The Canterbury Tales

thumb|upright=1.4|This world nis but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we ben pilgrimes, passinge to and fro.This world is but a throughfare full of woe,And we be pilgrims, passing to and fro. The Canterbury Tales (Middle English: Tales of Caunterbury) is a collection of 24 stories written in Middle English by Geoffrey Chaucer between 1387 and 1400. The book presents the tales, which are mostly written in verse, as part of a fictional storytelling contest held by a group of pilgrims travelling together from London to Canterbury to visit the shrine of Saint Thomas Becket at Canterbury Cathedral. W. W. Skeat (ed.) The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, 2nd ed. (1900), vols. 3, 4, 5 Quotes General Prologue thumb|Whan that Aprill, with his shoures sooteThe droghte of March hath perced to the roote.When that April with his showers sweetThe drought of March has pierced to the root. thumb|And smale foweles maken melodye,That slepen al the nyght with open yë(So priketh hem Nature in hir corages);Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages.And small fowls make melody,That sleep all the night with open eye(So pricks them nature in their courages);Then long folk to go on pilgrimages. Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote, And bathed every veyne in swich licour, Of which vertu engendred is the flour; Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, And smale fowles maken melodye, That slepen al the night with open yë, (So priketh hem nature in hir corages): Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages. l. 1 And specially, from every shires ende Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, The holy blisful martir for to seke, That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke. l. 15 Bifel that, in that seson on a day, In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage To Caunterbury with ful devout corage, At night was come in-to that hostelrye Wel nyne and twenty in a companye. l. 19 A Knight ther was, and that a worthy man, That fro the tyme that he first bigan To ryden out, he loved chivalrye, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisye. Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre, And therto hadde he riden (no man ferre) As wel in Cristendom as hethenesse, And ever honoured for his worthinesse. l. 43 thumb|And of his port as meeke as is a mayde.And of his port as meek as is a maid. And of his port as meke as is a mayde. l. 69 thumb|He was a verray, parfit gentil knyght. He was a very perfect, gentle knight. He was a verray parfit gentil knight. l. 72 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. l. 79 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, al the day; He was as fresh as is the month of May. l. 87 Short was his goune, with sleves longe and wyde. Wel coude he sitte on hors, and faire ryde. l. 93 thumb|He koude songes make, and wel endite.He could songs make and well indite. He coude songes make and wel endyte. l. 95 thumb|Curteys he was, lowly, and servisable, And carf biforn his fader at the table.Courteous he was, lowly and serviceable,And carved before his father at the table. Curteys he was, lowly, and servisable, And carf biforn his fader at the table. l. 99 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. l. 101 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. l. 120 thumb|Ful weel she soong the service dyvyne,Entuned in hir nose ful semely,And Frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly,After the scole of Stratford-atte-Bowe,For Frenssh of Parys was to hir unknowe.Full well she sang the service divine,Entuned in her nose full seemly,And French she spake full fair and featously,After the school of Stratford-at-the-Bow;For French of Paris was to her unknown. 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. l. 122 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. l. 128 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. l. 143 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. l. 146 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. l. 158 Cf. Virgil, Eclogues, x, l. 69 A Monk ther was, a fair for the maistrye, An out-rydere, that lovede venerye; A manly man, to been an abbot able. l. 165 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. l. 169 He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen, That seith, that hunters been nat holy men. l. 177 His heed was balled, that shoon as any glas. l. 198 His palfrey was as broun as is a berye. l. 207 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. l. 208 Therfore, in stede of weping and preyeres, Men moot yeve silver to the povre freres. l. 231 He knew the tavernes wel in every toun. l. 240 He was the beste beggere in his hous. l. 252 Somwhat he lipsed, for his wantownesse, To make his English swete up-on his tonge. l. 264 A Marchant was ther with a forked berd, In mottelee, and hye on horse he sat, Up-on his heed a Flaundrish bever hat; His botes clasped faire and fetisly. His resons he spak ful solempnely. l. 272 thumb|A Clerk ther was of Oxenforde also.A clerk there was of Oxford also. A Clerk ther was of Oxenford also, That un-to logik hadde longe y-go. As lene was his hors as is a rake, And he nas nat right fat, I undertake; But loked holwe, and ther-to soberly. l. 287 thumb|For hym was levere have at his beddes heedTwenty bookes, clad in blak or reed,Of Aristotle and his philosophie,Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrie.But al be that he was a philosophre,Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre.For him was lever have at his bed's headTwenty books, clad in black or red,Of Aristotle and his philosophy,Than robes rich, or fiddle, or gay psaltery.But albe that he was a philosopher,Yet had he but little gold in coffer. For him was lever have at his beddes heed Twenty bokes, clad in blak or reed, Of Aristotle and his philosophye, Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrye. But al be that he was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre. l. 295 thumb|And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach. 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 short and quik, and ful of hy sentence. Souninge in moral vertu was his speche, And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche. l. 305 A Sergeant of the Lawe, war and wys, That often hadde been at the Parvys, Ther was also, ful riche of excellence. l. 311 thumb|Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas,And yet he semed bisier than he was.Nowhere so busy a man as he there was,And yet he seemed busier than he was. No-wher so bisy a man as he ther nas, And yet he semed bisier than he was. l. 323 A Frankeleyn was in his companye; Whyt was his berd, as is the dayesye. Of his complexioun he was sangwyn. Wel loved he by the morwe a sop in wyn. l. 333 To liven in delyt was ever his wone, For he was Epicurus owne sone. l. 337 Cf. Horace, Epistles, Bk. I, ep. iv, l. 16 It snewed in his hous of mete and drinke. l. 347 An Haberdassher and a Carpenter, A Webbe, a Dyere, and a Tapicer, Were with us eek, clothed in o liveree, Of a solempne and greet fraternitee. l. 363 A Cook they hadde with hem for the nones, To boille the chiknes with the mary-bones. l. 381 A Shipman was ther, woning fer by weste: For aught I woot, he was of Dertemouthe. l. 390 And, certeinly, he was a good felawe. l. 397 Of nyce conscience took he no keep. If that he faught, and hadde the hyer hond, By water he sente hem hoom to every lond. l. 400 With us ther was a Doctour of Phisyk, In al this world ne was ther noon him lyk To speke of phisik and of surgerye; For he was grounded in astronomye. l. 413 thumb|His studie was but litel on the Bible.His study was but little on the Bible.