The Canterbury Tales: "The Prologue"

from The Canterbury Tales: The Prologue 

Geoffrey Chaucer
translated by Nevill Coghill 

THE PROLOGUE

            When in April the sweet showers fall
            And pierce the drought of March to the root, and all
            The veins are bathed in liquor of such power
            As brings about the engendering of the flower,

5         When also Zephyrus with his sweet breath
            Exhales an air in every grove and heath
            Upon the tender shoots, and the young sun
            His half-course in the sign of the Ram has run,
            And the small fowl are making melody
10         That sleep away the night with open eye
            (So nature pricks them and their heart engages)
            Then people long to go on pilgrimages
            And palmers long to seek the stranger strands
            Of far-off saints, hallowed in sundry lands,
15         And specially, from every shire’s end
            Of England, down to Canterbury they wend
            To seek the holy blissful martyr, quick
            To give his help to them when they were sick.
            It happened in that season that one day
20         In Southwark, at The Tabard, as I lay
            Ready to go on pilgrimage and start
            For Canterbury, most devout at heart,
            At night there came into that hostelry
            Some nine and twenty in a company
25         Of sundry folk happening then to fall
            In fellowship, and they were pilgrims all
            That towards Canterbury meant to ride.
            The rooms and stables of the inn were wide:
            They made us easy, all was of the best.
30         And, briefly, when the sun had gone to rest,
            I’d spoken to them all upon the trip
            And was soon one with them in fellowship,
            Pledged to rise early and to take the way
            To Canterbury, as you heard me say.
35         But none the less, while I have time and space,
            Before my story takes a further pace,
            It seems a reasonable thing to say
            What their condition was, the full array
            Of each of them, as it appeared to me,
40         According to profession and degree,
            And what apparel they were riding in;
            And at a Knight I therefore will begin. 

THE KNIGHT

            There was a Knight, a most distinguished man,
            Who from the day on which he first began
45         To ride abroad had followed chivalry,
            Truth, honor, generousness, and courtesy.
            He had done nobly in his sovereign’s war
            And ridden into battle, no man more,
            As well in Christian as in heathen places,
50        And ever honored for his noble graces. 
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
            He was of sovereign value in all eyes.
70         And though so much distinguished, he was wise
            And in his bearing modest as a maid.
            He never yet a boorish thing had said
            In all his life to any, come what might;
            He was a true, a perfect gentle-knight. 
75         Speaking of his equipment, he possessed
            Fine horses, but he was not gaily dressed.
            He wore a fustian tunic stained and dark
            With smudges where his armor had left mark;
            Just home from service, he had joined our ranks
80         To do his pilgrimage and render thanks.
            

THE SQUIRE

            He had his son with him, a fine young Squire,
            A lover and cadet, a lad of fire
            With locks as curly as if they had been pressed.
            He was some twenty years of age, I guessed.
85         In stature he was of a moderate length,
            With wonderful agility and strength.
            He’d seen some service with the cavalry
            In Flanders and Artois and Picardy
            And had done valiantly in little space
90        Of time, in hope to win his lady’s grace.
            He was embroidered like a meadow bright
            And full of freshest flowers, red and white.
            Singing he was, or fluting all the day;
            He was as fresh as is the month of May.
95         Short was his gown, the sleeves were long and wide;
            He knew the way to sit a horse and ride.
            He could make songs and poems and recite,
            Knew how to joust and dance, to draw and write.
            He loved so hotly that till dawn grew pale
100      He slept as little as a nightingale.
            Courteous he was, lowly and serviceable,
            And carved to serve his father at the table. 

THE YEOMAN

            There was a Yeoman with him at his side,
            No other servant; so he chose to ride.
105     This Yeoman wore a coat and hood of green,
            And peacock-feathered arrows, bright and keen
            And neatly sheathed, hung at his belt the while
            —For he could dress his gear in yeoman style,
            His arrows never drooped their feathers low—
110     And in his hand he bore a mighty bow.
            His head was like a nut, his face was brown.
            He knew the whole of woodcraft up and down.
            A saucy brace was on his arm to ward
            It from the bow-string, and a shield and sword
115     Hung at one side, and at the other slipped
            A jaunty dirk, spear-sharp and well-equipped.
            A medal of St. Christopher he wore
            Of shining silver on his breast, and bore
            A hunting-horn, well slung and burnished clean,
120     That dangled from a baldrick of bright green.
            He was a proper forester, I guess.

