The Canterbury Tales of Geoffrey Chaucer/Prologue

by Geoffrey Chaucer

The Prologue

Here beginneth the book of the Tales of Canterbury.

WHEN April with his sweet showers hath pierced to the root the drought of March and bathed every vine in liquid the virtue of which maketh the flowers to start, when eke Zephirus with his sweet breath hath quickened the tender shoots in every heath and holt, and the young sun hath sped his half course in the Ram, and the little birds make their melodies and all the night sleep with open eye, so nature pricketh them in their hearts, then folk long to go on pilgrimages—and palmers to seek strange shores—to the far shrines of saints known in sundry lands; and especially from every shire's end of England they journey to Canterbury to visit the holy blessed Martyr, that hath helped them when they were sick.

It befell on a day in that season, as I rested at the Tabard in Southwark, ready to wend on my pilgrimage to Canterbury, with heart full devout, that at night there was come into that hostel a company of sundry folk, full nine and twenty, by chance fallen in fellowship, and all were pilgrims that would ride toward Canterbury. The chambers and stables were spacious, and fairly were we entertained; and in brief, when the sun was at rest, I had so spoken with every one of them that anon I was of their fellowship, and made agreement to rise early and take our way whither I told you.

Natheless, while I have time and space, ere I pass farther in this tale, methinketh it reasonable to tell you all the character of each of them, as it seemed to me, what folk they were, and of what estate, and eke in what accoutrement; and first, then, I will begin with a knight.

A Knight—a worthy man—there was, that since the time when first he rode out, loved chivalry, truth and honour, courtesy and liberality. Full valiant he was in battle for his lord, and eke had ridden, no man farther, in Christendom and heathenesse; and ever was honoured for his valour. He was at Alexandria when it was won. Full many a time in Prussia he had sat first at board above all the nations. In Lithuania he had warred and in Russia, no Christian of his degree so oft. In Granada eke he had been at the siege of Algezir and ridden into Belmarye. He was at Satalye and Lyeys when they were won; and in the Great Sea he had been with many a noble army. He had been at fifteen mortal battles, and fought for our faith thrice in the lists at Tramissene, and aye slain his foe. This same worthy Knight eke had fought once for the lord of Palatye against another heathen host in Turkey. And evermore he had a sovereign repute. And though he was valorous, he was wise, and as meek of his bearing as a maid. He never yet in all his life spake discourtesy to any manner of man. He was a very perfect gentle knight. But to tell you of his accoutrement, his horses were good, but he was not gaily clad. He wore a tunic of fustian, all rust-stained by his coat of mail; for he was lately come from his travel, and went to make his pilgrimage.

With him was his son, a young Squire, a lusty novice in arms and a lover, with locks curled as they had been laid in press. He was, as I ween, some twenty years of age. In stature he was of moderate height, and wondrous nimble and great of strength. He had sometime been in the wars in Flanders, Artois and Picardy, and borne him well, for so little time, in hope to stand in his lady's grace. He was embroidered like a mead all full of fresh flowers red and white; all day long he was singing or piping on the flute; he was as fresh as the month of May. His gown was short, with sleeves wide and long. Well could he sit his horse and ride fairly. He could make songs and well endite a thing, joust and dance eke, and draw well and write. So hot he loved that by night he slept no more than the nightingale. He was courteous, lowly and diligent to serve, and carved before his father at table.

A Yeoman had this knight, and no other servants at that time, for he list to ride so. This yeoman was clad in a coat and hood of green, and bore a sheaf of peacock-arrows bright and sharp full thriftily under his belt. He could dress his hunting-tackle like a true yeoman; his arrow-feathers were not draggled out of line. In his hand he bare a mighty bow; and well he knew all the practice of wood-craft. He had a head round like a nut, and a brown visage. On his arm he bare a gay bracer, and by his side a buckler and sword, and on the other side a gay dagger, well harnessed and sharp as a spear-point. On his breast was a medal of Saint Christopher, of bright silver. He bare a horn, with baldric of green. I deem in good sooth he was a forester.

