And rage he couthe as it were right a whelpe,
In love-dayes couthe he mochel helpe.
For ther he was not lik a cloysterer,
With thredbare cope as is a poure scoler,
But he was lik a maister or a pope.
Of double worstede was his semy-cope,
That rounded as a belle out of the presse.
Somwhat he lipsede, for his wantownesse,
To make his Englissch swete upon his tunge;
And in his harpyng, whan that he hadde sunge,
His eyghen twynkled in his heed aright,
As don the sterres in the frosty night.
This worthi lymytour was cleped Huberd.
A MARCHAUNT was ther with a forked berd,
In motteleye, and high on horse he sat,
Uppon his heed a Flaundrisch bevere hat;
His botes clapsed faire and fetysly.
His resons he spak ful solempnely,
Sownynge alway thencres of his wynnynge.
He wolde the see were kept for eny thinge
Betwixe Middelburgh and Orewelle.
Wel couthe he in eschaunge scheeldes selle.
This worthi man ful wel his wit bisette;
Ther wiste no wight that he was in dette,
So estatly was he of governaunce,
With his bargayns, and with his chevysaunce.
For sothe he was a worthi man withalle,
But soth to sayn, I not how men him calle.
A CLERK ther was of Oxenford also,
That unto logik hadde longe i-go.
As lene was his hors as is a rake,
And he was not right fat, I undertake;
But lokede holwe, and therto soberly.
Ful thredbare was his overeste courtepy,
For he hadde geten him yit no benefice,
And busily gan for the soules preye
Of hem that gaf him wherwith to scoleye.
Of studie took he most cure and most heede.
Not oo word spak he more than was neede,
And that was seid in forme and reverence
And schort and quyk, and ful of heye sentence.
Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche,
And gladly wold he lerne, and gladly teche.
That fro the tyme of Kyng William were falle.
Therto he couthe endite, and make a thing,
Ther couthe no wight pynche at his writyng;
And every statute couthe he pleyn by roote.
He rood but hoomly in a medlé coote,
Gird with a seynt of silk, with barres smale;
Of his array telle I no lenger tale.
A FRANKELEYN was in his compainye;
Whit was his berde, as is the dayesye.
Of his complexioun he was sangwyn.
Wel lovede he by the morwe a sop in wyn.
To lyven in delite was al his wone,
For he was Epicurus owne sone,
That heeld opynyoun that pleyn delyt
Was verraily felicité perfyt.
An houshaldere, and that a gret, was he;
Seynt Julian he was in his countré.
His breed, his ale, was alway after oon;
A bettre envyned man was nowher noon.
Withoute bake mete was nevere his hous,
Of flessch and fissch, and that so plenteuous,
Hit snewede in his hous of mete and drynke,
Of alle deyntees that men cowde thynke.
After the sondry sesouns of the yeer,
So chaungede he his mete and his soper.
Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in mewe,
And many a brem and many a luce in stewe.
Woo was his cook, but-if his sauce were
Poynaunt and scharp, and redy al his gere.
His table dormant in his halle alway
Stood redy covered al the longe day.
An HABERDASSHERE and a CARPENTER,
A WEBBE, a DEYERE, and a TAPICER,
And they were clothed alle in oo lyveré,
Of a solempne and a gret fraternité.
Ful fressh and newe here gere apiked was;
And to gon to vigilies al byfore,
And han a mantel riallyche i-bore.
A Cook thei hadde with hem for the nones,
To boylle chyknes with the mary bones,
And poudre-marchaunt tart, and galyngale.
Wel cowde he knowe a draughte of Londone ale.
He cowde roste, and sethe, and broille, and frie,
Maken mortreux, and wel bake a pye.
But gret harm was it, as it thoughte me,
That on his schyne a mormal hadde he,
For blankmanger that made he with the beste.
A SCHIPMAN was ther; wonyng fer by weste:
For ought I woot, he was of Dertemouthe.
He rood upon a rouncy, as he couthe,
In a gowne of faldyng to the kne.
A daggere hangyng on a laas hadde he
Aboute his nekke under his arm adoun.
The hoote somer hadde maad his hew al broun;
And certeinly he was a good felawe.
Ful many a draughte of wyn hadde he ydrawe
From Burdeux-ward, whil that the chapman sleep.
Of nyce conscience took he no keep.
If that he faughte, and hadde the heigher hand,
By water he sente hem hoom to every land.
But of his craft to rekne wel his tydes,
His stremes and his daungers him bisides,
His herbergh and his mone, his lodemenage,
Ther was non such from Hulle to Cartage.
Hardy he was, and wys to undertake;
With many a tempest hadde his berd ben schake.
He knew wel alle the havenes, as thei were,
From Gootlond to the cape of Fynystere,
And every cryke in Bretayne and in Spayne;
His barge y-cleped was the Maudelayne.
With us ther was a DOCTOUR of Phisik,
In al this world ne was ther non him lyk
To speke of phisik and of surgerye ;
For he was grounded in astronomye.
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