No Fear Literature: The Canterbury Tales: The Host Interrupts Chaucer Page 1

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Original Text	Modern Text
HERE THE HOST STINTETH CHAUCER OF HIS TALE OF THOPAS.	HERE THE HOST STINTETH CHAUCER OF HIS TALE OF THOPAS.
‘No more of this, for Goddes dignitee,’ Quod oure hoste, ‘for thou makest me So wery of thy verray lewednesse That, also wisly God my soule blesse, Myn eres aken of thy drasty speche; Now swiche a rym the devel I biteche! This may wel be rym dogerel,’ quod he.	‘No more of this, for Goddes dignitee,’ Quod oure hoste, ‘for thou makest me So wery of thy verray lewednesse That, also wisly God my soule blesse, Myn eres aken of thy drasty speche; Now swiche a rym the devel I biteche! This may wel be rym dogerel,’ quod he.
‘Why so?’ quod I, ‘why wiltow lette me More of my tale than another man, Sin that it is the beste rym I can?’	‘Why so?’ quod I, ‘why wiltow lette me More of my tale than another man, Sin that it is the beste rym I can?’
‘By God,’ quod he, ‘for pleynly, at a word, Thy drasty ryming is nat worth a tord; Thou doost nought elles but despendest tyme, Sir, at o word, thou shall no lenger ryme. Lat see wher thou canst tellen aught in geste, Or telle in prose somwhat at the leste In which ther be som mirthe or som doctryne.’	‘By God,’ quod he, ‘for pleynly, at a word, Thy drasty ryming is nat worth a tord; Thou doost nought elles but despendest tyme, Sir, at o word, thou shall no lenger ryme. Lat see wher thou canst tellen aught in geste, Or telle in prose somwhat at the leste In which ther be som mirthe or som doctryne.’

Original Text	Modern Text
HERE THE HOST STINTETH CHAUCER OF HIS TALE OF THOPAS.	HERE THE HOST STINTETH CHAUCER OF HIS TALE OF THOPAS.
‘No more of this, for Goddes dignitee,’ Quod oure hoste, ‘for thou makest me So wery of thy verray lewednesse That, also wisly God my soule blesse, Myn eres aken of thy drasty speche; Now swiche a rym the devel I biteche! This may wel be rym dogerel,’ quod he.	‘No more of this, for Goddes dignitee,’ Quod oure hoste, ‘for thou makest me So wery of thy verray lewednesse That, also wisly God my soule blesse, Myn eres aken of thy drasty speche; Now swiche a rym the devel I biteche! This may wel be rym dogerel,’ quod he.
‘Why so?’ quod I, ‘why wiltow lette me More of my tale than another man, Sin that it is the beste rym I can?’	‘Why so?’ quod I, ‘why wiltow lette me More of my tale than another man, Sin that it is the beste rym I can?’
‘By God,’ quod he, ‘for pleynly, at a word, Thy drasty ryming is nat worth a tord; Thou doost nought elles but despendest tyme, Sir, at o word, thou shall no lenger ryme. Lat see wher thou canst tellen aught in geste, Or telle in prose somwhat at the leste In which ther be som mirthe or som doctryne.’	‘By God,’ quod he, ‘for pleynly, at a word, Thy drasty ryming is nat worth a tord; Thou doost nought elles but despendest tyme, Sir, at o word, thou shall no lenger ryme. Lat see wher thou canst tellen aught in geste, Or telle in prose somwhat at the leste In which ther be som mirthe or som doctryne.’