Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Geoffrey Chaucer

  Nor how the funeral wake was held

  All that night; nor how the Greeks played

  The funeral games, nor care I to say—

  Who wrestled best naked with oil anointed,

  Nor who bore himself best in every difficulty.

  I will not tell how they went

  Home to Athens when the games were done;

  But quickly to the point then will I wend,

  And make of my long tale an end.

  After the passage of a certain number of years

  All ceased was the mourning and the tears

  Of Greeks, by one general assent.

  Then seems it to me there was a parliament

  At Athens, upon certain points and matters;

  Among which points discussed was

  To have with certain countries alliance,

  And to have fully of the Thebans submission.

  For which this noble Theseus anon

  Caused to be sent for gentle Palamon,

  Unknown to him of what cause and why;

  But in his black clothes sorrowfully

  He came at his commandment quickly.

  Then sent Theseus for Emily.

  When they were sat, and hushed was all the place,

  And Theseus had a space of time abided

  Before any word came from his wise breast,

  His eyes set he there as was his pleasure,

  And with a sad visage he syked stille,

  And after that right thus he seyde his wille.

  “The firste moevere of the cause above,

  Whan he first made the faire cheyne of love,

  Greet was th‘effect, and heigh was his entente;

  Wel wiste he why, and what ther-of he mente;

  For with that faire cheyne of love he bond

  The fyr, the eyr, the water, and the lond

  In certeyn boundes, that they may nat flee;

  That same prince and that moevere,” quod he,

  “Hath stablissed, in this wrecched world adoun,

  Certeyne dayes and duracioun

  To al that is engendred in this place,

  Over the whiche day they may nat pace,

  Al mowe they yet tho dayes wel abregge;

  Ther needeth non auctoritee allegg,

  For it is preved by experience,

  But that me list declaren my sentence.

  Than may men by this ordre wel discerne,

  That thilke moevere stable is and eterne.

  Wel may men knowe, but it be a fool,

  That every part deryveth from his hool.

  For nature hath nat take his beginning

  Of no party ne cantel of a thing,

  But of a thing that parfit is and stable,

  Descending so, til it be corrumpable.

  And therfore, of his wyse purveyaunce,

  He hath so wel biset his ordinaunce,

  That speces of thinges and progressiouns

  Shullen enduren by successiouns,

  And nat eterne be, with-oute lye:

  This maistow understonde and seen at ye.

  “Lo the ook, that hath so long a norisshinge

  From tyme that it first biginneth springe,

  And hath so long a lyf, as we may see,

  Yet at the laste wasted is the tree.

  Considereth eek, how that the harde stoon

  Under our feet, on which we trede and goon,

  Yit wasteth it, as it lyth by the weye.

  And with a sad visage he sighed quietly,

  And after that right thus he spoke his will:

  “The First Mover of the cause above,

  When he first made the fair chain of love,26

  Great was the effect, and noble was his intent.

  Well knew he why, and what thereof he meant;

  For with that fair chain of love he bound

  The fire, the air, the water, and the land

  In certain bounds, that they may not flee.

  That same Prince and that Mover,” said he,

  “Has established in this wretched world below

  Certain days and duration

  To all that is engendered in this place,

  Beyond which day they may not pass,

  Although they yet may those days well shorten.

  There needs no authority to cite,

  For it is proved by experience,

  But it pleases me to declare my thought.

  Then may men by this order well discern

  That the Mover is stable and eternal.

  Well may men know, except the fool,

  That every part derives from its whole.

  For nature has not taken his beginning

  Of any part or portion of a thing,

  But from a thing that is perfect and stable,

  Descending from heaven until it becomes corruptible.

  And therefore, of his wise foresight and providence,

  He has so well arranged his plan and ordinance

  That species of things and natural changes

  Shall endure by succession of generations

  And not by being eternal, without any lie.

  This you may understand and see with your own eye:

  “Lo, the oak that has so long a growth

  From the time that it to life first began to spring,

  And has so long a life, as we may see,

  Yet at last wasted is the tree.

  Consider also, how the hard stone

  Under our feet, on which we tread and go,

  Yet it wastes, as it lies by the way.

  The brode river somtyme wexeth dreye.

  The grete tounes see we wane and wende.

  Than may ye see that al this thing hath ende.

  “Of man and womman seen we wel also,

  That nedeth, in oon of thise termes two,

  This is to seyn, in youthe or elles age,

  He moot ben deed, the king as shal a page;

  Som in his bed, som in the depe see,

  Som in the large feeld, as men may se;

  Ther helpeth noght, al goth that ilke weye.

  Thanne may I seyn that al this thing moot deye.

  What maketh this but Jupiter the king?

  The which is prince and cause of alle thing,

  Converting al un-to his propre welle,

  From which it is deryved, sooth to telle.

  And here-agayns no creature on lyve

  Of no degree availleth for to stryve.

