The Canterbury Tales: General Prologue-Lines 1-18 (with pronunciation guide below each line)
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
Whan that Ah-preel with his shura soe-tah
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
The droot of March hath pear-sid to the roe-tah
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
And bah-thed every vine in switch li-coor
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Of which virtue en-gin-drid is the fleur;
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Whan ze-fure-es ache with his sway-ta breath
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
And spirit hath in evry holt and hayth
The tender Croppes, and the yonge sonne
The tendra crah-pez, and the youn-ga sun-ah
Hath in the Ram his half cour yronne,
Hath in the Rahm his hahl-va core ya-rown-ah
And smale foweles maken melody,
And smah-la foo-lahs mockin mellow dee-a
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
That slep-en al the nit with open ee-ah
(So priketh hem Nature in hir corages),
(So prick-ith hem nah-tewer in air ca-rah-jez)
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
Than longen folk to goon on pill-grah-mah-jez
And palmers for to seken straunge strondes,
And pall-mer-uz for to saken strahn-ja strahn-dez,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sundry londes;
To fer-na hall-wez, koth in sun-dray lawn-dez;
And specially from every shires ende
And spesh-a-lee from every sheer-ahz end-a
Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,
Of Eeen-ga-lawnd to Cahn-ta-bree they wind-a,
The hooly blissful martir for to seke,
The ho-lee blissful mar-ta for to sake-a
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.
That him hath holp-en whan that they were sake-a.
General Context/Prologue to the Tales
At the Tabard Inn, a tavern in Southwark, near London, a narrator (named “Chaucer, but we should be
cautious about assuming it is Geoffrey) joins a company of twenty-nine pilgrims. The pilgrims, like the narrator,
are traveling to the shrine of the martyr Saint Thomas Becket in Canterbury. The narrator gives a descriptive
account of twenty-seven of these pilgrims, including a Knight, Squire, Yeoman, Prioress, Monk, Friar,
Merchant, Clerk, Man of Law, Franklin, Haberdasher, Carpenter, Weaver, Dyer, Tapestry-Weaver, Cook,
Shipman, Physician, Wife, Parson, Plowman, Miller, Manciple, Reeve, Summoner, Pardoner, and Host. (He
does not describe a Second Nun or the Nun’s Priest, although both characters appear later in the book.) The
Host, whose name, we find out in the Prologue to the Cook’s Tale, is Harry Bailey, suggests that the group ride
together and entertain one another with stories. He decides that each pilgrim will tell two stories on the way to
Canterbury and two on the way back. Whomever he judges to be the best storyteller will receive a meal at
Bailey’s tavern, courtesy of the other pilgrims. The pilgrims draw lots and determine that the Knight will tell the
first tale.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QE0MtENfOMU&feature=related
One Tale to Listen To: The Cook’s Prologue and Tale
The Cook particularly enjoys another tale in the collection, the Reeve’s Tale, and offers to tell another funny
tale. The tale concerns an apprentice named Perkyn who drinks and dances so much that he is called the
“Perkyn Reveler.” Finally, Perkyn’s master decides that he would rather his apprentice leave to revel than stay
home and corrupt the other servants. Perkyn arranges to stay with a friend who loves drinking and gambling,
and who has a wife who is a prostitute. The tale breaks off, unfinished, after fifty-eight lines.
From The Canterbury Tales:
The Cook's Tale
lines 41-98: About an apprentice called Perkin Reveller
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A prentys whilom dwelled in oure citee,
And of a craft of vitailliers was hee.
Gaillard he was as goldfynch in the shawe,
Broun as a berye, a propre short felawe,
With lokkes blake, ykembd ful fetisly.
Dauncen he koude so wel and jolily
That he was cleped Perkyn Revelour.
He was as ful of love and paramour
As is the hyve ful of hony sweete:
Wel was the wenche with hym myghte meete.
At every bridale wolde he synge and hoppe;
He loved bet the taverne than the shoppe.
