The Canterbury Tales

"This Carpenter had wedded newe a wyf Which that he lovede more than his lyf."

"Jalous he was, and heeld hir narwe in cage, For she was wilde and yong, and he was old."

"Men sholde wedden after hir estaat, For youthe and elde is often at debaat."

"A barmclooth eek as whyt as morne milk Up-on hir lendes."

"Whyt was hir smok, and brouded al bifore And eek bihinde, on hir coler aboute, Of col-blak silk, with-inne and eek with-oute."

"Ful smale y-pulled were hir browes two, And tho were bent, and blake as any sloo."

"She was ful more blisful on to see Than is the newe pere-jonette tree."

"She was a prymerole, a pigges-nye For any lord to leggen in his bedde, Or yet for any good yeman to wedde."

"And prively he caughte hir by the queynte."

"She was so propre and swete and likerous. I dar wel seyn, if she had been a mous, And he a cat, he wolde hir hente anon."

"And wafres, pyping hote out of the glede."

"Ful sooth is this proverbe, it is no lye, Men seyn right thus, ‘alwey the nye slye Maketh the ferre leve to be looth.’"

"And so bifel it on a Saterday, This carpenter was goon til Osenay; And hende Nicholas and Alisoun Acorded been to this conclusioun, That Nicholas shal shapen him a wyle This sely jalous housbond to bigyle."

"Jesu Crist, and Seynt Benedight, Blesse this hous from every wikked wight."

"And broghte of mighty ale a large quart."

"‘Now John,’ quod Nicholas, ‘I wol nat lye; I have y-founde in myn astrologye, As I have loked in the mone bright, That now, a Monday next, at quarter-night, Shal falle a reyn and that so wilde and wood, That half so greet was never Noës flood.’"

"Lo! which a greet thyng is affeccioun! Men may dye of imaginacioun, So depe may impressioun be take."

"Whan that the firste cok hath crowe, anon Up rist this joly lover Absolon, And him arrayeth gay, at point-devys. But first he cheweth greyn and lycorys, To smellen swete, er he had kembd his heer."

"I have swich love-longinge, That lyk a turtel trewe is my moorninge; I may nat ete na more than a mayde."

"Derk was the night as pich, or as the cole, And at the window out she putte hir hole, And Absolon, him fil no bet ne wers, But with his mouth he kiste hir naked ers Ful savourly, er he was war of this. Abak he sterte, and thoghte it was amis, For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd; He felte a thing al rough and long y-herd, And seyde, ‘fy! allas! what have I do?’ ‘Tehee!’ quod she, and clapte the window to; And Absolon goth forth a sory pas. ‘A berd, a berd!’ quod hende Nicholas, ‘By goddes corpus, this goth faire and weel!’"

"This Absolon ne roghte nat a bene."

"This Nicholas was risen for to pisse, And thoghte he wolde amenden al the jape, He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape. And up the windowe dide he hastily, And out his ers he putteth prively Over the buttok, to the haunche-bon; And ther-with spak this clerk, this Absolon, ‘Spek, swete brid, I noot nat wher thou art.’ This Nicholas anon leet flee a fart, As greet as it had been a thonder-dent, That with the strook he was almost y-blent; And he was redy with his iren hoot, And Nicholas amidde the ers he smoot."

"Yet in our asshen olde is fyr y-reke."

"The gretteste clerkes been noght the wysest men."

"Thurgh thikke and thurgh thenne."

"Ye conne by argumentes make a place A myle brood of twenty foot of space."

"So was hir joly whistle wel y-wet."

"He wiste it was the eightetethe day Of April, that is messager to May."

"Maugree thyn heed, thou most for indigence Or stele, or begge, or borwe thy despence!"

"At Cristemasse merie may ye daunce!"

"She is mirour of alle curteisye."

"For in the sterres, clerer than is glas, Is writen, god wot, who-so coude it rede, The deeth of every man, withouten drede."

"Sathan, that ever us waiteth to bigyle."

"Have ye nat seyn som tyme a pale face, Among a prees, of him that hath be lad Toward his deeth, wher-as him gat no grace, And swich a colour in his face hath had, Men mighte knowe his face, that was bistad, Amonges alle the faces in that route."

"Thou lokest as thou woldest finde an hare, For ever up-on the ground I see thee stare."

"He hadde a semely nose."

"This may wel be rym dogerel."

"‘By god,’ quod he, ‘for pleynly, at a word, Thy drasty ryming is nat worth a tord."

"Whan our Lord hadde creat Adam our forme-fader, he seyde in this wyse: “it is nat good to been a man allone; make we to him an help semblable to himself.”"

"What is bettre than gold? Jaspre. What is bettre than jaspre? Wisdom. And what is bettre than wisdom? Womman. And what is bettre than a good womman? No-thing."

"Wel seyn they, that defenden every wight to assaye any thing of which he is in doute, whether he may parfourne it or no."

"Tullius seith: that “long apparailling biforn the bataille maketh short victorie.”"

"The Book of Decrees seith: “selden or with greet peyne been causes y-broght to good ende whanne they been baddely bigonne.”"

"For right as men seyn, that “over-greet homlinesse engendreth dispreysinge.”"

"Your tale anoyeth al this companye; Swich talking is nat worth a boterflye."

"A povre widwe, somdel stope in age, Was whylom dwelling in a narwe cotage, Bisyde a grove, stonding in a dale."

"She hadde a cok, hight Chauntecleer, In al the land of crowing nas his peer. His vois was merier than the mery orgon On messe-dayes that in the chirche gon; Wel sikerer was his crowing in his logge, Than is a clokke, or an abbey orlogge."

"His comb was redder than the fyn coral, And batailed, as it were a castel-wal. His bile was blak, and as the jeet it shoon; Lyk asur were his legges, and his toon; His nayles whytter than the lilie flour, And lyk the burned gold was his colour. This gentil cok hadde in his governaunce Sevene hennes, for to doon al his plesaunce, Whiche were his sustres and his paramours, And wonder lyk to him, as of colours. Of whiche the faireste hewed on hir throte Was cleped faire damoysele Pertelote."

"We alle desyren, if it mighte be, To han housbondes hardy, wyse, and free, And secree, and no nigard, ne no fool, Ne him that is agast of every tool, Ne noon avauntour, by that god above!"

"Thus with hir fader, for a certeyn space, Dwelleth this flour of wyfly pacience, That neither by hir wordes ne hir face Biforn the folk, ne eek in hir absence, Ne shewed she that hir was doon offence."