The Parson’s Prologue
Here folweth the Prologe of the Persones Tale.
By that the maunciple hadde his tale al ended,
The sonne fro the south lyne was descended
So lowe, that he nas nat, to my sighte,
Degreës nyne and twenty as in highte.
Foure of the clokke it was tho, as I gesse;
For eleven foot, or litel more or lesse,
My shadwe was at thilke tyme, as there,
Of swich feet as my lengthe parted were
In six feet equal of proporcioun.
Ther-with the mones exaltacioun,
I mene Libra, alwey gan ascende,
As we were entringe at a thropes ende;
For which our host, as he was wont to gye,
As in this caas, our Ioly companye,
Seyde in this wyse, ‘lordings everichoon,
Now lakketh us no tales mo than oon.
Fulfild is my sentence and my decree;
I trowe that we han herd of ech degree.
Almost fulfild is al myn ordinaunce;
I prey to god, so yeve him right good chaunce,
That telleth this tale to us lustily.
Sir preest,’ quod he, ‘artow a vicary?
Or art a person? sey sooth, by thy fey!
Be what thou be, ne breke thou nat our pley;
For every man, save thou, hath told his tale,
Unbokel, and shewe us what is in thy male;
For trewely, me thinketh, by thy chere,
Thou sholdest knitte up wel a greet matere.
Tel us a tale anon, for cokkes bones!’
This Persone him answerde, al at ones,
‘Thou getest fable noon y-told for me;
For Paul, that wryteth unto Timothee,
Repreveth hem that weyven soothfastnesse,
And tellen fables and swich wrecchednesse.
Why sholde I sowen draf out of my fest,
Whan I may sowen whete, if that me lest?
For which I seye, if that yow list to here
Moralitee and vertuous matere,
And thanne that ye wol yeve me audience,
I wol ful fayn, at Cristes reverence,
Do yow plesaunce leefful, as I can.
But trusteth wel, I am a Southren man,
I can nat geste—rum, ram, ruf—by lettre,
Ne, god wot, rym holde I but litel bettre;
And therfor, if yow list, I wol nat glose.
I wol yow telle a mery tale in prose
To knitte up al this feeste, and make an ende.
And Iesu, for his grace, wit me sende
To shewe yow the wey, in this viage,
Of thilke parfit glorious pilgrimage
That highte Ierusalem celestial.
And, if ye vouche-sauf, anon I shal
Biginne upon my tale, for whiche I preye
Telle your avys, I can no bettre seye.
But nathelees, this meditacioun
I putte it ay under correccioun
Of clerkes, for I am nat textual;
I take but the sentens, trusteth wel.
Therfor I make protestacioun
That I wol stonde to correccioun.’
Up-on this word we han assented sone,
For, as us semed, it was for to done,
To enden in som vertuous sentence,
And for to yeve him space and audience;
And bede our host he sholde to him seye,
That alle we to telle his tale him preye.
Our host hadde the wordes for us alle:—
‘Sir preest,’ quod he, ‘now fayre yow bifalle!
Sey what yow list, and we wol gladly here’—
And with that word he seyde in this manere—
‘Telleth,’ quod he, ‘your meditacioun.
But hasteth yow, the sonne wol adoun;
Beth fructuous, and that in litel space,
And to do wel god sende yow his grace!'
Explicit prohemium.
Here followeth the Prologue of the Parson’s Tale
By that the manciple had his tale all ended,
The sun from the south line was descended
So low, that he nas not, to my sight,
Degrees nine and twenty as in height.
Four of the clock it was tho, as I guess;
For eleven foot, or little more or less,
My shadow was at thilk time, as there,
Of such feet as my length parted were
In six feet equal of proportion.
Therewith the moon’s exaltation,
I mean Libra, alway ’gan ascend
As we were entering at a thorp’s end;
For which our host, as he was wont to guy,
As in this case, our jolly company,
Said in this wise: “lordings everich one,
Now lacketh us no tales mo’ than one.
Fulfilled is my sentence and my decree;
I trow that we have heard of each degree.
Almost fulfilled is all mine ordinance;
I pray to god, so give him right good chance,
That telleth this tale to us lustily.
“Sir priest,” quoth he, “art thou a vicary?
Or art a parson? say sooth, by thy fay!
Be what thou be, ne break thou not our play;
For every man, save thou, hath told his tale,
Unbuckle, and show us what is in thy mail;
For truly, methinketh, by thy cheer,
Thou shouldest knit up well a great matter.
Tell us a fable anon, for cocks’ bones!”
This Parson him answered, all at once,
“Thou gettest fable none y-told for me;
For Paul, that writeth unto Timothy,
Reprieveth ’em that waiven soothfastness,
And tellen fables and such wretchedness.
Why should I sowen chaff out of my fist,
When I may sowen wheat, if that me list?
For which I say, if that you list to hear
Morality and virtuous matter,
And then that ye will give me audience,
I will full fain, at Christ’s reverence,
Do you pleasance lawful, as I can.
But trusteth well, I am a Southern man;
I can not gest—rum, ram, ruf—by letter,
Ne, god wot, rhyme hold I but little better;
And therefore, if you list, I will not gloze.
I will you tell a merry tale in prose
To knit up all this feast, and make an end.
And Jesus, for his grace, wit me send
To show you the way, in this voyage,
Of thilk perfect glorious pilgrimage
That hight Jerusalem celestial.
And, if ye vouchsafe, anon I shall
Begin upon my tale, for which I pray
Tell your advise, I can no better say.
But natheless, this meditation
I put it aye under correction
Of clerks, for I am not textual;
I take but the sentence, trusteth well.
Therefore I make protestation
That I will stand to correction.”
Upon this word we have assented soon,
For, as it seemed, it was for to do,
To enden in some virtuous sentence,
And for to give him space and audience;
And bade our host he should to him say
That all we to tell his tale him pray.
Our host had the words for us all:—
“Sir priest,” quoth he, “now fair you befall!
Say what you list, and we will gladly hear”—
And with that word he said in this manner—
“Telleth,” quoth he, “your meditation.
But hasteth you, the sun will a-down;
Beeth fructuous, and that in little space,
And to do well god send you his grace!”
Explicit prohemium.
