The Monk's Tale

Geoffrey Chaucer 1343 (London) – 1400 (London)



WHEN ended was my tale of Melibee,
And of Prudence and her benignity,
Our Hoste said, 'As I am faithful man,
And by the precious corpus Madrian,
I had lever* than a barrel of ale,                          *rather
That goode lefe* my wife had heard this tale;                 *dear
For she is no thing of such patience
As was this Meliboeus' wife Prudence.
By Godde's bones! when I beat my knaves
She bringeth me the greate clubbed staves,
And crieth, 'Slay the dogges every one,
And break of them both back and ev'ry bone.'
And if that any neighebour of mine
Will not in church unto my wife incline,
Or be so hardy to her to trespace,*                         *offend
When she comes home she rampeth* in my face,               *springs
And crieth, 'False coward, wreak* thy wife                  *avenge
By corpus Domini, I will have thy knife,
And thou shalt have my distaff, and go spin.'
From day till night right thus she will begin.
'Alas! ' she saith, 'that ever I was shape*               *destined
To wed a milksop, or a coward ape,
That will be overlad* with every wight!                 *imposed on
Thou darest not stand by thy wife's right.'

'This is my life, *but if* that I will fight;               *unless
And out at door anon I must me dight,*               *betake myself
Or elles I am lost, but if that I
Be, like a wilde lion, fool-hardy.
I wot well she will do* me slay some day                      *make
Some neighebour and thenne *go my way; *            *take to flight*
For I am perilous with knife in hand,
Albeit that I dare not her withstand;
For she is big in armes, by my faith!
That shall he find, that her misdoth or saith.  
But let us pass away from this mattere.
My lord the Monk,' quoth he, 'be merry of cheer,
For ye shall tell a tale truely.
Lo, Rochester stands here faste by.
Ride forth, mine owen lord, break not our game.
But by my troth I cannot tell your name;
Whether shall I call you my lord Dan John,
Or Dan Thomas, or elles Dan Albon?
Of what house be ye, by your father's kin?
I vow to God, thou hast a full fair skin;
It is a gentle pasture where thou go'st;
Thou art not like a penant* or a ghost.                   *penitent
Upon my faith thou art some officer,
Some worthy sexton, or some cellarer.
For by my father's soul, *as to my dome,*         *in my judgement*
Thou art a master when thou art at home;
No poore cloisterer, nor no novice,
But a governor, both wily and wise,
And therewithal, of brawnes* and of bones,                  *sinews
A right well-faring person for the nonce.
I pray to God give him confusion
That first thee brought into religion.
Thou would'st have been a treade-fowl* aright;                *cock
Hadst thou as greate leave, as thou hast might,
To perform all thy lust in engendrure,*         *generation, begettting
Thou hadst begotten many a creature.
Alas! why wearest thou so wide a cope?  
God give me sorrow, but, an* I were pope,                       *if
Not only thou, but every mighty man,
Though he were shorn full high upon his pan,*             *crown
Should have a wife; for all this world is lorn; *        *undone, ruined
Religion hath ta'en up all the corn
Of treading, and we borel* men be shrimps:                     *lay
Of feeble trees there come wretched imps.*              *shoots  
This maketh that our heires be so slender
And feeble, that they may not well engender.
This maketh that our wives will assay
Religious folk, for they may better pay
Of Venus' payementes than may we:
God wot, no lusheburghes  paye ye.
But be not wroth, my lord, though that I play;
Full oft in game a sooth have I heard say.'

This worthy Monk took all in patience,
And said, 'I will do all my diligence,
As far as *souneth unto honesty,*        *agrees with good manners*
To telle you a tale, or two or three.
And if you list to hearken hitherward,
I will you say the life of Saint Edward;
Or elles first tragedies I will tell,
Of which I have an hundred in my cell.
Tragedy *is to say* a certain story,                        *means*
As olde bookes maken us memory,
Of him that stood in great prosperity,
And is y-fallen out of high degree
In misery, and endeth wretchedly.
And they be versified commonly
Of six feet, which men call hexametron;
In prose eke* be indited many a one,                          *also
And eke in metre, in many a sundry wise.
Lo, this declaring ought enough suffice.
Now hearken, if ye like for to hear. <
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on April 06, 2023

3:56 min read
189

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABCCDEFFGGHXIIBXXXJJBXKB XXXBLBBBMMDENAOOKCJJBBDDBXXPFXHHXBLDXXCXBXNXDDQRQQNR FFXQBBNNXQBQNNCXPXX
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 4,424
Words 785
Stanzas 3
Stanza Lengths 24, 52, 19

Geoffrey Chaucer

Geoffrey Chaucer, known as the Father of English literature, is widely considered the greatest English poet of the Middle Ages and was the first poet to have been buried in Poet's Corner of Westminster Abbey. more…

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