The Prologue

Weet4913 ye not where there stands a little town,
Which that y-called is Bob-up-and-down,4914
Under the Blee, in Canterbury way?
There gan our Hostë for to jape and play,
And saidë, “Sirs, what? Dun is in the mire.4915
Is there no man, for prayer nor for hire,
That will awaken our fellów behind?
A thief him might full lightly4916 rob and bind.
See how he nappeth, see, for cockë’s bones,
As he would fallë from his horse at ones.
Is that a Cook of London,4917 with mischance?
Do4918 him come forth, he knoweth his penánce;
For he shall tell a talë, by my fay,4919
Although it be not worth a bottle hay.
Awake, thou Cook,” quoth he; “God give thee sorrow!
What aileth thee to sleepë by the morrow?4920
Hast thou had fleas all night, or art drunk?
Or had thou with some quean all night y-swunk,4921
So that thou mayest not hold up thine head?”

The Cook, that was full pale and nothing red,
Said to Host, “So God my soulë bless,
As there is fall’n on me such heaviness,
I know not why, that me were lever4922 sleep,
Than the best gallon wine that is in Cheap.”
“Well,” quoth the Manciple, “if it may do ease
To thee, Sir Cook, and to no wight displease
Which that here rideth in this company,
And that our Host will of his courtesy,
I will as now excuse thee of thy tale;
For in good faith thy visage is full pale:
Thine eyen dazë,4923 soothly as me thinketh,
And well I wot, thy breath full sourë stinketh,
That sheweth well thou art not well disposed;
Of me certáin thou shalt not be y-glosed.4924
See how he yawneth, lo, this drunken wight,
As though he would us swallow anon right.
Hold close thy mouth, man, by thy father’s kin;
The devil of hellë set his foot therein!
Thy cursed breath infectë will us all:
Fy! stinking swine, fy! foul may thee befall.
Ah! takë heed, Sirs, of this lusty man.
Now, sweetë Sir, will ye joust at the fan?4925
Thereto, me thinketh, ye be well y-shape.
I trow that ye have drunken wine of ape,4926
And that is when men playë with a straw.”

And with this speech the Cook waxed all wraw,4927
And on the Manciple he gan nod fast
For lack of speech; and down his horse him cast,
Where as he lay, till that men him up took.
This was a fair chevachie4928 of a cook:
Alas! that he had held him by his ladle!
And ere that he again were in the saddle
There was great shoving bothë to and fro
To lift him up, and muchë care and woe,
So unwieldy was this silly paled ghost.
And to the Manciple then spake our Host:
“Because that drink hath dominatión
Upon this man, by my salvatión
I trow he lewëdly4929 will tell his tale.
For were it wine, or old or moisty4930 ale,
That he hath drunk, he speaketh in his nose,
And sneezeth fast, and eke he hath the pose.4931
He also hath to do more than enough
To keep him on his capel4932 out of the slough;
And if he fall from off his capel eftsoon,4933
Then shall we allë have enough to do’n
In lifting up his heavy drunken corse.
Tell on thy tale, of him make I no force.4934
But yet, Manciple, in faith thou art too nice4935
Thus openly to reprove him of his vice;
Another day he will paráventúre
Reclaimë thee, and bring thee to the lure;4936
I mean, he speakë will of smallë things,
As for to pinchen at4937 thy reckonings,
That were not honest, if it came to prefe.”4938

Quoth the Manciple, “That were a great mischíef;
So might he lightly bring me in the snare.
Yet had I lever4939 payë for the mare
Which he rides on, than he should with me strive.
I will not wrathë4940 him, so may I thrive)
That that I spake, I said it in my bourde.4941
And weet ye what? I have here in my gourd
A draught of wine, yea, of a ripë grape,
And right anon ye shall see a good jape.4942
This Cook shall drink thereof, if that I may;
On pain of my life he will not say nay.”
And certainly, to tellen as it was,
Of this vessél the cook drank fast (alas!
What needed it? he drank enough beforn),
And when he haddë pouped in his horn,4943
To the Manciple he took the gourd again.
And of that drink the Cook was wondrous fain,
And thanked him in such wise as he could.

Then gan our Host to laughë wondrous loud,
And said, “I see well it is necessary
Where that we go good drink with us to carry;
For that will turnë rancour and disease4944
T’ accord and love, and many a wrong appease.
O Bacchus, Bacchus, blessed be thy name,
That so canst turnen earnest into game!
Worship and thank be to thy deity.
Of that mattére ye get no more of me.
Tell on thy tale, Manciple, I thee pray.”
“Well, Sir,” quoth he, “now hearken what I say.”

The Tale4945

When Phoebus dwelled here in earth adown,
As oldë bookës makë mentioún,
He was the mostë lusty4946 bachelér
Of all this world, and eke the best archér.
He slew Python the serpent, as he lay
Sleeping against the sun upon a day;
And many another noble worthy deed
He with his bow wrought, as men mayë read.
Playen he could on every minstrelsy,
And singë, that it was a melody
To hearen of his clearë voice the soun’.
Certes the king of Thebes, Amphioún,
That with his singing walled the citý,
Could never singë half so well as he.
Thereto he was the seemliestë man
That is, or was since that the world began;
What needeth it his features to descrive?
For in this world is none so fair alive.
He was therewith full fill’d of gentleness,
Of honour, and of perfect worthiness.