There was eke a nun, a Prioress, that was of her smiling full simple and quiet. Her greatest oath was but by St. Loy. And she was called Madame Eglantine. Full well she sung divine service, full seemly intoned in her nose. And French she spake fair and prettily, after the school of Stratford-atte-Bow, for to her French of Paris was unknown. At meat she was well taught; she let no morsel fall from her lips, nor wet her fingers deep in her sauce. She could carry well a morsel, and take good heed that no drop fell on her breast. Full much she took pleasure in good-breeding. She wiped her upper lip so clean that, when she had drunk her draught, no bit of grease could be seen in her cup; and she reached full seemly after her meat, and in truth she was very diverting and full pleasant and amiable of bearing, and took pains to imitate the manners of court, and be stately of demeanour, and to be held worthy of highest respect. But to speak of her conscience, she was so charitable and pitiful, she would weep if she saw a mouse caught in a trap, if it were dead or bleeding. Small hounds she had, that she fed with roast flesh, or milk and cake-bread; but sore she wept if one of them died, or men smote it sharply with a rod; and all was conscience and tender heart. Full seemly her wimple was fluted; her nose was prettily shaped, her eyes grey as glass, her mouth small and thereto full soft and red. But verily her forehead was fair; I trow it was almost a span high, for certainly she was not undergrown. Her cloak was full graceful, as I was ware. About her arm she wore, of small coral, a set of beads with knobs of green, and thereon hung a brooch of bright gold, on which was writ first a crowned A and afterward Amor vincit omnia.

Another nun she had with her, who was her chaplain, and three Priests.

A Monk there was, passing worthy, a bailiff to his house, who loved hunting; a manly man, well fit to be abbot. He had many a dainty horse in stable, and when he rode, men might hear his bridle jingling in a whistling wind as clear and loud as the chapel-bell, where this lord was prior. Because the rule of Saint Maur or of Saint Benedict was old and somewhat strait, this same monk let old things pass, and held his course after the new world. He gave not a plucked hen for that text which saith hunters be not holy, nor that a monk cloisterless is likened to a fish waterless, that is to say a monk out of his convent; that text he held not worth an oyster; and I said to him his opinion was good. Why should he study and make himself mad poring alway upon a book in a cloister, or drudge and labour with his hands as Austin biddeth? How shall the world be served? Let Austin have his drudgery kept for himself. Therefore, in good sooth, he was a hard spurrer; he had greyhounds, as swift as fowl in flight ; and all his heart was set in spurring and hunting the hare ; for at no cost would he refrain. I saw his sleeves edged at the wrist with grey fur, and that the finest in the land ; and to fasten his hood at the throat he had a pin curiously wrought of gold, with a love-knot at the larger end. His head was bald and shone as a glass, and eke his face as if he had been anointed. He was in good trim, a full fat lord. His eyes glittered and rolled in his head, and glowed as the furnace beneath a cauldron. His boots were supple, his horses in fine case. Certainly he was a fair prelate; he was not pale as a purgatorial ghost; a fat swan he loved best of any flesh. His palfrey was as brown as a berry.

A Friar there was, jocund and wanton, a limiter, a self-important man. In all the four orders there is none that knoweth so much of dalliance and fair speech. He had made full many a marriage of young women at his own cost. He was a noble pillar unto his order, full well beloved and familiar with franklins everywhere in his country, and also with worthy women of the town. For he had power of confession, as himself said, more than a parson, for he was licentiate of his order. Full sweetly he heard confession, and pleasant was his absolution; he was a complaisant man to grant penance, whereso he wist he should get a good meal. For to give unto a poor order is a sign that a man is well shriven, for if a man gave, he avowed he wist that he was repentant; for many a man is so hard of heart that he may not weep, although he be sore in pain; therefore instead of prayers and weeping, men may give silver to the poor friars. His tippet was aye stuffed full of knives and pins, to give unto fair dames ; and he had in sooth a merry voice; he could sing well and play on the harp. At singing ballads he gained the palm utterly. His neck was as white as the flower-de-luce, and eke he was as strong as a champion. He knew the taverns in every town and the innkeepers and tapsters better than the lepers and beggars. For it accorded not with the dignity of such a worthy man to have acquaintance with sick lepers. It is not seemly, it doth not profit, to deal with such poor rubbish, but rather with rich folk and victuallers. And whereso profit might arise, he was courteous and lowly in serving. Nowhere was there a man so efficacious; he was the best beggar of his order ; for though a widow had never a shoe, yet was his "In principio" so pleasant, that ere he went he would have a farthing. The proceeds of his begging were better far than his rents. And he could romp like a whelp. On love-days he could effect much ; for there he was not like a cloistral monk, or a poor scholar with threadbare cloak, but he was like a doctor or pope. His semicope was of double worsted and fresh from the press stood out round like a bell. For his wantonness somewhat lie lisped, to make his English sweet on his tongue and in his harping, when he had done singing, his eyes twinkled in his head right as the stars in the frosty night. This worthy limiter was called Huberd.

