Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Geoffrey Chaucer

  Our lige lordes seel on my patente,

  That shewe I first, my body to warente,

  That no man be so bold, ne preest ne clerk,

  Me to destourbe of Cristes holy werk;

  And after that than telle I forth my tales,

  Bulles of popes and of cardinales,

  Of patriarkes, and bishoppes I shewe;

  The Pardoner’s Tale

  The Introduction

  [... The Host speaking]

  “BY CORPUS BONES!1 UNLESS I have medicine,

  Or else a draught of fresh and malty ale,

  Or unless I hear anon a merry tale,

  Mine heart is lost for pity of this maid.

  You sweet friend, you Pardoner,”2 he said,

  “Tell us some mirth or jokes right anon.”

  “It shall be done,” said he, “by Saint Runyan!3

  But first,” said he, “here at this tavern

  I will both drink and eat cake.”

  But right anon the gentle folk raised a cry,

  “Nay, let him tell us of no ribaldry;

  Tell us some moral thing, that we may learn

  Something improving, and then will we listen gladly.”

  “I grant, certainly,” said he, “but I must think

  Upon some proper thing while I drink.”

  The Prologue

  Greed is the root of all evil [the Bible, 1 Timothy 6. 10].

  “LORDINGS,” SAID HE, “IN churches when I preach,

  I take pains to have an elevated speech,

  And ring it out as round as sounds a bell,

  For I know by rote all that I tell.

  My theme is always one, and ever was—

  Radix malorum est Cupiditas.4

  First I proclaim from where I come,

  And then my writs of indulgence show I, all and one.

  Our bishop’s seal on my license,

  That show I first, my person to authorize,

  That no man be so bold, neither priest nor scholar,

  To disturb me while I do Christ’s holy work;

  And after that then forth I tell my tales.

  Writs of indulgence from popes and cardinals,

  From patriarchs, and bishops I show,

  And in Latyn I speke a wordes fewe,

  To saffron with my predicacioun,

  And for to stire men to devocioun.

  Than shewe I forth my longe cristal stones,

  Y-crammed ful of cloutes and of bones;

  Reliks been they, as wenen they echoon.

  Than have I in latoun a sholder-boon

  Which that was of an holy Jewes shepe.

  ‘Good men,’ seye I, ‘tak of my wordes kepe;

  If that this boon he wasshe in any welle,

  If cow, or calf, or sheep, or oxe swelle

  That any worm hath ete, or worm y-stonge,

  Tak water of that welle, and wash his tonge,

  And it is hool anon; and forthermore,

  Of pokkes and of scabbe, and every sore

  Shal every sheep be hool, that of this welle

  Drinketh a draughte; tak kepe eek what I telle.

  If that the good-man that the bestes oweth,

  Wol every wike, er that the cok him croweth,

  Fastinge, drinken of this welle a draughte,

  As thilke holy Jewe our eldres taughte,

  His bestes and his stoor shal multiplye.

  And, sirs, also it heleth jalousye;

  For, though a man be falle in jalous rage,

  Let maken with this water his potage,

  And never shal be more his wyf mistriste,

  Though he the sooth of hir defaute wiste;

  Al had she taken preestes two or three.

  Heer is a miteyn eek, that ye may see.

  He that his hond wol putte in this miteyn,

  He shal have multiplying of his greyn,

  Whan he hath sowen, be it whete or otes,

  So that he offre pens, or elles grotes.

  Good men and wommen, o thing warne I yow,

  If any wight be in this chirche now,

  That hath doon sinne horrible, that he

  Dar nat, for shame, of it y-shriven be,

  Or any womman, be she yong or old,

  That hath y-maad hir housbond cokewold,

  And in Latin I speak a words few,

  To spice my presentation,

  And to stir them to devotion.

  Then show I forth my crystal reliquaries,

  Crammed full of rags and bones—

  Saints’ relics they are,5 or so they suppose.

  Then have I in brass a shoulder bone

  Of a holy Jew’s sheep.

  ‘Good men,’ say I, ‘of my words take heed:

  If this bone be washed in any well,

  If cow, or calf, or sheep, or ox swell,

  That any worm has eaten, or by viper stung,

  Take water of that well, and wash his tongue,

  And it is healed anon; and furthermore,

  Of pox and of scab and every sore

  Shall every sheep be healed, that of this well

  Drinks a draft. Take heed also what I tell:

  If the good man who the beast owns

  Will every week, before the cock crows,

  While fasting, drink of this well a draft—

  As Jacob our elders taught—

  His beasts and his stock shall multiply.

  And, sirs, also it heals jealousy:

  For though a man be fallen in a jealous rage,

  Let him make with this water his broth,

  And never shall he more his wife mistrust,

  Though he the truth of her should see—

  Albeit she takes priests two or three.

  Here is a mitten also, that you may see:

  He who his hand will put in this mitten,

  He shall have multiplying of his grain

  When he has sown, be it wheat or oats,

  Provided that he gives me pennies or groats.

