"Yele take me in your armes twa,

Yele carrey me ben into your bed, And ye may say, your oth to save, In your bower-floor I never tread."

She has taen the sourde fray his scabbord,

And lowly, lowly lifted the gin; She was to swear, her oth to save, She never let Clerk Sanders in.

She has tain a napkin in her hand, And she ty'd up baith her eeen; She was to swear, her oth to save, She say na him sene late yestreen.

She has taen him in her armes twa,

And carried him ben into her bed; She was to swear, her oth to save,

He never in her bower-floor tread.

In and came her seven brothers,

And all their torches burning bright; Says thay, We hae but ae sister,

And see there her lying wi a knight.

Out and speaks the first of them,

"A wat they hay been lovers dear;" Out an speaks the next of them, "They hay been in love this many a year."

Out an speaks the third of them,

"It wear great sin this twa to twain;" Out an speaks the fourth of them,

"It wear a sin to kill a sleeping man."

Out an speaks the fifth of them,

"A wat they'll near be twained by me;" Out an speaks the sixt of them,

"We'l tak our leave an gae our way."

Sanders he started, an Margret she lapt,

Intill his arms whare she lay, And well and wellsome was the night, A wat it was between these twa.

And they lay still, and sleeped sound,
Untill the day began to daw;
And kindly till him she did say

"It's time, trew-love, ye wear awa."

They lay still, and sleeped sound,

Untill the sun began to shine; She lookt between her and the wa, And dull and heavy was his eeen.

She thought it had been a loathsome sweat,

A wat it had fallen this twa between; But it was the blood of his fair body,

A wat his life days wair na lang.

"O Sanders, I'le do for your sake

What other ladys would na thoule; When seven years is come and gone,

There's near a shoe go on my sole.

"O Sanders, I'le do for your sake

What other ladies would think mare; When seven years is come an gone,

Ther's nere a comb go in my hair.

"O Sanders, I'le do for your sake

What other ladies would think lack; When seven years is come an gone,

I'le wear nought but dowy black."

The bells gaed clinking throw the towne,

To carry the dead corps to the clay, An sighing says her May Margret,

"A wat I bide a doulfou day." In an come her father dear, Stout steping on the floor;

"Hold your toung, my doughter dear, Let all your mourning a bee; I'le carry the dead corps to the clay,

An I'le come back an comfort thee."

It never shall be said we were hung like doggs;

No, wee'l fight it out most manfully."

Then they fought on like champions bold

For their hearts was sturdy, stout, and free

Till they had killed all the kings good guard;

There was none left alive but onely three.

But then rise up all Edenborough,
They rise up by thousands three;
Then a cowardly Scot came John behind,
And run him thorow the fair body.
Said John, Fight on, my merry men all,
I am a little hurt, but I am not slain;
I will lay me down for to bleed a while,
Then I'le rise and fight with you
again.

Then they fought on like mad men all,

Till many a man lay dead on the plain; For they were resolved, before they would yield,

That every man would there be slain.

So there they fought couragiously, 'Till most of them lay dead there and slain,

But little Musgrave, that was his footpage,

With his bonny grissell got away un

tain.

But when he came up to Guiltknock Hall,

The lady spyed him presently: “What news, what news, thou little footpage?

What news from thy master and his company?"

"My news is bad, lady," he said,

"Which I do bring, as you may see; My master, John Armstrong, he is slain,

And all his gallant company.

"Yet thou are welcome home, my bonny grisel!

Full oft thou hast fed at the corn and hay,

But now thou shalt be fed with bread and wine,

And thy sides shall be spurred no more, I say."

O then bespoke his little son,

Ae he was set on his nurses knee: "If ever I live for to be a man, My fathers blood revenged shall be."

That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.

Byfel that, in that sesoun on a day, In Southwerk at the Tabbard as I lay, Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage To Canturbury with ful devout corage, At night was come into that hostelrie Wel nyne and twenty in a companye, Of sondry folk, by aventure i-falle

In felawschipe, and pilgryms were thei alle,

That toward Canturbury wolden ryde. The chambres and the stables weren wyde,

And wel we weren esud atte beste.
And schortly, whan the sonne was to
reste,

So hadde I spoken with hem everychon,
That I was of here felawschipe anon,
And made forward erly to aryse,
To take oure weye
ther as I yow devyse.
But natheles, whiles I have tyme and

space,

Or that I ferthere in this tale pace,
Me thinketh it acordant to resoun,
To telle yow alle the condicioun

Of eche of hem, so as it semed me,
And which they weren, and of what degre;
And eek in what array that they were inne:
And at a knight than wol I first bygynne.

