Of nyce conscience took he no keep;
     If that he faught, and hadde the hyer hond,
     By water he sente hem hoom to every lond.
     
     But of his craft, to rekene wel his tydes,
     His stremes, and his daungers hym bisides,
     His herberwe and his moone, his lodemenage,
     Ther nas noon swich from Hulle to Cartage.
     Hardy he was, and wys to undertake,
     
     With many a tempest hadde his berd been shake;
     He knew alle the havenes as they were
     From Gootlond to the Cape of Fynystere,
     And every cryke in Britaigne and in Spayne.
     His barge yeleped was the Maudelayne.
     
        With us ther was a Doctour of Phisik;
     In al this world ne was ther noon hym lik,
     To speke of phisik and of surgerye;
     For he was grounded in astronomye.
     He kepte his pacient a ful greet deel
     
     In houres, by his magyk natureel.
     Wel koude he fortunen the ascendent
     Of hisc ymages for his pacient.
     He knew the cause of everich maladye,
     Were it of hoot or coold, or moyste, or drye,
     
     And where they engendred, and of what humour.
     He was a verray parfit praktisour;
     The cause yknowe, and of his harm the roote,
     Anon he yaf the sike man his boote.
     Ful redy hadde he hise apothecaries
     
     To sende him drogges and his letuaries,
     For ech of hem made oother for to wynne,
     Hir frendshipe nas nat newe to bigynne.
     Wel knew he the olde Esculapius,
     And Deyscorides and eek Rufus,
      
     Olde Ypocras, Haly, and Galyen,
     Serapioun, Razis, and Avycen,
     Averrois, Damascien, and Constantyn,
     Bernard, and Gatesden, and Gilbertyn.
     Of his diete mesurable was he,
     
     For it was of no superfluitee,
     But of greet norissyng, and digestible.
     His studie was but litel on the Bible.
     In sangwyn and in pers he clad was al,
     Lyned with taffata and with sendal-
     
     And yet he was but esy of dispence;
     He kepte that he wan in pestilence.
     For gold in phisik is a cordial,
     Therfore he lovede gold in special.
        A good wif was ther, of biside Bathe,
     
     He was to synful man nat despitous,
     Ne of his speche daungerous ne digne,
     But in his techyng discreet and benygne;
     To drawen folk to hevene by fairnesse,
     By good ensample, this was his bisynesse.
     
     But it were any persone obstinat,
     What so he were, of heigh or lough estat,
     Hym wolde he snybben sharply for the nonys.
     A bettre preest, I trowe, that nowher noon ys.
     He waited after no pompe and reverence,
     
     Ne maked him a spiced conscience,
     But Cristes loore, and Hise apostles twelve
     He taughte, but first he folwed it hym-selve.
        With hym ther was a Plowman, was his brother,
     That hadde ylad of dong ful many a fother.
     
     A trewe swybnker and a good was he,
     Lyvynge in pees and parfit charitee.
     God loved he best with al his hoole herte
     At alle tymes, thogh him gamed or smerte,
     And thanne his neighebore right as hym-selve;
     
     He wolde thresshe, and therto dyke and delve,
     For Cristes sake, for every povre wight
     Withouten hire, if it lay in his myght.
     Hise tithes payed he ful faire and wel,
     Bothe of his propre swynk and his catel.
     
     In a tabard he rood, upon a mere.
        Ther was also a Reve and a Millere,
     A Somnour and a Pardoner also,
     A Maunciple, and myself, ther were namo.
     The Millere was a stout carl for the nones,
     
     Ful byg he was of brawn and eek of bones-
     That proved wel, for overal ther he cam
     At wrastlyng he wolde have alwey the ram.
     He was short-sholdred, brood, a thikke knarre,
     Ther was no dore that he nolde heve of harre,