Good Enough for Chaucer
October 03, 2014.jpg) |
| Geoffrey Chaucer |
Geoffrey Chaucer
(1340–1400). The Prologue to the Canterbury Tales.
Vol. 40, pp. 11-20 of
The Harvard Classics
When polite English
society conversed in French - considering English a vulgar tongue,
fit only for servants and working people - Chaucer, nevertheless,
wrote poems in this "vulgar" English, which charm us
because of their quaint words.
[Editor's
Note: This passage contains extensive footnotes. To prevent the
disruption of reading, these are all included at the end].
Of which vertu
engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with
his swete breeth
And smale fowles maken
melodye,
That slepen al the
night with open ye,
Than longen folk to
goon on pilgrimages,
And specially, from
every shires ende
Of Engelond, to
Caunterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martir
for to seke,
Bifel that,
in that sesoun on a day,
Redy to wenden on my
pilgrimage
To Caunterbury with ful
devout corage,
At night was come in-to
that hostelrye
In felawshipe, and
pilgrims were they alle,
That toward Caunterbury
wolden ryde;
The chambres and the
stables weren wyde,
And shortly, whan the
sonne was to reste,
That I was of hir
felawshipe anon,
Me thinketh it
acordaunt to resoun,
Of ech of hem, so as it
semed me,
And eek in what array
that they were inne:
And at a knight than
wol I first biginne.
A
KNIGHT ther was, and that a worthy man,
That fro the tyme that
he first bigan
To ryden out, he loved
chivalrye,
As wel in cristendom as
hethenesse,
And evere honoured for
his worthinesse.
At
Alisaundre he was, whan it was wonne;
No cristen man so ofte
of his degree.
At mortal batailles
hadde he been fiftene,
In listes thryes, and
ay slayn his foo.
Ageyn another hethen in
Turkye:
And though that he were
worthy, he was wys,
He was a verray parfit
gentil knight.
But for to tellen yow
of his array,
His hors were goode,
but he was nat gay.
And wente for to doon
his pilgrimage.
With him
ther was his sone, a yong SQUYER,
A lovyer, and a lusty
bacheler,
Of twenty yeer of age
he was, I gesse.
In Flaundres, in
Artoys, and Picardye,
Embrouded was he, as it
were a mede
Al ful of fresshe
floures, whyte and rede.
He was as fresh as is
the month of May.
Short was his goune,
with sleves longe and wyde.
Wel coude he sitte on
hors, and faire ryde.
Iuste and eek daunce,
and wel purtreye and wryte.
He sleep namore than
doth a nightingale.
Curteys he was, lowly,
and servisable,
And he was clad in cote
and hood of grene;
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.
And by his syde a swerd
and a bokeler,
And on that other syde
a gay daggere,
A forster was he,
soothly, as I gesse.
Ther was
also a Nonne, a PRIORESSE,
That of hir smyling was
ful simple and coy;
Ful wel she song the
service divyne,
Entuned in hir nose ful
semely;
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.
Of grece, whan she
dronken hadde hir draughte.
And ful plesaunt, and
amiable of port,
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
But sore weep she if
oon of hem were deed,
Hir mouth ful smal, and
ther-to softe and reed;
But sikerly she hadde a
fair forheed.
It was almost a spanne
brood, I trowe;
Of smal coral aboute
hir arm she bar
And ther-on heng a
broche of gold ful shene,
On which ther was first
write a crowned A,
Another
NONNE with hir hadde she,
That was hir
chapeleyne, and PREESTES thre.
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
wynd as clere,
And eek as loude as
dooth the chapel-belle,
The reule of seint
Maure or of seint Beneit,
This ilke monk leet
olde thinges pace,
And held after the newe
world the space.
That seith, that
hunters been nat holy men;
Is likned 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.
Upon a book in cloistre
alwey to poure,
Lat Austin have his
swink to him reserved.
Grehoundes he hadde, as
swifte as fowel in flight;
Was al his lust, for no
cost wolde he spare.
And, for to festne his
hood under his chin,
He hadde of gold
y-wroght a curious pin:
A love-knot in the
gretter ende ther was.
His heed was balled,
that shoon as any glas,
And eek his face, as he
hadde been anoint.
He was a lord ful fat
and in good point; 114
His botes souple, his
hors in greet estaat.
Now certeinly he was a
fair prelat;
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,
So moche 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
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
absolucioun;
He was an esy man to
yeve penaunce
For unto a povre ordre
for to yive
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,
And pinnes, for to
yeven faire wyves.
And certeinly he hadde
a mery note;
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
For un-to swich a
worthy man as he
To have with seke
lazars aqueyntaunce.
But al with riche and
sellers of vitaille.
Curteys he was, and
lowly of servyse.
He was the beste
beggere in his hous;
For thogh a widwe hadde
noght a sho,
Yet wolde he have a
ferthing, er he wente.
For ther he was nat lyk
a cloisterer,
With a thredbare cope,
as is a povre scoler,
But he was lyk a
maister or a pope.
That rounded as a belle
out of the presse.
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.
A
MARCHANT was ther with a forked berd,
Up-on his heed a
Flaundrish bever hat;
Bitwixe Middleburgh and
Orewelle.
Ther wiste no wight
that he was in dette,
For sothe he was a
worthy man with-alle,
But sooth to seyn, I
noot how men him calle.
As lene was his hors as
is a rake,
And he nas nat right
fat, I undertake;
But loked holwe, and
ther-to soberly.
For he had geten him
yet no benefice,
Ne was so worldly for
to have office.
Twenty bokes, clad in
blak or reed
Of Aristotle and his
philosophye,
But al be that he was a
philosophre,
Yet hadde he but litel
gold in cofre;
On bokes and on
lerninge he it spente
And bisily gan for the
soules preye
Of studie took he most
cure and most hede,
Noght o word spak he
more than was nede,
And that was seyd in
forme and reverence,
And gladly wolde he
lerne, and gladly teche.
Ther was also, ful
riche of excellence.
Discreet he was, and of
greet reverence:
He seemed swich, his
wordes weren so wyse,
Iustice he was ful
often in assyse,
For his science, and
for his heigh renoun
Of fees and robes hadde
he many oon.
Nowher so bisy a man as
he ther nas,
And yet he semed bisier
than he was.
That from the tyme of
king William were falle.
Of his array telle I no
lenger tale.
Note
1. Its sweet showers.
Note
115. Sick.
Note
179. Girdle.
0 comments