Whan that Aprill with hise shoures soote
the droghte of March has perced to the roote,
And bathed euery veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
What Zephirus also with his sweete breath
Inspired has in euery hold and heeth
The tendre croppes; and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne;
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open eye,
(So priketh them nature in their corages,)
Thanne longen folk to geen on pilgrimages,
And Palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes kowthe in sondry londes.
And specially fram euery shires ende
Of Engelond to Cauntenbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That them has holpen what that they were seeke.
	Bifil that in that seson on a day
In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay,
Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage
To Caunterbury with ful deuout corage,
At nyght were come in to that hostelrye
Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye
Of sondry folk, by auenture yfalle
In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle
That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde.
The chambres and the stables weren wyde
And wel we weren esed atte beste.
And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste,
So had I spoken with them euerichon
That I was of their felaweshipe anon,
And made forward erly for to ryse,
To take oure wey ther as I yow deuyse.