The holy blisful martyr for to seke,
That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke. Befelle, that, in that seson on a day, In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay, Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage To Canterbury with devoute corage, At night was come into that hostelrie Wel nine and twenty in a compagnie Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle In felawship, and pilgrimes were they alle, That toward Canterbury wolden ride. The chambres and the stables weren wide, And wel we weren esed atte beste.
And shortly, whan the sonne was gon to reste, So hadde I spoken with hem everich on, That I was of hir felawship anon, And made forword erly for to rise, To take oure way ther as I you devise.
But natheles, while I have time and space, Or that I forther in this tale расе, Me thinketh it accordant to reson, To tellen you alle the condition Of eche of hem, so as it semed me,
And whiche they weren, and of what degre; And eke in what araie that they were inne : And at a knight than wol I firste beginne.
A KNIGHT ther was, and that a worthy
That fro the time that he firste began To riden out, he loved chevalrie, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie. Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre, And therto hadde he ridden, no man ferre,
As wel in Cristendom as in Hethenesse, And ever honoured for his worthinesse.
At Alisandre he was whan it was wonne, Ful often time he hadde the bord begonne Aboven alle nations in Pruce.
In Lettowe hadde he reysed and in Ruce, No cristen man so ofte of his degre.
In Gernade at the siege eke hadde he be Of Algesir, and ridden in Belmarie.
At Leyes was he, and at Satalie,
Whan they were wonne; and in the Grete see At many a noble armee hadde he be. At mortal batailles hadde he ben fiftene, And foughten for our faith at Tramissene In listes thries, and ay slain his fo.
This ilke worthy knight hadde ben also Somtime with the lord of Palatie, Agen another hethen in Turkie:
And evermore he hadde a sovereine pris. And though that he was worthy he was wise, And of his port as meke as is a mayde. He never yet no vilanie ne sayde In alle his lif, unto no manere wight. He was a veray parfit gentil knight. But for to tellen you of his araie, His hors was good, but he ne was not gaie. Of fustian he wered a gipon,
Alle besmotred with his habergeon,
For he was late ycome fro his viage,
And wente for to don his pilgrimage.
With him ther was his sone a yonge SQUIER, A lover, and a lusty bacheler,
With lockes crull as they were laide in presse. Of twenty yere of age he was I gesse.
Of his stature he was of even lengthe, And wonderly deliver, and grete of strengthe. And he hadde be somtime in chevachie, In Flaundres, in Artois, and in Picardie, And borne him wel, as of so litel space, In hope to stonden in his ladies grace. Embrouded was he, as it were a mede Alle ful of fresshe floures, white and rede. Singing he was, or floyting alle the day, He was as fresshe, as is the moneth of May. Short was his goune, with sleves long and wide. Wel coude he sitte on hors, and fayre ride. He coude songes make, and wel endite, Juste and eke dance, and wel pourtraie and write. So hote he loved, that by nightertale He slep no more than doth the nightingale. Curteis he was, lowly, and servisable,
And carf before his fader at the table,
A YEMAN hadde he, and servantes no mo At that time, for him luste to ride so; And he was cladde in cote and hode of grene. A shefe of peacock arwes bright and kene Under his belt he bare ful thriftily. Wel coude he dresse his takel yemanly: His arwes drouped not with fetheres lowe. And in his hond he bare a mighty bowe.
A not-hed hadde he, with a broune visage. Of wood-craft coude he wel alle the usage. Upon his arme he bare a gaie bracer, And by his side a swerd and a bokeler,
And on that other side a gaie daggere, Harneised wel, and sharpe as point of spere: A Cristofre on his brest of silver shene. An horne he bare, the baudrik was of grene. A forster was he sothely as I gesse.
Ther was also a Nonne, a PRIoresse, That of hire smiling was ful simple and coy; Hire gretest othe n'as but by Seint Eloy; And she was cleped madame Eglentine. Ful wel she sange the service devine, Entuned in hire nose ful swetely;
And Frenche she spake ful fayre and fetisly, After the scole of Stratford atte bowe, For Frenche of Paris was to hire unknowe. At mete was she wel ytaughte withalle; She lette no morsel from hire lippes falle, Ne wette hire fingres in hire sauce depe. Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe, Thatte no drope ne fell upon hire brest. In curtesie was sette ful moche hire lest. Hire over lippe wiped she so clene, That in hire cuppe was no ferthing sene Of grese, whan she dronken hadde hire draught. Ful semely after hire mete she raught. And sikerly she was of grete disport, And ful plesant, and amiable of port, And peined hire to contrefeten chere Of court, and ben estatelich of manere, And to ben holden digne of reverence.
But for to speken of hire conscience, She was so charitable and so pitous, She wolde wepe if that she saw a mous
Caughte in a trappe, if it were ded or bledde. Of smale houndes hadde she, that she fedde With rosted flesh, and milk, and wastel brede. But sore wept she if on of hem were dede, Or if men smote it with a yerde smert: And all was conscience and tendre herte. Ful semely hire wimple ypinched was; Hire nose tretis; hire eyen grey as glas; Hire mouth ful smale, and therto soft and red; But sikerly she hadde a fayre forehed. It was almost a spanne brode I trowe; For hardily she was not undergrowe.
Ful fetise was hire cloke, as I was ware. Of smale corall aboute hire arm she bare A pare of bedes, gauded all with grene; And theron heng a broche of gold ful shene, On whiche was first ywriten a crouned A, And after, Amor vincit omnia.
Another NONNE also with hire hadde she, That was hire chapelleine, and PREESTES thre.' A MONK ther was, a fayre for the maistrie, An out-rider, that loved venerie;
A manly man, to ben an abbot able.
Ful many a deinte hors hadde he in stable: And whan he rode, men mighte his bridel here Gingeling in a whistling wind as clere, And eke as loude, as doth the chapell belle, Ther as this lord was keper of the celle.
The reule of seint Maure and of seint Beneit, Because that it was olde and somdele streit, This ilke monk lette olde thinges pace, And held after the newe world the trace. He yave not of the text a pulled hen, That saith, that hunters ben not holy men;
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