A Merchant with a forked beard there was, in motley, and he sat high on horse, a Flandrish beaver-hat on his head, his boots clasped neat and fair. His opinions he spake full grandly, alway tending to the increase of his own winnings. He would that the sea were guarded at any cost betwixt Middleburgh and Orwell. He knew well how to profit by the exchange on French crowns. This worthy man well employed his wit; no man wist that he was in debt, so stately was he of behaviour in his bargains and borrowings. Truly he was a worthy man, but to say sooth, I wot not how men call him.

There was also a Clerk of Oxford, that had long gone unto lectures on logic. His horse was as lean as a rake, and he himself was not right fat, I warrant, but looked hollow and eke sober. His outer cape was full threadbare, for he had got him as yet no benefice, nor was so worldly as to have secular employment. For he had liefer have at his bed-side twenty books of Aristotle's philosophy, clad in black or red, than rich robes, or a fiddle, or gay psaltery. Albeit he was a philosopher, yet he had but little gold in his chest, but all that he might gain from his friends he spent on books and learning, and busily did pray for the souls of them that gave him wherewith to attend the schools. Of study he took most heed and care. Not one word he spake more than was needful, and that was said short and quick and full of high import, form and reverence. His discourse ever tended to moral virtue, and gladly he would learn and gladly would teach.

There was also a Sergeant-at-law, ware and wise, that had often been at Paul's church-porch. Full rich of excellence he was, discreet and of great importance; or such he seemed, his words were so sage. He was full oft justice in assize by patent and perpetual commission. For his knowledge and his high renown he had many a fee and robe. There was nowhere so great a buyer of land; all proved fee simple to him; his titles might not be made null. Nowhere was so busy a man as he, and yet he seemed busier than he was. He had in set terms all the cases and judgments that had befallen since the time of King William. He could eke compose and make a deed; no wight could pick a flaw in his forms, and he knew every statute in full by heart. He rode simply in a motley coat, girt with a silk girdle with narrow bosses. Of his garb I tell no longer tale.

With him there was a Franklin; white was his beard as the daisy, and ruddy he was of complexion. He loved well of a morning a sop in wine. To live in delight was ever his wont, for he was the own son of Epicurus, who held the opinion that the highest good verily standeth in pleasure. He was a householder, and that a great,—a very Saint Julian in his own country. His bread and ale were alway of one excellence; was nowhere a man with a better store of wine. His house was never without great pasties of fish and flesh, and that so plentiful that in his house it snowed meat and drink and all dainties men could devise. According to the sundry seasons of the year, so he changed his fare. Many a fat partridge had he in mew, and in his pond many a bream and luce. Woe to his cook, if his sauce were not poignant and sharp and all his gear ready. All the long day his solid board stood ready covered in his hall. At sessions he was lord and master, and full oft he was knight of the shire in Parliament. At his girdle hung a dagger and a silken pouch, white as morning mink. He had been an auditor and a sheriff; nowhere was there such a worthy country gentleman.

An Haberdasher, a Carpenter, a Weaver, a Dyer and a Draper were also with us, clothed all in the like livery of a great and important guild. Full fresh and new their gear was trimmed, their girdles and their pouches. Their knives were not capped with brass, but with silver, wrought full clean and well. Each of them well seemed a fair burgess, to sit on a dais in a guild-hall. Each for wisdom was fit to be head of his fraternity. For they had enough of goods and income, and eke their wives would soon agree; and else they were certainly in fault. It is full fair to be called "madame" and walk to vigils before the rest, and have a mantle borne regally.

