Intro_Translation_Collins

//1:// Whan that aprill with his shoures soote //2:// The droghte of march hath perced to the roote, //3:// And bathed every veyne in swich licour //4:// Of which vertu engendred is the flour; //5:// Whan zephirus eek with his sweete breeth //6:// Inspired hath in every holt and heeth //7:// Tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne //8:// Hath in the ram his halve cours yronne, //9:// And smale foweles maken melodye, //10:// That slepen al the nyght with open ye //11:// (so priketh hem nature in hir corages); //12:// Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, //13:// And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes, //14:// To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes; //15:// And specially from every shires ende //16:// Of engelond to caunterbury they wende, //17:// The hooly blisful martir for to seke, //18:// That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke. //19:// Bifil that in that seson on a day, //20:// In southwerk at the tabard as I lay //21:// Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage //**Ready to wind along my pilgrimage**// //22:// To caunterbury with ful devout corage, //23:// At nyght was come into that hostelrye //24:// Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye, //25:// Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle //26:// In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle, //27:// That toward caunterbury wolden ryde. //28:// The chambres and the stables weren wyde, //29:// And wel we weren esed atte beste. //30:// And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste, //31:// So hadde I spoken with hem everichon //32:// That I was of hir felaweshipe anon, //33:// And made forward erly for to ryse //34:// To take oure wey ther as I yow devyse. //35:// But nathelees, whil I have tyme and space, //36:// Er that I ferther in this tale pace, //37:// Me thynketh it acordaunt to resoun //38:// To telle yow al the condicioun //39:// Of ech of hem, so as it semed me, //40:// And whiche they weren, and of what degree, //41:// And eek in what array that they were inne; //42:// And at a knyght than wol I first bigynne.
 * When April with his showers sweet**
 * Pierces the drought of March to the the root**
 * And bathes every vein in sweet liquid**
 * Of which //virtu// empowers the flower**
 * When Zephyr also with his sweet breath**
 * Inspires in every grove and heath**
 * Tender crops, and the yonge sun**
 * Hath in the ram run half his course**
 * And the small birds make melodie**
 * That slept all night with open eye**
 * (so pricketh them nature in her desires**);
 * It is then folk long to go on pilgrimages**
 * And professional pilgrims who seek strange shores**
 * To distant shrines, known in various landes**
 * And especially from every shire's end**
 * In England to Canterbury they turn**
 * To seek the holy, blissful martyr**
 * That he may help them in what they seek**
 * It happen in that season on a day,**
 * In Southwark at the Tabard as I lay**
 * To Canterbury, full of devout desire,**
 * Now that night had come to that inn**
 * Twenty-nine pilgrims in a company**
 * Of sundry folk, given to adventure**
 * In fellowship, and pilgrimes were they all,**
 * That toward Canterbury would ride.**
 * The chambres and the stables were** **wide**
 * And we were eased at best**
 * And shortly, when the sun began to set,**
 * I spoke with them, everyone,**
 * That I was in their fellowship straightway**
 * And made promise to arise early**
 * To take our way there as I now tell.**
 * But, nevertheless, while I have time and space,**
 * Before I further go into this tale's space**
 * I think it in accordance with reason**
 * To tell you of the condition**
 * Of each of them, so as it seemed to me,**
 * Of who they were, and of what station in life,**
 * And also of how they were dressed**
 * With the knight, I will first begin.

Click here to see the opening Chaucer Space

click here to see the Knight translation**