SOME facts have been preserved concerning the personal history of Chaucer, but there is no detailed information. We learn from himself that he was born in London, which in those ages was thought an honour; and it is certain that he was neither of high nor of low birth. His writings afford some indication that he received part of his education at Cambridge, and there is a tradition that he studied at Oxford also, under Wickliffe, when that great man was Warden of Canterbury College. He had an annuity of twenty marks from Edward III., as valet or yeoman of the palace, an intermediate rank between squire and groom. Afterwards he was made comptroller of the custom of wood, with the barbarous injunction, that "the said Geoffrey write with his own hand his rolls touching the said office, in his own proper person, and not by his substitute." He was also appointed comptroller of the small customs of wine in the port of London, and had a grant for life of a pitcher of wine daily, which was subsequently commuted for twenty marks a year. John of Gaunt patronised him, and gave him Philippa Rouet in marriage, sister to his own mistress, and daughter to a knight of Hainault. At this time, his offices and the grants which he obtained enabled him to live in affluence. In the last year of Edward's reign, he was sent on a mission to France, and some seven years after, in consequence of his connection with the Lollards, was brought into danger. He fled to the continent; was imprisoned on his return; and after some ill usage from his party, and some rigour on the part of government, did not escape without loss and obloquy. At length he retired to Woodstock, a place to which he was much attached. But though, after losing his former offices, he obtained new grants from Richard II., which were confirmed by the usurper Henry, it is said that his latter days were embittered by difficulties. He died on the 25th of October, 1400, and was buried in that part of Westminster Abbey, which has since, in respect to him, been consecrated by the remains of many English poets, and the monuments of more.

Chaucer is not merely the acknowledged father of English poetry, he is also one of our greatest poets. His proper station is in the first class, with Spenser, and Shakspeare, and Milton; and Shakspeare alone has equalled him in variety and versatility of genius. In no other country has any writer effected so much with a half-formed language: retaining what was popular, and rejecting what was barbarous, he at once refined and enriched it; and though it is certain that his poetry is written rhythmically rather than metrically, his ear led him to that cadence and those forms of verse, which, after all subsequent experiments, have been found most agreeable to the general taste, and may, therefore, be deemed best adapted to the character of our speech. In some of his smaller pieces, he has condescended to use the ornate style which began to be affected in his age; but he has only used it as if to show that he had deliberately rejected it in all his greater and better works. He drew largely from French and Italian authors; but in all his translations there is the stamp of his own power; and his original works are distinguished by a life, and strength, and vivacity, which nothing but original genius, and that of the highest order, can impart. Whoever aspires to a lasting name among the English poets must go to the writings of Chaucer, and drink at the well-head.

The Canterbury Tales have been excellently edited by Tyrwhitt; his other works have been left to chance, and published without any other care than what the corrector of the press might please to bestow upon them.

It should be remembered that Chaucer expresses contrition for such of his writings as "sounen unto sin," and prays Christ of his mercy to forgive him for the guilt he had incurred thereby. He is said to have cried out repeatedly on his death-bed, "Woe is me, that I cannot recall and annul these things! but, alas, they are continued from man to man, and I cannot do what I desire."

B

THE CANTERBURY TALES.

THE PROLOGUE.

WH
HANNE that April with his shoures sote
The droughte of March hath perced to the rote,
And bathed every veine in swiche licour,
Of whiche vertue engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eke with his sote brethe
Enspired hath in every holt and hethe
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne,
And smale foules maken melodie,
That slepen alle night with open eye,
So priketh hem nature in hir corages;
Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken strange strondes,
To serve halwes couthe in sondry londes ;
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Englelond, to Canterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martyr for to seke,

That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke.
Befelle, that, in that seson on a day,
In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay,
Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage
To Canterbury with devoute corage,
At night was come into that hostelrie
Wel nine and twenty in a compagnie
Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle
In felawship, and pilgrimes were they alle,
That toward Canterbury wolden ride.
The chambres and the stables weren wide,
And wel we weren esed atte beste.

And shortly, whan the sonne was gon to reste,
So hadde I spoken with hem everich on,
That I was of hir felawship anon,
And made forword erly for to rise,
To take oure way ther as I you devise.

