Front Matter In the Listening Time Cattle Raid of Cooley Sorrows of Story-Telling A Literary Lie Story of Fingal Old Welsh Stories The Story of Arthur The Reading Time "The Passing of Arthur" Adventures of an English Book The Story of Beowulf The Father of English Song How Caedmon Sang The Father of English History Alfred the Great When English Slept Havelok the Dane About some Song Stories "Piers the Ploughman" "Piers the Ploughman" (cont) The Bible came to the People Chaucer—Bread and Milk Chaucer—"Canterbury Tales" Chaucer—Tabard Inn First English Guide-book Barbour—"The Bruce" "The Bruce" (cont) A Poet King The Death of the Poet King Dunbar—Thistle and Rose Sign of the Red Pale Beginning of the Theater How the Shepherd Watched The Story of Everyman How a Poet Comforted a Girl The Renaissance Land of Nowhere Death of Sir Thomas More The Sonnet Came to England Beginning of Blank Verse "Shepherd's Calendar" Spenser—"Faery Queen" Spenser—His Last Days About the First Theaters Shakespeare—The Boy Shakespeare—The Man "Merchant of Venice" Jonson—"Man in his Humor" Jonson—"The Sad Shepherd" Raleigh—"The Revenge" Raleigh—"History" Bacon—New Ways of Wisdom Bacon—The Happy Island About some Lyric Poets Herbert—Parson Poet Herrick and Marvell Milton—Sight and Growth Milton—Darkness and Death Bunyan—Pilgrim's Progress" Dryden—New Poetry Defoe—First Newspapers Defoe—"Robinson Crusoe" Swift—"Journal to Stella" Swift—"Gullivers Travels" Addison—"The Spectator" Steele—Soldier Author Pope—"Rape of the Lock" Johnson—Days of Struggle Johnson—End of Journey Goldsmith—The Vagabond "Vicar of Wakefield" Burns—The Ploughman Poet Cowper—"The Task" Wordsworth—Poet of Nature Wordsworth and Coleridge Coleridge and Southey Scott—Awakening of Romance Scott—"Wizard of the North" Byron—"Childe Harold" Shelley—Poet of Love Keats—Poet of Beauty Carlyle—Sage of Chelsea Thackeray—The Cynic? Dickens—Smiles and Tears Tennyson—Poet of Friendship

English Literature for Boys and Girls - H. E. Marshall

Chaucer—At the Tabard Inn

Chaucer begins his description of the people who were gathered at the Tabard Inn with the knight, who was the highest in rank among them.

"A knight there was, and that a worthy man,

. . . . . .

And though he was worthy he was wise,

And of his port as meek as any maid.

He never yet no villainy ne'er said

In all his life unto no manner wight;

He was a very perfect, gentle knight."

Yet he was no knight of romance or fairy tale, but a good honest English gentleman who had fought for his King. His coat was of fustian and was stained with rust from his armor, for he had just come back from fighting, and was still clad in his war-worn clothes. "His horse was good, but he ne was gay."

With the knight was his son, a young squire of twenty years. He was gay and handsome, with curling hair and comely face. His clothes were in the latest fashion, gayly embroidered. He sat his horse well and guided it with ease. He was merry and careless and clever too, for he could joust and dance, sing and play, read and write, and indeed do everything as a young squire should. Yet with it all "courteous he was, lowly and serviceable."

With these two came their servant, a yeoman, clad in hood of green, and carrying besides many other weapons a "mighty bow."

As was natural in a gathering such as this, monks and friars and their like figured largely. There was a monk, a worldly man, fond of dress, fond of hunting, fond of a good dinner; and a friar even more worldly and pleasure-loving. There was a pardoner, a man who sold pardons to those who had done wrong, and a sumpnour or summoner, who was so ugly and vile that children were afraid of him. A summoner was a person who went to summon or call people to appear before the Church courts when they had done wrong. He was a much-hated person, and both he and the pardoner were great rogues and cheats and had no love for each other. There was also a poor parson.

All these, except the poor parson, Chaucer holds up to scorn because he had met many such in real life who, under the pretense of religion, lived bad lives. But that it was not the Church that he scorned or any who were truly good he shows by his picture of the poor parson. He was poor in worldly goods:—

"But rich he was in holy thought and work,

He was also a learned man, a clerk

That Christ's gospel truly would preach,

His parishioners devoutly would he teach;

Benign he was and wonder diligent,

And in adversity full patient.

. . . . . .

Wide was his parish, and houses far asunder,

But he left naught for rain nor thunder

In sickness nor in mischief to visit

The farthest of his parish, great or lite

Upon his feet, and in his hand a staff.

