THE SQUIRE
[Click for Middle English text]
With this Knight was his son, a youthful Squire,
Single he, as a lover did aspire
With locks of hair so curled, they might be pressed
And twenty years of age I would have guessed.
His stature being that of standard height,
Strong and active in all his youthful might,
For he had ridden in the cavalry
In Flanders, Artois and in Picardy,
And borne himself so well, in such small space
In hope of favour of his lady’s grace,
Embellished was he, as would a maiden,
With red and white flowers, fully laden
He was singing or whistling all the day,
His freshness was as in the month of May.
His gown was short, the sleeves were long and wide,
So he could sit on horseback and could ride.
He could make song and verse and then recite,
Joust, dance well, also draw pictures and write.
He, so in love with life that, by nightfall,
Like a nightingale, barely slept at all.
He was so courteous, humble and able
Carving meat for his father at table.
THE YEOMAN
[Middle English text]
Just one servant wi them both on that day,
Wishing no more encumbrance on the way.
This one was wearing coat and hood of green.
A sheaf of peacock arrows, bright and keen,
Hanging below his belt so handily,
(For he could stow his tackle tidily,
No feathers in his arrows dragging low)
And in his hand he bore a mighty bow.
He had a cropped head and nut brown visage,
Familiar with woodcrafts and their usage.
Wearing on his arm a splendid bracer
And by his side hung sword and buckler
On the other a dagger did appear
Sheathed well for it was as sharp as a spear.
On his breast a St. Christopher was borne
And carried a green baldric with a horn;
A true born forester was he, I guess
THE PRIORESS
[Middle English text]
There was also a Nun, a Prioress,
Who, though smiling, was most religious;
Her one oath was ‘by St. Eligius’;
And she was titled ‘Madame Eglantine’,
Sang divine service in a voice so fine,
Entoning the music so seemingly,
And she spoke some good French most skillfully,
Though, after the school at Stratford-atte-Bow,
For the French of Paris she did not know.
At table she was so well taught withal
That no food from her mouth did ever fall,
She never soiled her fingers with the sauce
And carried her food with never a pause
So no food ever fell onto her breast.
In all her courtesy she much impressed.
She always wiped her upper lip so clean
That on her cup no food stains ever seen
Nor grease, once she had finished drinking wine.
Delicately she served herself to dine
And certain she had both dignity and grace,
Was also pleasant and amiable of face.
Took pains to always counterfeit good cheer
To all, always stately so to appear
Well mannered and worthy of reverence.
As for her sense of moral conscience,
She was charitable and very meek
She would weep if she heard a small mouse squeak
When caught in a trap, bleeding or just dead .
She had several small dogs and these she fed
With roasted meat, or milk and fine cake-bread.
And wept sadly when one of them was dead,
Or men smote them with rods and made them smart;
A tender conscience always ruled her heart.
So seemly did her pleated wimple lay,
She had a shapely nose and eyes of grey,
Her mouth was small, so very soft and red
For certainly she had a fine forehead
It was almost a handspan broad I’d vow;
Assuredly she had not stopped to grow!
Her cloak was so elegant and I saw,
On her arm, a small bracelet that bore
A green rosary for Paternoster,
And thereon a gold medal did foster
First, bearing a crowned ‘A’, then over all
Proclaimed a Latin text - ’Love Conquers All!’
With her, also, another nun and she
Was chaplain, with three Priests for company
THE MONK
[Middle English terxt]
There was a monk who, used to mastery
An Abbey outrider, loved venery,
Born to be an Abbot, manly, able.
Had many fine horses in his stable,
And when he rode abroad all men might hear
His bridle jingling in the wind as clear
And aye, as loud as does a chapel bell.
Where this lord was once prior of a cell,
They kept rules of St. Maure and Benedict,
Because both were ancient and rather strict.
This same monk let such old practices lapse
Embracing the new world instead, perhaps,
As he cared not for, even a plucked hen,
Texts that said hunters were not holy men,
Neither that a monk who was so heedless
Was like a fish out of water, quite reedless, -
So to say like a monk out of cloister,
Holding suchlike texts not worth an oyster;
And as I said his opinion was sound.
What, study hard and make himself unsound,
Poring closely in books, in cloisterd cell
Or labour on his hands and knees and smell
As Austin bids? Would the world thus be saved?
Let Austin keep toil for the well behaved!
Therefore he remained a rider indeed:
And had greyhounds faster than any steed;
For riding and hunting for the swift hare
Was his delight and no cost would he spare.
I saw his sleeves embroidered at the hand
With grey, which were the finest in the land;
So as to fasten his hood under chin,
Fashioned in fine gold a curious pin;
For at the larger end a love-knot shone.
His head shone like glass for his hair had gone,
And his face as though it were anointed.
He was fat, this lord and well appointed;
His proterbant eyes rolling round his head,
Seemed to glow as would a cauldron of lead;
His boots were soft, his horse of great estate.
For certain he was a model prelate;
He was not pale as a tormented ghost.
He loved, best of all,a fat swan as roast.
His palfrey was as brown as any berry
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