THE COOK

            They had a Cook with them who stood alone
390     For boiling chicken with a marrow-bone,
            Sharp flavoring-powder and a spice for savor.
            He could distinguish London ale by flavor,
            And he could roast and seethe and broil and fry,
            Make good thick soup, and bake a tasty pie.
395     But what a pity—so it seemed to me,
            That he should have an ulcer on his knee.
            As for blancmange, he made it with the best.

THE WIFE OF BATH

455     A worthy woman from beside Bath city
            Was with us, somewhat deaf, which was a pity.
            In making cloth she showed so great a bent
            She bettered those of Ypres and of Ghent.
            In all the parish not a dame dared stir
460     Towards the altar steps in front of her,
            And if indeed they did, so wrath was she
            As to be quite put out of charity.
            Her kerchiefs were of finely woven ground;
            I dared have sworn they weighed a good ten pound,
465     The ones she wore on Sunday, on her head.
            Her hose were of the finest scarlet red
            And gartered tight; her shoes were soft and new.
            Bold was her face, handsome, and red in hue.
            A worthy woman all her life, what’s more
470     She’d had five husbands, all at the church door,
            Apart from other company in youth;
            No need just now to speak of that, forsooth.
            And she had thrice been to Jerusalem,
            Seen many strange rivers and passed over them;
475     She’d been to Rome and also to Boulogne,
            St. James of Compostella and Cologne,
            And she was skilled in wandering by the way.
            She had gap-teeth, set widely, truth to say.
            Easily on an ambling horse she sat
480     Well wimpled up, and on her head a hat
            As broad as is a buckler or a shield;
            She had a flowing mantle that concealed
            Large hips, her heels spurred sharply under that.
            In company she liked to laugh and chat
485     And knew the remedies for love’s mischances,
            An art in which she knew the oldest dances.

THE PARSON

            A holy-minded man of good renown
            There was, and poor, the Parson to a town,
            Yet he was rich in holy thought and work.
490     He also was a learned man, a clerk,
           Who truly knew Christ’s gospel and would preach it
            Devoutly to parishioners, and teach it.
            Benign and wonderfully diligent,
            And patient when adversity was sent
495     (For so he proved in much adversity)
            He hated cursing to extort a fee,
            Nay rather he preferred beyond a doubt
            Giving to poor parishioners round about
            Both from church offerings and his property;
500     He could in little find sufficiency.
            Wide was his parish, with houses far asunder,
            Yet he neglected not in rain or thunder,
            In sickness or in grief, to pay a call
            On the remotest, whether great or small,
505      Upon his feet, and in his hand a stave.
            This noble example to his sheep he gave
            That first he wrought, and afterward he taught;
            And it was from the Gospel he had caught
            Those words, and he would add this figure too,
510     That if gold rust, what then will iron do?
            For if a priest be foul in whom we trust
            No wonder that a common man should rust;
            And shame it is to see—let priests take stock—
            A shitten shepherd and a snowy flock.
515     The true example that a priest should give
            Is one of cleanness, how the sheep should live.
            He did not set his benefice to hire
            And leave his sheep encumbered in the mire
            Or run to London to earn easy bread
520     By singing masses for the wealthy dead,
            Or find some Brotherhood and get enrolled.
            He stayed at home and watched over his fold
            So that no wolf should make the sheep miscarry.
            He was a shepherd and no mercenary.
525     Holy and virtuous he was, but then
            Never contemptuous of sinful men,
            Never disdainful, never too proud or fine,
            But was discreet in teaching and benign.
            His business was to show a fair behavior
530     And draw men thus to Heaven and their Savior,
            Unless indeed a man were obstinate;
            And such, whether of high or low estate,
            He put to sharp rebuke, to say the least.
            I think there never was a better priest.
535     He sought no pomp or glory in his dealings,
            No scrupulosity had spiced his feelings.
            Christ and His Twelve Apostles and their lore
            He taught, but followed it himself before.

THE PLOWMAN

            There was a Plowman with him there, his brother;
540     Many a load of dung one time or other
            He must have carted through the morning dew.
            He was an honest worker, good and true,
            Living in peace and perfect charity,
            And, as the gospel bade him, so did he,
545     Loving God best with all his heart and mind
            And then his neighbor as himself, repined
            At no misfortune, slacked for no content,
            For steadily about his work he went
            To thrash his corn, to dig or to manure
550     Or make a ditch; and he would help the poor
            For love of Christ and never take a penny
            If he could help it, and, as prompt as any,
            He paid his tithes in full when they were due
            On what he owned, and on his earnings too.
555     He wore a tabard smock and rode a mare. 

