The Canterbury Tales

Fragment VIII

The Canon's Yeoman's Prologue

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The Prologe of the

Chanouns Yemannes Tale.

Whan ended was the lyf of seinte cecile,

555

Er we hadde riden fully fyve mile,

A tboghtoun under blee us gan atake

A man that clothed was in clothes blake,

And under-nethe he hadde a whyt surplys.

His hakeney, that wasal pomely grys,

560

So swatte that it wonder was to see;

It semed as he had priked miles three.

The hors eek that his yeman rood upon

So swatte that sunnethe myghte it gon.

Aboute the peytrel sood the foom ful hye;

565

He was of foom al flekked as a pye.

A male tweyfoold on his croper lay;

It semed that he caried lite array.

Al light for somer rood this worthy man,

And in myn herte wondren I bigan

570

What that he was, til that I understood

How that his cloke was sowed to his good;

For which, whan I hadde longe avysed me,

I demed hym som chanoun for to be.

His hat heeng at his bak doun by a laas,

575

For he hadde riden moore than trot or paas;

He hadde ay priked lik as he were wood.

A clote-leef he hadde under his hood

For swoot, and for to keep his heed from heete.

But it was joye for to seen hym swete!

580

His forheed dropped as a stillatorie,

Were ful of plantayne and of paritorie.

And whan that he was come, he ban to crye,

God save, quod he, this joly compaignye!

Faste have I priked,!quod he, for youre sake,

585

By cause that I woldeyow atake,

To riden in this myrie compaignye.

His yeman eek was ful of curteisye,

And seyde, sires, now in the morwe-tyde

Out of youre hostelrie I saugh yow ryde,

590

And warned heer my lord and my soverayn,

Which that to ryden with yow is ful fayn

For his desport; he loveth daliaunce.

freend, for thy warnyng God yeve thee good chaunce!

Thanne seyde oure hoost, for certein it wolde seme

595

Thy lord were wys, and so I may wel deme.

He is ful jocunde also, dar I leye!

Can he oght telle a myrie tale or tweye,

With which he glade may his compaignye?

Who, sire? my lord? ye, ye, withouten lye,

600

He kan of murthe and eek of jolitee

Nat but ynough: also, sire, trusteth me,

And ye hym knewe as wel as do I,

Ye wolde wondre how wel and craftily

He koude werke, and that in sondry wise.

605

He hath take on hym many a greet emprise,

Which were ful hard for any that is heere

To brynge aboute, but they of hym it leere.

As hoomly as he rit amonges yow,

If ye hym kniewe, it wolde be for youre prow.

610

Ye wolde nat forgoon his aqueyntaunce

For muchel good, I dar leye in balaunce

Al that I have in my possessioun.

He is a man of heigh discrecioun;

I warne yow wel, he is a passyng man.

615

Wel, quod oure hoost, I pray thee tel me than,

Is he a clerk, or noon? telle what he is.

Nay, he is gretter than a clerk, ywis,

Seyde this yeman, and in wordes fewe,

Hoost, of his craft somwhat I wol yow shewe.

620

I seye, my lord kan swich subtilitee –

But al his craft ye may nat wite at me,

And somwhat helpe I yet to his wirkyng –

That al this ground on which we been ridyng,

Til that we come to caunterbury toun,

625

He koude al clene turne it up-so-doun,

And pave it al of silver and of gold.

And whan this yeman hadde this tale ytold

Unto oure hoost, he seyde, benedicitee!

This thyng is wonder merveillous to me,

630

Syn that thy lord is of so heigh prudence,

By cause of which men sholde hym reverence,

That of his worshipe rekketh he so lite.

His overslope nys nat worth a myte,

As in effect, to hym, so moot I go!

635

It is al baudy and totore also.

Why is thy lord so sluttissh, I the preye,

And is of power bettre clooth to beye,

Of that his dede accorde with thy speche?

Telle me that, and that I thee biseche.

640

Why? quod this yeman, wherto axe ye me?

God help me so, for he shal nevere thee!

(but I wol nat avowe that I seye,

And therfore keepe it secree, I yow preye.)

He is to wys, in feith, as I bileeve.

645

That that is overdoon, it wol nat preeve

Aright, as clerkes seyn; it is a vice.

Wherfore in that I holde hym lewed and nyce.

For whan a man hath over-greet a wit,

Ful oft hym happeth to mysusen it.

650

So doothy my lord, and that me greveth soore;

God it amende! I kan sey yow namoore.

Ther-of no fors, good yeman, quod oure hoost;

Syn of the konnyng of thy lord thow woost,

Telle how he dooth, I pray thee hertely,

655

Syn that he is so crafty and so sly.

Where dwelle ye, if it to telle be?

In the suburbes of a toun, quod he,

Lurkynge in hernes and in lanes blynde,

Wheras this robbours and thise theves by kynde

660

Holden hir pryvee fereful residence,

As they that dar nat shewen hir presence;

So faren we, if I shal seye the sothe.

Now, quod oure hoost, yit lat me talke to the.

Why artow so discoloured of thy face?

665

Peter! quod he, God yeve it harde grace,

I am so used in the fyr to blowe

That it hath chaunged my colour, I trowe.

I am nat wont in no mirour to prie,

But swynke soore and lerne multiplie.

670

We blondren evere and pouren in the fir,

And for al that we faille of oure desir,

For evere we lakken oure conclusioun.

To muchel folk we doon illusioun,

And borwe gold, be it a pound or two,

675

Or ten, or twelve, or manye sommes mo,

And make hem wenen, at the leeste weye,

That of a pound we koude make tweye.

Yet is it fals, but ay we han good hope

It for to doon, and after it we grope.

680

But that science is so fer us biforn,

We mowen nat, although we hadden it sworn,

It overtake, it slit awey so faste.

It wole us maken beggers atte laste.

Whil this yeman was thus in his talkyng,

685

This chanoun drough hym neer, and herde al thyng

Which that this yeman spak, for suspecioun

Of mennes speche evere hadde this chanoun.

For catoun seith that he that gilty is

Demeth alle thyng be spoke of hym, ywis.

690

That was the cause he gan so ny hym drawe

To his yeman, to herknen al his sawe.

And thus he seyde unto his yeman tho:

Hoold thou thy pees, and spek no wordes mo,

For if thou do, thou shalt it deere abye.

695

Thou sclaundrest me heere in this compaignye,

And eek discoverest that thou sholdest hyde.

Ye, quod oure hoost, telle on, what bityde.

Of al his thretyng rekke nat a myte!

In feith, quod he, namoore I do but lyte.

700

And whan this chanon saugh it wolde nat bee,

But his yeman wolde telle his pryvetee,

He fledde awey for verray sorwe and shame.

A! quod the yeman, heere shal arise game;

Al that I kan anon now wol I telle.

705

Syn he is goon, the foule feend hym quelle!

For nevere heerafter wol I with hym meete

For peny ne for pound, I yow biheete.

He that me broghte first unto that game,

Er that he dye, sorwe have he and shame!

710

For it is ernest to me, by me feith;

That feele I wel, what so any man seith.

And yet, for al my smert and al my grief,

For al my sorwe, labour, and meschief,

I koude nevere leve it in no wise.

715

Now wolde God my wit myghte suffise

To tellen al that longeth to that art!

But nathelees yow wol I tellen part.

Syn that my lord is goon, I wol nat spare;

Swich thyng as that I knowe, I wol declare.

Heere endeth the Prologe of the

Chanouns Yemannes Tale.