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THE PROLOGUE <1>

 

 "IN faith, Squier, thou hast thee well acquit,
 

 And gentilly; I praise well thy wit,"
 

 Quoth the Franklin; "considering thy youthe
 

 So feelingly thou speak'st, Sir, I aloue* thee,    *allow, approve
 

 *As to my doom,* there is none that is here   *so far as my judgment
 

 Of eloquence that shall be thy peer,               goes*
 

 If that thou live; God give thee goode chance,
 

 And in virtue send thee continuance,
 

 For of thy speaking I have great dainty.*        *value, esteem
 

 I have a son, and, by the Trinity;
 

 *It were me lever* than twenty pound worth land,   *I would rather*
 

 Though it right now were fallen in my hand,
 

 He were a man of such discretion
 

 As that ye be: fy on possession,
 

 *But if* a man be virtuous withal.              *unless
 

 I have my sone snibbed* and yet shall,      *rebuked; "snubbed."
 

 For he to virtue *listeth not t'intend,*       *does not wish to
 

 But for to play at dice, and to dispend,        apply himself*
 

 And lose all that he hath, is his usage;
 

 And he had lever talke with a page,
 

 Than to commune with any gentle wight,
 

 There he might learen gentilless aright."
 

Straw for your gentillesse!” quoth our Host.
“What? Frankelin, pardie, Sir, well thou wost* *knowest
That each of you must tellen at the least
A tale or two, or breake his behest.”* *promise
“That know I well, Sir,” quoth the Frankelin;
“I pray you have me not in disdain,
Though I to this man speak a word or two.”
“Tell on thy tale, withoute wordes mo’.”
“Gladly, Sir Host,” quoth he, “I will obey
Unto your will; now hearken what I say;
I will you not contrary* in no wise, *disobey
As far as that my wittes may suffice.
I pray to God that it may please you,
Then wot I well that it is good enow.

“These olde gentle Bretons, in their days,
Of divers aventures made lays,<2>
Rhymeden in their firste Breton tongue;
Which layes with their instruments they sung,
Or elles reade them for their pleasance;
And one of them have I in remembrance,
Which I shall say with good will as I can.
But, Sirs, because I am a borel* man, *rude, unlearned
At my beginning first I you beseech
Have me excused of my rude speech.
I learned never rhetoric, certain;
Thing that I speak, it must be bare and plain.
I slept never on the mount of Parnasso,
Nor learned Marcus Tullius Cicero.
Coloures know I none, withoute dread,* *doubt
But such colours as growen in the mead,
Or elles such as men dye with or paint;
Colours of rhetoric be to me quaint;* *strange
My spirit feeleth not of such mattere.
But, if you list, my tale shall ye hear.”