A Clerk ther was of Oxenforde also,
That unto logike hadde long ygo.
As lene was his hors as is a rake,
And he was not right fat I undertake;
But looked holwe, and thereto soberly.
Ful thredbare was his overest courtepy,
For he hadde geten him yet no benefice,
He was nought worldly to have an office.
For him was lever han, at his beddes hed,
Twenty bokes clothed in black or red,
Of Aristotle and his philosophie,
Than robes riche, or fidel, or sautrie:
But all be that he was a philosophre,
Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre;
But all that he might of his frendes heute,1
On bokes and on lerning he it spente;
And besily gan for the soules praie

Of hem that yave him wherwith to scolaie.
Of studie toke he most cure and hede.
Not a word spake he inore than was nede;
And that was said in forme and reverence,
And short and quike, and full of high sentence:
Souning in moral vertue was his speche;
And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche. *
A Frankelein was in this compagnie ;
White was his berd as is the dayesie.
Of his complexion he was sanguin.
Wel loved he by the morwe2 a sop in win.
To liven in delit was ever his wone.3
For he was Epicures owen sone,
That held opinion, that plein delit
Was veraily felicite parfite.

An housholder, and that a grete was he;
Seint Julian he was in his contree.
His brede, his ale, was alway after on;
A better envyned man was no wher non.
Withouten bake mete never was his hous,
Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteous,
It snewed in his hous of mete and drinke,
Of alle deintees that men coud of thinke.
After the sondry sesons of the yere,
So changed he his mete and his soupere.
Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in mewe;
And many a breme, and many a luce, in stewe.
Wo was his coke but if his sauce were
Poinant and sharpe, and redy all his gere.
His table, dormant in his halle, alway
Stode redy covered alle the longe day.

At sessions ther was he lord and sire;
Ful often time he was knight of the shire.
An anelaces and a gipcieres all of silk
Heng at his girdel, white as morwe milk.
A shereve hadde he ben and a countour.
Was no wher swiche a worthy vavasour.7
An Haberdasher, and a Carpenter,
A Webbe, a Deyer, and a Tapiser,
Were alle yclothed in of livere
Of a solempne and grete fraternite.
Ful freshe and newe hir gere ypiked was
Hir knives were ychaped not with bras,

But all with silver wrought full clene and wel,
Hir girdeles and hir pouches, every del.
Wel semed eche of hem a fayre burgeis,
To sitten in a gild halle, on the deis.
Everich, for the wisdom that he can,
Was shapelich for to ben an alderman.
For catel hadden they ynough, and rent.
And, eke, hir wives wolde it wel assent,
And elles certainly they were to blame,
It is full fayre to ben ycleped Madame-
And for to gon to vigiles all before,
And have a mantel reallich ybore.

*

3 Wont, custom. 6 Purse.

A good Wif was ther of beside Bathe; But she was som del defe, and that was scathe. Of cloth making she hadde swiche an haunt, She passed hem of Ipres, and of Gaunt. In all the parish, wif ne was ther non That to the offring before hire shulde gonAnd if ther did, certain so wroth was she, That she was out of alle charitee. Hire coverchiefs weren ful fine of ground, (I dorste swere they weyeden a pound), That on the Sonday were upon hire hede: Hire hosen weren of fine scarlet rede, Ful streite yteyed, and shoon ful moist and newe. Bold was hire face, and fayre and rede of hew. She was a worthy woman all hire live: Housbondes, at the chirche dore, had she had five, Withouten other compagnie in youthe, But thereof nedeth not to speke as nouthe. And thries hadde she ben at Jerusaleme; She had passed many a strange streme: At Rome she hadde ben, and at Boloigne, In Galice at Seint James, and at Coloine: She coude moche of wandring by the way, Gat-tothed was she, sothly for to say. Upon an ambler esily she sat, Ywimpled wel; and on hire hede an hat As brode as is a bokeler, or a targe; A fore-mantel about hire hippes large; And on hire fete a pair of sporres sharpe. In felawship, wel coude she laughe and carpe Of remedies of love she knew perchance; For, of that arte, she coude the olde dance. Ther was also a Reve and a Millere, A Sompnour, and a Pardoner also, A Manciple, and myself; ther n'ere no mo. The Miller was a stout carl for the nones, Ful bigge he was of braun, and eke of bones; That proved wel; for over all ther he came, At wrastling he wold bere away the ram. He was short shuldered, brode, a thikke gnarre,1 Ther n'as no dore, that he n'olde heve of barre, Or breke it at a renning with his hede. His berd as any sowe or fox was rede, And therto brode, as though it were a spade: Upon the cop right of his nose he hade A wert, and theron stode a tufte of heres, Rede as the bristles of a sowes eres : His nose-thirles blacke were and wide. A swerd and bokeler bare he by his side. His mouth as wide was as a forneis: He was a jangler, and a goliardeis,2 And that was most of sinne and harlotries. Wel coude he stelen corne and tollen thries. And yet he had a thomb of gold parde. A white cote and a blew hode wered he. A baggepipe wel coude he blowe and soune, And therwithall he brought us out of toune. The Reve was a slendre colerike man ; His berd was shave as neighe as ever he can : His here was by his eres round yshorne ; His top was docked like a preest beforne: Ful longe were his legges, and ful lene, Ylike a staff, ther was no calf ysene. Wel coude he kepe a garner and a binne; Ther was non auditour coude on him winne. Wel wiste he, by the drought and by the rain, The yelding of his seed and of his grain. His lordes shepe, his nete,3 and his deirie,4 His swine, his hors, his store, and his pultric, Were holly in this Reves governing ; And by his covenant yave he rekening, Sin that his lord were twenty yere of age; Ther coude no man bring him in arerage.

