To morwe, whan ye riden by the weye,
Now by my fader soule that is deed,
But ye be merye, I wol yeve yow myn heed.
Hold up youre hond withoute more speche.
Oure counseil was not longe for to seche;
Us thought 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 desdeyn;
This is the poynt, to speken schort and pleyn,
That ech of yow to schorte with oure weie,
In this viage, schal telle tales tweye,
To Caunterburi-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 oure alther cost
Here in this place sittynge by this post,
Whan that we come ageyn from Caunterbury.
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 ben 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 lenger 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, herkneth 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 moot I drinke wyn or ale,
Whoso be rebel to my juggement
Schal paye for al that by the weye
Now draweth cut, er that we ferrer twynne;
He 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 schamefastnesse,
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 gretter 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 Femenye,
That whilom was i-cleped Cithea;
And weddede he the queen Ipolita,
And broughte hire hoom with him in his contré
With mochel 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 long to heere,
I wolde han told yow fully the manere,
How wonnen was the regne of Femenye
By Theseus, and by his chivalrye;
And of the grete bataille for the nones
Bytwixen Athenes and the Amazones;
And how aseged was Ypolita,
The faire hardy quen of Cithea;
And of the feste that was at hire weddynge,
And of the tempest at hire hoom comynge;
But al that thing I mot as now forbere.
I have, God wot, a large feeld to ere,
And wayke ben the oxen in my plough,
The remenaunt of the tale is long inough;
I wol not lette eek non of al this rowte,
Lat every felawe telle his tale aboute,
And lat see now who schal the soper wynne,
And ther I lafte, I wol agayn begynne.
This duk, of whom I make mencioun,
Whan he was come almost unto the toun,
In al his wele and in his moste pryde,
He was war, as he caste his eyghe aside,
Wher that ther knelede in the hye weye
A companye of ladies, tweye and tweye,
Ech after other, clad in clothes blake;
But such a cry and such a woo they make,
That in this world nys creature lyvynge,
That herde such another weymentynge,
And of this cry they nolde nevere stenten,
Til they the reynes of his bridel henten.
'What folk ben ye that at myn hom comynge
Pertourben so my feste with cryinge?'
Quod Theseus, 'have ye so gret envye
Of myn honour, that thus compleyne and crie?
Or who hath yow misboden, or offended?
And telleth me if it may ben amended;
And why that ye ben clothed thus in blak?'
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