The noble ensample to his sheep he gave,

That first he wrought, and afterward he taught."

There was no better parson anywhere. He taught his people to walk in Christ's way. But first he followed it himself.

Chaucer gives this good man a brother who is a plowman.

"A true worker and a good was he,

Living in peace and perfect charity."

He could dig, and he could thresh, and everything to which he put his hand he did with a will.

Besides all the other religious folk there were a prioress and a nun. In those days the convents were the only schools for fine ladies, and the prioress perhaps spent her days teaching them. Chaucer makes her very prim and precise.

"At meat well taught was she withal,

She let no morsel from her lips fall,

Nor wet her fingers in her sauce deep.

Well could she carry a morsel, and well keep

That no drop might fall upon her breast.

In courtesy was set full mickle her lest.

Her over lip wiped she so clean,

That in her cup there was no morsel seen

Of grease, when she drunken had her draught."

And she was so tender hearted! She would cry if she saw a mouse caught in a trap, and she fed her little dog on the best of everything. In her dress she was very dainty and particular. And yet with all her fine ways we feel that she was no true lady, and that ever so gently Chaucer is making fun of her.

Besides the prioress and the nun there was only one other woman in the company. This was the vulgar, bouncing Wife of Bath. She dressed in rich and gaudy clothes, she liked to go about to see and be seen and have a good time. She had been married five times, and though she was getting old and rather deaf, she was quite ready to marry again, if the husband she had should die before her.

Chaucer describes nearly every one in the company, and last of all he pictures for us the host of the Tabard Inn.

"A seemly man our host was withal

For to have been a marshal in a hall.

A large man he was with eyen stepe,

A fairer burgesse was there none in Chepe,

Bold was his speech, and wise and well y-taught,

And of manhood him lacked right naught,

Eke thereto he was right a merry man."

The host's name was Harry Baily, a big man and jolly fellow who dearly loved a joke. After supper was over he spoke to all the company gathered there. He told them how glad he was to see them, and that he had not had so merry a company that year. Then he told them that he had thought of something to amuse them on the long way to Canterbury. It was this:—

"That each of you to shorten of your way

In this voyage shall tell tales tway—

To Canterbury-ward I mean it so,

And homeward ye shall tellen other two;—

Of adventures which whilom have befallen.

And which of you the beareth you best of all,

That is to say, that telleth in this case

Tales of best sentence, and most solace,

Shall have a supper at all our cost,

Here in this place, sitting at this post,

When that we come again fro Canterbury.

And for to make you the more merry

I will myself gladly with you ride,

Right at mine own cost, and be your guide."

To this every one willingly agreed, and next morning they waked very early and set off. And having ridden a little way they cast lots as to who should tell the first tale. The lot fell upon the knight, who accordingly began.

All that I have told you so far forms the first part of the book and is called the prologue, which means really "before word" or explanation. It is perhaps the most interesting part of the book, for it is entirely Chaucer's own and it is truly English.

It is said that Chaucer borrowed the form of his famous tales from a book called The Decameron, written by an Italian poet named Boccaccio. Decameron comes from two Greek words deka, ten, and hemera, a day, the book being so called because the stories in it were supposed to be told in ten days. During a time of plague in Florence seven ladies and three gentlemen fled and took refuge in a house surrounded by a garden far from the town. There they remained for ten days, and to amuse themselves each told a tale every day, so that there are a hundred tales in all in The Decameron.

It is very likely that in one of his journeys to Italy Chaucer saw this book. Perhaps he even met Boccaccio, and it is more than likely that he met Petrarch, another great Italian poet who also retold one of the tales of The Decameron. Several of the tales which Chaucer makes his people tell are founded on these tales. Indeed, nearly all his poems are founded on old French, Italian, or Latin tales. But although Chaucer takes his material from others, he tells the stories in his own way, and so makes them his own; and he never wrote anything more truly English in spirit than the prologue to the Canterbury Tales.

Some of these stories you will like to read, but others are too coarse and rude to give you any pleasure. Even the roughness of these tales, however, helps us to picture the England of those far-off days. We see from them how hard and rough the life must have been when people found humor and fun in jokes in which we can feel only disgust.

But even in Chaucer's day there were those who found such stories coarse. "Precious fold," Chaucer calls them. He himself perhaps did not care for them, indeed he explains in the tales why he tells them. Here is a company of common, everyday people, he said, and if I am to make you see these people, if they are to be living and real to you, I must make them act and speak as such common people would act and speak. They are churls, and they must speak like churls and not like fine folk, and if you don't like the tale, turn over the leaf and choose another.

"What should I more say but this miller

He would his words for no man forbear,

But told his churls tale in his manner.