For whan ther any ridyng was in Chepe,
Out of the shoppe thider wolde he lepe Til that he hadde al the sighte yseyn,
And daunced wel, he wolde nat come ayeyn And gadered hym a meynee of his sort
To hoppe and synge and maken swich disport;
And ther they setten stevene for to meete
To pleyen at the dys in swich a streete.
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There lived a 'prentice, once, in our city,
And of the craft of victuallers was he;
Happy he was as goldfinch in the glade,
Brown as a berry, short, and thickly made,
With black hair that he combed right prettily.
He could dance well, and that so jollily,
That he was nicknamed Perkin Reveller.
He was as full of love, I may aver,
As is a beehive full of honey sweet;
Well for the wench that with him chanced to meet.
At every bridal would he sing and hop,
Loving the tavern better than the shop.
When there was any festival in Cheap,
Out of the shop and thither would he leap,
And, till the whole procession he had seen,
And danced his fill, he'd not return again.
He gathered many fellows of his sort
To dance and sing and make all kinds of sport.
And they would have appointments for to meet
And play at dice in such, or such, a street.
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For in the toune nas ther no prentys
That fairer koude caste a paire of dys
Than Perkyn koude, and therto he was free
Of his dispense, in place of pryvetee.
That fond his maister wel in his chaffare;
For often tyme he foond his box ful bare.
For sikerly a prentys revelour
That haunteth dys, riot, or paramour,
His maister shal it in his shoppe abye,
Al have he no part of the mynstralcye.
For thefte and riot, they been convertible
Al konne he pleye on gyterne or ribible.
Revel and trouthe, as in a lowe degree,
They been ful wrothe al day, as men may see.
This joly prentys with his maister bood,
Til he were ny out of his prentishood,
Al were he snybbed bothe erly and late,
And somtyme lad with revel to Newegate.
But atte laste his maister hym bithoghte,
Upon a day, whan he his papir soughte,
Of a proverbe that seith this same word,
'Wel bet is roten appul out of hoord
Than that it rotie al the remenaunt.'
So fareth it by a riotous servaunt;
It is ful lasse harm to lete hym pace,
Than he shende alle the servantz in the place
Therfore his maister yaf hym acquitance,
And bad hym go, with sorwe and with
meschance!
And thus this joly prentys hadde his leve.
Now lat hym riote al the nyghte or leve.
And for ther is no theef withoute a lowke,
That helpeth hym to wasten and to sowke
Of that he brybe kan or borwe may,
Anon he sente his bed and his array
Unto a compeer of his owene sort,
That lovede dys, and revel, and disport,
And hadde a wyf that heeld for contenance
A shoppe, and swyved for hir sustenance.
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For in the whole town was no apprentice
Who better knew the way to throw the dice
Than Perkin; and therefore he was right free
With money, when in chosen company.
His master found this out in business there;
For often-times he found the till was bare.
For certainly a revelling bond-boy
Who loves dice, wine, dancing, and girls of joy His master, in his shop, shall feel the effect,
Though no part have he in this said respect;
For theft and riot always comrades are,
And each alike he played on gay guitar.
Revels and truth, in one of low degree,
Do battle always, as all men may see.
This 'prentice shared his master's fair abode
Till he was nigh out of his 'prenticehood,
Though he was checked and scolded early and
late,
And sometimes led, for drinking, to Newgate;
But at the last his master did take thought,
Upon a day, when he his ledger sought,
On an old proverb wherein is found this word:
"Better take rotten apple from the hoard
Than let it lie to spoil the good ones there."
So with a drunken servant should it fare;
It is less ill to let him go, apace,
Than ruin all the others in the place.
Therefore he freed and cast him loose to go
His own road unto future care and woe;
And thus this jolly 'prentice had his leave.
Now let him riot all night long, or thieve.
But since there's never thief without a buck
To help him waste his money and to suck
All he can steal or borrow by the way,
At once he sent his bed and his array
To one he knew, a fellow of his sort,
Who loved the dice and revels and all sport,
And had a wife that kept, for countenance,
A shop, and whored to gain her sustenance.
(Chaucer did not finish this tale.)
There are two Tales in prose -- Tale of Meliboeus, and the Parson's long Sermon on Penitence.