But natheles, while I have time and space,
Or that I forther in this tale pace,
Me thinketh it accordant to reson,
To tellen you alle the condition
Of eche of hem, so as it semed me,
And whiche they weren, and of what degre;
And eke in what araie that they were inne :
And at a knight than wol I firste beginne.

A KNIGHT ther was, and that a worthy man, That fro the time that he firste began To riden out, he loved chevalrie, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie. Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre, And therto hadde he ridden, no man ferre, As wel in Cristendom as in Hethenesse, And ever honoured for his worthinesse.

At Alisandre he was whan it was wonne.
Ful often time he hadde the bord begonne
Aboven alle nations in Pruce.

In Lettowe hadde he reysed, and in Ruce,
No cristen man so ofte of his degre.
In Gernade at the siege eke hadde he be
Of Algesir, and ridden in Belmarie.
At Leyes was he, and at Satalie,

Whan they were wonne; and in the Grete see
At many a noble armee hadde he be.
An mortal batailles hadde he ben fiftene,
nd foughten for our faith at Tramissene

In listes thries, and ay slain his fo.
This ilke worthy knight hadde ben also
Somtime with the lord of Palatie,
Agen another hethen in Turkie :
And evermore he hadde a sovereine pris.
And though that he was worthy he was wise,
And of his port as meke as is a mayde.
He never yet no vilanie ne sayde
In alle his lif, unto no manere wight.
He was a veray parfit gentil knight.

But for to tellen you of his araie,

His hors was good, but he ne was not gaie.
Of fustian he wered a gipon,

Alle besmotred with his habergeon,
For he was late ycome fro his viage,
And wente for to don his pilgrimage.

WITH him ther was his sone a yonge SQUIER, A lover, and a lusty bacheler,

With lockes crull as they were laide in presse.
Of twenty yere of age he was I gesse.
Of his stature he was of even lengthe,
And wonderly deliver, and grete of strengthe.
And he hadde be somtime in chevachie,
In Flaundres, in Artois, and in Picardie,
And borne him wel, as of so litel space,
In hope to stonden in his ladies grace.

Embrouded was he, as it were a mede
Alle ful of freshe floures, white and rede.
Singing he was, or floyting all the day,
He was as freshe as is the moneth of May.
Short was his goune, with sleves long and wide.
Wel coude he sitte on hors, and fayre ride.
He coude songes make, and wel endite,
Juste and eke dance, and wel pourtraie and write.
So hote he loved, that by nightertale
He slep no more than doth the nightingale.
Curteis he was, lowly, and servisable,
And carf before his fader at the table.

A YEMAN hadde he, and servantes no mo At that time, for him luste to ride so; And he was cladde in cote and hode of grene A shefe of peacock arwes bright and kene Under his belt he bare ful thriftily. Wel coude he dresse his takel yemanly: His arwes drouped not with fetheres lowe. And in his hond he bare a mighty bowe.

A not-hed hadde he, with a broune visage. Of wood-craft coude he wel alle the usage. Upon his arme he bare a gaie bracer, And by his side a swerd and a bokeler, And on that other side a gaie daggere, Harneised wel, and sharpe as point of spere: A Cristofre on his breste of silver shene. An horne he bare, the baudrik was of grene. A forster was he sothely as I gesse.

THER was also a Nonne, a PRIORESSE, That of hire smiling was ful simple and coy; Hire gretest othe n'as but by Seint Eloy ; And she was cleped madame Eglentine. Ful wel she sange the service devine, Entuned in hire nose ful swetely; And Frenche she spake ful fayre and fetisly, After the scole of Stratford atte bowe, For Frenche of Paris was to hire unknowe.

At mete was she wel ytaughte withalle;
She lette no morsel from hire lippes falle,
Ne wette hire fingres in hire sauce depe.
Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe,
Thatte no drope ne fell upon hire brest.
In curtesie was sette ful moche hire lest.
Hire over lippe wiped she so clene,
That in hire cuppe was no ferthing sene
Of grese, whan she dronken hadde hire draught.
Ful semely after hire mete she raught.
And sikerly she was of grete disport,
And ful plesant, and amiable of port,
And peined hire to contrefeten chere
Of court, and ben estatelich of manere,
And to ben holden digne of reverence.

