The Franklin’s Prologue
The Prologe of the Frankeleyns Tale.
Thise olde gentil Britons in hir dayes
Of diverse aventures maden layes,
Rymeyed in hir firste Briton tonge;
Which layes with hir instruments they songe,
Or elles redden hem for hir plesaunce;
And oon of hem have I in remembraunce,
Which I shal seyn with good wil as I can.
But, sires, by-cause I am a burel man,
At my biginning first I yow biseche
Have me excused of my rude speche;
I lerned never rethoryk certeyn;
Thing that I speke, it moot be bare and pleyn.
I sleep never on the mount of Pernaso,
Ne lerned Marcus Tullius Cithero.
Colours ne knowe I none, with-outen drede,
But swiche colours as growen in the mede,
Or elles swiche as men dye or peynte.
Colours of rethoryk ben me to queynte;
My spirit feleth noght of swich matere.
But if yow list, my tale shul ye here.
The Prologue of the Franklin’s Tale.
These old genteel Bretons in their days
Of diverse adventures maden lays,
Rhymed in their first Breton tongue,
Which lays with their instruments they sung,
Or else readen ’em for their pleasance;
And one of ’em have I in remembrance,
Which I shall sayn with good will as I can.
But, sirs, by cause I am a borrel man,
At my beginning first I you beseech,
Have me excused of my rude speech;
I learned never rhetoric certain;
Thing that I speak, it must be bare and plain.
I sleep never on the Mount of Parnaso,
Ne learned Marcus Tullius Cicero.
Colours ne know I none, withouten dread,
But such colours that growen in the mead,
Or else such as men dye or paint.
Colours of rhetoric be to me quaint;
My spirit feeleth naught of such matter.
But if you list, my tale shall ye hear.