A KNIGHT ther was, and that a worthy
man,

That from the tyme that he first bigan
To ryden out, he lovede chyvalrye,
Trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie.
Ful worthi was he in his lordes werre,
And thereto hadde he riden, noman ferre,
As wel in Cristendom as in hethenesse,
And evere honoured for his worthinesse.
At Alisandre he was whan it was wonne,
Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bygonne
Aboven alle naciouns in Pruce.

In Lettowe hadde reyced and in Ruce,
No cristen man so ofte of his degre.
In Gernade atte siege hadde he be
Of Algesir, and riden in Belmarie.
At Lieys was he, and at Satalie,
Whan they were wonne; and in the Greete

see

At many a noble arive hadde he be.
At mortal batailles hadde he ben fitene,
And foughten for our feith at Tramassene
In lystes thries, and ay slayn his foo.
This ilke worthi knight hadde ben also
Somtyme with the lord of Palatye,
Ageyn another hethene in Turkye:
And everemore he hadde a sovereyn prys.
And though that he was worthy he was

wys,

And of his port as meke as is a mayde.
He never yit no vilonye ne sayde
In al his lyf, unto no maner wight.
He was a verray perfight gentil knight.
But for to telle you of his aray,

His hors was good, but he ne was nought gay.

Of fustyan he wered a gepoun

Al bysmoterud with his haburgeoun.
For he was late comen from his viage,
And wente for to doon his pilgrimage.
With him ther was his sone, a yong
SQUYER,

A lovyer, and a lusty bacheler,
With lokkes crulle as they were layde in

Curteys he was, lowly, and servysable, And carf byforn his fadur at the table.

A YEMAN had he, and servantes nomoo At that tyme, for him lust ryde soo; And he was clad in coote and hood of

grene.

A shef of pocok arwes bright and kene
Under his belte he bar full thriftily.
Wel cowde he dresse his takel yomanly;
His arwes drowpud nought with fetheres
lowe.

And in his hond he bar a mighty bowe.
A not-heed hadde he with a broun visage.
Of woode-craft cowde he wel al the usage.
Upon his arme he bar a gay bracer,
And by his side a swerd and a bokeler,
And on that other side a gay daggere,
Harneysed wel, and scharp as poynt of

spere;

A Cristofre on his brest of silver schene. An horn he bar, the bawdrik was of grene; A forster was he sothely, as I gesse.

Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse, That of hire smylyng was ful symple and coy;

Hire grettest ooth nas but by seynt Loy;
And sche was clept madame Englentyne.
Ful wel sche sang the servise devyne,
Entuned in hire nose ful semyly;
And Frensch sche spak ful faire and fety-
sly,

Aftur the scole of Stratford atte Bowe, For Frensch of Parys was to hire unknowe.

At mete wel i-taught was sche withalle; Sche leet no morsel from hire lippes falle, Ne wette hire fyngres in hire sauce deepe. Wel cowde sche carie a morsel, and wel keepe,

That no drope fil uppon hire brest.

In curtesie was sett al hire lest.
Hire overlippe wypud sche so clene,
That in hire cuppe was no ferthing sene
Of grees, whan sche dronken hadde hire
draught.

Ful semely aftur hire mete sche raught.
And sikurly sche was of gret disport,
And ful plesant, and amyable of port,
And peyned hire to counterfete cheere

Of court, and ben estatlich of manere, And to ben holden digne of reverence. But for to speken of hire conscience, Sche was so charitable and so pitous, Sche wolde weepe if that sche sawe a

mous

Caught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde.

Of smale houndes hadde sche, that sche fedde

With rostud fleissh and mylk and wastel breed.

But sore wepte sche if oon of hem were deed,

Or if men smot it with a yerde smerte:
And al was conscience and tendre herte.
Ful semely hire wymple i-pynched was;
Hire nose streight; hire eyen grey as glas;
Hire mouth ful smal, and therto softe and
reed;

But sikurly sche hadde a fair forheed.
It was almost a spanne brood, I trowe;
For hardily sche was not undurgrowe.
Ful fetys was hire cloke, as I was waar.
Of smal coral aboute hire arme sche baar
A peire of bedes gaudid al with grene;
And theron heng a broch of gold ful
schene,

On which was first i-writen a crowned A,
And after that, Amor vincit omnia.
Anothur NONNE also with hire hadde sche,
That was hire chapelleyn, and PRESTES
thre.

A Monk ther was, a fair for the maistrie,

An out-rydere, that loved venerye;
A manly man, to ben an abbot able.
Full many a deynte hors hadde he in
stable:

And whan he rood, men might his bridel heere

Gyngle in a whistlyng wynd so cleere, And eek as lowde as doth the chapel belle. Ther as this lord was keper of the selle, The reule of seynt Maure or of seint Beneyt,

Bycause that it was old and somdel

streyt,

This ilke monk leet forby hem pace,