But for to speken of hire conscience,
She was so charitable and so pitous,
She wolde wepe if that she saw a mous
Caughte in a trappe, if it were ded or bledde.
Of smale houndes hadde she, that she fedde
With rosted flesh, and milk, and wastel brede.
But sore wept she if on of hem were dede,
Or if men smote it with a yerde smert :
And all was conscience and tendre herte.

Ful semely hire wimple ypinched was;
Hire nose tretis; her eyen grey as glas;
Hire mouth ful smale, and therto soft and red;
But sikerly she hadde a fayre forehed.
It was almost a spanne brode I trowe;
For hardily she was not undergrowe.

Ful fetise was hire cloke, as I was ware.
Of smale corall aboute hire arm she bare
A pair of bedes, gauded all with grene;
And theron heng a broche of gold ful shene,
On whiche was first ywriten a crouned A,
And after, Amor vincit omnia.

Another NONNE also with hire hadde she
That was hire chapelleine, and PREESTES thre.

A MONK ther was, a fayre for the maistrie,
An out-rider, that loved venerie;
A manly man, to ben an abbot able.
Ful many a deinte hors hadde he in stable :
And whan he rode, men mighte his bridel here
Gingeling in a whistling wind as clere,
And eke as loude, as doth the chapell belle,
Ther as this lord was keper of the celle.

The reule of seint Maure and of seint Beneit,
Because that it was olde and somdele streit,
This ilke monk lette olde thinges pace,
And held after the newe world the trace,
He yave not of the text a pulled hen,

That saith, that hunters ben not holy men ;
Ne that a monk, whan he is rekkeles,

Is like to a fish that is waterles;
This is to say, a monk out of his cloistre.
This ilke text held he not worth an oistre.
And I say his opinion was good.

And for to fasten his hood under his chinne,
He hadde of gold ywrought a curious pinne:
A love-knotte in the greter ende ther was.
His hed was balled, and shone as any glas,
And eke his face, as it hadde ben anoint.
He was a lord ful fat and in good point.
His eyen stepe, and rolling in his hed,
That stemed as a forneis of a led.
His bootes souple, his hors in gret estat,
Now certainly he was a fayre prelat.
He was not pale as a forpined gost.
A fat swan loved he best of any rost.
His palfrey was as broune as is a bery.

A FRERE ther was, a wanton and a mery,
A Limitour, a ful solempne man.
In all the ordres foure is non that can
So moche of daliance and fayre langage.
He hadde ymade ful many a mariage
Of yonge wimmen, at his owen cost.
Until his ordre he was a noble post.
Ful wel beloved, and familier was he
With frankeleins over all in his contree,
And eke with worthy wimmen of the toun:
For he had power of confession,
As saide himselfe, more than a curat,
For of his ordre he was licentiat.
Ful swetely herde he confession,
And plesant was his absolution.
He was an esy man to give penance,
Ther as he wiste to han a good pitance:
For unto a poure ordre for to give
Is signe that a man is wel yshrive.
For if he gave, he dorste make avant,
He wiste that a man was repentant.
For many a man so hard is of his herte,
He may not wepe although him sore smerte.
Therfore in stede of weping and praieres,
Men mote give silver to the poure freres.

His tippet was ay farsed ful of knives,
And pinnes, for to given fayre wives.
And certainly he hadde a mery note.
Wel coude he singe and plaien on a rote.
Of yeddinges he bare utterly the pris.
His nekke was white as the flour de lis.
Therto he strong was as a champioun,
And knew wel the tavernes in every toun,
And every hosteler and gay tapstere,
Better than a lazar or a beggere.
For unto swiche a worthy man as he
Accordeth nought, as by his faculte,
To haven with sike lazars acquaintance.
It is not honest, it may not avance,
As for to delen with no swiche pouraille,
But all with riche, and sellers of vitaille.
And over all, ther as profit shuld arise,
Curteis he was, and lowly of servise.
Ther n'as no man no wher so vertuous.

And gave a certaine ferme for the grant,
Non of his bretheren came in his haunt.
For though a widewe hadde but a shoo,
(So plesant was his In principio)

Yet wold he have a ferthing or he went.
His pourchas was wel better than his rent.
And rage he coude as it hadde ben a whelp,
In lovedayes, ther coude he mochel help.
For ther was he nat like a cloisterere,
With thredbare cope, as is a poure scolere,