And everemoore he hadde a sovereyn prys.
     And though that he were worthy, he was wys,
     And of his port as meeke as is a mayde;
     He nevere yet no vileynye ne sayde
     
     In al his lyf unto no maner wight;
     He was a verray parfit gentil knyght.
        But for to tellen yow of his array,
     His hors weren goode, but he was nat gay.
     Of fustian he wered a gypoun,
     
     Al bismotered with his habergeoun;
     For he was late ycome from his viage,
     And wente for to doon his pilgrymage.
        With hym ther was his sone, a yong Squier,
     A lovyere and a lusty bacheler,
     
     With lokkes crulle, as they were leyd in presse.
     Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse.
     Of his stature he was of evene lengthe,
     And wonderly delyvere, and of greet strengthe.
     And he hadde been somtyme in chyvachie
     
     In Flaundres, in Artoys, and Pycardie,
     And born hym weel, as of so litel space,
     In hope to stonden in his lady grace.
     Embrouded was he, as it were a meede,
     Al ful of fresshe floures whyte and reede;
     
     Syngynge he was, or floytynge, al the day,
     He was as fressh as is the monthe of May.
     Short was his gowne, with sleves longe and wyde.
     Wel koude he sitte on hors, and faire ryde,
     He koude songes make, and wel endite,
     
     Juste, and eek daunce, and weel purtreye and write.
     So hoote he lovede, that by nyghtertale
     He slepte namoore than dooth a nyghtyngale.
     Curteis he was, lowely, and servysable,
     And carf biforn his fader at the table.
     
        A Yeman hadde he, and servantz namo
     At that tyme, for hym liste ride soo;
     And he was clad in cote and hood of grene,
     A sheef of pecok arwes bright and kene
     Under his belt he bar ful thriftily-
     
     Wel koude he dresse his takel yemanly,
     Hise arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe-
     And in his hand he baar a myghty bowe.
     A not -heed hadde he, with a broun visage,
     Of woodecraft wel koude he al the usage.
     
     Upon his arm he baar a gay bracer,
     And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler,
     And on that oother syde a gay daggere,
     Harneised wel, and sharpe as point of spere.
     A Cristophere on his brest of silver sheene,
     
     An horn he bar, the bawdryk was of grene.
     A Forster was he, soothly, as I gesse.
        Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse,
     That of hir smylyng was ful symple and coy.
     Hir gretteste ooth was but by Seinte Loy,
     
     And she was cleped Madame Eglentyne.
     Ful weel she soong the service dyvyne,
     Entuned in hir nose ful semely;
     And Frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly
     After the scole of Stratford-atte-Bowe,
     
     For Frenssh of Parys was to hir unknowe.
     At mete wel ytaught was she withalle;
     She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle,
     Ne wette hir fyngres in hir sauce depe.
     Wel koude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe
     
     That no drope ne fille upon hir brist.
     In curteisie was set ful muche hir list;
     Hire over-lippe wyped she so clene,
     That in hir coppe ther was no ferthyng sene
     Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte.
     
     Ful semely after hir mete she raughte;
     And sikerly, she was of greet desport,
     And ful plesaunt, and amyable of port,
     And peyned hir to countrefete cheere
     Of court, and been estatlich of manere,
     
     And to ben holden digne of reverence.
     But for to speken of hir conscience,
     She was so charitable and so pitous,
     She wolde wepe, if that she saugh a mous
     Kaught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde.
     
     Of smale houndes hadde she, that she fedde
     
     With rosted flessh, or milk and wastel-breed.
     But soore weep she if oon of hem were deed,
     Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte;