The Canterbury Tales

Fragment VII

The Shipman's Tale

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Heere bigynneth the

Shipmannes Tale.

A merchant whilom dwelled at seint-denys,

That riche was, for which men helde hym wys.

A wyf he hadde of excellent beautee;

And compaignable and revelous was she,

5

Which is a thyng that causeth more dispence

Than worth is al the chiere and reverence

That men hem doon at festes and at daunces.

Swiche salutaciouns and contenances

Passen as dooth a shadwe upon the wal;

10

But wo is hym that payen moot for al!

The sely housbonde, algate he moot paye,

He moot us clothe, and he moot us arraye,

Al for his owene worshipe richely,

In which array we daunce jolily.

15

And if that he noght may, par aventure,

Or ellis list no swich dispence endure,

But thynketh it is wasted and ylost,

Thanne moot another payen for oure cost,

Or lene us gold, and that is perilous.

20

this noble marchaunt heeld a worthy hous,

For which ne hadde alday so greet repair

For his largesse, and for his wyf was fair,

That wonder is; but herkneth to my tale.

Amonges alle his gestes, grete and smale,

25

Ther was a monk, a fair man and a boold –

I trowe a thritty wynter he was oold –

That evere in oon was drawynge to that place.

This yonge monk, that was so fair of face,

Aqueynted was so with the goode man,

30

Sith that hir firste knoweliche bigan,

That in his hous as famulier was he

As it is possible any freend to be.

and for as muchel as this goode man,

And eek this monk, of which that I began,

35

Were bothe two yborn in o village,

The monk hym claymeth as for cosynage;

And he agayn, he seith nat ones nay,

But was as glad therof as fowel of day;

For to his herte it was a greet plesaunce.

40

Thus been they knyt with eterne alliaunce,

And ech of hem gan oother for t'assure

Of bretherhede, whil that hir lyf may dure.

Free was daun john, and namely of dispence,

As in that hous, and ful of diligence

45

To doon plesaunce, and also greet costage.

He noght forgat to yeve the leeste page

In al that hous; but after hir degree,

He yaf the lord, and sitthe al his meynee,

Whan that he cam, som manere honest thyng;

50

For which they were as glad of his comyng

As fowel is fayn whan that the sonne up riseth.

Na moore of this as now, for it suffiseth.

But so bifel, this marchant on a day

Shoop hym to make redy his array

55

Toward the toun of brugges for to fare,

To byen there a porcioun of ware;

For which he hath to parys sent anon

A messager, and preyed hat daun john

That he sholde come to seint-denys to pleye

60

With hym and with his wyf a day or tweye,

Er he to brugges wente, in alle wise.

This noble monk, of which I yow devyse,

Hath of his abbot, as hym list, licence,

By cause he was a man of heigh prudence,

65

And eek an officer, out for to ryde,

To seen hir graunges and hire bernes wyde,

And unto seint-denys he comth anon.

Who was so welcome as my lord daun john,

Oure deere cosyn, ful of curteisye?

70

With hym broghte he a jubbe of malvesye,

And eek another, ful of fyn vernage,

And volatyl, as ay was his usage.

And thus I lete hem ete and drynke and pleye,

This marchant and this monk, a day or tweye.

75

The thridde day, this marchant up ariseth,

And on his nedes sadly hym avyseth,

And up into his countour-hous gooth he

To rekene with hymself, as wel may be,

Of thilke yeer how that it with hym stood,

80

And how that he despended hadde his good,

And if that he encressed were or noon.

His bookes and his bagges many oon

He leith biforn hym on his countyng-bord.

Ful riche was his tresor and his hord,

85

For which ful faste his countour-dore he shette;

And eek he nolde that no man sholde hym lette

Of his acountes, for the meene tyme;

And thus he sit til it was passed pryme.

Daun john was rysen in the morwe also,

90

And in the gardyn walketh to and fro,

And hath his thynges seyd ful curteisly.

This goode wyf cam walkynge pryvely

Into the gardyn, there he walketh softe,

And hym saleweth, as she hath doon ofte.

95

A mayde child cam in hire compaignye,

Which as hir list she may governe and gye,

For yet under the yerde was the mayde.

O deere cosyn myn, daun john, she sayde,

What eyleth yow so rathe for to ryse?

100

Nece, quod he, it oghte ynough suffise

Fyve houres for to slepe upon a nyght,

But it were for an old appalled wight,

As been thise wedded men, that lye and dare

As in a fourme sit a wery hare,

105

Were al forstraught with houndes grete and smale.

But deere nece, why be ye so pale?

I trowe, certes, that oure goode man

Hath yow laboured sith the nyght bigan,

That yow were nede to resten hastily.

110

And with that word he lough ful murily,

And of his owene thought he was reed.

