For if a preest be foule, on whom we trust, No wonder is a lewed man to rust: And shame it is, if that a preest take kepe, To see a shitten shepherd, and clene shepe. Wel ought a preest ensample for to yeve By his clenenesse, how his shepe shulde live. He sette not his benefice to hire, And lette his shepe acombred in the mire, And ran unto London, unto Seint Poules, To seken him a chanterie for soules; Or with a brotherhede to be withold; But dwelt at home and kepte wel his fold, So that the wolf ne made it not miscarie; He was a shepherd and no mercenarie. And though he holy were, and vertuous,He was, to sinful men, not dispitous; Ne of his speche dangerous ne digne; But, in his teching, discrete and benigne. To drawen folke to heven, with fairenesse, By good ensample, was his besinesse : But it were any persone obstinat, What so he were of highe, or low estat, Him wolde he snibben sharply for the nones. A better preest I trowe that no wher non is. He waited after no pompe ne reverence, Ne maked him no spiced conscience: But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve, He taught but first he folwed it himselve.

With him ther was a Plowman, was his brother, That hadde ylaid of dong ful many a fother. A trewe swinker, and a good was he, Living in pees and parfite charitee. God loved he beste with alle his herte At alle times, were it gain or smerte; And than his neighebour, right as himselve. He wolde thresh, and therto dike and delve, For Cristes sake, for every poure wight, Withouten hire, if it lay in his might.

His tithes paied he ful fayre and wel
Both of his propre swinke, and his catel.
In a tabard he rode, upon a mere.

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,
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,
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.

A gentil Manciple was ther of a temple,-
Of which achatours mighten take ensemple
For to ben wise in bying of vitaille.
For whether that he paide, or toke by taille,
Algate he waited so in his achate,
That he was, ay, before, in good estate.
Now is not that of God a ful fayre grace,
That swiche a lewed mannes wit shal pace
The wisdom of an hepe of lered men?

Of maisters had he mo than thries ten,
That were of lawe expert and curious;
Of which ther was a dosein in that hous,
Worthy to ben stewardes of rent and lond
Of any lord that is in Englelond,
To maken him live by his propre good,
In honour detteles, (but if he were wood,)
Or live as scarsly as him list desire,
And able for to helpen all a shire,
In any cas that might fallen or happe;
And yet this Manciple sette hir aller cappe.

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, and his deirie,
His swine, his hors, his store, and his pultrie,
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.
Ther n'as bailif, ne herde, ne other hine,
That he ne knew his sleight and his covine:
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 Baldes well.
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,
For sausefleme he was, with eyen narwe.
As hote he was, and likerous as a sparwe,
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.
He wolde suffre, for a quart of wine,
A good felaw to have his concubine

A twelve month, and excuse him at the full,
Ful privily a finch, eke, coude he pull;
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;
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;
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:
I trowe he were a gelding or a mare.

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 scyl 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 tweie;
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 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.

Now have I told you shortly in a clause

Th' estat, th' araie, the nombre, and eke the cause,
Why that assembled was this compagnie
In Southwerk at this gentil hostelrie,
That highte the Tabard, faste by the Belle.

But now is time, to you for to telle,
How that we baren us that ilke night,
Whan we were in that hostelrie alight.
And after wol I telle of our viage,
And all the remenant of our pilgrimage.

But, firste, I praie you of your curtesie
That ye ne arette it not my vilanie,
Though that I plainly speke in this matere,
To tellen you hir wordes and hir chere,-
Ne though I speke hir wordes proprely :
For this ye knowen al so wel as I,
Who so shall telle a Tale after a man
He moste reherse as neigh as ever he can,
Everich word, if it be in his charge,
All speke he never so rudely and so large;
Or elles he moste tellen his Tale untrewe,
Or feinen thinges, or finden wordes newe:
He may not spare although he were his brother;
He moste as wel sayn o word as an other.
Crist spake himself ful brode in holy writ,
And wel ye wote no vilanie is it:
Eke Plato sayeth, who so can him rede,
The wordes moste ben cosin to the dede.
Also I praie you to forgive it me,
All have I not sette folk in hir degree,
Here in this Tale, as that they shulden stonde.
My wit is short, ye may well understonde.

Gret chere made our Hoste us everich on,
And to the souper sette he us anon;
And served us with vitaille of the beste.
Strong was the win, and wel to drinke us leste.
A semely man our Hoste was, with alle,
For to han ben a marshal in an halle.
A large man he was, with eyen stepe;
A fairer burgeis is ther non in Chepe:
Bold of his speche, and wise, and wel ytaught,
And of manhood him lacked righte naught.
Eke therto, was he right a mery man,
And after souper plaien he began,
And spake of mirthe amonges other thinges,
Whan that we hadden made our rekeninges,
And saide thus; "now Lordinges, trewely
Ye ben to me welcome right hertily,-
For by my trouthe, if that I shal not lie,
I saw not this yere swiche a compagnie

Beforne him at his bord deliciously,
In at the halle dore, al sodenly,
Ther came a knight upon a stede of bras,
And in his hond a brod mirrour of glas;
Upon his thombe he had of gold a ring;
And by his side a naked swerd hanging.
And up he rideth to the highe bord.
In all the halle, ne was ther spoke a word
For mervaille of this knight; him to behold
Ful besily they waiten, yong and old.

