Fourteenth Century.

GEOFFRY CHAUCER.

Born about 1340. Died 1400.

THE SQUIER.

WITH him ther was his sone, a yonge Squier,

A lover, and a lusty bachelor.

With lockes crull as they were laide in presse.
Of twenty yere of age he was I gesse.

Of his stature he was of even lengthe,

And wonderly deliver, and grete of strengthe.
And he hadde be sometime in chevachie,
In Flaundres, in Artois, and in Picardie,
And borne him wel, as of so litel space,
In hope to stonden in his ladies grace.
Embrouded was he, as it were a mede
Alle ful of freshe floures, white and rede.
Singing he was, or floyting 3 all the day,
He was as freshe as is the monthe of May.
Short was his goune, with sleves long and wide,

Wel coude he sit on hors, and fayre ride.

He coude songes make, and wel endite,

Just and eke dance, and wel pourtraie and write.

So hote he loved, that by nightertale

He slep no more than doth the nightingale.

Curteis he was, lowly, and servisable,

And carf before his fader at the table.

Prologue of Canterbury Tales.

' curled.

2 agile.
3 fluting.
5 carved,

* night time,

THE PERSONE.

A GOOD man ther was of religioun,
That was a poure Persone1 of a town;
But rich he was of holy thought and werk,
He also was a lerned man, and a clerk,
That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche.
His parishens devoutly wolde he teche.
Benigne he was, and wonder diligent,
And in adversitie ful patient :

And such he was i-proved often sithes."
Ful loth wer him to cursen for his tithes,
But rathere wolde he yeven, out of doute,
Unto his poure parishens aboute,

Of his offring, and eke of his substance.
He coude in litel thing have suffisance.
Wide was his parish, and houses fer asonder,
But he ne left nought for no rain ne thunder,
In sicknesse and in mischief to visite
The ferrest in his parish, moche and lite,"
Upon his fete, and in his hand a staf.
This noble ensample to his shepe he yaf,
That first he wrought, and afterward he taught.
Out of the gospel he the wordes caught,
And this figure he added yet therto,
That if gold ruste, what shuld iren do?
For if a preest be foule, on whom we truste,
No wonder is a lewed man to ruste:
And shame it is if that a preest take kepe,
To see a shitten shepherd, and clene shepe :
Wel ought a preest ensample for to yeve,
By his clene nesse, how his shepe shulde live.
He sette not his benifice to hire,

And lette his shepe accombred in the mire,
And ran unto London, unto Seint Poules,

To seken him a chanterie for soules, 4

Or with a brotherhede to be withold.
But dwelt at home, and kepte well his fold,
So that the wolf ne made it not miscarie.
He was a shepherd, and no mercenarie.

1 parson.

3 high and low,

2 oft-times.
An endowment for saying masses.

And though he holy were, and virtuous,
He was to sinful men not dispitous,
Ne in his speche dangerous ne digne,1
But in his teching descrete and benigne.
To drawen folk to heven, with fairenesse,
By good ensample was his bisinesse :
But it were any person obstinat,

What so he were of highe, or low estat,

Him wolde he snibben sharply for the nones.'

A better preest I trowe that nowher non is,
He waited after no pompe ne reverence,
He maked him no spiced 3 conscience,
But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve,
He taught, but first he folwed it himselve.

CONSTANCE AND HER CHILD.

WEPEN both yong and old in al that place,
When that the king this cursed lettre sent :
And Constance with a dedly pale face,
The fourthe day, toward the ship she wente :
But natheless she taketh in good entente.
The will of Crist, and kneeling on the strond,
She sayde, "Lord, ay welcome be thy sond 4!

"He that me kepte fro the false blame,
While I was in the lond amonges you,

He can me kepe fro harme and eke fro shame
In the salt see, although I se not how :
As strong as ever he was he is yet now;

In him trust I, and in his mother dere,
That is to me my sail and eke my stere." 5

Hire litel child lay weping in hire arm,

And, kneling, pitously to him she sayde,

66

'Pees, litel sone, I wol do thee no harme :'

With that hire couverchief of hire hed she braid,"

And over his litel eyen she it layde,

And in hire arme she lulleth it ful fast,

And into the heaven hire eyen up she cast.