</p> His studie was but litel on the Bible. l. 440 thumb|For gold in phisik is a cordial,Therfore he lovede gold in special.For gold in physic is a cordial;Therefore he loved gold in special. He kepte that he wan in pestilence. For gold in phisik is a cordial, Therfore he lovede gold in special. l. 444 A good Wyf was ther of bisyde Bathe, But she was som-del deef, and that was scathe. Of clooth-making she hadde swiche an haunt, She passed hem of Ypres and of Gaunt. l. 447 Hir coverchiefs ful fyne were of ground; I dorste swere they weyeden ten pound That on a Sonday were upon hir heed. Hir hosen weren of fyn scarlet reed, Ful streite y-teyd, and shoos ful moiste and newe. Bold was hir face, and fair, and reed of hewe. l. 455 She was a worthy womman al hir lyve, Housbondes at chirche-dore she hadde fyve, Withouten other companye in youthe; But therof nedeth nat to speke as nouthe. l. 461 And thryes hadde she been at Jerusalem; She hadde passed many a straunge streem; At Rome she hadde been, and at Boloigne, In Galice at seint Jame, and at Coloigne. l. 465 A good man was ther of religioun, And was a povre Persoun of a toun; But riche he was of holy thoght and werk. He was also a lerned man, a clerk, That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche; His parisshens devoutly wolde he teche. l. 480 thumb|Wyd was his parisshe, and houses fer a-sonder.Wide was his parish, and houses far asunder. Wyd was his parisshe, and houses fer a-sonder. l. 493 thumb|This noble ensample to his sheep he yaf,That first he wroghte, and afterward he taughte.This noble example to his sheep he gave,That first he wrought, and afterward he taught.</p>. . . . . .But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve,He taughte, and first he folwed it him-selve.But Christ's lore, and his apostles twelve,He taught, and first he followed it himself.</p> This noble ensample to his sheep he yaf, That first he wroghte, and afterward he taughte. l. 498 Out of the gospel he tho wordes caughte; And this figure he added eek ther-to, That if gold ruste, what shal iren do? For if a preest be foul, on whom we truste, No wonder is a lewed man to ruste. l. 500 A bettre preest, I trowe that nowher noon is. He wayted after no pompe and reverence, Ne maked him a spyced conscience, But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve, He taughte, and first he folwed it him-selve. l. 526 With him ther was a Plowman, was his brother, That hadde y-lad of dong ful many a fother. l. 531 The Miller was a stout carl, for the nones, Ful big he was of braun, and eek of bones. l. 547 His berd as any sowe or fox was reed, And ther-to brood, as though it were a spade. Up-on the cop right of his nose he hade A werte, and ther-on stood a tuft of heres, Reed as the bristles of a sowes eres. l. 554 His nose-thirles blake were and wyde. A swerd and bokeler bar he by his syde; His mouth as greet was as a greet forneys. He was a janglere and a goliardeys, And that was most of sinne and harlotryes. l. 559 thumb|And yet he hadde a thombe of gold, pardee.And yet he had a thumb of gold, pardie. And yet he hadde a thombe of gold, pardee. l. 565 Cf. Ray, Proverbs (ed. 1768), p. 136: "An honest miller has a golden thumb." A gentil Maunciple was ther of a temple, Of which achatours mighte take exemple For to be wyse in bying of vitaille. l. 569 Now is nat that of God a ful fair grace, That swich a lewed mannes wit shal pace The wisdom of an heep of lerned men? l. 575 The Reve was a sclendre colerik man, His berd was shave as ny as ever he can. l. 589 A Somnour was ther with us in that place, That hadde a fyr-reed cherubinnes face, For sawcefleem he was, with eyen narwe. As hoot he was, and lecherous, as a sparwe. l. 625 Wel loved he garleek, oynons, and eek lekes, And for to drinken strong wyn, reed as blood. l. 636 And whan that he wel dronken hadde the wyn, Than wolde he speke no word but Latyn. l. 640 With him ther rood a gentil Pardoner Of Rouncival, his freend and his compeer, That streight was comen fro the court of Rome. Ful loude he song, ‘Com hider, love, to me.’ l. 671 This pardoner hadde heer as yelow as wex, But smothe it heng, as dooth a strike of flex. l. 677 His walet lay biforn him in his lappe, Bret-ful of pardoun come from Rome al hoot. l. 688 He hadde a croys of latoun, ful of stones, And in a glas he hadde pigges bones. But with thise relikes, whan that he fond A povre person dwelling up-on lond, Up-on a day he gat him more moneye Than that the person gat in monthes tweye. And thus, with feyned flaterye and japes, He made the person and the peple his apes. l. 701 thumb|Who-so shal telle a tale after a man,He moot reherce, as ny as ever he can,Everich a word, if it be in his charge,Al speke he never so rudeliche and large;Or elles he moot telle his tale untrewe,Or feyne thing, or finde wordes newe.Whoso shall tell a tale after a man,He must rehearse, as nigh as ever he can,Every word, if it be in his charge,All speak he never so rudely and large;Or else he must tell his tale untrue,Or feign things, or find words new. Who-so shal telle a tale after a man, He moot reherce, as ny as ever he can, Everich a word, if it be in his charge, Al speke he never so rudeliche and large; Or elles he moot telle his tale untrewe, Or feyne thing, or finde wordes newe. l. 733 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, Or else the tale he tells will be untrue, The things invented and the phrases new. (trans. Nevill Coghill) This is the poynt, to speken short and pleyn, That ech of yow, to shorte with your weye, In this viage, shal telle tales tweye, To Caunterbury-ward, I mene it so, And hom-ward he shal tellen othere two, Of aventures that whylom han bifalle. l. 792 The Knight's Tale thumb|For May wol have no slogardye a-night.For May will have no sluggardy a-night. That Emelye, that fairer was to seneThan is the lilie upon his stalke grene,And fressher than the May with floures newe—For with the rose colour stroof hir hewe,I noot which was the fairer of hem two. l. 177 She was arisen, and al redy dight;For May wol have no slogardye a-night. The sesoun priketh every gentil herte, And maketh him out of his sleep to sterte. l. 184 Cf. Herrick, "Corinna's Going a-Maying", l. 5: "Get up, sweet slug-a-bed." Wostow nat wel the olde clerkes sawe, That ‘who shal yeve a lover any lawe?’ Love is a gretter lawe, by my pan, Than may be yeve to any erthly man. l. 305 And therfore, at the kinges court, my brother, Ech man for him-self, ther is non other. l. 323 And whan a beest is deed, he hath no peyne; But man after his deeth moot wepe and pleyne. l. 461 The bisy larke, messager of day. l. 633 May, with alle thy floures and thy grene, Wel-come be thou, faire fresshe May. l. 652 That ‘feeld hath eyen, and the wode hath eres.’ l. 664 Cf. Proverb, with Latin version (MS. Trin. Coll. Cam. O. 2. 45): Veld haueð hege, and wude haueð heare. / Campus habet lumen, et habet nemus auris acumen. German (Ida von Düringsfeld, Sprichwörter, vol. i. no. 453): Das Feld hat Augen, der Wald hat Ohren. French (Cotgrave, Dictionarie, s.v. Oeillet): Bois ont oreilles, & champs oeiletts. Now up, now doun, as boket in a welle. l. 675 For pitee renneth sone in gentil herte. l. 903 The statue of Venus, glorious for to see, Was naked fleting in the large see, And fro the navele doun all covered was With wawes grene, and brighte as any glas. A citole in hir right hand hadde she, And on hir heed, ful semely for to see, A rose gerland, fresh and wel smellinge; Above hir heed hir dowves flikeringe. l. 1097 Her statue, glorious in majesty, Stood naked, floating on a vasty sea, And from the navel down there were a mass Of green and glittering waves as bright as glass. In her right hand a cithern carried she And on her head, most beautiful to see, A garland of fresh roses, while above There circles round her many a flickering dove. (trans. Nevill Coghill)                                        Cupido, Up-on his shuldres winges hadde he two; And blind he was, as it is ofte sene; A bowe he bar and arwes brighte and kene. l. 1105 With-inne the temple of mighty Mars the rede, All peinted was the wall in length and brede, Like to the estres of the grisly place That highte the gret temple of Mars in Trace: In thilke colde and frosty region, Ther as Mars hath his sovereine mansion. l. 1111 But in the dome of mighty Mars the red, With different figures all the sides were spread; This temple, less in form, with equal grace, Was imitative of the first in Thrace; For that cold region was the loved abode, And sovereign mansion of the warrior god. (trans. Dryden) Ther saugh I first the derke imagining Of felonye, and al the compassing. l. 1137 There saw I how the secret felon wrought, And treason labouring in the traitor's thought, And midwife Time the ripened plot to murders brought. (trans. Dryden) The smyler with the knyf under the cloke. l. 1141 Next stood Hypocrisy, with holy leer; Soft smiling, and demurely looking down, But hid the dagger underneath the gown. (trans. Dryden) The careyne in the bush, with throte y-corve: A thousand slayn, and nat of qualm y-storve; The tiraunt, with the prey by force y-raft; The toun destroyed, ther was no-thing laft. Yet saugh I brent the shippes hoppesteres; The hunte strangled with the wilde beres: The sowe freten the child right in the cradel; The cook y-scalded, for al his longe ladel. l. 1155 There was the murdered corpse in covert laid, And violent death in thousand shapes displayed; The city to the soldier's rage resigned; Successless wars, and poverty behind: Ships burnt in fight, or forced on rocky shores, And the rash hunter strangled by the boars; The new-born babe by nurses overlaid; And the cook caught within the raging fire he made. (trans. Dryden) And al above, depeynted in a tour, Saw I Conquest sittinge in greet honour, With the sharpe swerde over his heed Hanginge by a sotil twynes threed. l. 1169 And high above, depicted in a tower, Sat Conquest, robed in majesty and power, Under a sword that swung above his head, Sharp-edged and hanging by a subtle thread. (trans. Nevill Coghill) This goddesse on an hert ful hye seet, With smale houndes al aboute hir feet; And undernethe hir feet she hadde a mone, Wexing it was, and sholde wanie sone. In gaude grene hir statue clothed was, With bowe in honde, and arwes in a cas. Hir eyen caste she ful lowe adoun, Ther Pluto hath his derke regioun. l. 1217 High on a stag the Goddess held her seat, And there were little hounds about her feet; Below her feet there was a sickle moon, Waxing it seemed, but would be waning soon. Her statue bore a mantle of bright green, Her hand a bow with arrows cased and keen; Her eyes were lowered, gazing as she rode Down to where Pluto has his dark abode. (trans. Nevill Coghill) Ther nis no newe gyse, that it nas old. l. 1267 In-stede of cote-armure over his harnays,With nayles yelwe and brighte as any gold,He hadde a beres skin, col-blak, for-old. l. 1282 Up roos the sonne, and up roos Emelye. l. 1415 Myn be the travaille, and thyn be the glorie! l. 1548 As sooth is sayd, elde hath greet avantage;In elde is bothe wisdom and usage;Men may the olde at-renne, and noght at-rede. l. 1589 Compare: Proverbs of Alfred, l. 641 And she was al his chere, as in his herte. l. 1825 As blak he lay as any cole or crowe,So was the blood y-ronnen in his face. l. 1834 What is this world? what asketh men to have? Now with his love, now in his colde grave Allone, with-outen any companye. l. 1919 ‘Right as ther deyed never man,’ quod he, ‘That he ne livede in erthe in som degree, Right so ther livede never man,’ he seyde, ‘In al this world, that som tyme he ne deyde. This world nis but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we ben pilgrimes, passinge to and fro; Deeth is an ende of every worldly sore.’ l. 1985 Since every man, who lives, is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy, nor grieve too much, for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims, to the appointed place we tend; The world's an inn, and death the journey's end. (trans. Dryden) 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. l. 2177 Cf. Troilus and Criseyde, bk. IV, l. 1586 The Miller's Tale      If that I misspeke or seye,Wyte it the ale of Southwerk, I yow preye. Prologue, l. 31 Who hath no wyf, he is no cokewold. Prologue, l. 44 This Carpenter had wedded newe a wyf Which that he lovede more than his lyf. Tale, l. 35 Jalous he was, and heeld hir narwe in cage, For she was wilde and yong, and he was old. Tale, l. 38 Men sholde wedden after hir estaat, For youthe and elde is often at debaat. Tale, l. 43 Cf. Distichs of Cato A barmclooth eek as whyt as morne milkUp-on hir lendes. Tale, l. 50 Whyt was hir smok, and brouded al biforeAnd eek bihinde, on hir coler aboute,Of col-blak silk, with-inne and eek with-oute. Tale, l. 52 Ful smale y-pulled were hir browes two,And tho were bent, and blake as any sloo. Tale, l. 59 She was ful more blisful on to seeThan is the newe pere-jonette tree. Tale, l. 61 She was a prymerole, a pigges-nye For any lord to leggen in his bedde, Or yet for any good yeman to wedde. Tale, l. 82 And prively he caughte hir by the queynte. Tale, l. 90 She was so propre and swete and likerous. I dar wel seyn, if she had been a mous, And he a cat, he wolde hir hente anon. Tale, l. 159 And wafres, pyping hote out of the glede. Tale, l. 193 Ful sooth is this proverbe, it is no lye,Men seyn right thus, ‘alwey the nye slyeMaketh the ferre leve to be looth.’ Tale, l. 205 And so bifel it on a Saterday, This carpenter was goon til Osenay; And hende Nicholas and Alisoun Acorded been to this conclusioun, That Nicholas shal shapen him a wyle This sely jalous housbond to bigyle. Tale, l. 213 Jesu Crist, and Seynt Benedight, Blesse this hous from every wikked wight. Tale, l. 297 And broghte of mighty ale a large quart. Tale, l. 311 ‘Now John,’ quod Nicholas, ‘I wol nat lye; I have y-founde in myn astrologye, As I have loked in the mone bright, That now, a Monday next, at quarter-night, Shal falle a reyn and that so wilde and wood, That half so greet was never Noës flood.’ Tale, l. 327 Lo! which a greet thyng is affeccioun! Men may dye of imaginacioun, So depe may impressioun be take. Tale, l. 425 Whan that the firste cok hath crowe, anon Up rist this joly lover Absolon, And him arrayeth gay, at point-devys. But first he cheweth greyn and lycorys, To smellen swete, er he had kembd his heer. Tale, l. 501                  I have swich love-longinge, That lyk a turtel trewe is my moorninge; I may nat ete na more than a mayde. Tale, l. 519 Derk was the night as pich, or as the cole, And at the window out she putte hir hole, And Absolon, him fil no bet ne wers, But with his mouth he kiste hir naked ers Ful savourly, er he was war of this.    Abak he sterte, and thoghte it was amis, For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd; He felte a thing al rough and long y-herd, And seyde, ‘fy! allas! what have I do?’    ‘Tehee!’ quod she, and clapte the window to; And Absolon goth forth a sory pas.    ‘A berd, a berd!’ quod hende Nicholas, ‘By goddes corpus, this goth faire and weel!’ Tale, l. 545 This Absolon ne roghte nat a bene. Tale, l. 586 This Nicholas was risen for to pisse, And thoghte he wolde amenden al the jape, He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape. And up the windowe dide he hastily, And out his ers he putteth prively Over the buttok, to the haunche-bon; And ther-with spak this clerk, this Absolon, ‘Spek, swete brid, I noot nat wher thou art.’    This Nicholas anon leet flee a fart, As greet as it had been a thonder-dent, That with the strook he was almost y-blent; And he was redy with his iren hoot, And Nicholas amidde the ers he smoot. Tale, l. 612 The Reeve's Tale thumb|And by his belt he bore a long panade,And of the sword full trenchant was the blade.A jolly popper bore he in his pouch;There was no man for peril durst him touch.A Sheffield whittle bore he in his hose. Yet in our asshen olde is fyr y-reke. Prologue, l. 28 And by his belt he baar a long panade,And of a swerd ful trenchant was the blade.A joly popper baar he in his pouche;Ther was no man for peril dorste him touche.A Sheffeld thwitel baar he in his hose. Tale, l. 9 The gretteste clerkes been noght the wysest men. Tale, l. 134 Thurgh thikke and thurgh thenne. Tale, l. 146 Cf. Du Bartas, Second Week, Fourth Day; Spenser, The Faerie Queene, Bk. III, Canto i, st. 17 Ye conne by argumentes make a placeA myle brood of twenty foot of space. Tale, l. 203 So was hir joly whistle wel y-wet. Tale, l. 235 The Man of Law's Tale He wiste it was the eightetethe dayOf April, that is messager to May. Introduction to Prologue, l. 5 Maugree thyn heed, thou most for indigenceOr stele, or begge, or borwe thy despence! Prologue, l. 6 At Cristemasse merie may ye daunce! Prologue, l. 28 She is mirour of alle curteisye. Tale, l. 68 Cf. Shakespeare, Henry VIII, act II, sc. i, l. 52 For in the sterres, clerer than is glas, Is writen, god wot, who-so coude it rede, The deeth of every man, withouten drede. Tale, l. 96 Sathan, that ever us waiteth to bigyle. Tale, l. 484 Have ye nat seyn som tyme a pale face, Among a prees, of him that hath be lad Toward his deeth, wher-as him gat no grace, And swich a colour in his face hath had, Men mighte knowe his face, that was bistad, Amonges alle the faces in that route. Tale, l. 547 Sir Thopas Thou lokest as thou woldest finde an hare, For ever up-on the ground I see thee stare. Prologue, l. 6 He hadde a semely nose. Tale, l. 18 The Tale of Melibee This may wel be rym dogerel. Prologue, l. 7 ‘By god,’ quod he, ‘for pleynly, at a word, Thy drasty ryming is nat worth a tord. Prologue, l. 11 Whan our Lord hadde creat Adam our forme-fader, he seyde in this wyse: “it is nat good to been a man allone; make we to him an help semblable to himself.” Tale, § 15 What is bettre than gold? Jaspre. What is bettre than jaspre? Wisdom. And what is bettre than wisdom? Womman. And what is bettre than a good womman? No-thing. Tale, § 15 Wel seyn they, that defenden every wight to assaye any thing of which he is in doute, whether he may parfourne it or no. Tale, § 24 Tullius seith: that “long apparailling biforn the bataille maketh short victorie.” Tale, § 35 The Book of Decrees seith: “selden or with greet peyne been causes y-broght to good ende whanne they been baddely bigonne.” Tale, § 37 For right as men seyn, that “over-greet homlinesse engendreth dispreysinge.” Tale, § 55 The Nun's Priest's Tale thumb|His comb was redder than the fine coral, Embattled, as it were a castle wall. Your tale anoyeth al this companye; Swich talking is nat worth a boterflye. Prologue, l. 23 A povre widwe, somdel stope in age, Was whylom dwelling in a narwe cotage, Bisyde a grove, stonding in a dale. Tale, l. 1              She hadde a cok, hight Chauntecleer, In al the land of crowing nas his peer. His vois was merier than the mery orgon On messe-dayes that in the chirche gon; Wel sikerer was his crowing in his logge, Than is a clokke, or an abbey orlogge. Tale, l. 29 His comb was redder than the fyn coral, And batailed, as it were a castel-wal. His bile was blak, and as the jeet it shoon; Lyk asur were his legges, and his toon; His nayles whytter than the lilie flour, And lyk the burned gold was his colour. This gentil cok hadde in his governaunce Sevene hennes, for to doon al his plesaunce, Whiche were his sustres and his paramours, And wonder lyk to him, as of colours. Of whiche the faireste hewed on hir throte Was cleped faire damoysele Pertelote. Tale, l. 39 Cf. Anon., "I Have a Gentle Cock" We alle desyren, if it mighte be, To han housbondes hardy, wyse, and free, And secree, and no nigard, ne no fool, Ne him that is agast of every tool, Ne noon avauntour, by that god above! Tale, l. 93 Certes this dreem, which ye han met to-night, Cometh of the grete superfluitee Of youre rede colera. Tale, l. 106 Right as the humour of malencolye Causeth ful many a man, in sleep, to crye, For fere of blake beres, or boles blake, Or elles, blake develes wole hem take. Tale, l. 113 O blisful god, that art so just and trewe! Lo, how that thou biwreyest mordre alway! Mordre wol out, that see we day by day. Mordre is so wlatsom and abhominable. Tale, l. 230 Macrobeus, that writ the avisioun In Affrike of the worthy Cipioun, Affermeth dremes, and seith that they been Warning of thinges that men after seen. Tale, l. 303 Reed eek of Joseph, and ther shul ye see Wher dremes ben somtyme (I sey nat alle) Warning of thinges that shul after falle. Tale, l. 310 Who-so wol seken actes of sondry remes, May rede of dremes many a wonder thing. Tale, l. 316 For whan I see the beautee of your face, Ye ben so scarlet-reed about your yën, It maketh al my drede for to dyen. Tale, l. 340 Womman is mannes joye and al his blis. For whan I fele a-night your softe syde, Al-be-it that I may nat on you ryde, For that our perche is maad so narwe, alas! I am so ful of joye and of solas That I defye bothe sweven and dreem. Tale, l. 346 Cf. Robert Mannyng, Handlyng Synne, l. 1907 Whan that the month in which the world bigan, That highte March, whan god first maked man. Tale, l. 367 ‘Madame Pertelote, my worldes blis, Herkneth thise blisful briddes how they singe, And see the fresshe floures how they springe; Ful is myn herte of revel and solas.’ But sodeinly him fil a sorweful cas; For ever the latter ende of joye is wo. Tale, l. 380 My tale is of a cok, as ye may here, That took his counseil of his wyf, with sorwe, To walken in the yerd upon that morwe That he had met the dreem, that I yow tolde. Wommennes counseils been ful ofte colde. Tale, l. 432 Allas! ye lordes, many a fals flatour Is in your courtes, and many a losengeour, That plesen yow wel more, by my feith, Than he that soothfastnesse unto yow seith. Redeth Ecclesiaste of flaterye; Beth war, ye lordes, of hir trecherye. Tale, l. 505 Daun Russel the fox sterte up at ones. Tale, l. 514 And on a Friday fil al this meschaunce. Tale, l. 521 They yelleden as feendes doon in helle; The dokes cryden as men wolde hem quelle; The gees for fere flowen over the trees; Out of the hyve cam the swarm of bees. Tale, l. 569 Certes, he Jakke Straw, and his meynee, Ne made never shoutes half so shrille, Whan that they wolden any Fleming kille, As thilke day was maad upon the fox. Tale, l. 574 But ye that holden this tale a folye, As of a fox, or of a cok and hen, Taketh the moralitee, good men. For seint Paul seith, that al that writen is, To our doctryne it is y-write, y-wis. Taketh the fruyt, and lat the chaf be stille. Tale, l. 618 Yet do not miss the moral, my good men. For Saint Paul says that all that’s written well Is written down some useful truth to tell. Then take the wheat and let the chaff lie still. (trans. J. U. Nicolson) The Pardoner's Tale ‘Lordings,’ quod he, ‘in chirches whan I preche,I peyne me to han an hauteyn speche,And ringe it out as round as gooth a belle,For I can al by rote that I telle.’ Prologue, l. 1 Than peyne I me to strecche forth the nekke, And est and west upon the peple I bekke. Prologue, l. 67 I preche of no-thing but for coveityse. Therfor my theme is yet, and ever was— “Radix malorum est cupiditas.” Tale, l. 96 Cf. 1 Timothy 6:10 (Vulgate) But, though my-self be gilty in that sinne, Yet can I maken other folk to twinne From avaryce, and sore to repente. Tale, l. 101 O wombe! O bely! O stinking cod, Fulfild of donge and of corrupcioun! Tale, l. 206 Cf. Hesiod, Theogony, l. 26; Odo of Cluny For dronkenesse is verray sepulture Of mannes wit and his discrecioun. Tale, l. 230 And thou shalt kisse the reliks everichon, Ye, for a grote! unbokel anon thy purs. Tale, l. 615 Gret swering is a thing abhominable, And false swering is yet more reprevable. Tale, l. 303 ‘What? carl, with sory grace.’ Tale, l. 389 Thus walke I, lyk a restelees caityf, And on the ground, which is my modres gate, I knokke with my staf, bothe erly and late, And seye, “leve moder, leet me in!” Tale, l. 400 And lightly as it comth, so wol we spende. Tale, l. 453 The Shipman's Tale He wolde sowen som difficultee, Or springen cokkel in our clene corn. Prologue, l. 20 The Prioress's Tale He can nat stinte of singing by the weye. Tale, l. 105 Mordre wol out, certein, it wol nat faille. Tale, l. 124 The Wife of Bath's Tale Experience, though noon auctoritee Were in this world, were right y-nough to me To speke of wo that is in mariage. Prologue, l. 1 Housbondes at chirche-dore I have had fyve; For I so ofte have y-wedded be; And alle were worthy men in hir degree. Prologue, l. 6 Men may devyne and glosen up and doun. But wel I woot expres, with-oute lye, God bad us for to wexe and multiplye; That gentil text can I wel understonde. Prologue, l. 26 Blessed be god that I have wedded fyve! Welcome the sixte, whan that ever he shal. For sothe, I wol nat kepe me chast in al; Whan myn housbond is fro the world y-gon, Som Cristen man shal wedde me anon. Prologue, l. 44                  Th'Apostle seith, that I am free To wedde, a goddes half, wher it lyketh me. He seith that to be wedded is no sinne; Bet is to be wedded than to brinne. Prologue, l. 49 Whan saugh ye ever, in any maner age, That hye God defended mariage By expres word? I pray you, telleth me; Or wher comanded he virginitee? Prologue, l. 59 Men may conseille a womman to been oon, But conseilling is no comandement; He putte it in our owene jugement. For hadde god comanded maydenhede, Thanne hadde he dampned wedding with the dede. Prologue, l. 66 And certes, if ther were no seed y-sowe, Virginitee, wher-of than sholde it growe? Prologue, l. 71 Hem lyketh to be clene, body and goost, Of myn estaat I nil nat make no boost. For wel ye knowe, a lord in his houshold, He hath nat every vessel al of gold; Somme been of tree, and doon hir lord servyse. God clepeth folk to him in sondry wyse, And everich hath of god a propre yifte, Som this, som that,—as him lyketh shifte. Prologue, l. 97 Purity in body and heart May please some — as for me, I make no boast. For, as you know, no master of a household Has all of his utensils made of gold; Some are wood, and yet they are of use. (trans. David Wright) Virginitee is greet perfeccioun, And continence eek with devocioun. But Crist, that of perfeccioun is welle, Bad nat every wight he shold go selle All that he hadde, and give it to the pore, And in swich wyse folwe hime and his fore. He spak to hem that wolde live parfitly; And lordinges, by your leve, that am nat I. Prologue, l. 105 I wol bistowe the flour of al myn age In the actes and in fruit of mariage. Prologue, l. 113 So that the clerkes be nat with me wrothe, I sey this, that they maked been for bothe, This is to seye, for office, and for ese Of engendrure, ther we nat god displese. Prologue, l. 125 The bacoun was nat fet for hem, I trowe, That som men han in Essex at Dunmowe. Prologue, l. 217 Ye wyse wyves, that can understonde,    Thus shul ye speke and bere hem wrong on honde; For half so boldely can ther no man Swere and lyen as a womman can. Prologue, l. 225 Thow seyst that dropping houses, and eek smoke, And chyding wyves, maken men to flee Out of hir owene hous; a! benedicite! What eyleth swich an old man for to chyde? Prologue, l. 278 Thou lykenest wommanes love to helle, To bareyne lond, ther water may not dwelle. Thou lyknest it also to wilde fyr; The more