This strange knight that come thus sodenly
Al armed, save his hed, ful richely,
Salueth king and quene, and lordes alle,
By order as they saten in the halle,—
With so high reverence and observance,
As wel in speche as in his contenance,
That Gawain with his olde curtesie
Though he were come agen out of Fairie,
Ne coude him not amenden with a word.
And, after this, beforn the highe bord,
He with a manly vois sayd his message,
After the forme used in his langage,
Withouten vice of sillable or of letter.
And for his tale shulde seme the better,
Accordant to his wordes was his chere,
As techeth art of speche hem that it lere:
Al be it that I cannot soune his stile,
Ne cannot climben over so high a stile,
Yet say I this, as to comun entent,
Thus much amounteth al that ever he ment,
If it so be that I have it in mind;

He sayd: "The King of Arabie and of Inde,
My liege Lord! on this solempne-day,
Salueth you as he best can and may,
And sendeth you, in honour of your feste,
By me, that am al redy at your heste,
This stede of bras, that esily and wel
Can in the space of a day naturel,
(This is to sayn, in four and twenty houres,)
Wher so you list, in drought or elles shoures,
Beren your body into every place,

To which your herte willeth for to pace,
Withouten wemme of you, thurgh foule or faire;
Or if you list to fleen as high in the aire
As doth an egle, whan him list to sore,
This same stede shal bere you evermore,
Withouten harme, till ye be ther you lest,
(Though that ye slepen on his back or rest,)
And turne again with writhing of a pin.
He that it wrought, he coude many a gin;
He waited many a constellation

Or he had don this operation,

And knew ful many a sele and many a bond.
"This mirrour, eke, that I have in min hond,
Hath swiche a might, that men may in it see
Whan ther shall falle any adversitee
Unto your regne, or to yourself also;
And, openly, who is your frend or fo.
And, over all this, if any lady bright
Hath set hire herte on any maner wight,
If he be false she shal his treson see,
His newe love, and all his subtiltee,
So openly, that ther shal nothing hide.
"Wherfore, again this lusty somer tide,
This mirrour and this ring, that ye may sc,
He hath sent to my lady Canace,

Your excellente doughter that is here.

"The vertue of this ring, if ye wol here, Is this, that if hire list it for to were Upon hire thomb, or in hire purse it bere, Ther is no foule that fleeth under heven That she ne shal wel understond his steven, And know his mening openly and plaine, And answere him in his langage again : And every gras that groweth upon rote She shal eke know; and whom it wol do bote, Al be his woundes never so depe and wide.

"This naked swerd, that hangeth by my side, Swiche vertue hath, that what man that it smite Thurghout his armure it wol kerve and bite, Were it as thick as is a braunched oke; And what man that is wounded with the stroke Shal never be hole, til that you list of grace To stroken him with the platte in thilke place Ther he is hurt; this is as much to sain, Ye moten, with the platte swerd, again Stroken him in the wound, and it wol close. This is the veray soth withouten glose: It failleth not while it is in your hold."

And whan this knight hath thus his tale told,
He rideth out of halle, and doun he light.
His stede, which that shone as sonne bright,
Stant in the court as stille as any ston.
This knight is to his chambre ladde, anon,
And is unarmed, and to the mete ysette.
Thise presents ben, ful richelich yfette,
This is to sain, the swerd and the mirrour;
And borne, anon, into the highe tour
With certain officers ordained therfore;
And unto Canace the ring is bore
Solempnely, ther she sat at the table.
But, sikerly, withouten any fable,
The hors of bras, that may not be remued;
It stant as it were to the ground yglued:
Ther may no man out of the place it drive
For non engine, of windas or polive;
And cause why, for they con not the craft,
And therfore in the place they han it laft
Til that the knight hath taught hem the manere
To voiden him, as ye shul after here.

Gret was the prees that swarmed to and fro
To gauren on this hors that stondeth so;
For it so high was, and so brod and long,
So wel proportioned for to be strong,
Right as it were a stede of Lumbardie;
Therwith so horsly, and so quik of eye,
As it a gentil Poileis courser were;
For certes fro his tayl unto his ere
Nature ne art ne coud him not amend
In no degree, as all the peple wend.

But evermore hir moste wonder was
How that it coude gon, and was of bras;
It was of Faerie, as the peple semed.
Diverse folk diversely han demed;
As many heds, as many wittes ben.
They murmured as doth a swarme of been,
And maden skilles after hir fantasies,
Rehersing of the olde poetries.
And sayd it was ylike the Pegasee,
The hors that hadde winges for to flee;
Or, elles, it was the Grekes hors Sinon,
That broughte Troye to destruction,

As men moun in thise olde gestes rede.