This faire wyf gan for to shake hir heed

And seyde thus, ye, God woot al, quod she.

Nay, cosyn myn, it stant nat so with me;

115

For, by that God that yaf me soule and lyf,

In al the reawme of france is ther no wyf

That lasse lust hath to that sory pley.

For I may synge – allas and weylawey

That I was born, – but to no wight, quod she,

120

Dar I nat telle how that it stant with me.

Wherfore I thynke out of this land to wende,

Or elles of myself to make an ende,

So ful am I of drede and eek of care.

This monk bigan upon this wyf to stare,

125

And seyde, allas, my nece, God forbede

That ye, for any sorwe or any drede,

Fordo youreself; but telleth me youre grief.

Paraventure I may, in youre meschief,

Conseille or helpe; and therfore telleth me

130

Al youre anoy, for it shal been secree.

For on my porthors here I make an ooth

That nevere in my lyf, for lief ne looth,

Ne shal I of no conseil yow biwreye.

The same agayn to yow, quod she, I seye.

135

By God and by this porthors I yow swere,

Though men me wolde al into pieces tere,

Ne shal I nevere, for to goon to helle,

Biwreye a word of thyng that ye me telle,

Nat for no cosynage ne alliance,

140

But verraily, for love and affiance.

Thus been they sworn, and heerupon they kiste,

And ech of hem tolde oother what hem liste.

Cosyn, quod she, if that I hadde a space,

As I have noon, and namely in this place,

145

Thanne wolde I telle a legende of my lyf,

What I have suffred with I was a wyf

With myn housbonde, al be he youre cosyn.

Nay, quod this monk, by God and seint martyn,

He is na moore cosyn unto me

150

Than is this leef that hangeth on the tree!

I clepe hym so, by seint denys of fraunce,

To have the moore cause of aqueyntaunce

Of yow, which I have loved specially

Aboven alle wommen, sikerly.

155

This swere I yow on my professioun.

Telleth youre grief, lest that he come adoun;

And hasteth yow, and gooth youre wey anon.

My deere love, quod she, o my daun john,

Ful lief were me this conseil for to hyde,

160

But out it moot, I may namoore abyde.

Myn housbonde is to me the worste man

That evere was sith that the world bigan.

But sith I am a wyf, it sit nat me

To tellen no wight of oure privetee,

165

Neither abedde, ne in noon oother place;

God shilde I sholde it tellen, for his grace!

A wyf ne shal nat seyn of hir housbonde

But al honour, as I kan understonde;

Save unto yow thus muche I tellen shal:

170

As helpe me god, he is noght worth at al

In no degree the value of a flye.

But yet me greveth moost his nygardye.

And wel ye woot that wommen naturelly

Desiren thynges sixe as wel as I:

175

They wolde that hir housbondes sholde be

Hardy, and wise, and riche, and therto free,

And buxom unto his wyf, and fressh abedde.

But by that ilke lord that for us bledde,

For his honour, myself for to arraye,

180

A sonday next I moste nedes paye

An hundred frankes, or ellis I am lorn.

Yet were me levere that I were unborn

Than me were doon a sclaundre or vileynye;

And if myn housbonde eek it myghte espye,

185

I nere but lost; and therfore I yow preye,

Lene me this somme, or ellis moot I deye.

Daun john, I seye, lene me thise hundred frankes.

Pardee, I wol nat faille yow my thankes,

If that yow list to doon that I yow praye.

190

For at a certeyn day I wol yow paye,

And doon to yow what plesance and service

That I may doon, right as yow list devise.

And but I do, God take on me vengeance

As foul as evere hadde genylon of france.

195

This gentil monk answerde in this manere:

Now trewely, myn owene lady deere,

I have, quod he, on yow so greet a routhe

That I yow swere, and plighte yow my trouthe,

That whan youre housbonde is to flaundres fare,

200

I wol delyvere yow out of this care;

For I wol brynge yow an hundred frankes.

And with that word he caughte hire by the flankes,

And hire embraceth harde, and kiste hire ofte.

Gooth now youre wey, quod he, al stille and softe,

205

And lat us dyne as soone as that ye may;

For by my chilyndre it is pryme of day.

Gooth now, and beeth as trewe as I shal be.

Now elles God forbede, sire, quod she;

And forth she gooth as jolif as a pye,

210

And bad the cookes that they sholde hem hye,

So that men myghte dyne, and that anon.

Up to hir housbonde is this wyf ygon,

And knokketh at his countour boldely.

Quy la? quod he. Peter! it am I,

215

Quod she; what, sire, how longe wol ye faste?

How longe tyme wol ye rekene and caste

Youre sommes, and youre bookes, and youre thynges?

The devel have part on alle swiche rekenynges!

