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nydus/The Canterbury TalesPublic

A group of pilgrims trade tales as they travel through medieval England.

Page 411 of 465
Table of Contents

The Tale

This cursed craft whoso will exercise, He shall no good have that him may suffice; For all the good he spendeth thereabout, He losë shall, thereof have I no doubt. Whoso that list to utter his follý, Let him come forth and learn to multiply: And every man that hath aught in his coffer, Let him appear, and wax a philosópher; Ascauncë that craft is so light to lear. Nay, nay, God wot, all be he monk or frere, Priest or canón, or any other wight; Though he sit at his book both day and night; In learning of this elvish nicë lore, All is in vain; and pardie muchë more, Is to learn a lew’d man this subtletý; Fie! speak not thereof, for it will not be. And conne he letterure, or conne he none, As in effect, he shall it find all one; For bothë two, by my salvatión, Concluden in multiplicatión Alikë well, when they have all y-do; This is to say, they failë bothë two. Yet forgot I to makë rehearsále Of waters corrosive, and of limáile, And of bodies’ mollificatión, And also of their induratión, Oilës, ablutions, metál fusíble, To tellen all, would passen any Bible That owhere is; wherefore, as for the best, Of all these namës now will I me rest; For, as I trow, I have you told enough To raise a fiend, all look he ne’er so rough.

Ah! nay, let be; the philosópher’s stone, Elixir call’d, we seekë fast each one; For had we him, then were we sicker enow; But unto God of heaven I make avow, For all our craft, when we have all y-do, And all our sleight, he will not come us to. He hath y-made us spendë muchë good, For sorrow of which almost we waxed wood, But that good hopë creeped in our heart, Supposing ever, though we sorë smart, To be relieved by him afterward. Such súpposing and hope is sharp and hard. I warn you well it is to seeken ever. That future temps hath madë men dissever, In trust thereof, from all that ever they had, Yet of that art they cannot waxë sad, For unto them it is a bitter sweet; So seemeth it; for had they but a sheet Which that they mightë wrap them in at night, And a bratt to walk in by dayëlight, They would them sell, and spend it on this craft; They cannot

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