This Phoebus, that was flower of bach’lery,
As well in freedom4947 as in chivalry,
For his disport, in sign eke of victóry
Of Python, so as telleth us the story,
Was wont to bearen in his hand a bow.
Now had this Phoebus in his house a crow,
Which in a cage he foster’d many a day,
And taught it speaken, as men teach a jay.
White was this crow, as is a snow-white swan,
And counterfeit the speech of every man
He couldë, when he shouldë tell a tale.
Therewith in all this world no nightingale
Ne couldë by an hundred thousand deal4948
Singë so wondrous merrily and well.
Now had this Phoebus in his house a wife,
Which that he loved morë than his life.
And night and day did ever his diligence
Her for to please, and do her reverence:
Save only, if that I the sooth shall sayn,
Jealous he was, and would have kept her fain.
For him were loth y-japed4949 for to be;
And so is every wight in such degree;
But all for nought, for it availeth nought.
A good wife, that is clean of work and thought,
Should not be kept in none await4950 certáin:
And truëly the labour is in vain
To keep a shrewë,4951 for it will not be.
This hold I for a very nicety,4952
To spillë4953 labour for to keepë wives;
Thus writen oldë clerkës in their lives.

But now to purpose, as I first began.
This worthy Phoebus did all that he can
To pleasë her, weening, through such pleasánce,
And for his manhood and his governánce,
That no man should have put him from her grace;
But, God it wot, there may no man embrace
As to distrain4954 a thing, which that natúre
Hath naturally set in a creatúre.
Take any bird, and put it in a cage,
And do all thine intent, and thy coráge,4955
To foster it tenderly with meat and drink
Of allë dainties that thou canst bethink,
And keep it all so cleanly as thou may;
Although the cage of gold be never so gay,
Yet had this bird, by twenty thousand fold,
Lever4956 in a forést, both wild and cold,
Go eatë wormës, and such wretchedness.
For ever this bird will do his business
T’ escape out of his cage when that he may:
His liberty the bird desireth aye.4957
Let take a cat, and foster her with milk
And tender flesh, and make her couch of silk,
And let her see a mouse go by the wall,
Anon she weiveth4958 milk, and flesh, and all,
And every dainty that is in that house,
Such appetite hath she to eat the mouse.
Lo, here hath kind4959 her dominatin,
And appetite flemeth4960 discretión.
A she-wolf hath also a villain’s kind;4961
The lewedestë wolf that she may find,
Or least of reputation, will she take
In timë when her lust4962 to have a make.4963
All these examples speak I by4964 these men
That be untrue, and nothing by womén.
For men have ever a lik’rous appetite
On lower things to pérform their delight
Than on their wivës, be they never so fair,
Never so truë, nor so debonair.4965
Flesh is so newëfangled, with mischance,4966
That we can in no thingë have pleasánce
That souneth4967 unto virtue any while.

This Phoebus, which that thought upon no guile,
Deceived was for all his jollitý;
For under him another haddë she,
A man of little reputatión,
Nought worth to Phoebus in comparison.
The more harm is; it happens often so,
Of which there cometh muchë harm and woe.
And so befell, when Phoebus was absént,
His wife anon hath for her leman4968 sent.
Her leman! certes that is a knavish speech.
Forgive it me, and that I you beseech.
The wisë Plato saith, as ye may read,
The word must needs accordë with the deed;
If men shall tellë properly a thing,
The word must cousin be to the workíng.
I am a boistous4969 man, right thus I say.
There is no differencë truëly
Betwixt a wife that is of high degree
(If of her body dishonést she be),
And any poorë wench, other than this
(If it so be they workë both amiss),
But, for4970 the gentle is in estate above,
She shall be call’d his lady and his love;
And, for that other is a poor womán,
She shall be call’d his wench and his lemán:
And God it wot, mine owen dearë brother,
Men lay the one as low as lies the other.
Right so betwixt a titleless tyránt4971
And an outlaw, or else a thief erránt,4972
The same I say, there is no differénce
(To Alexander told was this senténce),
But, for the tyrant is of greater might
By force of meinie4973 for to slay downright,
And burn both house and home, and make all plain,4974
Lo, therefore is he call’d a capitáin;
And, for the outlaw hath but small meinie,
And may not do so great an harm as he,
Nor bring a country to so great mischíef,
Men callë him an outlaw or a thief.
But, for I am a man not textuel,4975
I will not tell of texts never a deal;4976
I will go to my tale, as I began.