*

2

Ther n'as bailif, ne herde, ne other hine,
That he ne knew his sleight and his covine:1
They were adradde of him as of the deth.
His wonning was ful fayre upon an heth;
With greene trees yshadewed was his place.
He coude better than his lord pourchace :
Ful riche he was ystored privily.
His lord wel coude he plesen, subtilly
To yeve and lene? him of his owen good,
And have a thank, and yet a cote and hood.
In youth he lerned hadde a good mistere ;
He was a wel good wright, a carpentere.
The Reve sate upon a right good stot
That was all pomelee grey, and highte Scot
A long surcote of perse upon he hade,
And by his side he bare a rusty blade.
Of Norfolk was this Reve of which I tell,
Beside a toun men clepen Baldeswell.
Tucked he was, as is a frere, aboute;
And ever he rode the hinderest of the route.
A Sompnour was ther with us in that place,
That hadde a fire-red cherubinnes face,
With scalled browes blake, and pilled berd:
Of his visage children were sore aferd.
Ther n'as quicksilver, litarge, ne brimston,
Boras, ceruse, ne oile of tartre non,
Ne ointement, that wolde clense or bite,
That him might helpen of his whelkes white,
Ne of the knobbes sitting on his chekes.
Wel loved he garlike, onions, and lekes,
And for to drinke strong win as rede as blood;
Than wold he speke and crie as he were wood;
And when that he wel dronken had the win,
Than wold he speken no word but Latin.
A fewe termes coude he, two or three,
That he had lerned out of som decree;
No wonder is, he herd it all the day:
And eke ye knowen wel how that a jay
Can clepen watte as well as can the pope :
But who so wolde in other thing him grope-
Than hadde he spent all his philosophie
Ay Questio quid juris wolde he crie.

He was a gentil harlot, and a kind;
A better felaw shulde a man not find.
And if he found o where a good felawe,
He wolde techen him, to have non awe,
In swiche a cas, of the archedekenes curse :
But if a mannes soule were in his purse,
For in his purse he shulde ypunished be.
Purse is the archedekenes hell, said he.
But, wel I wote, he lied right in dede:
Of cursing ought eche gilty man him drede;
For curse wol sle, right as assoiling saveth,
And also ware him of a significavit.
In danger hadde he, at his owen gise,
The yonge girles of the diocise;

And knew hir conseil and was of hir rede.
A girlond hadde he sette upon his hede,
As gret as it were for an alestake ;3
A bokeler hadde he made him of a cake.

