Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Geoffrey Chaucer

Ye shul your trouthe holden, by my fay!

  For god so wisly have mercy on me,

  I hadde wel lever y-stiked for to be,

  For verray love which that I to yow have,

  But-if ye sholde your trouthe kepe and save.

  Trouthe is the hyeste thing that man may kepe:”—

  But with that word he brast anon to wepe,

  And seyde, “I yow forbede, up peyne of deeth,

  ”What said Homer of good Penelope?

  All Greece knew of her chastity.

  By God, of Laodamia is written thus,

  Who when at Troy was slain Protesilaus,

  No longer would she live after his day.

  The same of noble Portia tell I may:

  Without Brutus could she not live,

  To whom she had wholly her heart given.

  The perfect wifehood of Artemisia

  Honored is through all Barbary.

  Oh Teuta, queen! your wifely chastity

  To all wives may a mirror be.

  The same thing I say of Bilia,

  Of Rhodogune, and also Valeria.”

  Thus lamented Dorigen a day or two,

  Intending ever that she would die.

  But nevertheless, upon the third night,

  Home came Averagus, this worthy knight,

  And asked her why she wept so painfully;

  And she began weeping ever longer and more.

  “Alas!” said she, “that ever I was born!

  Thus have I said,” said she, “thus have I sworn,”

  And told him all as you have heard before;

  I need not repeat it anymore.

  Her husband, in a kind manner,

  Answered and said as I shall you relate:

  “Is there nought else, Dorigen, but this?”

  “Nay, nay,” said she, “God help me;

  This is too much, if it were God’s will.”

  “Yea, wife,” said he, “let sleep what is still.

  It may well yet turn out all right today.

  You should your pledge keep, by my faith!

  For, God have mercy on me,

  I would rather be stabbed,

  For the true love I for you have,

  Than have you not keep your word.

  Fidelity is the highest thing that man may keep.”

  But with that, he burst at once into tears,

  And said, “I forbid you, upon pain of death,

  That never, whyl thee lasteth lyf ne breeth,

  To no wight tel thou of this aventure.

  As I may best, I wol my wo endure,

  Ne make no contenance of hevinesse,

  That folk of yow may demen harm or gesse.”

  And forth he cleped a squyer and a mayde:

  “Goth forth anon with Dorigen,” he sayde,

  “And bringeth hir to swich a place anon.”

  They take hir leve, and on hir wey they gon;

  But they ne wiste why she thider wente.

  He nolde no wight tellen his entente.

  Paraventure an heep of yow, y-wis,

  Wol holden him a lewed man in this,

  That he wol putte his wyf in jupartye;

  Herkneth the tale, er ye up-on hir crye.

  She may have bettre fortune than yow semeth;

  And whan that ye han herd the tale, demeth.

  This squyer, which that highte Aurelius,

  On Dorigen that was so amorous,

  Of aventure happed hir to mete

  Amidde the toun, right in the quikkest strete,

  As she was boun to goon the wey forth-right

  Toward the gardin ther-as she had hight.

  And he was to the gardinward also;

  For wel he spyed, whan she wolde go

  Out of hir hous to any maner place.

  But thus they mette, of aventure or grace;

  And he saleweth hir with glad entente,

  And asked of hir whiderward she wente?

  And she answerde, half as she were mad,

  “Un-to the gardin, as myn housbond bad,

  My trouthe for to holde, alias! alias!”

  Aurelius gan wondren on this cas,

  And in his herte had greet compassioun

  Of hir and of hir lamentacioun,

  And of Arveragus, the worthy knight,

  That bad hir holden al that she had hight,

  So looth him was his wyf sholde breke hir trouthe;

  And in his herte he caughte of this greet routhe,

  Ever, while you draw breath,

  To tell anyone of this—

  As I may best, I will my woe endure—

  Nor look sad,

  So that folk suspect something is amiss.”

  And forth he called a squire and a maid:

  “Go forth anon with Dorigen,” he said,

  “And bring her to a certain place anon.”

  They took their leave, and on their way they went,

  But they knew not why she thither went:

  He would no one tell of his intent.

  Perhaps many of you, certainly,

  Will hold him a foolish man in this,

  That he would put his wife in jeopardy.

  Listen to the tale entire, before you complain.

  She may have better fortune than you think,

  So when you have heard the tale, then decide.

  This squire, who was called Aurelius,

  Of Dorigen who was so amorous,

  By chance happened her to meet

  Amid the town, right in the busiest street,

  As she was on her way

  To the garden as she had promised;

  And he was headed to the garden also,

  For he watched closely when she would go

  Out of her house to any kind of place.

  But thus they met, by chance or fate;

  And he saluted her cheerfully,

  And asked her whither she went;

  And she answered, half as if she were mad,

  “Unto the garden, as my husband bade,

  My pledge for to hold, alas! alas!”

  Aurelius fell to wondering on this event,

  And in his heart had great compassion

  For her and for her lamentation,

  And for Averagus, the worthy knight,

  Who bade her hold to all she had said,

  So loath he was that his wife should break her pledge.