Ye have ynough, pardee, of goddes sonde;

220

Com doun to-day, and lat youre bagges stonde.

Ne be ye nat ashamed that daun john

Shal fasting al this day alenge goon?

What! lat us heere a messe, and go we dyne.

Wyf, quod this man, litel kanstow devyne

225

The curious bisynesse that we have.

For of us chapmen, also God me save,

And by that lord that clepid is seint yve,

Scarsly amonges twelve tweye shul thryve

Continuelly, lastynge unto oure age.

230

We may wel make chiere and good visage,

And dryve forth the world as it may be,

And kepen oure estaat in pryvetee,

Til we be deed, or elles that we pleye

A pilgrymage, or goon out of the weye.

235

And therfore have I greet necessitee

Upon this queynte world t' avyse me;

For everemoore we moote stonde in drede

Of hap and fortune in oure chapmanhede.

To flaundres wol I go to-morwe at day,

240

And come agayn, as soone as evere I may.

For which, my deere wyf, I thee diseke,

As be to every wight buxom and meke,

And for to kepe oure good be curious,

And honestly governe wel oure hous.

245

Thou hast ynough, in every maner wise,

That to a thrifty houshold may suffise.

Thee lakketh noon array ne no vitaille;

Of silver in thy purs shaltow nat faille.

And with that word his countour-dore he shette,

250

And doun he gooth, no lenger wolde he lette.

But hastily a messe was ther seyd,

And spedily the tables were yleyd,

And to the dyner faste they hem spedde,

And richely this monk the chapman fedde.

255

At after-dyner daun john sobrely

This chapman took apart, and prively

He seyde hym thus: cosyn, it standeth so,

That wel I se to brugges wol ye go.

Go and seint austyn spede yow and gyde!

260

I prey yow, cosyn, wisely that ye ryde.

Governeth yow also of youre diete

Atemprely, and namely in this hete.

Bitwix us two nedeth no strange fare;

Farewel, cosyn; God shilde yow fro care!

265

And if that any thyng by day or nyght,

If it lye in my power and my myght,

That ye me wol comande in any wyse,

It shal be doon, right as ye wol devyse.

O thyng, er that ye goon, if it may be,

270

I wolde prey yow; for to lene me

An hundred frankes, for a wyke or tweye,

For certein beestes that I moste beye,

To stoore with a place that is oures.

God helpe me so, I wolde it were youres!

275

I shal nat faille surely of my day,

Nat for a thousand frankes, a mile way.

But lat this thyng be secree, I yow preye,

For yet to-nyght thise beestes moot I beye.

And fare now wel, myn owene cosyn deere;

280

Graunt mercy of youre cost and of youre cheere.

This noble marchant gentilly anon

Answerde and seyde, o cosyn myn, daun john,

Now sikerly this is a smal requeste.

My gold is youres, whan that it yow leste,

285

And nat oonly my gold, but my chaffare.

Take what yow list, God shilde that ye spare.

But o thyng is, ye knowe it wel ynogh,

Of chapmen, that hir moneie is hir plogh.

We may creaunce whil we have a name;

290

But goldlees for to be, it is no game.

Paye it agayn whan it lith in youre ese;

After my myght ful fayn wolde I yow plese.

Thise hundred frankes he fette forth anon,

And prively he took hem to daun john.

295

No wight in al this world wiste of this loone,

Savynge this marchant and daun john allone.

They drynke, and speke, and rome a while and pleye,

Til that daun john rideth to his abbeye.

The morwe cam, and forth this marchant rideth

300

To flaundres-ward; his prentys wel hym gydeth,

Til he came into brugges murily.

Now gooth this marchant faste and bisily

Aboute his nede, and byeth and creaunceth.

He neither pleyeth at the dees ne daunceth,

305

But as a marchaunt, shortly for to telle,

He let him lyf, and there I lete hym dwelle.

The sonday next the marchant was agon,

To seint-denys ycomen is daun john,

With crowne and berd al fressh and newe yshave.

310

In al the hous ther nas so litel a knave,

Ne no wight elles, that he nas ful fayn

For that my lord daun john was come agayn.

And shortly to the point right for to gon,

This faire wyf acorded with daun john

315

That for thise hundred frankes he sholde al nyght

Have hire in his armes bolt upright;

And this acord parfourned was in dede.

In myrthe al nyght a bisy lyf they lede

Til it was day, that daun john wente his way,

320

And bad the meynee farewel, have good day!

For noon of hem, ne no wight in the toun,

Hath of daun john right no suspecioun.

And forth he rydeth hoom to his abbeye,

Or where hym list; namoore of hym I seye.

325

This marchant, whan that ended was the faire,

To seint-denys he gan for to repaire,

And with his wyf he maketh feeste and cheere,

And telleth hire that chaffare is so deere

That nedes moste he make a chevyssaunce;

330

For he was bounden in a reconyssaunce

To paye twenty thousand sheeld anon.

