The Merchant’s Tale: Prologue

“Weeping and wailing, care and other sorrow,I have enough, on even and on morrow,”Quoth the Merchant, “and so have other mo’,That wedded be; I trow that it be so;For well I wot it fareth so by me.I have a wife, the worste that may be,For though the fiend to her y-coupled were,She would him overmatch, I dare well swear.Why should I you rehearse in specialHer high malice? she is a shrew at all.There is a long and large difference everything wickedBetwixt Griselda’s greate patience,And of my wife the passing cruelty.Were I unbounden, all so may I the,I woulde never eft come in the snare.We wedded men live in sorrow and care;Assay it whoso will, and he shall findThat I say sooth, by Saint Thomas of Ind,As for the more part; I say not all, —God shielde that it shoulde so befall.Ah! good Sir Host, I have y-wedded beThese moneths two, and more not, pardie;And yet I trow that he that all his lifeWifeless hath been, though that men would him riveInto the hearte, could in no mannereTelle so much sorrow, as I you hereCould tellen of my wife’s cursedness.”

“Now,” quoth our Host, “Merchant, so God you bless,Since ye so muche knowen of that art,Full heartily I pray you tell us part.”“Gladly,” quoth he; “but of mine owen sore,For sorry heart, I telle may no more.”