The Prologue to Melibeus
Here the good Host stinteth Chaucer of his Tale of Thopas.
’No more of this, for goddes dignitee,’
Quod oure hoste, ‘for thou makest me
So wery of thy verray lewednesse
That, also wisly god my soule blesse,
Myn eres aken of thy drasty speche;
Now swiche a rym the devel I biteche!
This may wel be rym dogerel,’ quod he.
‘Why so?’ quod I, ‘why wiltow lette me
More of my tale than another man,
Sin that it is the beste rym I can?’
‘By god,’ quod he, ‘for pleynly, at a word,
Thy drasty ryming is nat worth a tord;
Thou doost nought elles but despendest tyme,
Sir, at o word, thou shall no lenger ryme.
Lat see wher thou canst tellen aught in geste,
Or telle in prose somwhat at the leste
In which ther be som mirthe or som doctryne.’
‘Gladly,’ quod I, ‘by goddes swete pyne,
I wol yow telle a litel thing in prose,
That oghte lyken yow, as I suppose,
Or elles, certes, ye been to daungerous.
It is a moral tale vertuous,
Al be it told som-tyme in sondry wyse
Of sondry folk, as I shal yow devyse.
As thus; ye woot that every evangelist,
That telleth us the peyne of Iesu Crist,
Ne saith nat al thing as his felaw dooth,
But natheles, hir sentence is al sooth,
And alle acorden as in hir sentence,
Al be ther in hir telling difference.
For somme of hem seyn more, and somme lesse,
Whan they his pitous passioun expresse;
I mene of Marke, Mathew, Luk and Iohn;
But doutelees hir sentence is al oon.
Therfor, lordinges alle, I yow biseche,
If that ye thinke I varie as in my speche,
As thus, thogh that I telle som-what more
Of proverbes, than ye han herd bifore,
Comprehended in this litel tretis here,
To enforce with the theffect of my matere,
And thogh I nat the same wordes seye
As ye han herd, yet to yow alle I preye,
Blameth me nat; for, as in my sentence,
Ye shul not fynden moche difference
Fro the sentence of this tretis lyte
After the which this mery tale I wryte.
And therfor herkneth what that I shal seye,
And lat me tellen al my tale, I preye.'
Explicit.
Here the good Host stinteth Chaucer of his Tale of Thopas.
“No more of this, for god’s dignity,”
Quoth our host, “for thou makest me
So weary of thy very lewdness
That, all so wisely god my soul bless,
Mine ears achen of thy drasty speech;
Now such a rhyme the devil I beseech!
This may well be rhyme doggerel,” quoth he.
“Why so?” quoth I, “why wilt thou let me
More of my tale than another man,
Since that it is the best rhyme I can?”
“By god,” quoth he, “for plainly, at a word,
Thy drasty rhyming is not worth a turd;
Thou doest nought else but dispendest time,
Sir, at one word, thou shalt no longer rhyme.
Let see where thou canst tellen aught in gest,
Or tell in prose somewhat at the least
In which there be some mirth or some doctrine.”
“Gladly,” quoth I, “by god’s sweet pine,
I will you tell a little thing in prose,
That ought liken you, as I suppose,
Or else, certes, ye been too dangerous.
It is a moral tale virtuous,
Albeit told sometime in sundry wise
Of sundry folk, as I shall you devise.
As thus; ye wot that every evangelist,
That telleth us the pain of Jesus Christ,
Ne saith not all thing as his fellow doeth,
But natheless, their sentence is all sooth,
And all accorden as in their sentence,
All be there in their telling difference.
For some of ’em sayn more, and some less,
When they his piteous passion express;
I mean of Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John;
But doubtless their sentence is all one.
Therefore, lordings all, I you beseech,
If that you think I vary as in my speech,
As thus, though that I tell somewhat more
Of proverbs, than ye have heard before,
Comprehended in this little treatise here,
To enforce with th’effect of my matter,
And though I not the same words say
As ye have heard, yet to you all I pray,
Blameth me not; for, as in my sentence,
Shall ye not finden much difference
From the sentence of this treatise lite
After the which this merry tale I write.
And therefore harkneth what that I shall say,
And let me tellen all my tale, I pray.”
Explicit.
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