With him there rode a gentil Pardonere
Of Rouncevall, his frend and his compere,
That streit was comen from the court of Rome,
Ful loude he sang Come hither, love to me:
This Sompnour bare to him a stiff burdoun,
Was never trompe of half so gret a soun.
This Pardoner had here as yelwe as wax,
Ful smothe it heng, as doth a strike of flax :
By unces heng his lokkes that he hadde,
And therwith he his shulders overspradde:
Ful thinne it lay, by culpons on and on.
But hode, for jolite, ne wered he non,
For it was trussed up in his wallet.
Him thought he rode al of the newe get ;4

Dishevele, sauf his cappe, he rode all bare.
Swiche glaring eyen hadde he as an hare.
A vernicle hadde he sewed upon his cappe.
His wallet lay beforne him, in his lappe,
Bret-ful of pardon come from Rome al hote.
A vois he hadde, as smale as hath a gote:
No berd hadde he, ne never non shulde have;
As smothe it was as it were newe shave.

But of his craft, fro Berwike unto Ware,
Ne was ther swiche an other Pardonere ;-
For in his male he hadde a pilwebere,
Which, as he saide, was our Ladies veil:
He saide he hadde a gobbet of the seyl
Thatte Seint Peter had, whan that he went
Upon the see till Jesu Crist him hent:
He had a crois of laton ful of stones;
And in a glas he hadde pigges bones.
But with these relikes, whanne that he fond
A poure persone dwelling upon lond,
Upon a day he gat him more moneie
Than that the persone gat in monethes twcie ;
And thus with fained flattering and japes,
He made the persone, and the peple, his apes.
But trewely to tellen atte last,
He was in chirche a noble ecclesiast;
Wel coude he rede a lesson or a storie,
But alderbest 3 he sang an offertorie ;
For wel he wiste, whan that song was songe,
He muste preche and wel afile his tonge,
To winne silver, as he right wel coude;
Therfore he sang the merier and loude.

[Description of a Poor Country Widow.]
A poore widow, somedeal stoop'n in age,
Was whilom dwelling in a narwé cottage
Beside a grove standing in a dale.
This widow, which I tell you of my Tale,
Since thilke day that she was last a wife,
In patience led a full simple life,

For little was her cattle and her rent;
By husbandry of such as God her sent,
She found herself and eke her daughters two.

Three large sowes had she, and no mo,
Three kine, and eke a sheep that highte5 Mall:
Full sooty was her bower and eke her hall,
In which she ate many' a slender meal;
Of poignant sauce ne knew she never a deal ;6
No dainty morsel passed through her throat;
Her diet was accordant to her cote :7
Repletion ne made her never sick;
Attemper diet was all her physic,
And exercise, and heartes suffisance :
The goute let her nothing for to dance,
Ne apoplexy shente 10 not her head;

No wine ne drank she neither white nor red;
Her board was served most with white and black,
Milk and brown bread, in which she found no lack,
Seindell bacon, and sometime an egg or tway,
For she was as it were a manner dey,12

The virtue expulsive or animal,
From thilke virtue cleped1 natural,
Ne may the venom voiden ne expell;
The pipes of his lunges 'gan to swell,
And every lacert? in his breast adown
Is shent3 with venom and corruption.
He gaineth neither, for to get his life,
Vomit upward ne downward laxative:
All is to-bursten thilke region;
Nature hath now no domination :

And certainly where nature will not werche,5
Farewell physic; go bear the man to church.
This is all and some, that Arcite muste die;
For which he sendeth after Emily,
And Palamon, that was his cousin dear;
Then said he thus, as ye shall after hear:

Nought may the woful spirit in mine heart
Declare one point of all my sorrows' smart
To you my lady, that I love most,
But I bequeath the service of my ghost
To you aboven every creature,
Since that my life ne may no longer dure.
Alas the woe! alas the paines strong,
That I for you have suffered, and so long!
Alas the death! alas mine Emily!
Alas departing of our company!
Alas mine hearte's queen I alas my wife!
Mine hearte's lady, ender of my life!

What is this world?—what asken men to have?
Now with his love, now in his colde grave-
Alone withouten any company.
Farewell my sweet-farewell mine Emily!
And softe take me in your armes tway
For love of God, and hearkeneth what I say.
'I have here with my cousin Palamon
Had strife and rancour many a day agone
For love of you, and for my jealousy;
And Jupiter so wis6 my soule gie,7
To speaken of a servant properly,
With alle circumstances truely;
That is to say, truth, honour, and knighthead,
Wisdom, humbless, estate, and high kindred,
Freedom, and all that 'longeth to that art,
So Jupiter have of my soule part,
As in this world right now ne know I none
So worthy to be loved as Palamon,
That serveth you, and will do all his life;
And if that ever ye shall be a wife,
Forget not Palamon, the gentle man.'

