The Nun's Priest's Prologue
The prologue of the Nonne Preestes Tale.
’Ho!’ quod the knight, ‘good sir, na-more of this,
That ye han seyd is right y-nough, y-wis,
And mochel more; for litel hevinesse
Is right y-nough to mochel folk, I gesse.
I seye for me, it is a greet disese
Wher-as men han ben in greet welthe and ese,
To heren of hir sodeyn fal, allas!
And the contrarie is Ioie and greet solas,
As whan a man hath been in povre estaat,
And clymbeth up, and wexeth fortunat,
And ther abydeth in prosperitee,
Swich thing is gladsom, as it thinketh me,
And of swich thing were goodly for to telle.’
‘Ye,’ quod our hoste, ‘by seint Poules belle,
Ye seye right sooth; this monk, he clappeth loude,
He spak how “fortune covered with a cloude”
I noot never what, and als of a “Tragedie”
Right now ye herde, and parde! no remedie
It is for to biwaille, ne compleyne
That that is doon, and als it is a peyne,
As ye han seyd, to here of hevinesse.
Sir monk, na-more of this, so god yow blesse!
Your tale anoyeth al this companye;
Swich talking is nat worth a boterflye;
For ther-in is ther no desport ne game.
Wherfor, sir Monk, or dan Piers by your name,
I preye yow hertely, telle us somwhat elles,
For sikerly, nere clinking of your belles,
That on your brydel hange on every syde,
By heven king, that for us alle dyde,
I sholde er this han fallen doun for slepe,
Although the slough had never been so depe;
Than had your tale al be told in vayn.
For certeinly, as that thise clerkes seyn,
“Wher-as a man may have noon audience,
Noght helpeth it to tellen his sentence.”
And wel I woot the substance is in me,
If any thing shal wel reported be.
Sir, sey somwhat of hunting, I yow preye.’
‘Nay,’ quod this monk, ‘I have no lust to pleye;
Now let another telle, as I have told.’
Than spak our host, with rude speche and bold,
And seyde un-to the Nonnes Preest anon,
‘Com neer, thou preest, com hider, thou sir Iohn,
Tel us swich thing as may our hertes glade,
Be blythe, though thou ryde up-on a Iade.
What though thyn hors be bothe foule and lene,
If he wol serve thee, rekke nat a bene;
Look that thyn herte be mery evermo.’
‘Yis, sir,’ quod he, ‘yis, host, so mote I go,
But I be mery, y-wis, I wol be blamed:’—
And right anon his tale he hath attamed,
And thus he seyde un-to us everichon,
This swete preest, this goodly man, sir Iohn.
Explicit.
The prologue of the Nun Priest’s Tale.
“Ho!” quoth the knight, “good sir, no more of this,
That ye have said is right enough, y-wis,
And much more; for little heaviness
Is right enough to much folk, I guess.
I say for me, it is a great dis-ease,
Whereas men have been in great wealth and ease,
To hearen of their sudden fall, alas!
And the contrary is joy and great solace,
As when a man hath been in povre estate,
And climbeth up, and waxeth fortunate,
And there abideth in prosperity,
Such thing is gladsome, as it thinketh me,
And of such thing were goodly for to tell.”
“Yea,” quoth our host, “by saint Paul’s bell,
Ye say right sooth; this monk, he clepeth loud,
He spake how ‘fortune covered with a cloud’
I not never what; and als’ of a ‘Tragedy’
Right now ye heard, and pardee! no remedy
It is for to bewail, ne complain
That that is done, and als’ it is a pain,
As ye have said, to hear of heaviness.
Sir monk, no more of this, so god you bless!
Your tale annoyeth all this company;
Such talking is not worth a butterfly;
For therein is there no disport ne game.
Wherefore, sir Monk, or dan Piers by your name,
I pray you heartily, tell us somewhat else,
For sickerly, nere clinking of your bells,
That on your bridle hang on every side,
By heaven king, that for us all died,
I should ere this have fallen down for sleep,
Although the slough had never been so deep;
Then had your tale all been told in vain.
For certainly, as that these clerks sayn,
‘Whereas a man may have no audience,
Nought helpeth it to tellen his sentence.’
And well I wot the substance is in me,
If any thing shall well reported be.
Sir, say somewhat of hunting, I you pray.”
“Nay,” quoth this monk, “I have no lust to play;
Now let another tell, as I have told.”
Then spake our host with rude speech and bold,
And said unto the Nun’s Priest anon,
“Come near, thou priest, come hither, thou sir John,
Tell us such thing as may our hearts glade.
Be blithe, though thou ride upon a jade.
What though thine horse be both foul and lean,
If he will serve thee, reck’ not a bean;
Look that thine heart be merry evermo’.”
“Yes, sir,” quoth he, “yes, host, so must I go,
But I be merry, y-wis I will be blamed:”—
And right anon his tale he hath attamed,
And thus he said unto us everich one,
This sweet priest, this goodly man, sir John.
Explicit.
