This same worthy knight had been also
Sometime with the lord of Palatia,
Against another heathen in Turkey;
And evermore he had a sterling name.
And though he was brave, he was wise,
And of his manner as meek as is a maid.
He was never rude
In all his life to any sort of person.
He was a true, perfect, noble knight.
But to tell you of his attire,
His horses were good, but his clothes not bright.
Of rough cloth he wore a tunic
All ruststained by his coat of mail,
For he was late y-come from his viage,
And wente for to doon his pilgrimage.
With him ther was his sone, a yong SQUYER,
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 deliver, and greet of strengthe.
And he had been somtyme in chivachye,
In Flaundres, in Artoys, and Picardye,
And born him wel, as of so litel space,
In hope to stonden in his lady grace.
Embrouded was he, as it were a mede
Al ful of fresshe floures, whyte and rede.
Singinge he was, or floytinge, all the day;
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
Short was his goune, with sieves longe and wyde.
Wel coude he sitte on hors, and faire ryde.
He coude songes make and wel endyte,
Juste and eek daunce, and wel purtreye and wryte.
So hote he lovede, that by nightertale
He sleep namore than dooth a nightingale.
Curteys he was, lowly, and servisable,
And carf biforn his fader at the table.
A YEMAN hadde he, and servaunts namo
At that tyme, for him liste ryde so;
And he was clad in cote and hood of grene;
A sheef of pecok-arwes brighte and kene
Under his belt he bar ful thriftily;
(Wel coude he dresse his takel yemanly:
His arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe),
And in his hand he bar a mighty bowe.
A not-heed hadde he, with a broun visage.
Of wode-craft wel coude he al the usage.
Upon his arm he bar a gay bracer,
And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler,
And on that other syde a gay daggere,
Harneised wel, and sharp as point of spere;
A Cristofre on his brest of silver shene.
For he’d no sooner returned from his voyage,
Than he set out to make his pilgrimage.
With him there was his son, a young SQUIRE,
A lover, and a knight he would become,
With locks so curly, you’d think them curling-ironed.
Of twenty years of age he was, I guess.
Of his stature he was average height,
And wonderfully agile, and of great strength.
And he had spent some time in combat
In Flanders, Artois and Picardy,5
And carried himself well, for a beginner,
In hope to stand in his lady’s grace.
Embroidered was he, as if a meadow
All full of fresh flowers, white and red.
Singing he was, or piping all the day;
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
Short was his gown, with sleeves long and wide.
Well could he sit a horse and well ride.
He could songs make and poetry indite,
Joust and dance, draw well and write.
So hotly he loved all through the night
He slept no more than a nightingale.
Courteous he was, humble and himself useful made,
And carved meat for his father at the table.
A YEOMAN had he, and servants no more
At that time, for it pleased him to ride so;
And he was clad in coat and hood of green.
A sheaf of peacock-arrows sharp and bright
Under his belt he carried with care.
Well could he keep his gear:
His arrows drooped not with feathers low,
And in his hand he bore a mighty bow.
A close-cropped head had he, with a sun-browned face.
Of woodcraft he knew all the skills.
Upon his arm he bore a fine wrist guard,
And by his side a buckler and sword,
And on his other side a shining dagger,
Hafted well, and sharp as point of spear:
A silver Saint Christopher on his breast shone.
An horn he bar, the bawdrik was of grene;
A forster was he, soothly, as I gesse.
Ther was also a Nonne, a PRIORESSE,
That of hir smyling was ful simple and coy:
Hir gretteste ooth was but by sëynt Loy;
And she was cleped madame Eglentyne.
Ful wel she song the service divyne,
Entuned in hir nose ful semely;
And Frensh she spak ful faire and fetisly,
After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe,
For Frensh of Paris was to hir unknowe.
At mete wel y-taught was she with-alle;
She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle,
Ne wette hir fingres in hir sauce depe.
Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe,
That no drope ne fille up-on hir brest.
In curteisye was set ful muche hir lest.
Hir over lippe wyped she so clene,
That in hir coppe was no ferthing sene
Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte.
Ful semely after hir mete she raughte,
And sikerly she was of greet disport,
And ful plesaunt, and amiable of port,
And peyned hir to countrefete chere
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 sawe a mous
Caught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde.
Of smale houndes had she, that she fedde
With rosted flesh, or milk and wastel-breed,
But sore 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 semely hir wimpel pinched was;
Hir nose tretys; hir eyen greye as glas;
Hir mouth ful smal, and ther-to softe and reed;
But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed;
A horn he carried, with strap of green;
A forester was he in fact, as I guess.