A Cook they had with them for the journey, to boil chickens, with the marrow-bones, and with spicy powders and sweet cyperus. Well knew he a draught of London ale. He could roast, seethe, broil, fry, make broths and well bake a pasty. Capon stew he made, no man better. But it was great pity, methought, that on his chin he had a sore.

A Shipman there was that dwelt far in the west; for aught I wot, he was of Dartmouth. He rode upon a nag as well as he knew how, in a gown of serge as far as the knee. On a lace about his neck he had a dagger, hanging down under his arm. The hot summer had made his hue all brown. He was certainly a good fellow ; full many a draught of wine he had privily drawn on voyage from Bordeaux, while the merchant slept. For nice conscience he cared not a straw. If he fought and had the upper hand of his enemies, he sent them home to every country by water. But in skill to be wary against danger, to reckon well his tides, his currents, his harbour, his pilotage and his was none such from Hull to Carthage. He was hardy and prudent in a venture. By many a tempest his beard had been shaken. He knew well all the havens from Gothland to the Cape of Finisterre, and every creek in Spain and Brittany. His barge was called the Maudelayne.

A Doctor of Physic was with us; in all this world there was none like him for surgery and physic, for he was well grounded in astrology. He watched well times and seasons for his patient by his natural magic; well could he choose a fortunate ascendent for his images. He knew the cause of every ailment, were it of hot humour or cold, moist or dry, and where it was engendered, and of what humour. He was verily a perfect practitioner. The cause known, and the root of his ill, straightway he gave the sick man his remedy. He had his apothecaries full ready to send him his drugs and sirups, for each of them made the other to gain; their friendship was not lately begun. He knew well old Esculapius and eke old Hippocrates, Deiscorides, Rufus, Haly, Galen, Razis, Avicenna, Serapion, Averroes, Damascien, Constantine, Bernard, Gilbertine and Gatesden. In his diet he used measure, with no superfluity therein, but great nourishment and ease of digestion. His meditation was but little on the Bible. He was clad all in sanguine and blue, lined with taffeta and sarcenet ; and yet he was but moderate in expenditure ; he kept what he won in time of pestilence; for gold in physic is a cordial; wherefore he loved gold especially.

A good Wife there was from near Bath, but she was somewhat deaf and that was pity. She had such skill in making cloth that she surpassed them of Ypres and Ghent. In all the parish was no wife that should walk before her to the offering; but if any did, sooth, she was so wroth that she was clean out of charity. Her kerchiefs were wove full fine ; I durst swear they weighed ten pound that were on her head of a Sunday ; her hose were of fine scarlet, tied full close, and her shoes full new and supple. Her face was bold, fair and red of hue. All her life she was a worthy woman ; she had had five husbands at church-door, to say naught of other company in youth, but thereof needeth not now to speak. Thrice she had been at Jerusalem; she had passed many a far stream. She had been at Rome and Bologna, at Saint James in Galicia, and at Cologne. She knew much of wandering by the way. To speak the sooth, she was gap-toothed. She sat easily upon an ambler, well wimpled, and on her head an hat as broad as a buckler or a target, a foot-mantle about her large hips and on her feet a pair of sharp spurs. Well could she laugh and banter in company. I dare adventure she knew of remedies of love, for she knew the old dance in that art.