And with that word his speeche fail began ;
For from his feet up to his breast was come
The cold of death that had him overnome ;8
And yet, moreover, in his armes two,
The vital strength is lost and all ago ;9
Only the intellect, withouten more,
That dwelled in his hearte sick and sore,
'Gan faillen when the hearte felte death;
Dusked his eyen two, and fail'd his breath:
But on his lady yet cast he his eye;
His laste word was, ' Mercy, Emily !'.

The will of Christ, and kneeling on the strond,
She saide, Lord, aye welcome be thy sond.
'He that me kepte from the false blame,
While I was in the land amonges you,
He can me keep from harm and eke from shame
In the salt sea, although I see not how :
As strong as ever he was, he is yet now:
In him trust I, and in his mother dear,
That is to me my sail and eke my steer."2

Her little child lay weeping in her arm;
And kneeling piteously, to him she said-
'Peace, little son, I will do thee no harm :'
With that her kerchief off her head she braid,3
And over his little eyen she it laid,
And in her arm she lulleth it full fast,
And into th' heaven her eyen up she cast.
'Mother, quod she, and maiden bright, Mary!
Soth is, that through womannes eggement,4
Mankind was lorn,5 and damned aye to die,
For which thy child was on a cross yrent :6
Thy blissful eyen saw all his torment;
Then is there no comparison between
Thy woe and any woe man may sustain.

Thou saw'st thy child yslain before thine eyen, And yet now liveth my little child parfay :7 Now, lady bright! to whom all woful crien, Thou glory of womanhood, thou faire May! Thou haven of refute,8 bright star of day! Rue9 on my child, that of thy gentleness Ruest on every rueful in distress.

12

Therewith she looketh backward to the land, And saide, Farewell, husband rutheless!' 11 And up she rose, and walketh down the strand Toward the ship; her followeth all the press : And ever she prayeth her child to hold his peace, And tak'th her leave, and with a holy' intent She blesseth her, and into the ship she went. Victailled was the ship, it is no drede,13 Abundantly for her a full long space; And other necessaries that should need She had enow, heried14 be Goddes grace: For wind and weather, Almighty God purchase,15 And bring her home, I can no better say, But in the sea she driveth forth her way.

[The Pardoner's Tale.]

In Flanders whilom was a company
Of youngé folk that haunteden follý
As hazard, riot, stewés, and taverns,
Whereas with harpés, lutés, and gitterns,16
They dance and play at dice both day and night,
And eat also and drinken o'er their might,
Through which they do the devil sacrifice,
Within the devil's temple', in cursed wise,
By superfluity abominable.

Their oathes been so great and so damnable
That it is grisly17 for to hear them swear.
Our blissful Lordés body they to-tear;
Them thought the Jewés rent him not enough;
And each of them at other's sinné laugh.
And right anon in comen tombesteres 18
Fetis19 and small, and youngé fruitesteres,20

'But, Sirs, to you it is no courtesy To speak unto an old man villainy, But hel trespass in word or else in deed. In holy writ ye may yourselven read;

66

Against an old man, hoar upon his hede,
Ye should arise :" therefore I give you rede2
Ne do'th unto an old man none harm now,
No more than that ye would a man did you
In age, if that ye may so long abide;
And God be with you whe'r ye go or ride:
I must go thither as I have to go."

Nay, oldé churl, by God thou shalt not so,' Saidé this other hazardourt anon;

"Thou partest not so lightly, by Saint John.
Thou spake right now of thilke traitour Death,
That in this country all our friendés slay'th;
Have here my truth, as thou art his espy,
Tell where he is, or thou shalt it aby,6
By God and by the holy sacrament,
For sothly thou art one of his assent
To slay us youngé folk, thou false thief."
"Now, Sirs,' quod he, if it be you so lief 7
To finden Death, turn up this crooked way;
For in that grove I left him, by my fay,
Under a tree, and there he will abide,
Nor for your boast he will him nothing hide.
See ye that oak? right there ye shall him find.
God save you that bought again mankind,
And you amend !' Thus said this oldé man.
And evereach of these riotourés ran

Till they came to the tree, and there they found
Of florins fine of gold ycoined round
Well nigh an eighté bushels, as them thought;
No longer then after Death they sought,
But each of them so glad was of the sight,
For that the florins been so fair and bright,
That down they set them by the precious hoard:
The worst of them he spake the firsté word.

