Whilom there was dwelling in Oxenford A richë gnof, that guestës held to board, And of his craft he was a carpentér. With him there was dwelling a poor scholér, Had learned art, but all his fantasy Was turned for to learn astrology. He coudë a certain of conclusions To deemë by interrogations, If that men asked him in certain hours, When that men should have drought or ellës show’rs: Or if men asked him what shouldë fall Of everything, I may not reckon all.
This clerk was called Hendy Nicholas; Of dernë love he knew and of solace; And therewith he was sly and full privy, And like a maiden meekë for to see. A chamber had he in that hostelry Alone, withouten any company, Full fetisly y-dight with herbës swoot, And he himself was sweet as is the root Of liquorice, or any setewall. His Almagest, and bookës great and small, His astrolabe, belonging to his art, His augrim stonës, layed fair apart On shelvës couched at his beddë’s head, His press y-cover’d with a falding red. And all above there lay a gay psalt’ry On which he made at nightës melody, So sweetëly, that all the chamber rang: And Angelus ad virginem he sang. And after that he sung the kingë’s note; Full often blessed was his merry throat. And thus this sweetë clerk his timë spent After his friendës finding and his rent.
This carpenter had wedded new a wife, Which that he loved morë than his life: Of eighteen year, I guess, she was of age. Jealous he was, and held her narr’w in cage, For she was wild and young, and he was old, And deemed himself bélike a cuckóld. He knew not Cato, for his wit was rude, That bade a man wed his similitude. Men shouldë wedden after their estate, For youth and eld are often at debate. But since that he was fallen in the snare, He must endure (as other folk) his care.
Fair was this youngë wife, and therewithal As any weasel her body gent and small. A seint she weared, barred all of silk, A barm-cloth eke as