When Phoebus’ wife had sent for her lemán,
Anon they wroughten all their lust volage.4977
This whitë crow, that hung aye in the cage,
Beheld their work, and said never a word;
And when that home was come Phoebus the lord,
This crowë sung, “Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!”
“What? bird,” quoth Phoebus, “what song sing’st thou now?
Wert thou not wont so merrily to sing,
That to my heart it was a réjoicíng
To hear thy voice? alas! what song is this?”
“By God,” quoth he, “I singë not amiss.
Phoebus,” quoth he, “for all thy worthiness,
For all thy beauty, and all thy gentleness,
For all thy song, and all thy minstrelsý,
For all thy waiting,4978 bleared is thine eye4979
With one of little reputatión,
Not worth to thee, as in comparison,
The mountance4980 of a gnat, so may I thrive;
For on thy bed thy wife I saw him swive.”
What will ye more? the crow anon him told,
By sadë4981 tokens, and by wordës bold,
How that his wife had done her lechery,
To his great shame and his great villainy;
And told him oft, he saw it with his eyen.
This Phoebus gan awayward for to wrien;4982
Him thought his woeful heartë burst in two.
His bow he bent, and set therein a flo,4983
And in his ire he hath his wifë slain;
This is th’ effect, there is no more to sayn.
For sorrow of which he brake his minstrelsy,
Both harp and lute, gitérn4984 and psaltery;
And eke he brake his arrows and his bow;
And after that thus spake he to the crow.

“Traitor,” quoth he, “with tongue of scorpión,
Thou hast me brought to my confusión;
Alas that I was wrought!4985 why n’ere4986 I dead?
O dearë wife, O gem of lustihead,4987
That wert to me so sad,4988 and eke so true,
Now liest thou dead, with facë pale of hue,
Full guiltëless, that durst I swear y-wis!4989
O rakel4990 hand, to do so foul amiss!4991
O troubled wit, O irë reckëless,
That unadvised smit’st the guiltëless!
O wantrust,4992 full of false suspición!
Where was thy wit and thy discretión?
O! every man beware of rakelness,4993
Nor trow4994 no thing withoutë strong witnéss.
Smite not too soon, ere that ye weetë4995 why,
And be advised4996 well and sickerly4997
Ere ye do any executión
Upon your irë4998 for suspición.
Alas! a thousand folk hath rakel ire
Foully fordone, and brought them in the mire.
Alas! for sorrow I will myselfë slé.”4999
And to the crow, “O falsë thief,” said he,
“I will thee quite anon thy falsë tale.
Thou sung whilom5000 like any nightingale,
Now shalt thou, falsë thief, thy song foregon,5001
And eke thy whitë feathers every one,
Nor ever in all thy lifë shalt thou speak;
Thus shall men on a traitor be awreak.5002
Thou and thine offspring ever shall be blake,5003
Nor ever sweetë noisë shall ye make,
But ever cry against5004 tempést and rain,
In token that through thee my wife is slain.”
And to the crow he start,5005 and that anon,
And pull’d his whitë feathers every one,
And made him black, and reft him all his song,
And eke his speech, and out at door him flung
Unto the devil, which I him betake;5006
And for this causë be all crowës blake.
Lordings, by this ensample, I you pray,
Beware, and takë keep5007 what that ye say;
Nor tellë never man in all your life
How that another man hath dight his wife;
He will you hatë mortally certáin.
Dan Solomon, as wisë clerkës sayn,
Teacheth a man to keep his tonguë well;
But, as I said, I am not textuel.
But natheless thus taughtë me my dame;
“My son, think on the crow, in Goddë’s name.
My son, keep well thy tongue, and keep thy friend;
A wicked tongue is worse than is a fiend:
My sonë, from a fiend men may them bless.5008
My son, God of his endëless goodnéss
Wallëd a tongue with teeth, and lippës eke,
For5009 man should him advisë,5010 what he speak.
My son, full often for too muchë speech
Hath many a man been spilt,5011 as clerkës teach;
But for a little speech advisedly
Is no man shent,5012 to speak generally.
My son, thy tonguë shouldest thou restrain
At allë time, but5013 when thou dost thy pain5014
To speak of God in honour and prayére.
The firstë virtue, son, if thou wilt lear,5015
Is to restrain and keepë well thy tongue;5016
Thus learnë children, when that they be young.
My son, of muchë speaking evil advis’d,
Where lessë speaking had enough suffic’d,
Cometh much harm; thus was me told and taught;
In muchë speechë sinnë wanteth nót.
Wost5017 thou whereof a rakel5018 tonguë serveth?
Right as a sword forcutteth and forcarveth
An arm in two, my dearë son, right so
A tonguë cutteth friendship all in two.
A jangler5019 is to God abomináble.
Read Solomon, so wise and honouráble;
Read David in his Psalms, and read Senec’.
My son, speak not, but with thine head thou beck,5020
Dissimule as thou wert5021 deaf, if that thou hear
A jangler speak of perilous mattére.
The Fleming saith, and learn if that thee lest,5022
That little jangling causeth muchë rest.
My son, if thou no wicked word hast said,
Thee thar not dreadë5023 for to be bewray’d;
But he that hath missaid, I dare well sayn,
He may by no way call his word again.
Thing that is said is said, and forth it go’th,5024
Though him repent, or be he ne’er so loth;
He is his thrall,5025 to whom that he hath said
A tale, of which he is now evil apaid.5026
My son, beware, and be no author new
Of tidings, whether they be false or true;5027
Whereso thou come, amongës high or low,
Keep well thy tongue, and think upon the crow.”