There was also a Nun, a PRIORESSE,
Whose smile was full simple and modest—
Her greatest oath was but by Saint Eligius!—
And she was called Madame Eglentyne.
Full well she sang the service divine,
Intoning in her nose full seemly;
And French she spoke with elegant fluency,
After the School of Stratford at Bow, 6
For French of Paris was to her unknown.
At table well taught was she withal:
She let no morsel from her lips fall,
Nor wet her fingers in her sauce too deep.
Well could she convey a spoonful, and take care
That no drop fell upon her breast.
She took much pleasure in etiquette.
Her upper lip she wiped so clean,
That in her cup was no drop seen
Of grease, when she had drunk her draft.
Full politely for her food she reached,
And certainly she was a cheerful sort,
And full
pleasant, nice deportment,
And she took pains to reflect the manners
Of court, and to be stately in her carriage,
And to be held worthy of reverence.
But, for to speak of her compassion,
She was so charitable and kind,
She would weep if she saw a mouse
Caught in a trap, or if it were dead or bleeding.
Some small hounds had she, that she fed
With roasted flesh, or milk and fine white bread.
But sorely wept she if one of them were dead,
Or if someone beat it with a stick;
She was all feeling and tender heart.
Full seemly her wimple pleated was,
Her nose graceful, her eyes gray as glass,
Her mouth full small, lips soft and red,
But certainly she had a fair forehead—
It was almost a spanne brood, I trowe;
For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe.
Ful fetis was hir cloke, as I was war.
Of smal coral aboute hir arm she bar
A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene;
And ther-on heng a broche of gold ful shene,
On which ther was first write a crowned A,
And after, Amor vincit omnia.
Another NONNE with hir hadde she,
That was hir chapeleyne, and PREESTES THREE.
A MONK ther was, a fair for the maistrye,
An out-rydere, that lovede venerye;
A manly man, to been an abbot able.
Ful many a deyntee hors hadde he in stable:
And, whan he rood, men mighte his brydel here
Ginglen in a whistling wind as clere,
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,
By-cause that it was old and som-del streit,
This ilke monke leet olde thinges pace,
And held after the newe world the space.
He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen,
That seith, that hunters been nat holy men;
Ne that a monk, whan he is cloisterlees,
Is lykned til a fish that is waterlees;
This is to seyn, a monk out of his cloistre.
But thilke text held he nat worth an oistre;
And I seyde, his opinioun was good.
What sholde he studie, and make himselven wood,
Upon a book in cloistre alwey to poure,
Or swinken with his handes, and laboure,
As Austin bit? How shal the world be served?
Lat Austin have his swink to him reserved.
Therefore he was a pricasour aright,
Grehoundes he hadde, as swifte as fowel in flight
Of priking and of hunting for the hare
Was al his lust, for no cost wolde he spare.
I seigh his sieves purfiled at the hond
It was almost a span broad, I believe—
For in no way was she undersized.
Full elegant was her cloak, as I was aware.
About her arm she bore a coral rosary,
The beads set off with stones green;
And thereon hung a broach, of shining gold,
On which there was first written a crowned A,
And after, Amor vincit omnia.7
Another NUN with her had she,
Who was her chaplain, and PRIESTS THREE.
A MONK there was, and a good one too,
An estate manager, who also loved to hunt:
A manly man, and an abbot able.
Full many a fine horse had he in stable,
And when he rode men might his bridle hear
Jingling in a whistling wind as clear
And loud as doth the chapel bell,
There where this lord ran a priory.
The rule of Saint Maurus or of Saint Benedict, 8
Because it was old and somewhat strict,
This same monk let slide,
And held after the new world for his guide.
He gave not for that text a plucked hen,
That said hunters should not be holy men,
Nor that a monk when he neglects his vows,
Is like a fish out of water
(That is to say a monk out of his cloister);
But that doctrine held he not worth an oyster.
And I said his opinion was good:
Why should he study, and make himself a nut,
Upon a book in cloister always to pore,
Or work with his hands and labor,
As Augustine9 bid? How shall the world be served?
Let Augustine have his work for him reserved!
So he rode energetically all right:
Greyhounds he had, as swift as birds in flight;
Of riding and of hunting for the hare
Was all his lust, for it no cost would he spare.