  Good men and women, one thing I warn you:

  If any person be in this church now,

  Who has done sin so horrible that he

  Dare not for shame of it shriven be,

  Or any woman, be she young or old,

  Who has made her husband a cuckold,

  Swich folk shul have no power ne no grace

  To offren to my reliks in this place.

  And who-so findeth him out of swich blame,

  He wol com up and offre in goddes name,

  And I assoille him by the auctoritee

  Which that by bulle y-graunted was to me.’

  By this gaude have I wonne, yeer by yeer,

  An hundred mark sith I was Pardoner.

  I stonde lyk a clerk in my pulpet,

  And whan the lewed peple is doun y-set,

  I preche, so as ye han herd bifore,

  And telle an hundred false japes more.

  Than peyne I me to strecche forth the nekke,

  And est and west upon the peple I bekke,

  As doth a dowve sitting on a berne.

  Myn hondes and my tonge goon so yerne,

  That it is joye to see my bisinesse.

  Of avaryce and of swich cursednesse

  Is al my preching, for to make hem free

  To yeve her pens, and namely un-to me.

  For my entente is nat but for to winne,

  And no-thing for correccioun of sinne.

  I rekke never, whan that they ben beried,

  Though that her soules goon a-blakeberied!

  For certes, many a predicacioun

  Comth ofte tyme of yvel entencioun;

  Som for plesaunce of folk and flaterye,

  To been avaunced by ipocrisye,

  And som for veyne glorie, and som for hate.

  For, whan I dar non other weyes debate,

  Than wol I stinge him with my tonge smerte

  In preching, so that he shal nat asterte

  To been de
famed falsly, if that he

  Hath trespased to my brethren or to me.

  For, though I telle noght his propre name,

  Men shal wel knowe that it is the same

  By signes and by othere circumstances.

  Thus quyte I folk that doon us displesances;

  Thus spitte I out my venim under hewe

  Such folk shall have no power or grace

  To offer money to my relics in this place.

  And whoso finds himself deserving not such blame,

  He will come up and make an offering in God’s name,

  And I will absolve him by the authority

  That by those writs was granted to me.’

  By this trick have I won, year by year,

  A hundred marks since I was pardoner.

  I stand like a scholar in my pulpit,

  And when the ignorant people have sat down,

  I preach, so as you heard before,

  And tell a hundred false stories more.

  Then I take pains to stretch forth my neck,

  And east and west upon the people I nod

  As does a dove, sitting in a barn.

  My hands and my tongue move so fast

  That it is a joy to see me at my business.

  Of avarice and such cursedness

  Is all my preaching, to make them generous

  To give their pence, and namely unto me.

  For my intent is not but to profit,

  And not at all for correction of sin:

  I care never, when they be buried,

  If their souls go a-blackberrying!

  For certainly, many a sermon,

  Comes oftentimes of evil intention:

  Some for amusement of folk and flattery,

  To be advanced by hypocrisy,

  And some for vainglory, and some for hate.

  For when I dare no other way to attack,

  Then will I sting my enemy with my tongue sharp

  In preaching, so that he may not leap up to protest

  At being defamed falsely, if he

  Has wronged my fellow pardoners or me.

  For, though I tell not his own name,

  Men shall well know that it is the same

  By signs and other circumstances.

  Thus requite I folk who do offenses;

  Thus I spit out venom under hue

  Of holynesse, to seme holy and trewe.

  But shortly myn entente I wol devyse;

  I preche of no-thing but for coveityse.

  Therfor my theme is yet, and ever was—

  ‘Radix malorum est cupiditas.’

  Thus can I preche agayn that same vyce

  Which that I use, and that is avaryce.

  But, though my-self be gilty in that sinne,

  Yet can I maken other folk to twinne

  From avaryce, and sore to repente.

  But that is nat my principal entente.

  I preche no-thing but for coveityse;

  Of this matere it oughte y-nogh suffyse.

  Than telle I hem ensamples many oon

  Of olde stories, longe tyme agoon:

  For lewed peple loven tales olde;

  Swich thinges can they wel reporte and holde.

  What? trowe ye, the whyles I may preche,

  And winne gold and silver for I teche,

  That I wol live in povert wilfully?

  Nay, nay, I thoghte it never trewely!

  For I wol preche and begge in sondry londes;

  I wol not do no labour with myn hondes,

  Ne make baskettes, and live therby,

  Because I wol nat beggen ydelly.

  I wol non of the apostles counterfete;

  I wol have money, wolle, chese, and whete,

  Al were it yeven of the povrest page,

  Or of the povrest widwe in a village,

  Al sholde hir children sterve for famyne.

  Nay! I wol drinke licour of the vyne,

  And have a joly wenche in every toun.

  But herkneth, lordings, in conclusioun;

  Your lyking is that I shall telle a tale.

  Now, have I dronke a draughte of corny ale,

  By god, I hope I shal yow telle a thing

  That shal, by resoun, been at your lyking.

  For, though myself be a ful vicious man,

  A moral tale yet I yow telle can,

  Of holiness, to seem holy and true.

  But briefly my intent I will describe:

  I preach of nothing but out of covetousness.

