And yet he was but efy of difpence; He kepte that he wan in the peftilence; For gold in phifike is a cordial, Therfore he loved gold in fpecial.

A good Wif was ther of befide Bathe,
But she was fom del defe, and that was scathe.
Of cloth making she hadde fwiche an haunt,
She passed hem of Ipres and of Gaunt.
In all the parish wif ne was ther non
That to the offring before hire fhulde gon,
And if ther did, certain fo wroth was the,
That she was out of alle charitee.
Hire coverchiefs weren ful fine of ground;
I dorfte fwere they weyeden a pound
That on the Sonday were upon hire hede:
Hire hofen weren of fine fcarlet rede,

Ful ftreite yteyed, and fhoon ful moist and newe:
Bold was hire face, and fayre and rede of hew.
She was a worthy woman all hire live;
Housbondes at the chirche dore had she had five,
Withouten other compagnie in youthe,
But therof nedeth not to fpeke as nouthe;
And thries hadde fhe ben at Jerufaleme;
She hadde paffed many a ftrange ftreme:
At Rome she hadde ben, and at Boloize,
In Galice at Seint James, and at Coloine :
She coude moche of wandring by the way;
Gat-tothed was fhe, fothly for to fay;
Upon an ambler efily fhe fat,
Ywimpled wel, and on hire hede an hat
As brode as is a bokeler or a targe,
A fote mantel about hire hippes large,
And on hire fete a pair of fporres sharpe.
In felawfhip wel coude the laughe and carpes
Of remedies of love fhe knew parchance,
For of that arte the coude the olde dance.
A good man ther was of religioun
That was a pcure Parfone of a toun,
But riche he was of holy thought and werk;
He was alfo a lerned man, a Clerk,
That Criftes gospel trewely wolde preche;
His parishens devoutly wolde he teche;
Benigne he was, and wonder diligent,
And in adverfite ful patient,

And fwiche he was ypreved often fithes;
Ful loth were him to curfen for his tithes,
But rather wolde he yeven out of doute
Unto his poure parishens aboute

Of his offring, and eke of his fubftance;
He coude in litel thing have fufiifance:
Wide was his parish, and houfes fer afonder,
But he ne left nought for no rain ne thonder,
In fikeneffe and in mifchief to visite
The ferreft in his parish moche and lite
Upon his fete, and in his hand a staf:
This noble enfample to his fhepe he yaf,
That first he wrought and afterward he taught,
Out of the gofpel he the wordes caught,
And this figure he added yet thereto
That if gold rufte, what fhuld iren do
For if a preeft be foule on whom we truft
No wonder is a lewed man to rust;
And shame it is if that a preeft take kepe
To fee a fhitten fhepherd and clene fhepea

Wel ought a preest enfample for to yeve
By his cleneneffe how his thepe shulde live.
He fette not his benefice to hire,
And lette his fhepe accombred in the mire,
And ran unto London unto Seint Poules
To feken him a chanterie for foules,
Or with a brotherhede to be withold,
But dwelt at home and kepte wel his fold,
So that the wolf ne made it not mifcarie :
He was a fhepherd and no mercenarie;
And though he holy were and vertuous
He was to finful men not difpitous,
Ne of his fpeche dangerous ne digne,
But in his teching difcrete and benigne.
To drawen folk to heven with fairenesse;
By good enfample, was his befineffe;
But it were any persone obftinat,
What fo he were of highe or low eftat,
Him wolde he fnibben sharply for the nones!
A better preeft I trowe that no wher non is,
He waited after no pompe ne reverence,
Ne maked him no fpiced confcience
But Criftes lore, and his apoftles twelve
He taught, but first he folwed it himselve.

With him ther was a Plowman, was his brother,
That hadde ylaid of dong ful many a fother;
A true fwinker and a good was he,
Living in pees and parfite charitee:
God loved he befte with alle his herte
At alle times, were it gain or smerte,
And than his neighebour right as himselve.
He wolde thresh, and therto dike and delve,
For Criftes fake, for every poure wight
Withouten hire, if it lay in his might.

His tithes paied he ful fayre and wel Both of his propre fwinke and his catel. In a tabard he rode upon a mere.

