Allë besmotter’d with his habergeon,25
For he was late y-come from his voyáge,
And wentë for to do his pilgrimage.
With him there was his son, a youngë Squire,
A lover, and a lusty bacheler,
With lockës crulle26 as they were laid in press.
Of twenty year of age he was I guess.
Of his statúre he was of even length,
And wonderly deliver,27 and great of strength.
And he had been some time in chevachie,28
In Flanders, in Artois, and Picardie,
And borne him well, as of so little space,29
In hope to standen in his lady’s grace.
Embroider’d was he, as it were a mead
All full of freshë flowers, white and red.
Singing he was, or fluting all the day;
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
Short was his gown, with sleevës long and wide.
Well could he sit on horse, and fairë ride.
He couldë songës make, and well indite,
Joust, and eke dance, and well pourtray and write.
So hot he loved, that by nightertale30
He slept no more than doth the nightingale.
Courteous he was, lowly, and serviceable,
And carv’d before his father at the table.31
A Yeoman had he, and servánts no mo’
At that timë, for him list ridë so;32
And he was clad in coat and hood of green.
A sheaf of peacock arrows33 bright and keen
Under his belt he bare full thriftily.
Well could he dress his tackle yeomanly:
His arrows drooped not with feathers low;
And in his hand he bare a mighty bow.
A nut-head34 had he, with a brown viságe:
Of wood-craft coud35 he well all the uságe:
Upon his arm he bare a gay bracér,36
And by his side a sword and a bucklér,
And on that other side a gay daggere,
Harnessed well, and sharp as point of spear:
A Christopher37 on his breast of silver sheen.
An horn he bare, the baldric was of green:
A forester38 was he soothly39 as I guess.
There was also a Nun, a Prioress,
That of her smiling was full simple and coy;
Her greatest oathë was but by Saint Loy;40
And she was cleped41 Madame Eglentine.
Full well she sang the servicë divine,
Entuned in her nose full seemëly;42
And French she spake full fair and fetisly43
After the school of Stratford attë Bow,
For French of Paris was to her unknow.
At meatë was she well y-taught withal;
She let no morsel from her lippës fall,
Nor wet her fingers in her saucë deep.
Well could she carry a morsel, and well keep,
That no droppë ne fell upon her breast.
In courtesy was set full much her lest.44
Her over-lippë wiped she so clean,
That in her cup there was no farthing45 seen
Of greasë, when she drunken had her draught;
Full seemëly after her meat she raught:46
And sickerly she was of great disport,47
And full pleasánt, and amiable of port,
And pained her to counterfeitë cheer
Of court,48 and be estately of mannére,
And to be holden digne49 of reverence.
But for to speaken of her consciénce,
She was so charitable and so pitous,50
She wouldë weep if that she saw a mouse
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled.
Of smallë houndës had she, that she fed
With roasted flesh, and milk, and wastel bread.51
But sore she wept if one of them were dead,
Or if men smote it with a yardë52 smart:
And all was conscience and tender heart.
Full seemly her wimple y-pinched was;
Her nose tretis;53 her eyen gray as glass;54
Her mouth full small, and thereto soft and red;
But sickerly she had a fair forehéad.
It was almost a spannë broad I trow;
For hardily she was not undergrow.55
Full fetis56 was her cloak, as I was ware.
Of small corál about her arm she bare
A pair of beadës, gauded all with green;57
And thereon hung a brooch of gold full sheen,
On which was first y-written a crown’d A,
And after, Amor vincit omnia.
Another Nun also with her had she,
[That was her chapelléine, and Priestës three.]
A Monk there was, a fair for the mast’ry,58
An outrider, that loved venery;59
A manly man, to be an abbot able.
Full many a dainty horse had he in stable:
And when he rode, men might his bridle hear
Jingeling60 in a whistling wind as clear,
And eke as loud, as doth the chapel bell,
There as this lord was keeper of the cell.
The rule of Saint Maur and of Saint Benet,61
Because that it was old and somedeal62 strait,
This ilkë63 monk let oldë thingës pace,
And held after the newë world the trace.
He gave not of the text a pulled hen,64
That saith, that hunters be not holy men;
Ne that a monk, when he is cloisterless;
Is like to a fish that is waterless;
This is to say, a monk out of his cloister.
This ilkë text held he not worth an oyster;
And I say his opinion was good.
Why should he study, and make himselfë wood,65
Upon a book in cloister always pore,
Or swinken66 with his handës, and laboúr,
As Austin bit?67 how shall the world be served?
Let Austin have his swink to him reserved.
Therefore he was a prickasour aright:68
Greyhounds he had as swift as fowl of flight:
Of pricking69 and of hunting for the hare
Was all his lust,70 for no cost would he spare.
I saw his sleevës purfil’d at the hand
With gris,71 and that the finest of the land.
And for to fasten his hood under his chin,
He had of gold y-wrought a curious pin:
A love-knot in the greater end there was.
His head was bald, and shone as any glass,
And eke his face, as it had been