  Therefore my theme is yet, and ever was,

  Radix malorum est cupiditas.

  Thus can I preach against that same vice

  Which I practice, and that is avarice.

  But though I myself be guilty of that sin,

  Yet can I make other folk depart

  From avarice, and ardently to repent.

  But that is not my principal intent:

  I preach nothing but for covetousness.

  Of this matter it ought enough suffice.

  Then I tell them examples many a one

  Of old stories of time long gone,

  For unlearned people love stories told;

  Such things can they well repeat and hold.

  What? Do you believe that as long as I can preach

  And win gold and silver because I teach,

  That I will live by choice in poverty?

  Nay, nay, I considered it never, truly!

  For I will preach and beg in sundry lands,

  I will do no labor with my hands,

  Neither make baskets, and live thereby,

  Because I will not beg unprofitably.

  I will none of the apostles imitate:

  I will have money, wool, cheese and wheat,

  Even if it were given by the poorest page,

  Or by the poorest widow in a village,

  Even though her children die of famine.

  Nay! I will drink liquor of the vine,

  And have a jolly wench in every town.

  But listen, lordings, in conclusion:

  Your liking is that I shall tell a tale.

  Now have I drunk a draft of malty ale,

  By God, I hope I shall you tell a thing

  That shall with reason be to your liking.

  For though I am a full vice-ridden man,

  A moral tale yet tell you I can,

  Which I am wont to preche, for to winne.

  Now holde your pees, my tale I wol beginne.”

  The Tale

  In Flaundres whylom was a companye

  Of yonge folk, that haunteden folye,

  As ryot, hasard, stewes, and tavernes,

  Wher-as, with harpes, lutes, and giternes,

  They daunce and pleye at dees bothe day and night,

  And ete also and drinken over hir might,

  Thurgh which they doon the devel sacrifyse

  With-in that develes temple, in cursed wyse,

  By superfluitee abhominable;

  Hir othes been so grete and so dampnable,

  That it is grisly for to here hem swere;

  Our blissed lordes body they to-tere;

  Hem thoughte Jewes rente him noght y-nough;

  And ech of hem at otheres sinne lough.

  And right anon than comen tombesteres

  Fetys and smale, and yonge fruytesteres,

  Singers with harpes, baudes, wafereres,

  Whiche been the verray develes officeres

  To kindle and blowe the fyr of lecherye,

  That is annexed un-to glotonye;

  The holy writ take I to my witnesse,

  That luxurie is in wyn and dronkenesse.

  Lo, how that dronken Loth, unkindely,

  Lay by his doghtres two, unwitingly;

  So dronke he was, he niste what he wroghte.

  Herodes, (who-so wel the stories soghte,)

  Whan he of wyn was replet at his feste,

  Right at his owene table he yaf his heste

&
nbsp; To sleen the Baptist John ful giltelees.

  Senek seith eek a good word doutelees;

  He seith, he can no difference finde

  Bitwix a man that is out of his minde

  And a man which that is dronkelewe,

  But that woodnesse, y-fallen in a shrewe,

  Persevereth lenger than doth dronkenesse.

  Which I am wont to preach for profit.

  Now hold your peace, my tale I will begin.”

  The Tale

  In Flanders once there was a company

  Of young folk, who to folly gave themselves—

  Such as revelry, dice, taverns and brothels,

  There with harps, lutes, and guitars,

  They danced and played at dice both night and day,

  And ate and drank beyond their capacity,

  Through which they did unto the devil sacrifice

  Within the devil’s temple, in a cursed way,

  To excess abominable.

  Their oaths were so great and damnable,

  That it was grisly to hear them swear.

  Our blessed Lord’s body they into pieces tore6—

  They thought the Jews had not torn Him enough—

  And each of them at the others’ sins laughed.

  And right anon then came acrobats and dancers,

  Shapely and slender, and young fruitpeddlars,

  Singers with harps, bawds, pastryvendors,

  Who were the very devil’s officers

  To kindle and blow the fire of lechery

  That is attached to gluttony:

  The Holy Writ take I to my witness

  That lechery is in wine and drunkenness.

  Look, how the drunken Lot7 unnaturally

  Lay by his daughters two, unwittingly;

  So drunk he was, he knew not what he did.

  Herod, who well the stories should pursue,

  When he of wine was replete at his feast,

  Right at his own table at his behest

  Slew John the Baptist8 though he was guiltless.

  Seneca9 said a good word doubtless:

  He said, he could no difference find

  Between a man who is out of his mind

  And a man who is soused,

  Except that madness, having begun,

  Lasts longer than inebriation.

  O glotonye, ful of cursednesse,

  O cause first of our confusioun,

  O original of our dampnacioun,

  Til Crist had boght us with his blood agayn!

  Lo, how dere, shortly for to sayn,

  Aboght was thilke cursed vileinye;

  Corrupt was al this world for glotonye!

  Adam our fader, and his wyf also,

  For Paradys to labour and to wo

  Were driven for that vyce, it is no drede;

  For whyl that Adam fasted, as I rede,