Greet cheere made oure host us everichon, And to the souper sette he us anon;
And servede us with vitaille atte beste.
Strong was the wyn, and wel to drynke us leste.
A semely man oure hoost he was withalle
For to han been a marschal in an halle;
A large man he was with eyghen stepe,
A fairere burgeys was ther noon in Chepe:
Bold of his speche, and wys and wel i-taught,
And of manhede him lakkede right naught.
Eek therto he was right a mery man,
And after soper playen he bygan,
And spak of myrthe amonges othre thinges,
Whan that we hadde maad our rekenynges;
And sayde thus: 'Lo, lordynges, trewely
Ye ben to me right welcome hertely:
For by my trouthe, if that I schal not lye,
I ne saugh this yeer so mery a companye
At oones in this herbergh as is now.
Fayn wolde I don yow mirthe, wiste I how.
And of a mirthe I am right now bythought,
To doon you eese, and it schal coste nought.
Ye goon to Caunturbury; God you speede,
The blisful martir quyte you youre meede!
And wel I woot, as ye gon by the weye,
Ye schapen yow to talen and to pleye;
For trewely comfort ne mirthe is noon:
To ryde by the weye domb as a stoon;
And therfore wol I maken you disport,
As I seyde erst, and do you som confort.
And if yow liketh alle by oon assent
Now for to standen at my juggement;
And for to werken as I schal you seye,
To morwe, whan ye riden by the weye,
Now by my fadres soule that is deed,
But ye be merye, smyteth of myn heed.
Hold up youre hond withoute more speche.
Oure counseil was not longe for to seche;
Us thoughte it nas nat worth to make it wys,
And grauntede him withoute more avys,
And bad him seie his verdite, as him leste.
'Lordynges,' quoth he, 'now herkneth for the beste;
But taketh it not, I praye you, in disdayn;
This is the poynt, to speken schort and playn,
That ech of yow to schorte with youre weie,
In this viage, schal telle tales tweye,
To Caunturburi-ward, I mene it so,
And hom-ward he schal tellen othere tuo,
Of aventures that whilom han bifalle.
And which of yow that bereth him best of alle,
That is to seyn, that telleth in this caas
Tales of best sentence and most solas,
Schal han a soper at youre alther cost
Here in this place sittynge by this post,
Whan that we come ageyn from Canturbury.
And for to maken you the more mery,
I wol myselven gladly with you ryde,
Right at myn owen cost, and be youre gyde.
And whoso wole my juggement withseie
Schal paye al that we spenden by the weye.
And if ye vouchesauf that it be so,
Telle me anoon, withouten wordes moo,
And I wole erely schape me therfore.'
This thing was graunted, and oure othes swore
With ful glad herte, and prayden him also
That he wolde vouchesauf for to doon so,
And that he wolde ben oure governour,
And of oure tales jugge and reportour,
And sette a souper at a certeyn prys;
And we wolde rewled be at his devys,
In heygh and lowe; and thus by oon assent
We been acorded to his juggement.
And therupon the wyn was fet anoon;
We dronken, and to reste wente echoon,
Withouten eny lengere taryinge.
A morwe whan the day bigan to sprynge,
Up roos oure host, and was oure alther cok,
And gadrede us togidre alle in a flok,
And forth we riden a litel more than paas,
Unto the waterynge of seint Thomas.
And there oure host bigan his hors areste,
And seyde; 'Lordes, herkeneth if yow leste.
Ye woote youre forward, and I it you recorde.
If even-song and morwe-song accorde,
Lat se now who schal telle first a tale.
As evere I moot drinke wyn or ale,
Whoso be rebel to my juggement
Schal paye for al that by the weye is spent.
Now draweth cut, er that we forther twynne;
Which that hath the schorteste schal bygynne.'
'Sire knight,' quoth he, my maister and my lord,
Now draweth cut, for that is myn acord.
Cometh ner,' quoth he, my lady prioresse;
And ye, sir clerk, lat be youre schamfastnesse,
Ne studieth nat; ley hand to, every man.'
Anon to drawen every wight bigan,
And schortly for to tellen as it was,
Were it by aventure, or sort, or cas,
The soth is this, the cut fil to the knight,
Of which ful blithe and glad was every wight;
And telle he moste his tale as was resoun,
By forward and by composicioun,
As ye han herd; what needeth wordes moo ?
And whan this goode man seigh that it was so,
As he that wys was and obedient
To kepe his forward by his fre assent,
He seyde: Syn I schal bygynne the game,
What, welcome be thou cut, a Goddes name!
Now lat us ryde, and herkneth what I seye.
And with that word we riden forth oure weye;
And he bigan with right a merie chere
His tale anon, and seide in this manere.
WHILOM, as olde stories tellen us,
Ther was a duk that highte Theseus;
Of Athenes he was lord and governour,
And in his tyme swich a conquerour,
That grettere was ther non under the sonne.
Ful many a riche contré hadde he wonne;
That with his wisdam and his chivalrie
He conquerede al the regne of Femynye,
That whilom was i-cleped Cithea;
And weddede he the queen Ipolita,
And broughte hire hoom with him in his contré
With moche glorie and gret solempnité,
And eek hire yonge suster Emelye.
And thus with victorie and with melodye
Lete I this noble duk to Athenes ryde,
And al his host, in armes him biside.
And certes, if it nere to longe to heere,
I wolde han told yow fully the manere,
How wonnen was the regne of Femenye
By Theseus, and by his chivalrye ;
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