PROLOGUE TO THE CANTERBURY TALES

By Geoffrey Chaucer

When April showers with sweetness pierce the root

Of droughts of March, and make the buds upshoot,
And bathe the veins in sap, wherefrom the flowers
Are born to blossom in these vernal showers;
When soft west winds have breathed upon the trees,
And tender sprouts appear on all the leaves,
And when the youthful sun has run his course
Half through the Ram* - the sign of springtime’s force-
When little birds – so stirred by nature’s might
They seem with open eyes to sleep all night –
Make melody at dawn; then folk also
On pleasant pilgrimages long to go,
And palmers* want to seek some far-off strands
And distant shrines, well known in many lands;
Especially from every county’s end
Of England down to Canterbury they wend;
The holy blessed martyr* there they seek,
That help will give if they are sick or weak.
Befell that in that season, on a day
In Southwark at the Tabard, as I lay
Ready upon my pilgrimage to start
To Canterbury with a pious heart,
At night there came into that hostelry
Full nine and twenty in a company
Of sundry folk, by chance together there
In fellowship; and pilgrims, too, they were
That on to Canterbury meant to ride.
The rooms were spacious, and the stables wide,
And comfortable indeed we all were made.
And shortly, ere the sun his head had laid
To rest, I spoke with all the fellowship,
And so they let me join them on their trip;
And we made compact then to rise betimes,
And take our way there, as I’ve told in rimes.
But now, while still I have the time and space,
Ere that I farther in this story pace,
I think it only reasonable and fair
To tell you what each on was like: his air,
His rank, his bearing, what he traveled in,
And at a knight then will I first begin.

Ram: the first of the twelve sings of the zodiac. The time indicated by the passage is about April 11, 1387.
Palmers: pilgrims who had visited the Holy Land and wore two crossed palms to indicate this.
Martyr: Thomas of Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, murdered in 1170; canonized in 1172.

The Knight
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A Knight there was, and that a worthy man,
That from the very time he first began
To ride abroad, had loved high chivalry,
Truth, and all honor, freedom, and courtesy;
And thus he rode out in his liege lord’s war
In Christian lands and heathen – none so far.
Crusades against the Turk and Saracen;
And fought in tournaments, and won the prize;
And yet, although most worthy, he as wise,
And in his bearing meek as is a maid.
He never had in all his lifetime said
An ill-bred word to serf or man of might;
He was a very perfect gentle knight.

The Squire
With him there was his son, a youthful Squire;
To be a knight was now his heart’s desire.
He tried to train his hair to curliness!
Of twenty years of age, he was, I guess,
And singularly quick, and very strong;
In France and Flanders he had served full long,
And valiant been, considering his years:
He hoped his fame would reach his lady’s ears.
He wore the latest clothes: the gown, indeed,
Quite short, and all embroidered like a mead*
Of springtime flowers; the sleeves hung down his side,
Extremely long and very, very wide.
He played the flute or sang the livelong day.
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
A well-trained squire, one skilled in horsemanship,
He sat a horse with just the expert’s grip,
Could ride in jousts, and make his charger prance,
Compose love songs, and draw, and write, and dance.
This lad had fallen in love; by moonlight pale
He slept no more than does the nightingale!
Courteous he was, willing and meek; and able
To carve before his father at the table.*

Mead: meadow
Table: this line refers to the custom of the time for the son to carve his father’s meat and wait upon him.

The Nun
There was a Nun, a pleasant Prioress.
This lady’s smile was coy, I must confess.
And she was known as Madame Eglantine.
She liked to chant the services divine;
But then, in truth, she sang straight through her nose!
And as a court-bred dame she liked to pose:
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She spoke fair French, but with an accent queer,
For Paris she had never come anear.
Her mien was stately, and her courtesy
So overnice it strained gentility.
Her table manners were indeed a treat:
With dainty grace she reached to take her meat;
Her upper lip she wiped so very clean
That never was the slightest fraction seen
Of grease within the rim upon her cup;
She never let a morsel she took up
Drop down upon her breast; nor did she wet
Her fingers in her sauce too deep. And yet,
in spite of all her social poise and art,
She had a very, very tender heart.
Upon my word, this Prioress would cry
To see a mouse caught in a trap and die!
Pet dogs she had, which she herself saw fed
Upon roast beef and milk and sweetened bread:
But if one died, she wept till she was sick;
Or if you struck them smartly with a stick,
When they got underfoot as pets will do.
Well built and tall she was, and handsome, too;
Her eyes as gray as glass; a noble head;
Her mouth was winsome – small and soft and red,
Her cloak was modish, and her wimple,* note,
Was pleated carefully about her throat.
Her rosary was coral; it was strung
With green; a golden locket from it hung,
Engraved in Latin: first, the letter A;
Then followed, Amor vincit omnia.*
She was an amiable and gentle dame.
Another nun and three priests with her came.