  “Thanne is it wisdom, as it thinketh me,

  To maken vertu of necessitee,

  And take it wel, that we may nat eschue,

  And namely that to us alle is due.

  And who-so gruccheth ought, he dooth folye,

  And rebel is to him that al may gye.

  And certeinly a man hath most honour

  To dyen in his excellence and flour,

  Whan he is siker of his gode name;

  Than hath he doon his freend, ne him, no sham.

  And gladder oghte his freend ben of his deeth,

  Whan with honour up-yolden is his breeth,

  Than whan his name apalled is for age;

  For al forgeten is his vasselage.

  Than is it best, as for a worthy fame,

  To dyen whan that he is best of name.

  The contrarie of al this is wilfulnesse.

  Why grucchen we? why have we hevinesse,

  That good Arcite, of chivalrye flour

  Departed is, with duetee and honour,

  Out of this foule prison of this lyf?

  Why grucchen heer his cosin and his wyf

  The broad river sometimes runs dry;

  The great towns see we wane and die.

  Then may you see that all these things have an end.

  “Of man and woman see we well also

  That by necessity, in one of these two times,

  That is to say, in youth or else age,

  He must be dead, king as well as page;

  One
in his bed, one in the deep sea,

  One in the large field, as men may see.

  There helps nothing: all go that same way.

  Then may I say that all these things must die.

  Who made this but Jupiter the king,

  Who is prince and cause of all things,

  Converting everything to its proper source

  From which it is derived, truth to tell?

  And it avails no creature alive,

  Against him to strive.

  “Then it is wisdom, it seems to me,

  To make virtue of necessity,

  And take well what we may not avoid,

  And especially that which to us is due.

  And whoso grouches in any way, he does folly,

  And is rebel to him who governs all.

  And certainly a man has most honor

  To die in his excellence and flower,

  When he is sure of his good name;

  Then has he done neither his friend nor himself shame.

  And gladder ought his friend be of his death

  When with honor upyielded is his breath,

  Than when his name faded is by age,

  For all forgotten is his courage.

  Then it is best, for a worthy fame,

  To die when he is best of name.

  The contrary of all this is wilfulness.

  Why grouch we, why have we sorrow,

  That good Arcita, of chivalry the flower,

  Departed is with due respect and honor

  Out of this foul prison of this life?

  Why grouch here his cousin and his wife

  Of his wel-fare that loved hem so weel?

  Can he hem thank? nay, God wot, never a deel

  That bothe his soule and eek him-self offende,

  And yet they mowe hir lustes nat amende.

  “What may I conclude of this longe serie,

  But, after wo, I rede us to be merie,

  And thanken Jupiter of al his grace?

  And, er that we departen from this place,

  I rede that we make, of sorwes two,

  O parfyt joye, lasting ever-mo;

  And loketh now, wher most sorwe is herinne,

  Ther wol we first amenden and biginne.

  “Suster,” quod he, “this is my fulle assent,

  With al th‘avys heer of my parlement,

  That gentil Palamon, your owne knight,

  That serveth yow with wille, herte, and might,

  And ever hath doon, sin that ye first him knewe,

  That ye shul, of your grace, up-on him rewe,

  And taken him for housbonde and for lord:

  Leen me your hond, for this is our acord.

  Lat see now of your wommanly pitee.

  He is a kinges brother sone, pardee;

  And, though he were a povre bacheler,

  Sin he hath served yow so many a yeer,

  And had for yow so greet adversitee,

  It moste been considered, leveth me;

  For gentil mercy oghte to

  passen right.”

  Than seyde he thus to Palamon ful right;

  “I trowe ther nedeth litel sermoning

  To make yow assente to this thing.

  Com neer, and tak your lady by the hond.”

  Bitwixen hem was maad anon the bond,

  That highte matrimoine or mariage,

  By al the counseil and the baronage.

  And thus with alle blisse and melodye

  Hath Palamon y-wedded Emelye.

  And God, that al this wyde world hath wroght,

  Sende him his love, that hath it dere a-boght.

  Over his fate, who loved him so well?

  Can he them thank? No, God knows, not a bit,

  Who both his soul and themselves offend,

  And yet they can their happiness not amend.

  “What may I conclude of this long argument,

  But after would I advise us to be merry,

  And thank Jupiter for all his grace;

  And before we depart from this place,

  I advise that we make of sorrows two

  One perfect love, lasting evermore;

  And look now, where most sorrow is herein,

  There will we first amend and begin.

  “Sister,” said he, “this is my full desire,

  With all the advice here of my parliament:

  That gentle Palamon, your own knight,

  Who serves you with will, heart and might,

  And ever has done so since you first him knew,

  That you shall of your grace upon him take pity,

  And take him for husband and for lord.

  Give me your hand, for this is our concord.

  Let us see now of your womanly pity.

  He is a king’s brother’s son, indeed;

  And even if he were a poor young knight,

  Since he has served you for so many a year,

  And has had in your service such great adversity,

  It must be considered, believe me;

  For gentle mercy ought to prevail over strictly

  legal right.”

