The Franklin’s Tale: Prologue

“IN faith, Squier, thou hast thee well acquit,And gentilly; I praise well thy wit,”Quoth the Franklin; “considering thy youtheSo feelingly thou speak’st, Sir, I aloue thee,As to my doom, there is none that is hereOf eloquence that shall be thy peer, goesIf that thou live; God give thee goode chance,And in virtue send thee continuance,For of thy speaking I have great dainty.I have a son, and, by the Trinity;It were me lever than twenty pound worth land,Though it right now were fallen in my hand,He were a man of such discretionAs that ye be: fy on possession,But if a man be virtuous withal.I have my sone snibbed and yet shall,For he to virtue listeth not t’intend,But for to play at dice, and to dispend, apply himselfAnd lose all that he hath, is his usage;And he had lever talke with a page,Than to commune with any gentle wight,There he might learen gentilless aright.”

Straw for your gentillesse!” quoth our Host.“What? Frankelin, pardie, Sir, well thou wostThat each of you must tellen at the leastA tale or two, or breake his behest.”“That know I well, Sir,” quoth the Frankelin;“I pray you have me not in disdain,Though I to this man speak a word or two.”“Tell on thy tale, withoute wordes mo’.”“Gladly, Sir Host,” quoth he, “I will obeyUnto your will; now hearken what I say;I will you not contrary in no wise,As far as that my wittes may suffice.I pray to God that it may please you,Then wot I well that it is good enow.

“These olde gentle Bretons, in their days,Of divers aventures made lays,Rhymeden in their firste Breton tongue;Which layes with their instruments they sung,Or elles reade them for their pleasance;And one of them have I in remembrance,Which I shall say with good will as I can.But, Sirs, because I am a borel man,At my beginning first I you beseechHave me excused of my rude speech.I learned never rhetoric, certain;Thing that I speak, it must be bare and plain.I slept never on the mount of Parnasso,Nor learned Marcus Tullius Cicero.Coloures know I none, withoute dread,But such colours as growen in the mead,Or elles such as men dye with or paint;Colours of rhetoric be to me quaint;My spirit feeleth not of such mattere.But, if you list, my tale shall ye hear.”