  And in his heart he took great pity on this,

  Consideringe the beste on every syde,

  That fro his lust yet were him lever abyde

  Than doon so heigh a cherlish wrecchednesse

  Agayns franchyse and alle gentillesse;

  For which in fewe wordes seyde he thus:

  “Madame, seyth to your lord Arveragus,

  That sith I see his grete gentillesse

  To yow, and eek I see wel your distresse,

  That him were lever han shame (and that

  were routhe)

  Than ye to me sholde breke thus your trouthe,

  I have wel lever ever to suffre wo

  Than I departe the love bitwix yow two.

  I yow relesse, madame, in-to your hond

  Quit every surement and every bond,

  That ye han maad to me as heer-biforn,

  Sith thilke tyme which that ye were born.

  My trouthe I plighte, I shal yow never repreve

  Of no biheste, and here I take my leve,

  As of the treweste and the beste wyf

  That ever yet I knew in al my lyf.

  But every wyf be-war of hir biheste,

  On Dorigene remembreth atte leste.

  Thus can a squyer doon a gentil dede,

  As well as can a knight, with-outen drede.”

  She thonketh him up-on hir knees al bare,

  And hoom un-to hir housbond is she fare,

  And tolde him al as ye han herd me sayd;

  And be ye siker, he was so weel apayd,

  That it were impossib
le me to wryte;

  What sholde I lenger of this cas endyte?

  Arveragus and Dorigene his wyf

  In sovereyn blisse leden forth hir lyf.

  Never eft ne was ther angre hem bitwene;

  He cherisseth hir as though she were a quene;

  And she was to him trewe for evermore.

  Of thise two folk ye gete of me na-more.

  Aurelius, that his cost hath al forlorn,

  Curseth the tyme that ever he was born:

  Considering the best on every side,

  So that his desire he thought it better to deny

  Than do so great a churlish wretched thing

  Against generosity and all nobility;

  For which in few words said he thus:

  “Madame, say to your lord Averagus,

  That since I see his great nobility

  To you, and also I see well your distress,

  That he would rather have shame (and that would be

  a pity)

  Than you should break your pledge,

  I would rather ever suffer woe

  Than divide the love between you two.

  I release you, madame, into your own hands,

  Discharged of every oath and every bond

  That you had made to me before,

  Since that same time that you were born.

  My troth I pledge, I shall never you reprove

  Of any promise, and here I take my leave,

  Of the truest and best wife

  That ever yet I knew in all my life.

  But every wife be careful of her behest!

  Of Dorigen remember at the least.

  Thus can a squire do a gentle deed

  As well as can a knight, without a doubt.”

  She thanked him upon her knees all bare,

  And home unto her husband she did fare,

  And told him all as you have heard me say;

  And you can be sure, he was so well pleased

  That it were impossible for me to write.

  What should I longer of this case relate?

  Averagus and Dorigen his wife

  In sovereign bliss led forth their lives.

  Never again was there anger them between:

  He cherished her as if she were a queen,

  And she was to him true for evermore.

  Of these two folk you hear from me no more.

  Aurelius, who his expense has all lost,

  Cursed the time that ever he was born:

  “Allas,” quod he, “allas! that I bihighte

  Of pured gold a thousand pound of wighte

  Un-to this philosophre! how shal I do?

  I see na-more but that I am fordo.

  Myn heritage moot I nedes selle,

  And been a begger; heer may I nat dwelle,

  And shamen al my kinrede in this place,

  But I of him may gete bettre grace.

  But nathelees, I wol of him assaye,

  At certeyn dayes, yeer by yeer, to paye,

  And thanke him of his grete curteisye;

  My trouthe wol I kepe, I wol nat lye.”

  With herte soor he gooth un-to his cofre,

  And broghte gold un-to this philosophre,

  The value of fyve hundred pound, I gesse,

  And him bisecheth, of his gentillesse,

  To graunte him dayes of the remenaunt,

  And seyde, “maister, I dar wel make avaunt,

  I failled never of my trouthe as yit;

  For sikerly my dette shal be quit

  Towardes yow, how-ever that I fare

  To goon a-begged in my kirtle bare.

  But wolde ye vouche-sauf, up-on seurtee,

  Two yeer or three for to respyten me,

  Than were I wel; for elles moot I selle

  Myn heritage; ther is na-more to telle.”

  This philosophre sobrely answerde,

  And seyde thus, whan he thise wordes herde:

  “Have I nat holden covenant un-to thee?”

  “Yes, certes, wel and trewely,” quod he.

  “Hastow nat had thy lady as thee lyketh?”

  “No, no,” quod he, and sorwefully he syketh.

  “What was the cause? tel me if thou can.”

  Aurelius his tale anon bigan,

  And tolde him al, as ye han herd bifore;

  It nedeth nat to yow reherce it more.

  He seide, “Arveragus, of gentillesse,

  Had lever dye in sorwe and in distresse

  Than that his wyf were of hir trouthe fals.”

