This
thyng was graunted, and oure othes swore With ful glad herte, and preyden(we) asked hym also That he wolde vouche saufgrant, agree for to do so, And that he wolde been oure governourpresider, And oure tales juge and reportourcommentator, And sette a soper at a certeyn pris, And we wol reuled been at his devysdirection In heigh and loughin all respects; and thus by oon assentunanimously We been acorded to his juggement. And therupon the wyn was fet anonfetched immediately; We dronken, and to reste wente echoneach one, Withouten any lenger taryynge. AmorweIn the morning, whan that day bigan to sprynge, Up roos oure hoost, and was oure aller cokrooster for us all, And gadrede us togidre alle in a flok, And forth we riden a litel moore than paaswalking speed Unto the wateryng of Seint Thomas; And there oure hoost bigan his hors areste to stop And seyde, "Lordynges, herkneth, if yow lesteplease. Ye wootknow youre forewardagreement, and I it yow recorderemind. If even-song and morwe-songmorning song accorde, Lat se now who shal telle the firste tale. As evere motemay I drynke wyn or ale, Whoso be rebel to my juggement Shal paye for al that by the wey is spent. Now draweth cutstraws, er that we ferrer twynnefarther depart; He which that hath the shorteste shal bigynne. Sire Knyght," quod he, "my mayster and my lord, Now draweth cut, for that is myn accord. Cometh neer," quodsaid he, "My lady Prioresse. And ye, Sire Clerk, lat be youre shamefastnessemodesty, Ne studieth noght; ley hond to, every man!" Anon to drawen every wightperson bigan, And shortly for to tellen as it was, Were it by aventure, or sort, or caschance, fortune, or destiny, The sothetruth is this, the cut fil to the knyght, Of which ful blithe and glad was every wyght, And telle he moste his tale, as was resounreasonable, By forewardagreement and by composiciounarrangement, As ye han herd; what nedeth wordes momore? And whan this goode man saugh that it was so, As he that wys was and obedient To kepe his foreward by his free assent, He seyde, "SynSince I shal bigynne the game, What, welcome be the cut, ain Goddes name! Now lat us ryde, and herkneth what I seye." And with that word we ryden forth oure weye, And he bigan with right a myrie cheereexpression His tale anon, and seyde as ye may heere. |
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notes oSt. Thomas à Watering was a brook about two miles from London. For a map of the road to Canterbury, see Benson. |
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