"Myn herte," quod on," is evermore in drede; I trow some men of armes ben therin, That shapen hem this citee for to win:

It were right good that al swiche thing were know'.'
Another rowned to his felaw low,

And sayd: "He lieth, for it is rather like
An apparence ymade by some magike,
As jogelours plaien at thise festes grete."
Of sondry doutes thus they jangle and trete,
As lewed peple demen comunly

Of thinges, that ben made more subtilly,
Than they can in hir lewednesse comprehende,
They demen gladly to the badder ende.

And som of hem wondred on the mirrour
That born, was up in to the maister tour,
How men mighte in it swiche thinges see.

Another answerd and sayd: "It might wel be Naturelly by compositions

Of angles, and of slie reflections;"
And sayd, that in Rome was swiche on.
They speke of Alhazen and Vitellon,
And Aristotle; that writen, in hir lives,
Of queinte mirrours and of prospectives,
As knowen they that han hir bookes herd.
And other folk han wondred on the swerd
That wolde percen thurghout every thing,
And fell in speche of Telephus the king,
And of Achilles for his queinte spere,
For he coude with it bothe hele and dere,
Right in swiche wise as men may with the swerd
Of which, right now, ye have yourselven herd.
They speken of sondry harding of metall,
And speken of medicines therwithall,
And how and whan it shuld yharded be,
Which is unknow algates unto me.

Tho, speken they of Canacees ring,
And saiden all, that swiche a wonder thing
Of craft of ringes herd they never non,→→
Save that he Moises, and King Salomon,
Hadden a name of conning in swiche art.
Thus sain the peple, and drawen hem apart.
But, natheles, som saiden that it was
Wonder to maken of ferne ashen glas,
And yet is glas nought like ashen of ferne,-
But for they han yknowen it so, ferne,
Therforth ceseth hir jangling and hir wonder.

As sore wondren som on cause of thunder,
On ebbe and floud, on gossomer and on mist,
And on all thing, til that the cause is wist.
Thus janglen they, and demen and devise,
Til that the king gan fro his bord arise.

Phoebus hath left the angle meridional,
And yet ascending was the beste real,
The gentil Leon, with his Aldrian,
Whan that this Tartre king, this Cambuscan,
Rose from his bord, ther as he sat ful hie:
Before him goth the loude minstralcie,
Til he come to his chambre of parements,
Ther as they sounden divers instruments,
That it is like an heven for to here.

Now dauncen lusty Venus children dere;
For in the Fish hir lady set ful hie,
And loketh on hem with a frendly eye.

This noble king is set upon his trone;
This straunge knight is fet to him, ful sone,

And on the daunce he goth with Canace.
Here is the revell and the jolitee,
That is not able a dull man to devise:
He must han knowen Love and his service,
And ben a festlich man, as fresh as May,
That shulde you devisen swiche array.

Who coude tellen you the forme of daunces
So uncouth, and so freshe contenaunces,
Swiche subtil lokings and dissimulings,
For dred of jalous mennes apperceivings?
No man but Launcelot, and he is ded:
Therfore I passe over all this lustyhed;
I say no more, but in this jolinesse

I lete hem, til men to the souper hem dresse.
The steward bit the spices for to hie,
And eke the win, in all this melodie;
The ushers and the squierie ben gon;
The spices and the win is come anon:

They ete and drinke, and whan this had an end
Unto the temple, as reson was, they wend:
The service don, they soupen all by day.

What nedeth you rehersen hir array?
Eche man wot wel that at a kinges feste
Is plentee, to the most and to the lest,
And deintees mo than ben in my knowing.

At after souper goth this noble king
To seen the hors of bras, with all a route
Of lordes and of ladies him aboute.
Swiche wondring was ther on this hors of bras,
That sin the gret assege of Troye was,
Ther as men wondred on an hors also,
Ne was ther swiche a wondring, as was, tho.
But, finally, the king asketh the knight
The vertue of this courser, and the might,
And praied him to tell his governaunce.

This hors, anon, gan for to trip and daunce, Whan that the knight laid hond upon his rein; And said, "Sire! ther n'is no more to sain, But whan you list to riden any where, Ye moten trill a pin, stant in his ere, Which I shal tellen you betwixt us two, Ye moten nempne him to what place also Or to what contree, that you list to ride.

"And whan ye come ther as you list abide, Bid him descend, and trill another pin, (For therin lieth the effect of all the gin,) And he wol doun descend and don your will, And in that place he wol abiden still: Though al the world had the contrary swore, He shal not thennes be drawe ne be bore. Or if you list to bid him thennes gon, Trille this pin, and he wol vanish anon Out of the sight of every maner wight, And come agen, be it day or night, Whan that you list to clepen him, again, In swiche a guise as I shal to you sain Betwixen you and me, and that ful sone. Ride whan you list, ther n'is no more to done." Enfourmed whan the king was of the knight, And hath conceived in his wit aright The maner and the forme of all this thing, Ful glad and blith, this noble doughty king Repaireth to his revel, as beforne, The bridel is in to the tour yborne, And kept among his jewels lefe and dere: The hors vanisht, I n'ot in what manere,