Buckler: a shield
Baldric: a felt, worn over one shoulder, to support a bugle or sword.
Saint Christopher: patron saint of travelers, whose figure on a brooch or medal is believed to shield the wearer from danger.
Wimple: a covering of silk or linen material for head, neck, and chin. It is still worn by nuns, but in medieval times it was worn by all women.
Amor vincit omnia: love conquers all things.

The Friar
One Hubert came along, a jolly Friar.
He knew the taverns well in every shire;
The barmaids and the landlords were his friends.
He said one never seemed to gain his ends
By helping sick and poor – such vulgar scum!
They never made it worth his while to come.
To have to deal with those who beg their bread
Would never get you anywhere, he said.
And so he kept in touch with richer folk
And prosperous country squires. His yoke
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Of penance was not harsh to men of thrift:
The sign of true repentance was a gift
Of alms and dole to humble friars, you know!
So pleasant was his “In principio”*
That even a poor widow with no shoe
Would give a farthing* without more ado.
Of double worsted was his semicope,*
Handsome enough for abbot or for pope.
No threadbare cope of poverty for him!
He played the fiddle well and sang with vim.
His eyes, like stars upon a frosty night.
Would twinkle as he trilled with all his might.
He lisped a little when he talked or sung.
To make his English sweet upon his tongue.

The Merchant
There was a Merchant, rich, as you’d suppose,
With well-trimmed beard, and fine imported clothes.
He watched the market and a profit made
When he exchanged his gold in foreign trade.
And it was his opinion, spoken free,
That England ought to guard the Northern Sea
“Twixt Harwich* and The Netherlands, and rout
the pirates, when he sent his ventures out.
He was a self-made man, and talked you blue
With all the business deals that he’d put through.
So pompous was he, and so shrewd, I bet
That no one guessed he really was in debt.

In principio: in the beginning

Farthing: quarter of a cent
Semicope: a short cape
Harwich: an important seaport on the North Sea.

The Oxford Scholar

A Clerk – that is, an Oxford scholar – who
Looked hollow to his bones, and threadbare, too,
Rode with us on a nag lean as a rake.
The youth was poor, and starved for learning’s sake.
He’d rather spend his gold on books than food,
Or on gay clothes or fun, as others would.
Of ethics and philosophy he read,
Kept Aristotle right beside his bed.
He seldom spoke; but what he said was clear,
And full of sense, so that you wished to hear;
Of high ideals and virtue was his speech;
And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach.

The Lawyer
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A famous Lawyer on the trip did go –
A learned man, at least he sounded so;
In jurisprudence wise; knew all the laws;
And in the best-made wills could pick out flaws.
He knew by heart decisions and decrees
From William* down. Codes, statutes – these
Were play to him; in litigation, skilled;
With presents and with fees his chests were filled.
A busier man than he you’d find nowhere,
Yet he seemed busier than he was, I’d swear.

The Cook
They had a Cook along, whose skill was known
In boiling chicken with the marrow bone;
The king he was of culinary art;
He knew the use of flavorings, keen and tart;
Could roast and bake and broil and boil and fry;
Could make a good soup, and triumphed at a pie!
It seemed a pity that upon his shin
He had a running sore, for he could win
At making rich blancmange*, and never fail
To judge the different grades of London ale.

William: William the Conqueror

Blancmange: a concoction of chicken, rice, milk, sugar, and almonds.