Me thinketh that I shall rehearse it here;

And therefore every gently wight I pray,

For Goddes love deem not that I say

Of evil intent, but for I might rehearse

Their tales all, be they better or worse,

Or else falsen some of my matter:

And therefore, who so listeth it not to hear,

Turn over the leaf and choose another tale;

For he shall find enow, both great and small,

In storial thing that toucheth gentlesse,

And eke morality and holiness,—

Blame not me if that ye choose amiss.

This miller is a churl ye know well,

So was the Reeve, and many more,

And wickedness they tolden both two.

Advise you, put me out of blame;

And eke men shall not make earnest of game."

If Chaucer had written all the tales that he meant to write, there would have been one hundred and twenty-four in all. But the poet died long before his work was done, and as it is there are only twenty-four. Two of these are not finished; one, indeed, is only begun. Thus, you see, many of the pilgrims tell no story at all, and we do not know who got the prize, nor do we hear anything of the grand supper at the end of the journey.

Chaucer is the first of our poets who had a perfect sense of sound. He delights us not only with his stories, but with the beauty of the words he uses. We lose a great deal of that beauty when his poetry is put into modern English, as are all the quotations which I have given you. It is only when we can read the poems in the quaint English of Chaucer's time that we can see truly how fine it is. So, although you may begin to love Chaucer now, you must look forward to a time when you will be able to read his stories as he wrote them. Then you will love them much more.

Chaucer wrote many other books beside the Canterbury Tales, although not so many as was at one time thought. But the Canterbury Tales are the most famous, and I will not trouble you with the names even of the others. But when the grown-up time comes, I hope that you will want to read some of his other books as well as the Canterbury Tales.

And now, just to end this long chapter, I will give you a little poem by Chaucer, written as he wrote it, with modern English words underneath so that you may see the difference.

This poem was written when Chaucer was very poor. It was sent to King Henry IV, who had just taken the throne from Richard II. Henry's answer was a pension of twenty marks, so that once more Chaucer lived in comfort. He died, however, a year later.


To yow my purse, and to noon other wight

To you my purse, and to no other wight

Complayne I, for ye by my lady dere;

Complain I, for ye be my lady dear;

I am so sorry now that ye been lyght,

I am so sorry now that ye be light,

For certes, but yf ye make me hevy chere

For certainly, but if ye make me heavy cheer

Me were as leef be layde upon my bere;

I would as soon be laid upon my bier;

For which unto your mercy thus I crye,

For which unto your mercy thus I cry,

Beeth hevy ageyne, or elles mote I dye.

Be heavy again, or else must I die.

Now voucheth-sauf this day or hyt by nyght

Now vouchsafe this day before it be night

That I of you the blisful sovne may here,

That I of you the blissful sound may hear,

Or see your colour lyke the sonne bryght,

Or see your colour like the sun bright,

That of yelownesse hadde neuer pere.

That of yellowness had never peer.

Ye be my lyfe, ye be myn hertys stere,

Ye be my life, ye be my heart's guide,

Quene of comfort, and of good companye,

Queen of comfort, and of good company,

Beth heuy ageyne, or elles moote I dye.

Be heavy again, or else must I die.

Now purse that ben to me my lyves lyght

Now purse that art to me my life's light

And saveour as down in this worlde here,

And saviour as down in this world here,

Oute of this tovne helpe me thrugh your myght,

Out of this town help me through your might,

Syn that ye wole nat bene my tresorere,

Since that ye will not be my treasurer,

For I am shave as nye as is a ffrere;

For I am shaven as close as is a friar;

But yet I pray vnto your curtesye,

But yet I pray unto your courtesy,

Bethe hevy agen or elles moote I dye.

Be heavy again or else must I die.


O conquerour of Brutes albyon,

O conqueror of Brutus' Albion

Whiche that by lygne and free leccion

Who that by line and free election

Been verray kynge, this song to yow I sende;

Art very king, this song to you I send;

And ye that mowen alle myn harme amende,

And ye that art able all my harm amend,

Haue mynde vpon my supplicacion.

Have mind upon my supplication.

In reading this you must sound the final "e" in each word except when the next word begins with an "h" or with another vowel. You will then find it read easily and smoothly.


Stories from Chaucer (prose), by J. H. Kelman.

Tales from Chaucer (prose), by C. L. Thomson.

Prologue to the Canterbury Tales and Minor Poems (poetry), done into Modern English by W. W. Skeat.

Canterbury Tales (poetry), edited by A. W. Pollard (in Chaucer's English, suitable only for grown-up readers).

NOTE.— As there are so many books now published containing stories from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, I feel it unnecessary to give any here in outline.