The Merchant’s Prologue
The Prologe of the Marchantes Tale.
’Weping and wayling, care, and other sorwe
I know y-nogh, on even and a-morwe,’
Quod the Marchaunt, ‘and so don othere mo
That wedded been, I trowe that it be so.
For, wel I woot, it fareth so with me.
I have a wyf, the worste that may be;
For thogh the feend to hir y-coupled were,
She wolde him overmacche, I dar wel swere.
What sholde I yow reherce in special
Hir hye malice? she is a shrewe at al.
Ther is a long and large difference
Bitwix Grisildis grete pacience
And of my wyf the passing crueltee.
Were I unbounden, al-so moot I thee!
I wolde never eft comen in the snare.
We wedded men live in sorwe and care;
Assaye who-so wol, and he shal finde
I seye sooth, by seint Thomas of Inde,
As for the more part, I sey nat alle.
God shilde that it sholde so bifalle!
A! good sir hoost! I have y-wedded be
Thise monthes two, and more nat, pardee;
And yet, I trowe, he that all his lyve
Wyflees hath been, though that men wolde him ryve
Un-to the herte, ne coude in no manere
Tellen so muchel sorwe, as I now here
Coude tellen of my wyves cursednesse!’
‘Now,’ quod our hoost, ‘Marchaunt, so god yow blesse,
Sin ye so muchel knowen of that art,
Ful hertely I pray yow telle us part.’
‘Gladly,’ quod he, ‘but of myn owene sore,
For sory herte, I telle may na-more.’
The Prologue of the Merchant’s Tale.
“Weeping and wailing, care, and other sorrow
I know enough, on even and a-morrow,”
Quoth the Merchant, “and so do other mo’
That wedded be, I trow that it be so.
For, well I wot, it fareth so with me.
I have a wife, the worst that may be;
For though the fiend to her y-coupled were,
She would him overmatch, I dare well swear.
What should I you rehearse in special
Her high malice? she is a shrew at all.
There is a long and large difference
Betwixt Grisildis great patience
And of my wife the passing cruelty.
Were I unbounden, all so mote I thee!
I would never eft comen in the snare.
We wedded men liven in sorrow and care;
Assay whoso will, and he shall find
I say sooth, by saint Thomas of Inde,
As for the more part, I say not all.
God shield that it should so befall!
A! good sir host, I have y-wedded be
These months two, and more not, pardee;
And yet, I trow, he that all his life
Wifeless hath been, though that men would him rive
Unto the heart, ne could in no manner
Tellen so much sorrow, as I now here
Could tellen of my wife’s cursedness!”
“Now,” quoth our host, “Merchant, so god you bless,
Since ye so much knowen of that art,
Full heartily I pray you tell us part.”
“Gladly,” quoth he, “but of mine own sore,
For sorry heart, I tell may no more.”