Ther was also a Reve, and a Millere, A Sompnour, and a Pardoner also, A Manciple, and myself; ther n'ere no mo. The Miller was a ftout carl for the nones, Ful bigge he was of braun and eke of bones, That proved wel, for over all ther he came, At wraftling he wolde bere away the ram. He was thort fhuldered, brode, a thikke gnarre, Ther n'as no dore that he n'olde heve of barre Or breke it at a renning with his hede; His berd as any fowe or fox was rede, And therto brode as though it were a fpade. Upon the cop right of his nofe he hade A wert, and theron ftode a tufte of heres Rede as the briftles of a fowes cres: His nofe-thirles blacke were and wide: A fwerd and bokeler bare he by his fide: His mouth as wide was as a forneis: He was a jangler and a Goliardeis, And that was most of finne and harlotries: Wel coude he ftelen corne and tollen thries And yet he had a thomb of gold parde, A white cote and a blew hode wered he: A baggepipe wel coude he blowe and foune, And therwithall he brought us out of toune. A gentil Manciple was ther of a temple, Of which achatours mighten take enfemple

For to ben wife in bying of vitaille,
For whether that he paide or toke by taille
Algate he waited fo in his achate
That he was ay before in good estate :
Now is not that of God a ful fayre grace
That fwiche a lewed mannes wit fhal pace
The wisdom of an hepe of lered men?

Of maifters had he mo than thries ten
That were of lawe expert and curious,
Of which ther was a dofein in that hous
Worthy to ben ftewardes of rent and lond
Of any lord that is in Englelond,
To maken him live by his propre good
In honour detteles, but if he were wood,
Or live as fearfly as him lift defire,
And able for to helpen all a fhire
In any cas that mighte fallen or happe;
And yet this Manciple fette hir aller cappe.

The Reve was a flendre colerike man,
His berd was fhave as neighe as ever he can
His here was by his eres round yfhorne;
His top was docked like a preeft beforne :
Ful longe were his legges and ful lene,
Ylike a ftaff; ther was no calf yfene:
Wel coude he kepe a garner and a binne;
Ther was non auditour coude on him winne;
Wel wiste he by the drought and by the rain
The yelding of his feed and of his grain.
His lordes fhepe, his nete, and his deirie,
His fwine, his hors, his ftore, and his pultrie,
Were holly in his Reves governing,
And by his covenant yave he rekening,
Sin that his lord was twenty yere of age;
Ther coude no man bring him in arerage.
Ther n'as bailliff, ne herde, ne other hine,
That he ne knew his fleight and his covine ;
They were adradde of him as of the deth.
His wonning was ful fayre upon an heth;
With grene trees yfhadewed was his place;
He coude better than his lord pourchace
Ful riche he was yftored privily:
His lerd wel coude he plefen fubtilly
To yeve and lene him of his owen good,
And have a thank and yet a cote and hood.
In youthe he lerned hadde a good mistere;
He was a wel good wright, a carpentere.
This Reve fate upon a right good tot
That was all pomelee grey, and higate Scot:
A long furcote of perfe upon he hade,
And by his fide he bare a rusty blade.
Of Norfolk was this Reve of which I tell,
Belide a toun men clepen Baldefwell.
Tucked he was, as is a frere aboute,
And ever he rode the hindereft of the route.

A Sampnour was ther with us in that place
That hadde a fire-red cherubinnes face,
For faufefleme he was, with eyen narwe;
As hote he was and likerous as a fparwe,
With fcalled browes blake and pilled berd;
Of his vifage children were fore aferd.
Ther n'as quickfilver, litarge, ne brimston,
Boras, cerufe, ne oile of tartre non,
Ne oinement, that wolde clense or bite,
That him might helpen of his whelkes white,

Ne of the knobbes fitting on his chekes:
Wel loved he garlike, onions, and lekes,
And for to drinke ftrong win as rede as blood,
Than wolde he fpeke and crie as he were wood;
And whan that he wel dronken had the win,
Than wold he fpeken no word but Latin:
A fewe termes coude he, two or three,
That he had lerned out of fom decree;
No wonder is, he heard it all the day:
And eke ye knowen wel how that a jay
Can clepen watte as wel as can the pope :
But who fo wolde in other thing him grope
Than hadde he spent all his philofophie;
Ay Queftio quid juris? wolde he crie.