it brenneth, the more it hath desyr To consume every thing that brent wol be. Thou seyst, that right as wormes shende a tree, Right so a wyf destroyeth hir housbonde; This knowe they that been to wyves bonde. Prologue, l. 371 Then you compared a woman's love to Hell, To barren land where water will not dwell, And you compared it to a quenchless fire, The more it burns the more is its desire To burn up everything that burnt can be. You say that just as worms destroy a tree A wife destroys her husband and contrives, As husbands know, the ruin of their lives. (trans. Nevill Coghill) I wolde no lenger in the bed abyde, If that I felte his arm over my syde, Til he had maad his raunson un-to me; Than wolde I suffre him do his nycetee. And ther-fore every man this tale I telle, Winne who-so may, for al is for to selle. Prologue, l. 409 With empty hand men may none haukes lure; For winning wolde I al his lust endure, And make me a feyned appetyt; And yet in bacon hadde I never delyt. Prologue, l. 415 And I was yong and ful of ragerye, Stiborn and strong, and joly as a pye. Wel coude I daunce to an harpe smale, And singe, y-wis, as any nightingale, Whan I had dronke a draughte of swete wyn. Prologue, l. 455 And, after wyn, on Venus moste I thinke: For al so siker as cold engendreth hayl, A likerous mouth moste han a likerous tayl. Prologue, l. 464 But, lord Crist! whan that it remembreth me Up-on my yowthe, and on my jolitee, It tikleth me aboute myn herte rote. Unto this day it dooth myn herte bote That I have had my world as in my tyme. Prologue, l. 469 But age, allas! that al wol envenyme, Hath me biraft my beautee and my pith; Lat go, fare-wel, the devel go therwith! The flour is goon, ther is na-more to telle,The bren, as I best can, now moste I selle. Prologue, l. 474 In his owene grece I made him frye. Prologue, l. 487 Cf. Shakespeare, The Merry Wives of Windsor, act II, sc. i, l. 60 By god, in erthe I was his purgatorie, For which I hope his soule be in glorie. Prologue, l. 489          What thing we may nat lightly have, Ther-after wol we crye al-day and crave. Prologue, l. 517 Cf. Ovid, Amores, bk. 3, no. 4, l. 9 Forbede us thing, and that desyren we; Prees on us faste, and thanne wol we flee. With daunger oute we al our chaffare; Greet prees at market maketh dere ware, And to greet cheep is holde at litel prys. Prologue, l. 519 And for to see, and eek for to be seye Of lusty folk. Prologue, l. 552 Cf. Ovid, Ars Amatoria, bk. 1, l. 99 I holde a mouses herte nat worth a leek, That hath but oon hole for to sterte to, And if that faille, thanne is al y-do. Prologue, l. 572 Cf. Plautus, Truculentus, act IV, sc. iv, l. 15 But yet I hadde alwey a coltes tooth. Gat-tothed I was, and that bicam me weel; I hadde the prente of sëynt Venus seel. As help me god, I was a lusty oon. Prologue, l. 602                          Myne housbondes tolde me, I had the beste quoniam mighte be. Prologue, l. 606 Venus me yaf my lust, my likerousnesse, And Mars yaf me my sturdy hardinesse. Prologue, l. 611 Allas! allas! that ever love was sinne! Prologue, l. 614 Of Eva first, that, for hir wikkednesse, Was al mankinde broght to wrecchednesse, For which that Iesu Crist him-self was slayn, That boghte us with his herte-blood agayn. Lo, here expres of womman may ye finde, That womman was the los of al mankinde. Prologue, l. 715 And ther-with-al, he knew of mo proverbes Than in this world ther growen gras or herbes. Prologue, l. 773 Cf. Proverbs 11:22, 21:9          A womman cast hir shame away, Whan she cast of hir smok. Prologue, l. 782 He yaf me al the brydel in myn hond To han the governance of hous and lond, And of his tonge and of his hond also. Prologue, l. 813                              “Myn owene trewe wyf, Do as thee lust the terme of al thy lyf, Keep thyn honour, and keep eek myn estaat”— After that day we hadden never debaat. Prologue, l. 819 This is a long preamble of a tale! Prologue, l. 831 (Friar loq.) In th'olde dayes of the king Arthour, Of which that Britons speken greet honour, All was this land fulfild of fayerye. The elf-queen, with hir joly companye, Daunced ful ofte in many a grene mede; This was the olde opinion, as I rede, I speke of manye hundred yeres ago; But now can no man see none elves mo. Tale, l. 1 thumb|As thikke as motes in the sonne-beem.As thick as motes in the sunbeam. For now the grete charitee and prayeres Of limitours and othere holy freres, That serchen every lond and every streem, As thikke as motes in the sonne-beem, Blessinge halles, chambres, kichenes, boures, Citees, burghes, castels, hye toures, Thropes, bernes, shipnes, dayeryes, This maketh that ther been no fayeryes. Tale, l. 9 Of whiche mayde anon, maugree hir heed, By verray force he rafte hir maydenheed. Tale, l. 31 Somme seyde, wommen loven best richesse, Somme seyde, honour, somme seyde, jolynesse; Somme, riche array, somme seyden, lust abedde, And ofte tyme to be widwe and wedde. Tale, l. 69                                           I wol nat lye; A man shal winne us best with flaterye; And with attendance, and with bisinesse, Been we y-lymed, bothe more and lesse. Tale, l. 75 ‘My lige lady, generally,’ quod he, ‘Wommen desyren to have sovereyntee As wel over hir housbond as hir love, And for to been in maistrie him above; This is your moste desyr, thogh ye me kille, Doth as yow list, I am heer at your wille.’ Tale, l. 181 Loke who that is most vertuous alway, Privee and apert, and most entendeth ay To do the gentil dedes that he can, And tak him for the grettest gentil man. Tale, l. 257 Crist wol, we clayme of him our gentillesse, Nat of our eldres for hir old richesse. Tale, l. 261                             Men may wel often finde A lordes sone do shame and vileinye; And he that wol han prys of his gentrye For he was boren of a gentil hous. Tale, l. 294 He nis nat gentil, be he duk or erl; For vileyns sinful dedes make a cherl. Tale, l. 301 That he is gentil that doth gentil dedis. Tale, l. 314 Povert is hateful good, and, as I gesse, A ful greet bringer out of bisinesse. Tale, l. 339 Povert ful ofte, whan a man is lowe, Maketh his god and eek him-self to knowe. Povert a spectacle is, as thinketh me, Thurgh which he may his verray frendes see. Tale, l. 345                               Jesu Crist us sende Housbondes meke, yonge, and fresshe a-bedde, And grace toverbyde hem that we wedde. And eek I preye Iesu shorte hir lyves That wol nat be governed by hir wyves; And olde and angry nigardes of dispence, God sende hem sone verray pestilence. Tale, l. 402 The Friar's Tale The carl spak oo thing, but he thoghte another. Tale, l. 270 The Summoner's Tale Lyk an aspen leef he quook. Prologue, l. 3 This Frere bosteth that he knoweth helle, And god it woot, that it is litel wonder; Freres and feendes been but lyte a-sonder. For pardee, ye han ofte tyme herd telle, How that a frere ravisshed was to helle In spirit ones by a visioun; And as an angel ladde him up and doun, To shewen him the peynes that ther were, In al the place saugh he nat a frere; Of other folk he saugh y-nowe in wo. Un-to this angel spak the frere tho:    “Now, sir,” quod he, “han freres swich a grace That noon of hem shal come to this place?”    “Yis,” quod this angel, “many a millioun!” And un-to Sathanas he ladde him doun. “And now hath Sathanas,” seith he, “a tayl Brodder than of a carrik is the sayl. Hold up thy tayl, thou Sathanas!” quod he, “Shewe forth thyn ers, and lat the frere see Wher is the nest of freres in this place!” And, er that half a furlong-wey of space, Right so as bees out swarmen from an hyve, Out of the develes ers ther gonne dryve Twenty thousand freres in a route, And thurgh-out helle swarmeden aboute; And comen agayn, as faste as they may gon, And in his ers they crepten everichon. He clapte his tayl agayn, and lay ful stille. Prologue, l. 8 He is as angry as a pissemyre. Tale, l. 117 The lady of the hous ay stille sat. Tale, l. 492 Cf. Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, act 1, sc. 5, l. 198      With bely stif and toghtAs any tabour. Tale, l. 559 The Clerk's Tale For though we slepe or wake, or rome, or ryde, Ay fleeth the tyme, it nil no man abyde. Tale, l. 62 And though your grene youthe floure as yit, In crepeth age alwey, as stille as stoon, And deeth manaceth every age, and smit In ech estaat, for ther escapeth noon: And al so certein as we knowe echoon That we shul deye, as uncerteyn we alle Been of that day whan deeth shal on us falle. Tale, l. 64 And through you are still in the flower of your young manhood, age creeps on steadily, as quiet as a stone, and death menaces every age and strikes in every rank, for no one escapes. As surely as we know that we will die, so we are uncertain of the day when death shall fall on us. (trans. R. M. Lumiansky) Ye been our lord, doth with your owene thing Right as yow list. Tale, l. 596 Love is noght old as whan that it is newe. Tale, l. 801 Thus with hir fader, for a certeyn space, Dwelleth this flour of wyfly pacience, That neither by hir wordes ne hir face Biforn the folk, ne eek in hir absence, Ne shewed she that hir was doon offence. Tale, l. 862 O stormy peple! unsad and ever untrewe! Tale, l. 939 Grisilde is deed, and eek hir pacience, And bothe atones buried in Itaille; For which I crye in open audience, No wedded man so hardy be tassaille His wyves pacience, in hope to finde Grisildes, for in certein he shall faille! Tale, l. 1121 (Lenvoy de Chaucer) Ye archewyves, stondeth at defence, Sin ye be stronge as is a greet camaille; Ne suffreth nat that men yow doon offence. And sclendre wyves, feble as in bataille, Beth egre as is a tygre yond in Inde; Ay clappeth as a mille, I yow consaille. Tale, l. 1139 (Lenvoy de Chaucer) Be ay of chere as light as leef on linde, And lat him care, and wepe, and wringe, and waille! Tale, l. 1155 (Lenvoy de Chaucer) The Squire's Tale A doghter hadde this worthy king also, That yongest was, and highte Canacee. Tale, l. 24 But for to telle yow al hir beautee, It lyth nat in my tonge, nin my conning; I dar nat undertake so heigh a thing. Myn English eek is insufficient; It moste been a rethor excellent, That coude his colours longing for that art, If he sholde hir discryven every part. I am non swich, I moot speke as I can. Tale, l. 26                                   The Pegasee, The hors that hadde winges for to flee. Tale, l. 199 As many hedes, as many wittes ther been.They murmureden as dooth a swarm of been. Tale, l. 195 They demen gladly to the badder ende. Tale, l. 216 Therfor bihoveth him a ful long spoon That shal ete with a feend. Tale, l. 594 Cf. Shakespeare, The Comedy of Errors, act IV, sc. iii, l. 58 Men loven of propre kinde newfangelnesse. Tale, l. 602 I am lorn with-outen remedye! Tale, l. 621                         Fy on possessioun But-if a man be vertuous with-al. Franklin to the Squire, l. 14 The Franklin's Tale I sleep never on the mount of Pernaso, Ne lerned Marcus Tullius Cithero. Prologue, l. 13 For o thing, sires, saufly dar I seye, That frendes everich other moot obeye, If they wol longe holden companye. Love wol nat ben constreyned by maistrye; Whan maistrie comth, the god of love anon Beteth hise winges, and farewel! he is gon! Love is a thing as any spirit free; Wommen of kinde desiren libertee, And nat to ben constreyned as a thral; And so don men, if I soth seyen shal. Tale, l. 33 Pacience is an heigh vertu certeyn. Tale, l. 45 Servant in love, and lord in mariage. Tale, l. 65 Wel she saugh that it was for the beste. Tale, l. 118 Tak this for fynal answer as of me. Tale, l. 259 Til that the brighte sonne loste his hewe; For thorisonte hath reft the sonne his light; This is as muche to seye as it was night. Tale, l. 288 It is agayns the proces of nature. Tale, l. 617 Trouthe is the hyeste thing that man may kepe. l. 751 The Monk's Tale For certein, whan that fortune list to flee, Ther may no man the cours of hir withholde. l. 35 Ful wys is he that can him-selven knowe. l. 149 Cf. "Know thyself" and Heraclitus Redeth the grete poete of Itaille, That highte Dant, for he can al devyse Fro point to point, nat o word wol he faille. l. 470 He was of knighthode and of fredom flour. l. 652 Tragedie is noon other maner thing, Ne can in singing crye ne biwaille, But for that fortune alwey wol assaille With unwar strook the regnes that ben proude; For when men trusteth hir, than wol she faille, And covere hir brighte face with a cloude. l. 771 The Parson's Tale And the same Seneca also seith: ‘I am born to gretter thinges than to be thral to my body, or than for to maken of my body a thral.’ Tale, § 9 For the proverbe seith: that manye smale maken a greet. Tale, § 21 Avarice, after the descripcion of seint Augustin, is likerousnesse in herte to have erthely thinges. Tale, § 63 Certes, they been lyk to houndes; for an hound, whan he comth by the roser or by othere [busshes], though he may nat pisse, yet wole he heve up his leg and make a contenaunce to pisse. Tale, § 76 For he ne made hir nat of the heved of Adam, for she sholde nat clayme to greet lordshipe. / For ther-as the womman hath the maistrie, she maketh to muche desray; ther neden none ensamples of this. The experience of day by day oghte suffyse. / Also certes, god ne made nat womman of the foot of Adam, for she ne sholde nat been holden to lowe; for she can nat paciently suffre: but god made womman of the rib of Adam, for womman sholde be felawe un-to man. Tale, § 79 Cf. Peter Lombard, Sentences, bk. 4, ch. 4 The Canon's Yeoman's Tale thumb|As bold as is Bayard the blind. For whan a man hath over-greet a wit, Ful oft him happeth to misusen it. Prologue, l. 95 The bodies sevene eek, lo! hem heer anoon: Sol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe, Mars yren, Mercurie quik-silver we clepe, Saturnus leed, and Jupiter is tin, And Venus coper, by my fader kin! Tale, l. 272 But al thing which that shyneth as the gold Nis nat gold, as that I have herd it told. Tale, l. 409 Cf. "All that glitters is not gold" and Alain de Lille Ne every appel that is fair at yëNe is nat