FullReads

THE PROLOGUE

 

 By that the Manciple his tale had ended,
 

 The sunne from the south line was descended
 

 So lowe, that it was not to my sight
 

 Degrees nine-and-twenty as in height.
 

 Four of the clock it was then, as I guess,
 

 For eleven foot, a little more or less,
 

 My shadow was at thilke time, as there,
 

 Of such feet as my lengthe parted were
 

 In six feet equal of proportion.
 

 Therewith the moone's exaltation,*        *rising
 

 *In meane* Libra, gan alway ascend,       *in the middle of*
 

 As we were ent'ring at a thorpe's* end.    *village's
 

 For which our Host, as he was wont to gie,*   *govern
 

 As in this case, our jolly company,
 

 Said in this wise; "Lordings every one,
 

 Now lacketh us no more tales than one.
 

 Fulfill'd is my sentence and my decree;
 

 I trow that we have heard of each degree.*    from each class or
 

 Almost fulfilled is mine ordinance;       rank in the company
 

 I pray to God so give him right good chance
 

 That telleth us this tale lustily.
 

 Sir Priest," quoth he, "art thou a vicary?*   *vicar
 

 Or art thou a Parson? say sooth by thy fay.*   *faith
 

 Be what thou be, breake thou not our play;
 

 For every man, save thou, hath told his tale.
 

 Unbuckle, and shew us what is in thy mail.*   *wallet
 

 For truely me thinketh by thy cheer
 

 Thou shouldest knit up well a great mattere.
 

 Tell us a fable anon, for cocke's bones."
 

This Parson him answered all at ones;
“Thou gettest fable none y-told for me,
For Paul, that writeth unto Timothy,
Reproveth them that *weive soothfastness,* *forsake truth*
And telle fables, and such wretchedness.
Why should I sowe draff* out of my fist, *chaff, refuse
When I may sowe wheat, if that me list?
For which I say, if that you list to hear
Morality and virtuous mattere,
And then that ye will give me audience,
I would full fain at Christe’s reverence
Do you pleasance lawful, as I can.
But, truste well, I am a southern man,
I cannot gest,* rom, ram, ruf, <1> by my letter; *relate stories
And, God wot, rhyme hold I but little better.
And therefore if you list, I will not glose,* *mince matters
I will you tell a little tale in prose,
To knit up all this feast, and make an end.
And Jesus for his grace wit me send
To shewe you the way, in this voyage,
Of thilke perfect glorious pilgrimage, <2>
That hight Jerusalem celestial.
And if ye vouchesafe, anon I shall
Begin upon my tale, for which I pray
Tell your advice,* I can no better say. *opinion
But natheless this meditation
I put it aye under correction
Of clerkes,* for I am not textuel; *scholars
I take but the sentence,* trust me well. *meaning, sense
Therefore I make a protestation,
That I will stande to correction.”
Upon this word we have assented soon;
For, as us seemed, it was *for to do’n,* *a thing worth doing*
To enden in some virtuous sentence,* *discourse
And for to give him space and audience;
And bade our Host he shoulde to him say
That alle we to tell his tale him pray.
Our Hoste had. the wordes for us all:
“Sir Priest,” quoth he, “now faire you befall;
Say what you list, and we shall gladly hear.”
And with that word he said in this mannere;
“Telle,” quoth he, “your meditatioun,
But hasten you, the sunne will adown.
Be fructuous,* and that in little space; *fruitful; profitable
And to do well God sende you his grace.”