  Then said he thus to Palamon the knight:

  “I believe there needs little preaching

  To make you assent to this thing.

  Come near, and take your lady by the hand.”

  Between them was made at once the bond

  Of high matrimony, or marriage,

  By all the council and the baronage.

  And thus with all bliss and melody

  Has Palamon wedded Emily.

  And God, who all this wide world has wrought,

  Send him his love who has it dearly bought.

  For now is Palamon in alle wele,

  Living in blisse, in richesse, and in hele;

  And Emelye him loveth so tendrely,

  And he hir serveth al-so gentilly,

  That never was ther no word hem bitwene

  Of jelousye, or any other tene.

  Thus endeth Palamon and Emelye;

  And God save al this faire companye!—Amen.

  For now is Palamon in all happiness,

  Living in bliss, in riches, and in health;

  And Emily loves him so tenderly,

  And he serves her so gently

  That there never was a word between them

  Of jealousy or any other trouble.

  Thus ends Palamon and Emily;

  And God save all this fair company! Amen.

  The Milleres Tale

  The Prologue

  WHAN THAT THE KNIGHT had thus his tale y-told,

  In al the route nas ther yong ne old

  That he ne seyde it was a noble storie,

  And worthy for to drawen to memorie;

  And namely the gentils everichoon.

  Our Hoste lough and swoor, “so moot I goon,

  This gooth aright; unbokeled is the male;

  Lat see now who shal telle another tale:

  For trewely, the game is wel bigonne.

  Now telleth ye, sir Monk, if that ye conne,

  Sumwhat, to quyte with the Knightes tale.”

  The Miller, that for-dronken was al pale,

  So that unnethe up-on his hors he sat,

  He nolde avalen neither hood ne hat,

  Ne abyde no man for his curteisye,

  But in Pilates vois he gan to crye,

  And swoor by armes and by blood and bones,

  “I can a noble tale for the nones,

  With which I wol now quyte the Knightes tale.”

  Our Hoste saugh that he was dronke of ale,

  And seyde: “abyd, Robin, my leve brother,

  Som bettre man shal telle us first another:

  Abyd, and lat us werken thriftily.”

  “By goddes soul,” quod he, “that wol nat I;

  For I wol speke, or elles go my wey.”

  Our Hoste answerde: “tel on, a devel wey!

  Thou art a fool, thy wit is overcome.”

&n
bsp; “Now herkneth,” quod the Miller, “alle and some!

  But first I make a protestacioun

  That I am dronke, I knowe it by my soun;

  And therfore, if that I misspeke or seye,

  Wyte it the ale of Southwerk, I yow preye;

  For I wol telle a legende and a lyf

  Bothe of a Carpenter, and of his wyf,

  How that a clerk hath set the wrightes cappe.”

  The Miller’s Tale

  The Prologue

  WHEN THE KNIGHT HAD his tale told,

  In all the company there was neither young nor old

  Who said not that it was a noble story,

  And worthy for to keep in memory,

  And so spoke the genteel pilgrims especially.

  Our Host laughed and swore, “As I may hope to live,

  This goes well, the bag is opened.

  Let see now who should tell another tale,

  For truly, the game is well begun.

  Now tell you, sir Monk, if you know how,

  Something to match the Knight’s tale.”

  The Miller, who quite drunk was all pale,

  So that with trouble upon his horse he sat,

  Nor bothered to doff his hood or hat,

  Nor deferred to anyone out of courtesy,

  But in Pilate’s voice1 he began to harangue,

  And swore, “By Christ’s arms and by blood and bones,

  I know a noble tale for this occasion,

  With which I will now repay the Knight’s tale.”

  Our Host saw that he was drunk on ale,

  And said, “Wait, Robin, my dear brother,

  Some better man shall tell us first another:

  Wait, and let us go in proper order.”

  “By God’s soul,” said he, “that I will not;

  For I will speak or else go my way.”

  Our Host answered, “Tell on, what the devil!

  You are a fool, your wit is overcome.”

  “Now listen,” said the Miller, “all and some!

  But first I make a protestation

  That I am drunk, I know by my voice’s sound.

  And therefore, if I misspeak or say,

  Blame it on the ale of Southwark, I you pray;

  For I will tell a legend and a life

  Both of a carpenter and of his wife,

  How that a student made of the carpenter a fool.”

  The Reve answerde and seyde, “stint thy clappe,

  Lat be thy lewed dronken harlotrye.

  It is a sinne and eek a greet folye

  To apeiren any man, or him diffame,

  And eek to bringen wyves in swich fame.

  Thou mayst y-nogh of othere thinges seyn.”

  This dronken Miller spak ful sone ageyn,

  And seyde, “leve brother Osewold,

  Who hath no wyf, he is no cokewold.

  But I sey nat therfore that thou art oon;