The Canterbury Tales

Fragment III

The Summoner's Prologue

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The Prologe of the

Somonours Tale.

1665

This somonour in his styropes hye stood;

Upon this frere his herte was so wood

That lyk an aspen leef he quook for ire.

Lordynges, quod he, but o thyng I desire;

I yow biseke that, of youre curteisye,

1670

Syn ye han herd this false frere lye,

As suffreth me I may my tale telle.

This frere bosteth that he knoweth helle,

And God it woot, that it is litel wonder;

Freres and feendes been but lyte asonder.

1675

For, pardee, ye han ofte tyme herd telle

How that a frere ravyshed was to helle

In spirit ones by a visioun;

And as an angel ladde hym up and doun,

To shewen hym the peynes that the were,

1680

In al the place saugh he nat a frere;

Of oother folk he saugh ynowe in wo.

Unto this angel spak the frere tho:

Now, sire, quod he, han freres swich a grace

That noon of hem shal come to this place?

1685

Yis, quod this aungel, many a millioun!

And unto sathanas he ladde hym doun.

– And now hath sathanas, – seith he, – a tayl

Brodder than of a carryk is the sayl.

Hold up thy tayl, thou sathanas! – quod he;

1690

– shewe forth thyn ers, and lat the frere se

Where is the nest of freres in this place! –

And er that half a furlong wey of space,

Right so as bees out swarmen from an hyve,

Out of the develes ers ther gonne dryve

1695

Twenty thousand freres on a route,

And thurghout helle swarmed al aboute,

And comen agayn as faste as they may gon,

And in his ers they crepten everychon.

He clapte his tayl agayn and lay ful stille.

1700

This frere, whan he looked hadde his fille

Upon the tormentz of this sory place,

His spirit God restored, of his grace,

Unto his body agayn, and he awook.

But natheles, for fere yet he quook,

1705

So was the develes ers ay in his mynde,

That is his heritage of verray kynde.

God save yow alle, save this cursed frere!

My prologe wol I ende in this manere.