'Brethren,' quod he, take keep what I shall say;
My wit is great, though that I bourdes and play.
This treasure hath Fortúne unto us given,
In mirth and jollity our life to liven,
And lightly as it com'th so will we spend,
Ey! Goddés precious dignity! who ween'd9
To-day that we should have so fair a grace?
But might this gold be carried from this place
Home to my house, or ellés unto yours,
(For well I wot that all this gold is ours)
Thenné were we in high felicity;
But truely by day it may not be ;-

Men woulden say that we were thievés strong,
And for our owen treasure done us hong.10
This treasure must ycarried be by night
As wisely and as slyly as it might;
Wherefore I redell that cut12 among us all
We draw, and let see where the cut will fall;
And he that hath the cut, with hearté blithe,
Shall runnen to the town, and that full swith,13
And bring us bread and wine full privily;
And two of us shall keepen subtlely
This treasure well; and if he will not tarrien,
When it is night we will this treasure carrien
By one assent where as us thinketh best.'

That one of them the cut brought in his fist, And bade them draw, and look where it would fall,

And it fell on the youngest of them all ;
And forth toward the town he went anon:

And all so soon as that he was agone,

That one of them spake thus unto that other;

'Thou wottest well thou art my sworen brother,

Thy profit will I tell thee right anon.
Thou wott'st well that our fellow is agone;
And here is gold, and that full great plentý,
That shall departed be among us three;
But nathéless, if I can shape it so
That it departed were among us two,
Had I not done a friendés turn to thee?'
That other answer'd: 'I n'ot1 how that may be :
He wot well that the gold is with us tway.
What shall we do? what shall we to him say
Shall it be counsel?' said the firsté shrew,2
'And I shall tellen thee in wordés few
What shall we do, and bring it well about.'
'I granté,' quod that other, 'out of doubt,
That by my truth I will thee not betray.'

?'

'Now,' quod the first, 'thou wott'st well we be tway;
And tway of us shall stronger be than one.
Look, when that he is set, thou right anon
Arise, as though thou wouldest with him play,
And I shall rive him through the sides tway:
While that thou strugglest with him as in game;
And with thy dagger look thou do the same;
And then shall all this gold departed be,
My dearé friend! betwixen thee and me;
Then may we both our lustés all fulfil,
And play at dice right at our owen will.'
And thus accorded been these shrewés tway
To slay the third, as ye have heard ine say.
This youngest, which that wenté to the town,
Full oft in heart he rolleth up and down
The beauty of these florins new and bright.
O Lord!' quod he, if so were, that I might
Have all this treasure to myself alone,
There is no man that liv'th under the throne
Of God that shouldé live so merry' as I.'
And at the last, the fiend, our enemy,
Put in his thought that he should poison buy
With which he mighté slay his fellows tway:
For why? the fiend found him in such living,
That he had leve3 to sorrow him to bring;
For this was utterly his full intent,
To slay them both and never to repent.
And forth he go'th, no longer would he tarry,
Into the town unto a 'pothecary,

And prayed him that he him wouldé sell
Some poison, that he might his ratouns quell;
And eke there was a polecat in his haw5
That, as he said, his capons had yslaw;6
And fain he would him wreaken? if he might,
Of vermin that destroyed them by night.

The 'pothecary answer'd: Thou shalt have A thing, as wisly8 God my soulé save, In all this world there n'is no creáture That eat or drunk hath of this cónfecture Not but the mountance9 of a corn of wheat, That he ne shall his life anon forlet,10 Yea, starvell he shall, and that in lesse while Than thou wilt go a pace not but a mile; This poison is so strong and violent.'

This cursed man hath in his hand yhent12 This poison in a box, and swith13 he ran Into the nexté street unto a man, And borrowed of him largé bottles three, And in the two the poison poured he; The third he kepté cleané for his drink, For all the night he shope him for to swink 14 In carrying of the gold out of that place.

And when this rioter with sorry grace15 Hath filled with wine his greaté bottles three, To his fellows again repaireth he.