For which this marchant is to parys gon

To borwe of certeine freendes that he hadde

A certeyn frankes; and somme with him he ladde.

335

And whan that he was come into the toun,

For greet chiertee and greet affeccioun,

Unto daun john he gooth first, hym to pleye;

Nat for to axe or borwe of hym moneye,

But for to wite and seen of his welfare,

340

And for to tellen hym of his chaffare,

As freendes doon whan they been met yfeere.

Daun john hym maketh feeste and murye cheere,

And he hym tolde agayn, ful specially,

How he hadde wel yboght and graciously,

345

Thanked be god, al hool his marchandise;

Save that he moste, in alle maner wise,

Maken a chevyssaunce, as for his beste,

And thanne he sholde been in joye and reste.

Daun john answerde, certes, I am fayn

350

That ye in heele ar comen hom agayn.

And if that I were riche, as have I blisse,

Of twenty thousand sheeld sholde ye nat mysse,

For ye so kyndely this oother day

Lente me gold; and as I kan and may,

355

I thanke yow, by God and by seint jame!

But nathelees, I took unto oure dame,

Youre wyf, at hom, the same gold ageyn

Upon youre bench; she woot it wel, certeyn,

By certeyn tokenes that I kan hire telle.

360

Now, by youre leve, I may no lenger dwelle;

Oure abbot wole out of this toun anon,

And in his compaignye moot I goon.

Grete wel oure dame, myn owene nece sweete,

And fare wel, deere cosyn, til we meete!

365

This marchant, which that was ful war and wys,

Creanced hath, and payd eek in parys

To certeyn lumbardes, redy in hir hond,

The somme of gold, and gat of hem his bond;

And hoom he gooth, murie as a papejay,

370

For wel he knew he stood in swich array

That nedes moste he wynne in that viage

A thousand frankes aboven al his costage.

His wyf ful redy mette hym atte gate,

As she was wont of oold usage algate,

375

And al that nyght in myrthe they bisette;

For he was riche and cleerly out of dette.

Whan it was day, this marchant gan embrace

His wyf al newe, and kiste hire on hir face,

And up he gooth and maketh it ful tough.

380

Namoore, quod she, by god, ye have ynough!

And wantownly agayn with hym she pleyde,

Til atte laste thus this marchant seyde:

By go, quod he, I am a litel wrooth

With yow, my wyf, although it be me looth.

385

And woot ye why? by god, as that I gesse

That ye han maad a manere straungenesse

Bitwixen me and my cosyn daun john.

Ye sholde han warned me, er I had gon,

That he yow hadde an hundred frankes payed

390

By redy token; and heeld hym yvele apayed,

For that I to hym spak of chevyssaunce;

Me semed so, as by his contenaunce.

But nathelees, by god, oure hevene kyng,

I thoughte nat to axen hym no thyng.

395

I prey thee, wyf, ne do namoore so;

Telle me alwey, er that I fro thee go,

If any dettour hath in myn absence

Ypayed thee, lest thurgh thy necligence

I myghte hym axe a thing that he hath payed.

400

This wyf was nat afered nor affrayed,

But boldely she seyde, and that anon;

Marie, I deffie the false monk, daun john!

I kepe nat of his tokenes never a deel;

He took me certeyn gold, that woot I weel, –

405

What! yvel thedam on his monkes snowte!

For, God it woot, I wende, withouten doute,

That he hadde yeve it me bycause of yow,

To doon therwith myn honour and my prow,

For cosynage, and eek for beele cheere

410

That he hath had ful ofte tymes heere.

But sith I se I stonde in this disjoynt,

I wol answere yow shortly to the poynt.

Ye han mo slakkere dettours than am i!

For I wol paye yow wel and redily

415

Fro day to day, and if so be I faille,

I am youre wyf; score it upon my taille,

And I shal paye as soone as ever I may.

For by my trouthe, I have on myn array,

And nat on wast, bistowed every deel;

420

And for I have bistowed it so weel

For youre honour, for goddes sake, I seye,

As be nat wrooth, but lat us laughe and pleye.

Ye shal my joly body have to wedde;

By god, I wol nat paye yow but abedde!

425

Forgyve it me, myn owene spouse deere;

Turne hiderward, and maketh bettre cheere.

This marchant saugh ther was no remedie,

And for to chide it nere but folie,

Sith that the thyng may nat amended be.

430

Now wyf, he seyde, and I foryeve it thee;

But, by thy lyf, ne be namoore so large.

Keep bet my good, this yeve I thee in charge.

Thus endeth now my tale, and God us sende

Taillynge ynough unto oure lyves ende. Amen.

Heere endeth the

Shipmannes Tale.