The Physician
And various others took this pilgrimage;
A skilled Physician, pompous, rich, and sage;
Astrology he knew, and by the spell
Of stars, his patients’ ailments he could tell;
And his prescriptions gave the druggist trade –
For each, brisk business for the other made!
His fad was dieting and moderate fare;
He did not read his Bible much, I’d swear!
Though fine his clothes, he hoarded well the pence
That he’d collected in the pestilence;*
For gold* he used in doses, I’ve heard tell;
That must be why he loved his gold so well.

The Wife of Bath

A Wife of Bath* did much to keep us gay
With tales of love and love charms, on the way –
A lively soul, who knew the inmost art
Of how to win a spouse and hold his heart;
For she had had five husbands in her time,
Not counting scores of lovers in her prime!
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She’d grown a little deaf, but nought she cared;
Now forth to foreign lands each year she fared,
Since fate decreed she seek out every shrine.
(Her teeth grew far apart – a certain sign
that she should travel far!) She’d see Boulogne,
and Rome, and Palestine, Spain, and Cologne.
Abundant gold she had, for she could weave
So well, that even in Flanders, I believe
You could not find her match. She like fine gear,
And o’er the parish wives to domineer,
She took precedence on the relic days*
In offering alms to manifest her praise.
If any dame went first, so wroth was she
That in her heart she lost all charity!
The towering headdress worn upon her hair
On Sunday weighed a full ten pounds I’d swear!
But now she wore a wimple and a hat
As broad as any buckler, and as flat.
The mantle round her waist did not conceal
Red stocking, and a spur upon each heel.
She kept the other pilgrims all in gales
Of laughter, listening to her merry tales.

Pestilence: the Black Death, which ravaged all Europe in the 14 th century.
Gold: it was a medieval belief that gold dissolved in medicine was a remedy for certain ailments.
Wife of Bath: a married woman from Bath, a town in England known for its medicinal springs.
Relic days: certain Sundays were set apart for offering gifts to religious relics, such as the bones of dead saints.

Now that I’ve told you shortly, in a clause,

The rank, the dress, the number, and the cause
Why these were all assembled at the inn
Called Tabard – near the Bell – I must begin
And tell you what we did that selfsame night,
And later of the pilgrimage I’ll write.
But first I pray you of your courtesy
If they appear ill-bred, do not blame me;
For anyone, you know, who tells a tale
He heard another speak, should never fail
To use the selfsame words and matter too,
Or else be found a liar and untrue:
Plato* himself has said – if Greek you read –
“The words must be the cousin to the deed”.
So even if the language be not fine,
But rude or coarse, the fault is theirs not mine;
And if some questions of their rank arise
Through my poor wit, I here apologize.*

Plato: a Greek philosopher (427?-347 B.C.). Chaucer could not read Greek, but he knew Plato through Latin translations.
Apologize: Chaucer is here apologizing for the fact that the pilgrims do not tell their tales in order of rank, as would have been considered proper in
medieval society.

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 The Host
Out Host gave us good cheer. He served a meal
That gratified us all, and made us feel
(Especially when we had drunk his wine)
In high good humor, genial and benign.
A handsome man this host was, I declare;
A fine official he’d be anywhere;
A portly, keen-eyed man, whose speech was bold,
But such as sound experience would uphold
In common sense; a merry fellow, too;
For when the feast was ended, and he knew
That each of us had settled our account,
His amiability began to mount,
And in a jovial mood, he had his say:
“Well, gentlemen, I have enjoyed your stay.
To tell the truth, I have not seen this year
A group so jolly as you’ve gathered here.
In fact I’d like to conjure up some scheme
That would amuse, and win me your esteem.
…
Well, this it is, my lords. Suppose we say
That each of you tell four tales by the way,
Two as you go, and two as you return;
And then the one whose tale is best will earn
A festive supper here at Tabard Inn,
Paid by the rest. Now that’s a prize to win!”
We heartily agreed, and took him up.
…
So then we went to bed. And next we knew
The dawn had come; and all our motley crew
The busy Host assembled, like a cock
That gathers all his hens and leads the flock.
…
We drew the lots; and, as was only right,
The shortest straw of all fell to the Knight.
It was good luck, indeed, a happy choice;
It made us all applaud and much rejoice.
…
And he began a pleasant tale in rhyme;
He told it thus: “Now, once upon a time…”

Heere endeth the prolog of this book; and

Heere bigynneth the first tale which is the Knyghtes Tale.