His typet was ay farsed ful of knyves
     And pynnes, for to yeven yonge wyves.
     And certeinly he hadde a murye note,
     
     Wel koude he synge, and pleyen on a rote,
     Of yeddynges he baar outrely the pris.
     His nekke whit was as the flour delys;
     Therto he strong was as a champioun,
     He knew the tavernes wel in every toun
     
     And everich hostiler and tappestere
     Bet than a lazar or a beggestere.
     For unto swich a worthy man as he
     Acorded nat, as by his facultee,
     To have with sike lazars aqueyntaunce;
     
     It is nat honeste, it may nat avaunce,
     For to deelen with no swich poraille,
     But al with riche and selleres of vitaille;
     And overal, ther as profit sholde arise,
     Curteis he was, and lowely of servyse.
     
     Ther nas no man nowher so vertuous;
     He was the beste beggere in his hous,
     (And yaf a certeyn ferme for the graunt
     Noon of his brethren cam ther in his haunt;)
     For thogh a wydwe hadde noght a sho,
     So plesaunt was his `In principio'
     Yet wolde he have a ferthyng er he wente;
     
     His purchas was wel bettre than his rente.
     And rage he koude, as it were right a whelpe;
     In love-dayes ther koude he muchel helpe;
     For there he was nat lyk a cloysterer,
     With a thredbare cope, as is a povre scoler,
     
     But he was lyk a maister or a pope;
     Of double worstede was his semycope,
     That rounded as a belle out of the presse.
     Somwhat he lipsed for his wantownesse
     To make his Englissh sweete upon his tonge,
      
     And in his harpyng, whan that he hadde songe,
     Hise eyen twynkled in his heed aryght
     As doon the sterres in the frosty nyght.
     This worthy lymytour was cleped Huberd.
        A Marchant was ther, with a forkek berd,
     
     In mottelee, and hye on horse he sat,
     Upon his heed a Flaundryssh bevere hat,
     His bootes clasped faire and fetisly.
     Hise resons he spak ful solempnely,
     Sownynge alway thencrees of his wynnyng.
     
     He wolde the see were kept for any thyng
     Bitwixe Middelburgh and Orewelle.
     Wel koude he in eschaunge sheeldes selle.
     This worthy man ful wel his wit bisette;
     Ther wiste no wight that he was in dette,
     
     So estatly was he of his governaunce,
     With his bargaynes and with his chevyssaunce.
     Forsothe, he was a worthy man with-alle,
     But, sooth to seyn, I noot how men hym calle.
        A Clerk ther was of Oxenford also,
     
     That unto logyk hadde longe ygo.
     As leene was his hors as is a rake,
     And he nas nat right fat, I undertake,
     But looked holwe and therto sobrely.
     Ful thredbare was his overeste courtepy,
     
     For he hadde geten hym yet no benefice,
     Ne was so worldly for to have office,
     For hym was levere have at his beddes heed
     Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reed,
     Of Aristotle and his plilosophie,
     
     Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrie.
     But al be that he was a philosophre,
     Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre;
     But al that he myghte of his freendes hente,
     On bookes and his lernynge he it spente,
     
     And bisily gan for the soules preye
     Of hem that yaf hym wherwith to scoleye.
     Of studie took he moost cure and moost heede,
     Noght o word spak he moore than was neede,
     And that was seyd in forme and reverence,
     
     And short and quyk, and ful of hy sentence.
     Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche,
     And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.
        A Sergeant of the Lawe, war and wys,
     That often hadde been at the parvys,
     
     Ther was also, ful riche of excellence.
     Discreet he was, and of greet reverence,-
     He semed swich, hise wordes weren so wise.
     Justice he was ful often in assise,