilke nyght,

When we were in that hostelrie alyght,

And after wol I telle of our viage,

And al the remenaunt of oure pilgrimage.

But first, I pray yow of your curteisye,

That ye narette it nat my vileinye,

Thogh that I pleynly speke in this mateere,

To tellè yow hir wordès and hir cheere;

Ne thogh I speke hir wordès proprely.

For this ye knowen al so wel as I,

Whoso shal telle a tale after a man,

He moote reherce, as ny as evere he kan

Everich a word, if it be in his charge,

Al speke he never so rudèliche or large;

Or ellis he moot telle his tale untrewe,

Or feynè thyng, or fyndè wordès 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 can hym rede,

“The wordès moote be cosyn to the dede.”

Also I prey yow to forgeve it me,

Al have I nat set folk in hir degree

Heere in this tale, as that they scholdè stonde;

My wit is short ye may wel understonde.

Greet chierè made oure host us everichon,

And to the soper sette he us anon

And servèd us with vitaille at the beste.

Strong was the wyn and wel to drynke us leste.

A semely man Oure Hoost he was withalle

For to han been a marchal in an halle;

A largè man he was with eyen stepe,

A fairer burgeys was ther noon in Chepe:

Boold of his speche, and wys and wel ytaught,

And of manhod hym lakkedè right naught.

Eek therto he was right a myrie man,

And after soper pleyen he bygan,

And spak of myrthè amonges othere thinges,

Whan that we haddè maad our rekenynges;

And seydè thus: “Lo, lordynges, trewèly

Ye ben to me right welcome hertèly:

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 myrthè, wiste I how.

And of a myrthe I am right now bythoght,

To doon you ese, and it shal costè noght.

Ye goon to Caunterbury, God you speede,

The blisful martir quitè yow youre meede!

And wel I woot as ye goon by the weye

Ye shapen yow to talen and to pleye;

For trewèly confort ne myrthe is noon

To ridè by the weye doumb as the stoon;

And therefore wol I maken you disport,

As I seyde erst, and doon you som confort.

That ech of yow to shortè with oure weye,

In this viage shall tellè talès tweye,—

To Caunterburyward, I mean 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

Talès of best sentence and most solaas,

Shall have soper at oure aller cost,

Heere in this place, syttynge by this post,

Whan that we come agayn fro Caunterbury.

And for to make you the moore mury,

I wol my-selfè gladly with yow ryde,

Right at myn owenè cost, and be youre gyde.

And who so wole my juggèment withseye

Shal paye al that we spenden by the weye.

And if ye vouchè-sauf that it be so,

Tel me anon, with-outen wordès mo,

And I wol erly shapè me therfore.”

This thyng was graunted, and oure othès swore

With ful glad herte, and preyden hym also

That he would vouchè-sauf for to do so,

And that he woldè been our governour,

And of oure talès juge and reportour,

And sette a soper at a certeyn pris

And we wol reulèd been at his devys

In heigh and lough; and thus by oon assent

We been acorded to his juggèment.

And ther-up-on the wyn was fet anon;

We dronken and to reste wente echon

With-outen any lenger taryÿnge.