*

He was a gentil harlot and a kind;
A better felaw fhulde a man not find:
He wolde fuffre for a quart of wine
A good felaw to have his concubine
A twelvemonth, and excufe him at the full
Ful prively a finch eke coude he pull;
And if he found o where a good felawe
He wolde techen him to have non awe
In fwiche a cas of the archedekenes curfe,
But if a mannes foule were in his purfe,
For in his perfe he fhulde ypunifhed be;
Purfe is the archedekens helle, faid he,
But wel I wote he lied right in dede;
Of curfing ought eche gilty man him drede,
For curfe wol fle right as affoiling faveth,
And alfo ware him of a fignificavit.

In danger hadde he at his owen gife
The yonge girles of the diocife,
And knew hir counieil and was of hir rede.
A gerlond hadde he fette upon his hede
As gret as it were for an aleftake;
A bokeler hadde he made him of a cake.

With him ther rode a gentil Pardonere
Of Rouncevall, his frend and his compere,
That ftreit was comen from the court of Rome;
Ful loude he fang, Come hither love to me.
This Sompnour bare to him a ftiff burdoun,
Was never trompe of half fo gret a foun.
This Pardoner had here as yelwe as wax.
But fmoth it heng as doth a strike of flax;
By unces heng his lokkes that he hadde,
And therwith he his fhulders overspradde:
Full thinne it lay, by culpons on and on,
But hode for jolite ne wered he non.
For it was truffed up in his wallet.
Him thought he rode all of the newe get,
Dishevele, fauf his cappe, he rode all bare: i
Swiche glaring eyen hadde he as an hare :
A vernicle hadde he fewed upon his cappe;
His wallet lay beforne him in his lappe
Bret-ful of pardon come from Rome al hote:
A vois he hadde as fmale as hath a gote:
No berd hadde he, ne never non fhulde have;
As fmothe it was as it were newe fhave:
I trowe he were a gelding or a mare.
But of his craft, fro Berwike unto Ware

* The name of harlot was anciently given to men, as
well as women.

Ne was ther fwiche an other Pardonere,
For in his male he hadde a pilwebere
Which, as he faide, was oure Ladies viel:
He faide he hadde a gobbet of the feyl
Thatte Seint Peter had whan that he went
Upon the fee till Jefu Crift him hent:
He had a crois of laton ful of stones,
And in a glas he hadde pigges bones.
But with these relikes whanne that he fond
A poure perfone dwelling up on lond,
Upon a day he gat him more moneie
Than that the perfone gat in monethes tweie;
And thus with fained flattering and japes
He made the perfone and the peple his apes.
But trewely to tellen atte last,
He was in chirche a noble ecclefiaft:
Wel coude he rede a leffon or a storie,
But alderbeft he fang an offertorie;

For wel he wifte whan that fong was fonge
He muste preache and wel afile his tonge
To winne filver, as he right wel coude,
Therfore he fang the merier and loude.

Now have I told you shortly in a claufe

Th' eftat, th' araie, the nombre, and cke the cause,
Why that affembled was this compagnie
In Southwerk at this gentil hofteirie
That highte The Tabard, faft by the Belle,
But now is time to you for to telle
How that we baren us that ilke night
Whan we were in that hostelrie alight;
And after wol I tell of our viage,
And all the remenant of our pilgrimage.

But firfte I praie you of your curtefie
That ye ne arette it not my vilanie,
Though that I plainly speke in this matere,
To tellen you hir wordes and hir chere,
Ne though I fpeke hir words proprely;
For this ye knowen al fo wel as I,
Who fo fhall telle a Tale after a man
He mofte reherse as neighe as ever he can
Everich word, if it be in his charge,
All speke he never fo rudely and fo large,
Or elles he mofte tellen his Tale untrewe,
Or feinen thinges, or finden wordes newe:
He may not fpare although he were his brother;
He mofte as wel fayn o word as an other.
Crift fpake himself ful brode in holy writ,
And wel ye wote no vilanie is it:
Eke Plato fayeth, who so can him rede,
The wordes most ben cofin to the dede.
Alfo I praie you to forgive it me
All have I not fette folk in hir degree
Here in this Tale as that they fhulden ftonde:
My wit is fhort ye may well understonde.

