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    dots Submission Name: The Canterbury Tales (Mod. Eng.)dots

    Author: isselman2001
    Elite Ratio:    5.38 - 37/47/46
    Words: 538
    Class/Type: Poetry/Comedy
    Total Views: 924
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 3463


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    dotsThe Canterbury Tales (Mod. Eng.)dots

    The General Prologue, ll. 1-34 (Modern English translation)

    When April with its showers fruity-sweet
    The drought of March had pierced down to its feet,
    And all the land had bathed in its sweet dew,
    The tender crops were sprouting through and through;
    And then, when Zeph’rus breathed throughout the land
    And quickened growth in every crop at hand,
    The tender growing shoots and the young sun
    Throughout their yearly course had halfway run,
    And little birds were singing in the skies.
    And sleeping through the night with open eyes ((10))
    (So strong had Nature pricked them in the heart),
    The folk longed for their pilgrimage to start
    (And pilgrims longed to seek out the strange strands)
    To far off places known in distant lands;
    And then from every county in the land,
    They went to Canterbury, from England,
    The holy martyr, Thomas, for to seek,
    Who helped them graciously when they were sick.

    And so t’was in that season on a day,
    In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay, ((20))
    Ready to head out on my pilgrimage,
    To Canterbury, brimming with courage,
    That night had brought in twenty-six and three
    Men trav’ling in a modest company
    Of miscellaneous types, who happed to fall
    In fellowship, for pilgrims were they all,
    And on to Canterbury they would ride
    In chambers big and stables long and wide:
    They had it easy, served with all the best.
    And shortly ‘fore the sun began to rest, ((30))
    I’d spoken with each one about their trip,
    And was a member of their fellowship;
    Invited was I early then to rise,
    And what had followed this tale will comprise.

    Original Middle English by Geoffrey Chaucer:

    Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
    The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
    And bathed every veyne in swich licour
    Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
    Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
    Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
    The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
    Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne,
    And smale foweles maken melodye,
    That slepen al the nyght with open ye
    (So priketh hem Nature in hir corages),
    Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
    And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
    To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
    And specially from every shires ende
    Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,
    The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
    That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.

    Bifil that in that seson on a day,
    In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay
    Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage
    To Caunterbury with ful devout corage,
    At nyght was come into that hostelrye
    Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye
    Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle
    In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle,
    That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde.
    The chambres and the stables weren wyde,
    And wel we weren esed atte beste.
    And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste,
    So hadde I spoken with hem everichon
    That I was of hir felaweshipe anon,
    And made forward erly for to ryse,
    To take oure wey ther as I yow devyse.

    Submitted on 2009-02-01 22:16:28     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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