The Prologue

“No more of this, for Goddë’s dignity!” Quoth ourë Hostë; “for thou makest me So weary of thy very lewëdness, That, all so wisly God my soulë bless, Mine earës achë for thy drafty speech. Now such a rhyme the devil I beteche: This may well be rhyme doggerel,” quoth he. “Why so?” quoth I; “why wilt thou lettë me More of my tale than any other man, Since that it is the best rhyme that I can?” “By God!” quoth he, “for, plainly at one word, Thy drafty rhyming is not worth a tord: Thou dost naught ellës but dispendest time. Sir, at one word, thou shalt no longer rhyme. Let see whe’er thou canst tellen aught in gest, Or tell in prosë somewhat, at the least, In which there be some mirth or some doctríne.” “Gladly,” quoth I, “by Goddë’s sweetë pine, I will you tell a little thing in prose, That oughtë likë you, as I suppose, Or else certés ye be too dangerous. It is a moral talë virtuous, All be it told sometimes in sundry wise By sundry folk, as I shall you devise. As thus, ye wot that ev’ry Evangelist, That telleth us the pain of Jesus Christ, He saith not all thing as his fellow doth; But natheless their sentence is all soth, And all accorden as in their senténce, All be there in their telling differénce; For some of them say more, and some say less, When they his piteous passión express; I mean of Mark and Matthew, Luke and John; But doubtëless their sentence is all one. Therefore, lordingës all, I you beseech, If that ye think I vary in my speech, As thus, though that I tellë some deal more Of proverbës, than ye have heard before Comprehended in this little treatise here, T’ enforcë with the effect of my mattére, And though I not the same wordës say As ye have heard, yet to you all I pray Blame me not; for as in my senténce Shall ye nowhere findë no differénce From the senténce of thilkë treatise lite, After the which this merry tale I write. And therefore hearken to what I shall say, And let me tellen all my tale, I pray.”