Gret chere made our Hofte us everich on,
And to the fouper fette he us anon.
And ferved us with vitaille of the beste;
Strong was the win, and wel to drink us lefte,
A femely man our Hofte was with alle
For to han ben a marshal in an halle;
A large man he was, with eyen stepe;
A fairer burgeis is ther none in Chepe:
Bold of his fpeche, and wife, and wel ytaught,
And of manhood elaked right him naught:

Eke therto was he right a mery man,
And after fouper plaien he began,
And fpake of mirthe amonges other thinges
Whan that we hadden made our rekeninges,
And faide thus; Now Lordinges, trewely
Ye ben to me welcome right hertily,
For by my trouthe, if that I fhal not lie,
I faw nat this yere fwiche a compagnie
At ones in this herberwe as is now;
Fayn wolde I do you mirthe and I wifte how;
And of a mirthe I am right now bethought
To don you efe, and it shall cofte you nought
Ye gon to Canterbury; God you spede,
The blissful martyr quite you your mede;
And wel I wot as ye gon by the way
Ye fhapen you to talken and to play;
For trewely comfort ne mirthe is non
To riden by the way dombe as the fton;
And therfore wold I maken you difport,
As I faid erft, and don you fome comfort.
And if you liketh alle by on affent
Now for to ftonden at my jugement,
And for to werchen as I fhal you fay
To-morwe, whan ye riden on the way,
Now by my faders foule that is ded
But ye be mery, fmiteth of my hed;
Hold up your hondes withouten more fpeche.
Our counfeil was not long for to seche;
Us thought it was not worth to make it wife,
And granted him withouten more avife,
And bad him fay his verdit as him lefte.

Lordinges, (quod he) now herkeneth for the besteg But take it nat, I pray you, in difdain: This is the point, to fpeke it plat and plain, That eche of you to fhorten with youre way

In this viage shal tellen Tales tway,

To Canterbury ward I mene it fo,
And homeward he fhall tellen other two,

Of aventures that whilom han befalle.
And which of you that bereth him beft of alle,
That is to fayn, that telleth in this cas
Tales of beft fentence and most solas,
Shall have a foupcr at youre aller coft
Here in this place fitting by this post,
Whan that ye comen agen from Canterbury.
And for to maken you the more mery
I wol my felven gladly with you ride,
Right at min owen coft, and be your gide.
And who that wol my jugement withfay
Shal pay for alle we fpenden by the way.
And if ye vouchefauf that it be fo,
Telle me anon withouten wordes ino,
And I wol erly fhapen me therfore.

This thing was granted, and our othes fwore
With ful glad herte, and praiden him alfo
That he wold vouchefauf for to don fo,
And that he wolde ben our governour,
And of our Tales juge and reportour,
And fette a fouper at a certain pris,
And we wol reuled ben at his devife
In highe and lowe*: and thus by on affent
We ben accorded to his jugement;

In, or, De alto et bafo, barb Lat. Haut et bas, Fr, were expreffions of entire submission on onelide, and fovereignty on the other,

And therupon the win was fette anon: We dronken, and to reste wenten eche on Withouten any lenger tarying.

A morwe whan the day began to spring Up rose our Hofte, and was our aller cok, And gaderd us togeder in a flok, And forth we riden a litel more than pas Unto the watering of Seint Thomas, And ther our Hofte began his hors arest, And said, Lordes, herkeneth if you left: Ye wete your forword, and I it record: If even fong and morwe song accord, Let fe now who fhal telle the firft Tale : As ever mote I drinken win or ale Who fa is rebel to my jugement

Shal pay for alle that by the way is spent.
Now draweth cutte or that ye forther twinne;
He which that hath the shortest shal beginne.
Sire Knight, (quod he) my maister and my lord,
Now draweth cutte, for that is min accord.

Cometh nere (quod he) my Lady Prioreffe
And ye fire Clerk; let be your shamefastneffe,
Ne ftudieth nought: lay hand to every man.
Anon to drawen every wight began,
And shortly for tellen as it was,

Were it by aventure, or fort, or cas,

The fothe is this, the cutte fell on the Knight,
Of which ful blith and glad was every wight;
And tell he muft his Tale as was refon,
By forword and by compofition,

As ye han herd; what nedeth wordes mo?
And whan this good man faw that it was so,
As he that wife was and obedient
To kepe his forword by his free affent,
He faide; Sithen I fhal begin this game,
What, welcome be the cutte a Goddes name.
Now let us ride, and hearkeneth what I say.