THE SUMMONER

            There was a Summoner with us at that Inn,
            His face on fire, like a cherubim,
            For he had carbuncles. His eyes were narrow,
            He was as hot and lecherous as a sparrow.
645     Black scabby brows he had, and a thin beard.
            Children were afraid when he appeared.
            No quicksilver, lead ointment, tartar creams,
            No brimstone, no boracic, so it seems,
            Could make a salve that had the power to bite,
650     Clean up, or cure his whelks of knobby white
            Or purge the pimples sitting on his cheeks.
            Garlic he loved, and onions too, and leeks,
            And drinking strong red wine till all was hazy.
            Then he would shout and jabber as if crazy,
655     And wouldn’t speak a word except in Latin
            When he was drunk, such tags as he was pat in;
            He only had a few, say two or three,
            That he had mugged up out of some decree;
            No wonder, for he heard them every day.
660     And, as you know, a man can teach a jay
            To call out “Walter” better than the Pope.
            But had you tried to test his wits and grope
            For more, you’d have found nothing in the bag.
            Then “Questio quid juris” was his tag.
665     He was a noble varlet and a kind one,
            You’d meet none better if you went to find one.
            Why, he’d allow—just for a quart of wine—
            Any good lad to keep a concubine
            A twelvemonth and dispense him altogether!
670     And he had finches of his own to feather:
            And if he found some rascal with a maid
            He would instruct him not to be afraid
            In such a case of the Archdeacon’s curse
            (Unless the rascal’s soul were in his purse)
675     For in his purse the punishment should be.
            “Purse is the good Archdeacon’s Hell,” said he.
            But well I know he lied in what he said;
            A curse should put a guilty man in dread,
            For curses kill, as shriving brings, salvation.
680     We should beware of excommunication.
            Thus, as he pleased, the man could bring duress
            On any young fellow in the diocese.
            He knew their secrets, they did what he said.
            He wore a garland set upon his head
685     Large as the holly-bush upon a stake
            Outside an ale-house, and he had a cake,
            A round one, which it was his joke to wield
            As if it were intended for a shield. 

THE PARDONER

            He and a gentle Pardoner rode together,
690     A bird from Charing Cross of the same feather,
            Just back from visiting the Court of Rome.
            He loudly sang “Come hither, love, come home!”
            The Summoner sang deep seconds to this song,
            No trumpet ever sounded half so strong.
695     This Pardoner had hair as yellow as wax,
            Hanging down smoothly like a hank of flax.
            In driblets fell his locks behind his head
            Down to his shoulders which they overspread;
            Thinly they fell, like rat-tails, one by one.
700     He wore no hood upon his head, for fun;
            The hood inside his wallet had been stowed,
            He aimed at riding in the latest mode;
            But for a little cap his head was bare
            And he had bulging eye-balls, like a hare.
705     He’d sewed a holy relic on his cap;
            His wallet lay before him on his lap,
            Brimful of pardons come from Rome, all hot.
            He had the same small voice a goat has got.
            His chin no beard had harbored, nor would harbor,
710     Smoother than ever chin was left by barber.
            I judge he was a gelding, or a mare.
            As to his trade, from Berwick down to Ware
            There was no pardoner of equal grace,
            For in his trunk he had a pillow-case
715     Which he asserted was Our Lady’s veil.
            He said he had a gobbet of the sail
            Saint Peter had the time when he made bold
            To walk the waves, till Jesu Christ took hold.
            He had a cross of metal set with stones
720     And, in a glass, a rubble of pigs’ bones.
            And with these relics, any time he found
            Some poor up-country parson to astound,
            In one short day, in money down, he drew
            More than the parson in a month or two,
725     And by his flatteries and prevarication
            Made monkeys of the priest and congregation.
            But still to do him justice first and last
            In church he was a noble ecclesiast.
            How well he read a lesson or told a story!
730     But best of all he sang an Offertory,
            For well he knew that when that song was sung
            He’d have to preach and tune his honey-tongue
            And (well he could) win silver from the crowd.
            That’s why he sang so merrily and loud. 

