A Cook thei hadde with them for the nonce,
To boyle chikens and the marrow bones,
And to make powders swete and tasten wel.
Wel coude he knowe a draught of London ale.
He coude roste, sethe, broille, and frie,
Make soupe and brawn and bake wel a pye.
But gret harm was it, as it semèd me,
That on his shin a sore wound had he;
For blankemange he made with the beste.

A Shipman was ther, dwellyng far by weste:
For ought I wot, he was of Dertemouthe.
He rode upon a hackneye, as he coude,
In gowne woollen falling to the knee.
A dagger hangyng on a lace had he
Aboute his nekke under his arm adoun.
The hot somér had made his hew al broun;
And certeinly he was a good feláwe.
Ful many a draught of wyn had he y-drawe
From Burdeaux-ward, whil that the merchant sleep.
Of nyce conscience took he no keep.
If that he foughte, and had the higher hand,
By water he sente it home to every land.
But of his craft to reckon wel the tydes,
His stremes and his dangers al bisides,
His harbour and his moone, his pilotage,

Ther was none such from Hulle to Cartage.
Hardy he was, and wys to undertake;
With many a tempest hath his beard ben shake,
He knew wel alle the havenes, as thei were,
From Scotlond to the cape of Fynestere,
And every creek in Bretayne and in Spayne;
His barge y-clepèd was the Magdelayne.
Ther was also a Doctour of Phisík,
In al this worlde was ther non him like
To speke of phisik and of surgerye;
For he was grounded in astronomye.
He kepte his pacient wondrously and wel
In al houres by his magik naturel.
Wel coude he gesse the ascending of the star
Wherein his patientes fortunes settled were.
He knew the cause of every maladye,
Were it of cold, or hete, or moyst, or drye,
And where they engendred, and of what humoúr;
He was a very parfit practisour.
The cause once knowen and his right measúre,
Anon he gaf the syke man his cure.
Ful redy hadde he his apothecaries,
To sende him drugges, and electuaries,
For eche of them made the other for to wynne;
Their frendshipe was not newe to begynne.
Wel knew he the old Esculapius,
And Deiscorides, and eek Rufus;
Old Ypocras, Haly, and Galien;
Serapyon, Razis, and Avycen;
Averrois, Damascen, and Constantyn;
Bernard, and Gatisden, and Gilbertyn.
Of his diete mesuráble was he,
For it was of no superfluitee,
But of gret norishing and digestible.
His studie was but litel on the Bible.
In blue he clad was al and in sangwyn
Lynèd with taffata and silke thin.
And yit he was but esy in dispence;
He kepte that he won in pestilence.
For gold in phisik is a cordial;
Therfore he lovèd gold in special.

A good Wif of beside Bathe ther was,
But she was ever somwhat def, allas.
In cloth-makýng she had such judgement,
She passèd them of Ypris and of Ghent.
In al the parrissh wyfe was ther none
That to the altar byfore hir shulde goon,
And if ther dide, certeyn so wroth was she,
That she was thenne out of alle charitee.
Her kerchiefs weren al ful fyne of grounde;
I durste swere they weigheden ten pounde
That on a Sonday were upon her hed.
Hir hosen were of fyne scarlett red,
Ful streyt y-tyed, and shoes ful moyste and newe
Bold was hir face, and fair, and red of hewe.
She was a worthy womman al her lyfe,
Husbondes at chirche dore hadde she fyfe,
Withouten other companye in youthe;
But thereof needeth nought to speke the truth.
And thrice she had ben at Jerusalem;
She hadde passèd many a strange streem;
At Rome she had ben, and at Boloyne,
In Galice at seynt Jame, and at Coloyne.
She knewe moche of wandrying by the weye.
Big- toothèd was she, sothly for to seye.
Upon an amblere esely she sat,
Clokèd ful wel, and on her hed an hat
As brood as is a buckler or a targe;
A foot-mantel aboute her hippes large,
And on her feet a paire of spurres sharpe.
In felawshipe wel coude she laughe and carpe.
Of remedyes of love she knew parchaunce,
For of that art she knew the olde daunce.

A good man was ther of religioún,
And was a poore Parson of a town;
But riche he was of holy thought and werk.
He was also a lernèd man, a clerk
That Cristes gospel gladly wolde preach;
His parishioners devoutly wolde he teach.
Benigne he was, and wondrous diligent,
And in adversitee ful pacient;
And such he was i-provèd ofte to be.
To cursen for his tithes ful lothe was he,
But rather wolde he given out of doute,
Unto his pore parishioners aboute,
Of his offrynge, and eek of his substaunce.
He coude in litel thing have sufficience.
Wyd was his parish, and houses far asonder,
But yet he lafte not for reyne or thonder,
In siknesse and in meschief to visíte
The ferthest in his parisshe, smal and great
Uppon his feet, and in his hand a staf.
This noble ensample unto his sheep he gaf,
That ferst he wroughte, and after that he taughte,
Out of the gospel he those wordes caughte,
And this figúre he addid yet therto,
That if gold ruste, what shulde iron do?
For if a priest be foul, on whom we truste,
No wonder if the ignorant shulde ruste;
And shame it is, if that a priest take kepe,
A dirty shepperd and a clene shepe;
Wel oughte a priest ensample for to