  “Alas,” said he, “alas! that I promised

  Of refined gold a thousand pounds by weight

  To this philosopher! How shall I do?

  I see no more but that I am ruined.

  My inheritance must I needs sell

  And be a beggar; here I may not dwell,

  And shame all my kin in this place,

  Unless I of him may have a period of grace.

  But nevertheless, I will with him try to arrange

  At certain days, year by year, to pay,

  And thank him for his great courtesy;

  My pledge will I keep, I will not lie.”

  With heart sore he went unto his coffer,

  And brought gold unto this philosopher

  The value of five hundred pounds, I guess,

  And him beseeched out of his gentleness

  To grant him time to pay the rest,

  And said, “Master, I dare well make boast

  I failed never of my word as yet;

  For surely my debt shall be paid

  Toward you, even if I must

  Go a-begging in my shirt bare.

  If you will grant, upon surety,

  Two years or three of respite for me,

  Then I will be well; otherwise must I sell

  My heritage; there is no more to tell.”

  This philosopher soberly answered,

  And said thus, when he these words heard:

  “Have I not kept covenant with you?”

  “Yes, certainly, well and truly,” said he.

  “Have you had your lady as you wished?”

  “No, no,” said he, and sorrowfully he sighed.

  “And what was the cause, tell me if you can.”

  Aurelius his tale anon began,

  And told him all, as you have heard before:

  I need not recite it any more.

  He said, “Averagus, of gentleness,

  Would rather have died in sorrow and in distress

  Than that his wife were of her pledge false.”

  The sorwe of Dorigen he tolde him als,

  How looth hir was to been a wikked wyf,

  And that she lever had lost that day hir lyf,

  And that hir trouthe she swoor, thurgh innocence:

  She never erst herde speke of apparence;

  “That made me han of hir so greet pitee.

  And right as frely as he sente hir me,

  As frely sente I hir to him ageyn.

  This al and som, ther is na-more to seyn.”

  This philosophre answerde, “leve brother,

  Everich of yow dide gentilly til other.

  Thou art a squyer, and he is a knight;

  But god forbede, for his blisful might,

  But-if a clerk coude doon a gentil dede

  As wel as any of yow, it is no drede!

  Sire, I relesse thee thy thousand pound,

  As thou right now were cropen out of the ground,

  Ne never er now ne haddest knowen me.

  For sire, I wol nat take a peny of thee

  For al my craft, ne noght for my travaille.

  Thou hast y-payed wel for my vitaille;

  It is y-nogh, and farewel, have good day:”

  And took his hors, and forth he gooth his way.

  Lordinges, this question wolde I aske now,

  Which was the moste free, as thinketh yow?

  Now telleth me, er that ey ferther wende.

>   I can na-more, my tale is at an ende.

  The sorrow of Dorigen he told him also,

  How loath she was to be a wicked wife,

  And that she would rather have lost that day her life,

  And that her promise she swore through innocence,

  She never before heard speak of illusions.

  “That made me have of her so great pity;

  And just as generously as he sent her to me

  As freely I sent her to him again.

  This is the whole, there is no more to say.”

  This philosopher answered, “Dear brother,

  Each of you did gently toward the other.

  You are a squire, and he is a knight;

  But God forbid, for his blissful might,

  That a scholar could not do a gentle deed

  As well as any of you, without a doubt!

  Sir, I release you your thousand pounds,

  As if you right now had crept out of the ground,

  And never before had you known me.

  For sir, I will not take a penny from you

  For all my craft, nor anything for my labor.

  You have paid well for my victuals and play;

  It is enough. And farewell, have a good day”

  And took his horse, and forth he went his way.

  Lordings, this question then would I ask now:

  Who was the most generous, as think you?

  Now tell me, before we further wend.

  I know no more: my tale is at an end.

  The Pardoners Tale

  The Introduction

  “BY CORPUS BONES! BUT I have triacle,

  Or elles a draught of moyste and corny ale,

  Or but I here anon a mery tale,

  Myn herte is lost for pitee of this mayde.

  Thou bel amy, thou Pardoner,” he seyde,

  “Tel us som mirth or japes right anon.”

  “It shal be doon,” quod he, “by seint Ronyon!

  But first,” quod he, “heer at this ale-stake

  I wol both drinke, and eten of a cake.”

  But right anon thise gentils gonne to crye,

  “Nay! lat him telle us of no ribaudye;

  Tel us som moral thing, that we may lere

  Som wit, and thanne wol we gladly here.”

  “I graunte, y-wis,” quod he, “but I mot thinke

  Up-on som honest thing, whyl that I drinke.”

  The Prologue

  Radix malorum est Cupiditas: Ad Thimotheum, sexto

  “LORDINGS” QUOD HE, “IN chirches whan I preche,

  I preyne me to han an hauteyn speche,

  And ringe it out as round as gooth a belle,

  For I can al by rote that I telle.

  My theme is alwey oon, and ever was—

  ‘Radix malorum est Cupiditas.’

  First I pronounce whennes that I come,

  And than my bulles shewe I, alle and somme.