735     Now I have told you shortly, in a clause,
            The rank, the array, the number, and the cause
            Of our assembly in this company
            In Southwark, at that high-class hostelry
            Known as The Tabard, close beside The Bell.
740     And now the time has come for me to tell
            How we behaved that evening; I’ll begin
            After we had alighted at the Inn,
            Then I’ll report our journey, stage by stage,
            All the remainder of our pilgrimage.
745     But first I beg of you, in courtesy,
            Not to condemn me as unmannerly
            If I speak plainly and with no concealings
            And give account of all their words and dealings,
            Using their very phrases as they fell.
750     For certainly, as you all know so well,
            He who repeats a tale after a man
            Is bound to say, as nearly as he can,
            Each single word, if he remembers it,
            However rudely spoken or unfit,
755     Or else the tale he tells will be untrue,
            The things pretended and the phrases new.
            He may not flinch although it were his brother,
            He may as well say one word as another.
            And Christ Himself spoke broad in Holy Writ,
760     Yet there is no scurrility in it,
            And Plato says, for those with power to read,
            “The word should be as cousin to the deed.”
            Further I beg you to forgive it me
            If I neglect the order and degree
765     And what is due to rank in what I’ve planned.
            I’m short of wit as you will understand.

 THE HOST

            Our Host gave us great welcome; everyone
            Was given a place and supper was begun.
            He served the finest victuals you could think,
770     The wine was strong and we were glad to drink.
            A very striking man our Host withal,
            And fit to be a marshal in a hall.
            His eyes were bright, his girth a little wide;
            There is no finer burgess in Cheapside.
775     Bold in his speech, yet wise and full of tact,
            There was no manly attribute he lacked,
            What’s more he was a merry-hearted man.
            After our meal he jokingly began
            To talk of sport, and, among other things
780     After we’d settled up our reckonings,
            He said as follows: “Truly, gentlemen,
            You’re very welcome and I can’t think when
            —Upon my word I’m telling you no lie—
            I’ve seen a gathering here that looked so spry,
785     No, not this year, as in this tavern now.
            I’d think you up some fun if I knew how.
            And, as it happens, a thought has just occurred
            To please you, costing nothing, on my word.
            You’re off to Canterbury—well, God speed!
790     Blessed St. Thomas answer to your need!
            And I don’t doubt, before the journey’s done
            You mean to while the time in tales and fun.
            Indeed, there’s little pleasure for your bones
            Riding along and all as dumb as stones.
795     So let me then propose for your enjoyment,
            Just as I said, a suitable employment.
            And if my notion suits and you agree
            And promise to submit yourselves to me
            Playing your parts exactly as I say
800     Tomorrow as you ride along the way,
            Then by my father’s soul (and he is dead)
            If you don’t like it you can have my head!
            Hold up your hands, and not another word.”
            Well, our opinion was not long deferred,
805     It seemed not worth a serious debate;
            We all agreed to it at any rate
            And bade him issue what commands he would.
            “My lords,” he said, “now listen for your good,
            And please don’t treat my notion with disdain.
810     This is the point. I’ll make it short and plain.
            Each one of you shall help to make things slip
            By telling two stories on the outward trip
            To Canterbury, that’s what I intend,
            And, on the homeward way to journey’s end
815     Another two, tales from the days of old;
            And then the man whose story is best told,
            That is to say who gives the fullest measure
            Of good morality and general pleasure,
            He shall be given a supper, paid by all,
820     Here in this tavern, in this very hall,
            When we come back again from Canterbury.
            And in the hope to keep you bright and merry
            I’ll go along with you myself and ride
            All at my own expense and serve as guide.
825     I’ll be the judge, and those who won’t obey
            Shall pay for what we spend upon the way.
            Now if you all agree to what you’ve heard
            Tell me at once without another word,
            And I will make arrangements early for it.”
830     Of course we all agreed, in fact we swore it
            Delightedly, and made entreaty too
            That he should act as he proposed to do,
            Become our Governor in short, and be
            Judge of our tales and general referee,
835     And set the supper at a certain price.
            We promised to be ruled by his advice
            Come high, come low; unanimously thus
            We set him up in judgment over us.
            More wine was fetched, the business being done;
840     We drank it off and up went everyone
            To bed without a moment of delay.
            Early next morning at the spring of day
            Up rose our Host and roused us like a cock,
            Gathering us together in a flock,
845     And off we rode at slightly faster pace
            Than walking to St. Thomas’ watering-place;
            And there our Host drew up, began to ease
            His horse, and said, “Now, listen if you please,
            My lords! Remember what you promised me.
850     If evensong and matins will agree
            Let’s see who shall be first to tell a tale.
            And as I hope to drink good wine and ale
            I’ll be your judge. The rebel who disobeys,
            However much the journey costs, he pays.
855     Now draw for cut and then we can depart;
            The man who draws the shortest cut shall start.”