good, what-so men clappe or crye. Tale, l. 411 Ye been as bolde as is Bayard the blinde,That blundreth forth, and peril casteth noon;He is as bold to renne agayn a stoonAs for to goon besydes in the weye. Tale, l. 860 The Manciple's Tale thumb|Take a cat, and foster him well with milk And tender flesh, and make his couch of silk, And let him see a mouse go by the wall; Anon he waiveth milk and flesh and all And every dainty that is in that house; Such appetite has he to eat a mouse. He was the moste lusty bachilerIn al this world, and eek the beste archer. Tale, l. 3 A good wyf, that is clene of werk and thoght, Sholde nat been kept in noon await, certayn; And trewely, the labour is in vayn To kepe a shrewe, for it wol nat be. This holde I for a verray nycetee, To spille labour, for to kepe wyves; Thus writen olde clerkes in hir lyves. Tale, l. 44 Tak any brid, and put it in a cage,And do al thyn entente and thy corageTo fostre it tendrely with mete and drinke,Of alle deyntees that thou canst bithinke,And keep it al-so clenly as thou may;Al-though his cage of gold be never so gay,Yet hath this brid, by twenty thousand fold,Lever in a forest, that is rude and cold,Gon ete wormes and swich wrecchednesse.For ever this brid wol doon his bisinesseTo escape out of his cage, if he may;His libertee this brid desireth ay. Tale, l. 59 Lat take a cat, and fostre him wel with milk, And tendre flesh, and make his couche of silk, And lat him seen a mous go by the wal; Anon he weyveth milk, and flesh, and al, And every deyntee that is in that hous, Swich appetyt hath he to ete a mous. Tale, l. 71 Appetyt flemeth discrecioun. Tale, l. 78 For men han ever a likerous appetyt On lower thing to parfourne hir delyt Than on hir wyves, be they never so faire, Ne never so trewe, ne so debonaire. Tale, l. 85 Flesh is so newefangel, with meschaunce, That we ne conne in no-thing han plesaunce That souneth in-to vertu any whyle. Tale, l. 89 Allas! a thousand folk hath rakel ireFully fordoon, and broght hem in the mire.Allas! for sorwe I wol my-selven slee! Tale, l. 185 My sone, keep wel thy tonge and keep thy freend. Tale, l. 215 The firste vertu, sone, if thou wolt lere, Is to restreyne and kepe wel thy tonge. Tale, l. 228 Thing that is seyd, is seyd; and forth it gooth. Tale, l. 251 Kepe wel thy tonge, and thenk up-on the crowe. Tale, l. 258 The Merchant's Tale Weping and wayling. Prologue, l. 1 And certeinly, as sooth as god is king,To take a wyf, it is a glorious thing,And namely whan a man is old and hoor;Thanne is a wyf the fruit of his tresor.Than sholde he take a yong wyf and a feir,On which he mighte engendren him an heir,And lede his lyf in joye and in solas,Wher-as thise bacheleres singe ‘allas,’Whan that they finden any adversiteeIn love, which nis but childish vanitee.And trewely it sit wel to be so,That bacheleres have often peyne and wo;On brotel ground they builde, and brotelnesseThey finde, whan they wene sikernesse.They live but as a brid or as a beste,In libertee, and under non areste,Ther-as a wedded man in his estaatLiveth a lyf blisful and ordinaat,Under the yok of mariage y-bounde;Wel may his herte in joye and blisse habounde.For who can be so buxom as a wyf?Who is so trewe, and eek so ententyfTo kepe him, syk and hool, as is his make? Tale, l. 23 The hye god, whan he hadde Adam maked,And saugh him al allone, bely-naked,God of his grete goodnesse seyde than,‘Lat us now make an help un-to this manLyk to him-self;’ and thanne he made him Eve. Tale, l. 81 Though I be hoor, I fare as dooth a treeThat blosmeth er that fruyt y-woxen be;A blosmy tree nis neither drye ne deed.I fele me nowher hoor but on myn heed;Myn herte and alle my limes been as greneAs laurer thurgh the yeer is for to sene. Tale, l. 217 What that he seith, I holde it ferme and stable;I seye the same, or elles thing semblable. Tale, l. 255                          It is no childes pley To take a wyf with-oute avysement. Tale, l. 286 For love is blind. Tale, l. 354 Cf. Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, act I, sc. i, l. 234 Ther may no man han parfite blisses two,This is to seye, in erthe and eek in hevene. Tale, l. 394 My wit is thinne. Tale, l. 438 But thus muche of hir beautee telle I may,That she was lyk the brighte morwe of May. Tale, l. 503 Ther nis no werkman, what-so-ever he be, That may bothe werke wel and hastily; This wol be doon at leyser parfitly. Tale, l. 588 As blind as is a stoon. Tale, l. 912 The Cook's Tale This joly prentis with his maister bood,Til he were ny out of his prentishood,Al were he snibbed bothe erly and late,And somtyme lad with revel to Newgate;But atte laste his maister him bithoghte,Up-on a day, whan he his paper soghte,Of a proverbe that seith this same word,‘Wel bet is roten appel out of hordThan that it rotie al the remenaunt.’ Tale, l. 35 The Second Nun's Tale Lyk a bisy bee, with-outen gyle. Tale, l. 195 Quotes about The Canterbury Tales I cannot * * * say that PanPasseth Apollo in music manyfold;Praisé Sir Thopas for a noble tale,And scorn the story that the Knighté told. Sir Thomas Wyatt, in Henry Morley, Burlesque Plays and Poems (1885) Here is God's plenty. John Dryden, Preface to Fables (1700) Chaucer, at Woodstock with the nightingales,At sixty wrote the Canterbury Tales. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "Morituri Salutamus" (1875) Chaucer's "Rime of Sir Thopas", written towards the close of the fourteenth century, is a jest upon long-winded story-tellers, who expatiate on insignificant detail; for in his day there were many metrical romances written by the ancestors of Mrs. Nickleby. Riding to Canterbury with the other pilgrims, Chaucer good-humouredly takes to himself the part of the companion who jogs along with even flow of words, luxuriating in all trivial detail until he brings Sir Thopas face to face with an adventure, for he meets a giant with three heads. But even then there is the adventure to be waited for. The story-teller finds that he must trot his knight back home to fetch his armour, and when he "is comen again to toune," it takes so many words to get him his supper, get his armour on, and trot him out again, that the inevitable end comes, with rude intrusion of some faint-hearted lording who has not courage to listen until the point of the story can be descried from afar. So the best of the old story-tellers, in a book full of examples of tales told as they should be, burlesqued misuse of his art, and the "Rime of Sir Thopas" became a warning buoy over the shallows. Henry Morley, Burlesque Plays and Poems (1885) Translations Fables, Ancient and Modern, trans. John Dryden (1700) Canterbury Tales, trans. J. U. Nicolson (Garden City Books, 1934) The Canterbury Tales, trans. R. M. Lumiansky (Simon and Schuster, 1948) The Canterbury Tales, trans. Nevill Coghill (Penguin Books, 1952) The Canterbury Tales, trans. David Wright (Oxford World's Classics, 1986 [OUP, 1985]) See also The Decameron One Thousand and One Nights External links Tales of Canterbury Category:Poetry