A good man of religion there was, a poor Parson of a town, but rich in holy thought and labour. He was also a learned man, a clerk, that would preach truly Christ's gospel, and devoutly instruct his parishioners. Benign he was, wondrous diligent and full patient in adversity; and such he was proved oftentimes. Full hateful it were to him to excommunicate for his tithes, and rather in truth would he give unto his poor parishioners of the offerings at church,—yea, and of his own substance. In scanty goods he could find sufficiency. His parish was wide and the houses far apart, but rain or thunder stayed him not, in sickness or misfortune, to visit the farthest in his parish, great and small, on foot and in his hand a staff. This noble ensample he gave to his sheep, that he wrought first and afterward taught. These words he took from the Gospel, and thereto he added eke this figure, that if gold rust what shall iron do? For if a priest be foul, in whom we confide, no wonder a layman rusteth; and let a priest take heed how shameful is a defiled shepherd and a clean sheep. A priest ought well to show by the good ensample of his cleanness how his sheep should live. He let not his benefice out for gold, nor left his sheep cumbered in the mire, nor ran unto Saint Paul's in London, to seek a chantry for rich men's souls, or to be retained in an abbey, but dwelt at home and kept well his fold, so that the wolf made it not miscarry ; he was a shepherd and no hireling. Yet though he was virtuous and holy he was not pitiless to a sinful man, nor haughty and aloof of his speech, but in his teaching wise and benign. To draw folk to heaven by fair living and good ensample was his busy endeavour; unless it were some obdurate person. Him, whatsoever he were, of high or low degree, he would chide sharply for his sin. I trow there was nowhere a better priest. He claimed no pomp and veneration, nor made himself a nice conscience, but taught the lore of Christ and his twelve apostles, and first he followed it himself.

There was with him a Plowman, his brother, that had drawn full many a cart-load of dung. He was a true toiler, and a good, living in peace and perfect charity. He loved God best with his whole heart at all times, in joy or heaviness, and then his neighbour, even as himself. For Christ's sake he would thresh and eke delve and ditch for every poor wight without hire, if it lay in his power. He paid his tithes full fair and well, both of his own labour and of his goods. He rode in a tabard upon a mare.

There were also a Reeve and a Miller, a Summoner and a Pardoner, a Manciple and myself; there were no more.

The Miller was a stout churl, full big of brawn and bones, as was well proved, for wheresoever he went, he would win alway the ram at wrestling. He was short-shouldered and broad, a thick, gnarled fellow. There was no door he would not heave off its hinges, or break with his skull at a running. His beard was red as a sow or fox, and broad eke as though it were a spade. Upon the very tip of his nose he had a wart, and thereon stood a tuft of hairs as red as a sow's ear-bristles. His nostrils were black and wide ; his mouth as great as a great furnace. A sword and buckler he bare beside him. He was a prattler and a buffoon, and his prating was most of ribaldries and sin. Well could he steal corn and take his toll thrice of what he ground; yet pardee he had a thumb of gold. A white coat he wore and a blue hood. Well could he blow and sound the bagpipe, and therewith he brought us out of town.

A worthy Manciple there was of an Inn of Court, of whom stewards might take ensample how to be wise in buying victual. For whether he paid, or took on credit, alway he was so wary in his dealing that he was aye before others and in good case. Now is not that a fair grace from God that such a plain man's wit shall surpass the wisdom of an heap of learned clerks? More than thrice ten masters he had that were careful and expert in law, of whom in that house there were a dozen worthy to be stewards of rent and estate to any lord that is in England, and to let him live by his own property in honour, without debt, unless he were mad, or live as sparsely as he list—men able to help a whole shire in any case that might betide, and yet this Manciple hoodwinked them all.

The Reeve was a slender, bilious man. His beard was shaven as nigh as ever he could; his hair by his ears was shorn round, and docked in front like a priest. Full long were his legs and full lean, like a staff ; no calf could ye see. Well could he keep a bin and garner, that there was no auditor could prove him in fault. Well wist he in drought or showery season, how much his seed and grain should yield. His lord's sheep, his dairy, his cattle, his swine, his horses, his stores and his poultry were wholly under the governance of this reeve, who by his covenant had given the reckoning thereof since his lord was twenty years of age; no man could find him in arrears. There was no bailiff, nor herdsman, nor any other hind, but he knew his trickery and deceit; they dreaded him as the death. He could buy better than his lord. Full richly had he stored for himself in private; of his subtlety well could he please his lord by giving and lending him of his lord's own wealth, and win thanks therefor—and eke a coat and hood. His dwelling was full fair on an heath; the place was shadowed by green trees. In youth he had learned a good trade; he was an excellent wright, a carpenter. This reeve sat on a full good cob that was dapple-grey and named Scot. He had on a long surcoat of blue, and bare at his side a rusty blade. He was of Northfolk, from nigh a town men call Baldeswelle. His coat was tucked up about him, like a friar's, and he rode ever the last of our troup.