And with that word we riden forth our way}
And he began with a right mery chere
His Tale anon, and faide as ye fhal here.

WHILOM, as olde stories tellen us,
Ther was a duk that highte Thefeus;
Of Athenes he was lord and governour,
And in his time fwiche a conquerour,
That greter was ther non under the fonne;
Ful many a riche contree had he wonne.
What with his wisdom and his chevalrie
He conquerd all the regne of Feminie,
That whilom was ycleped Scythia,
And wedded the fresfhe quene Ipolita,
And brought hire home with him to his contree
With mochel glorie and great folempnitee,
And eke hire yonge fufter Emelie.
And thus with victorie and with melodie
Let I this worthy duk to Athenes ride,
And all his hoft in armes him befide.

And certes, if it n'ere to long to here,
I wolde have told you fully the manere
How wonnen was the regne of Feminie
By Thefeus and by his chevalrie,
And of the grete bataille for the nones
Betwix Athenes and the Amafones,
And how affeged was Ipolita,
The faire hardy quene of Scythia,
And of the fefte that was at hire wedding,
And of the temple at hire home coming;
But all this thing I mofte as now forbere :
I have, God wot, a large feld to ere,
And weke ben the oxen in my plow:
The remenent of my Tale is long ynow.
I wil not letten eke non of this route;
Let every felaw telle his Tale aboute,
And let fe now who fhal the fouper winne.
Ther as I left I will agen beginne.

This duk, of whom I made mentioun,
Whan he was comen almoft to the toun,
In all his wele and in his mofte pride,
He was ware, as he caft his eye afide,
Wher that ther kneled in the highe wey
A compagnie of ladies twey and twey,
Eche after other, clad in clothes blake;
But swiche a crie and swiche a wo they make,
That in this world n'is creature living
That ever herd fwiche another waimenting;
And of this crie ne wolde they never stenten
Till they the reines of his bridel henten.

What folk be ye that at min home coming Perturben fo my fefte with crying? Quod Thefeus; have ye fo grete envie Of min honour, that thus complaine and crie? Or who hath you mifboden or offended? Do telle me, if that it may be amended,

And why ye be thus clothed all in blake?

The oldeft lady of hem all than spake, Whan fhe had swouned with a dedly chere, That it was reuthe for to feen and here. She fayde, Lord, to whom Fortune hath yeven Victorie, and as a conqueror to liven, Nought greveth us your glorie and your honour, But we befeke you of mercie and focour : Have mercie on our woe and our diftreffe : Some drope of pitee thurgh thy gentillesse Upon us wretched wimmen let now falle; For certes, Lord, ther n'is non of us alle That the n'hath ben a ducheffe or a quene; Now be we caitives, as it is wel fene: Thanked be Fortune and hire falfe whele That non eftat enfure th to be wele. And certes, Lord, to abiden your prefence, Here in this temple of the goddesse Clemence, We han ben waiting all this fourtenight: Now helpe us, Lord, fin it licth in thy might.

I wretched wight, that wepe and waile thus, Was whilom wif to King Capaneus That starfe at Thebes, curfed be that day; And alle we that ben in this aray, And maken all this lamentation, We loften all our husbondes at that toun, While that the fiege therabouten lay: And yet now the olde Creon, wala wa! That lord is now of Thebes the citee, Fulfilled of ire and of iniquittee, He for defpit, and for his tyrannie, To don the ded bodies a vilanie, Of alle our lordes, which that ben yflawe, Hath alle the bodies on an hepe ydrawe, And will not fuffren hem by non affent. Neyther to ben yberied ne ybrent, But maketh houndes ete hem in defpite.

And with that word, withouten more refpite, They fallen groff, and crien pitously, Have on us wretched wimmen fom mercy, And let our forwe finken in thin herte.

This gentil duk doun from his courfer fterte With herte piteous whan he herd hem fpeke; Him thoughte that his herte wolde all to-breke When he faw hem fo pitous and fo mate That whilom weren of fo gret eftate, And in his armes he hem all up hente, And hem comforted in ful good entente, And fwore his oth, as he was trewe knight, He wolde don fo ferforthly his might Upon the tyrant Creon hem to wreke. That all the peple of Grece fhulde fpeke