I saw his sleeves trimmed at the cuff
With grys, and that the fyneste of a lond;
And, for to festne his hood under his chin
He hadde of gold y-wroght a curious pin:
A love-knotte in the gretter end ther was.
His heed was balled, that shoon as any glas,
And eek his face, as he had been anoint.
He was a lord ful fat and in good point;
His eyen stepe, and rollinge in his heed,
That stemed as a forneys of a leed;
His botes souple, his hors in greet estat.
Now certeinly he was a fair prelat;
He was nat pale as a for-pyned goost.
A fat swan loved he best of any roost.
His palfrey was as broun as is a berye.
A FRERE ther was, a wantown and a merye,
A limitour, a ful solempne man.
In alle the ordres foure is noon that can
So muche of daliaunce and fair langage.
He hadde maad ful many a mariage
Of yonge wommen, at his owne cost.
Un-to his ordre he was a noble post.
Ful wel biloved and famulier was he
With frankeleyns over-al in his contree,
And eek with worthy wommen of the toun:
For he had power of confessioun,
As seyde him-self, more than a curat,
For of his ordre he was licentiat.
Ful swetely herde he confessioun,
And plesaunt was his absolucion;
He was an esy man to yeve penaunce
Ther as he wiste to han a good pitaunce;
For unto a povre ordre for to yive
Is signe that a man is wel y-shrive.
For if he yaf, he dorste make avaunt,
He wiste that a man was repentaunt.
For many a man so hard is of his herte,
He may nat wepe al-thogh him sore smerte.
Therfore, in stede of weping and preyeres,
Men moot yeve silver to the povre freres.
With gray fur and that the finest in the land;
And to fasten his hood under his chin,
He had of gold crafted a full curious pin:
A love-knot in the larger end there was.
His head was bald, and shone like glass,
And his face as well, as if anointed.
He was a lord full fat and yet his muscles fit:
His eyes protruding, and rolling in his head,
That glowed like the fire under a cauldron;
His boots supple, his horse in great condition—
Now certainly he was a fair prelate.
He was not pale as a tortured ghost;
A fat swan loved he best of any roast.
And brown as a berry was his horse.
A FRIAR10 there was, a lecher and a merry,
A licensed beggar, with his own territory.
Among the orders four was none who knew
So much of dalliance and fair language.
He had arranged f
ull many a marriage
Of young women, at his own cost.
Unto his order he was a noble post.
Full well beloved and familiar was he
With rich franklins throughout his territory,
And with the worthy women of the town;
For he had power of confession,11
As he said himself, more than a local curate,
For of his order he was licentiate.
Full sweetly he heard confession,
And pleasant was his absolution;
He was an easy man to make penance
Wherever he could expect a nice remembrance.
For unto a poor order to give
Is a sign that a man is well shriven—
For if he gave something, the Friar could be content,
That a man was truly repentant.
For many a man is so hard of heart,
He may not weep though it sore smarts:
Therefore instead of weeping and prayers,
Men may give silver to the poor freres.
His tipet was ay farsed ful of knyves
And pinnes, for to yeven faire wyves.
And certeinly he hadde a mery note;
Wel coude he singe and pleyen on a rote.
Of yeddinges he bar utterly the prys.
His nekke whyt was as the flour-de-lys;
Ther-to 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 un-to swich a worthy man as he
Acorded nat, as by his facultee,
To have with seke lazars aqueyntaunce.
It is nat honest, it may nat avaunce
For to delen with no swich poraille,
But al with riche and sellers of vitaille.
And over-al, ther as profit sholde aryse,
Curteys he was, and lowly of servyse.
Ther nas no man no-wher so vertuous.
He was the beste beggere in his hous;
And yaf a certeyn ferme for the graunt;
Noon of his bretheren cam ther in his haunt;
For thogh a widwe hadde noght a sho,
So plesaunt was his “In principio,”
Yet wolde he have a ferthing, er he wente.
His purchas was wel bettre than his rente.
And rage he coude, as it were right a whelpe.
In love-dayes ther coude he muchel helpe.
For there he was nat lyk a cloisterer,
With a thredbar cope, as is a povre scoler,
But he was lyk a maister or a pope.
Of double worsted was his semi-cope,
That rounded as a belle out of the presse.
Somwhat he lipsed, for his wantownesse,
To make his English swete up-on his tonge;
And in his harping, whan that he had songe,
His eyen twinkled in his heed aright,
As doon the sterres in the frosty night.
This worthy limitour was cleped Huberd.
Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 6