A Summoner was with us there, that had a fire-red, cherub's face, for he was pimpled with salt rheum, and his eyes were slit small. He was as wanton and hot as a sparrow, with scald black brows and scurfy beard. Children were afraid of his face. There was no quicksilver, litharge nor brimstone, borax, nor white-lead, cream of tartar, nor ointment that will corrode and cleanse, that might help him of his white blotches, nor of the knobs on his face. Well he loved garlick, onions and leeks, and to drink strong wine, red as blood. Then he would talk and shout, as if he were mad. And when he had drunk of the wine full deep, then would he speak no word but Latin. He had a few terms, three or four, that he had learned out of some decrees; no wonder—he heard them all day long; and eke ye know well how a jay can cry "Watt!" as well as the pope could. But if a wright should test him in other Latin, then had he spent all his learning, and aye he would shout "Questio quid juris." He was a worthy rogue and a kind, a better fellow is not to be met with ; for a quart of ale, he would suffer a good fellow to pursue his vices a twelve month, and excuse him fully. Full privily eke could he fleece a dupe. And if he found a good fellow anywhere, he would teach him in such cases to have no awe of the archdeacon's excommunication; unless the man's soul were in his purse, for it was but in his purse he should be punished. "Purse," said he, "is the arch-deacon's hell." But I wot in right sooth he lied. Every guilty man ought to dread excommunication, for Holy Church's curse will slay, even as absolution saveth. And also let him beware of a significavit nobis. He had at his mercy the indiscreet young folk of the diocese, and knew their secrets and was the adviser of them all. On his head he had set a garland as great as if it were for an ale-house sign ; and he had with him a round-loaf for a shield.

There rode with him a gentle Pardoner, of the house of Blessed Mary in Charing, his friend and his gossip, that straight was come from the court of Rome. Full loud he sung "Come hither, love, to me!" This Summoner bare him a stiff bass, that never trumpet was of half so great a sound. This Pardoner had hair as yellow as honey, hanging smooth by ounces like a hank of flax, and therewith he overspread his shoulders, but it lay thin in locks, one by one. In sport, he wore no hood, for it was trussed up in his wallet, and save for his cap, he rode bare-headed, with locks dangling ; he thought he went all in the new style. He had such glaring eyes as an hare. He had sewed a vernicle on his cap, and before him on his pommel lay his wallet, brimful of pardons all hot from Rome. He had a voice as small as a goat. He had no beard nor ever should have ; his face was as smooth as though it were lately shaven. But in his trade there was not such another pardoner from Berwick unto Ware. For in his wallet he had a pillow-case, which he said was our Lady's veil ; he had a scrap, he said, of the sail that Saint Peter had what time he walked upon the sea when Jesu Christ caught him. He had a latten cross all set with feigned jewels, and in a glass he had pig's bones. With these relics, when he found a poor parson dwelling in the country, he got more money in one day than the parson got in two months ; and thus by flattery and tricks of dissembling, he made the people and the parson his apes. But, to end with, he was in truth a noble ecclesiast in church; well could he read a tale or a lesson, but best of all, sing an offertory ; for he wist well when that song was ended, he must preach and file his tongue to win silver, as well he knew how. Therefore he sung so merry and loud.

Now have I told you in a few words the rank, the equipment and the number of this company, and eke why it was assembled in Southwark at this gentle hostel that is called the Tabard, hard by the Bell. But now it is time to describe unto you how we bare us that same night, when we had dismounted at that hostelry. And afterward I will tell of our journey, and all the remnant of our pilgrimage. But first of your courtesy I pray you that ye ascribe it not to my rudeness in this narrative, though I speak plainly in telling you their words and their cheer; nor though I speak their very words. For this ye know as well as I, whosoever shall tell a tale after a man must rehearse each word as nigh as ever he is able, if it be in his scope, speak he never so rudely and broad, or else he must needs tell his tale untrue, or feign things, or find new words. He may not spare any wight, although it were his brother ; he must as well say one word as the next. Christ himself spake full broad in holy writ, and well ye wot it is no coarseness. Plato eke saith—whosoever can interpret him—the word must be cousin to the deed. Also I pray your forgiveness if here in this tale I have not set folk in their just degree as they should be placed; my wit is short, ye may understand.

Our host made great cheer for us one and all, and seated us anon at supper, and served us with victual as well as might be. The wine was strong and well we list to drink. A seemly man was our host, to have been a marshal in a hall; a large man, with dancing eyes; there is no fairer burgess in Cheapside; bold of his speech, wise and well taught; and he lacked right nothing of manhood; and he was eke a merry man. After supper he began to sport; and after we had paid our reckonings, he spake of mirth among other matters, and said thus:

"Now, lordings, in sooth ye be right welcome to me heartily; for by my troth I saw not this year so merry a company at once in this hostel as is here this night. Fain would I make you some mirth, if I wist how. And even now I bethink me of a mirth to please you, and it shall cost naught. Ye go to Canterbury ; God speed you ; the blessed martyr quit you your guerdon. And I wot well as ye go your way, ye purpose to tell tales and to sport; for truly there is no comfort nor mirth to ride by the way dumb as a stone; and therefore, as I said erst, I will make you some disport and pleasance. And if it liketh you all, with one mind, to stand now by my judgment and to do as I shall tell you, to-morrow when ye ride by the way, now, by my father's soul in heaven, if ye be not merry I will give you my head. Hold up your hands, without more words."

Our counsel was not long to seek; it seemed not worth while to make any bones of it, and we gave him our assent without more deliberation, and bade him, as he list, say his verdict.

"Lordings," quoth he, "now hearken, but I pray you take it not with contempt; this is the point, to speak short and plain, that each of you on this journey, to shorten our way withal, shall tell two tales, on the road to Canterbury I mean, and on the road homeward he shall tell other two, of adventures that have befallen whilom. And he of you that beareth him best of all, that is to say, that telleth for this occasion tales of best instruction and most pleasance, shall have a supper, at the cost of us all, here in this place, sitting at this post, when we come from Canterbury again. And to make you the merrier, I will myself gladly go with you, at mine own cost, and be your guide. And whosoever shall gainsay my judgment shall pay all that we spend on the road. And if ye vouchsafe that it be so, tell me straightway without more words, and I will early prepare me therefor."

This thing was granted and our oaths sworn with full glad heart, and we prayed him also that he would vouchsafe to do as he had said, and be our governor, and the judge and umpire of our tales, and provide a supper at a certain price; and we would be ruled by his decision in high and low; and thus, with one mind, we accorded to his judgment. And thereupon the wine was fetched. We drank and went everyone to rest without any longer delay. On the morrow, when day began to spring, our host uprose and was chaunticleer to us all, and gathered us together all in a flock, and forth we rode, at a little more than a walk, unto the watering-place of Saint Thomas. There our host began to rein in his horse, and said: "Lordings, hearken if ye list. Ye wot your agreement and I remind you of it. If even-song accord with morning-song, now let see who shall tell the first story. As ever I hope to drink ale or wine, whosoever is rebel to my judgment shall pay for all that is bought by the way. Now draw cuts, ere we ride farther. He that hath the shortest shall begin. Sir Knight, my lord and master, draw thy cut now, for that is my will. Come nearer, my lady Prioress; and ye, sir Clerk, let be your shyness and ponder not; every man, lay hand to!"

Straightway every wight began to draw; and to tell briefly how it was, were it by chance or by fate or by luck, the truth is the lot fell to the Knight, for which everyone was full blithe and glad; and he must tell his tale, as was reasonable in accordance with the promise and agreement which ye have heard ; what need of more words? And when this good man saw it was so, as one that was sensible and obedient in keeping his willing promise, he said :

"Sith I shall begin the sport, why, welcome be the cut, in God's name! Let us ride now, and hearken what I shall say." And with that word we rode forward. And he, with full merry cheer, began anon his tale, and said in this sort.

Here endeth the prologue of this book; and here beginneth the first tale, which is the Knight's Tale.