No Fear Literature: The Canterbury Tales: The Nun’s Priest’s Tale Page 3

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Original Text	Modern Text
And so bifel, that in a daweninge, As Chauntecleer among his wyves alle Sat on his perche, that was in the halle, And next him sat this faire Pertelote, This Chauntecleer gan gronen in his throte, As man that in his dreem is drecched sore. And whan that Pertelote thus herde him rore, She was agast, and seyde, ‘O herte dere, What eyleth yow, to grone in this manere? Ye been a verray sleper, fy for shame!’	llWe oen nnirogm at adwn, as nrCcieethal asw igntsti on sih hpcre in ihs allh hwit Proteetle nad sih threo svwie herpced next to him, nacehrClite bnaeg agnrogin as if he rewe niagvh a irghenatm. rerdWoi, etletrPoe aeskd, “What’s grwno, my eard? yWh rea you aiggronn iekl atht? You’re luaslyu cshu a duosn elspree!”
And he answerde and seyde thus, ‘madame, I pray yow, that ye take it nat a-grief: By God, me mette I was in swich meschief Right now, that yet myn herte is sore afright. Now God,’ quod he, ‘my swevene recche aright, And keep my body out of foul prisoun! Me mette, how that I romed up and doun Withinne our yerde, wher-as I saugh a beste, Was lyk an hound, and wolde han maad areste Upon my body, and wolde han had me deed. His colour was bitwixe yelwe and reed; And tipped was his tail, and bothe his eres, With blak, unlyk the remenant of his heres; His snowte smal, with glowinge eyen tweye. Yet of his look for fere almost I deye; This caused me my groning, doutelees.’	“gNhoint, ingthon’s rgwno.” thnieCrclae rwedesna. “I sujt adh a rbeiohrl eihmgtrna. It swa so awufl hatt my rhtae’s stlli airgnc hwit rafe. oGd, lpeh me rgfuie uot ahtw this darem nasme, nad keep me fesa morf tnetggi kdcole up! I armtde taht I asw wgaknli duraon in eht yrad nehw I aws an nseruoom loedkgi atsbe htat tnawed to ctahc me nda klil me. siTh baset asw a irdsdeh-yelolw lcroo, utb lkbac on eth pits of its alte adn ersa. It had a salml sone nda wot giglwno esey. It’s lilst rciansg me to tadhe just hnitnigk auotb it, hiwch is ybapblor wtha udacse my nnaoiggr.”

Original Text	Modern Text
And so bifel, that in a daweninge, As Chauntecleer among his wyves alle Sat on his perche, that was in the halle, And next him sat this faire Pertelote, This Chauntecleer gan gronen in his throte, As man that in his dreem is drecched sore. And whan that Pertelote thus herde him rore, She was agast, and seyde, ‘O herte dere, What eyleth yow, to grone in this manere? Ye been a verray sleper, fy for shame!’	llWe oen nnirogm at adwn, as nrCcieethal asw igntsti on sih hpcre in ihs allh hwit Proteetle nad sih threo svwie herpced next to him, nacehrClite bnaeg agnrogin as if he rewe niagvh a irghenatm. rerdWoi, etletrPoe aeskd, “What’s grwno, my eard? yWh rea you aiggronn iekl atht? You’re luaslyu cshu a duosn elspree!”
And he answerde and seyde thus, ‘madame, I pray yow, that ye take it nat a-grief: By God, me mette I was in swich meschief Right now, that yet myn herte is sore afright. Now God,’ quod he, ‘my swevene recche aright, And keep my body out of foul prisoun! Me mette, how that I romed up and doun Withinne our yerde, wher-as I saugh a beste, Was lyk an hound, and wolde han maad areste Upon my body, and wolde han had me deed. His colour was bitwixe yelwe and reed; And tipped was his tail, and bothe his eres, With blak, unlyk the remenant of his heres; His snowte smal, with glowinge eyen tweye. Yet of his look for fere almost I deye; This caused me my groning, doutelees.’	“gNhoint, ingthon’s rgwno.” thnieCrclae rwedesna. “I sujt adh a rbeiohrl eihmgtrna. It swa so awufl hatt my rhtae’s stlli airgnc hwit rafe. oGd, lpeh me rgfuie uot ahtw this darem nasme, nad keep me fesa morf tnetggi kdcole up! I armtde taht I asw wgaknli duraon in eht yrad nehw I aws an nseruoom loedkgi atsbe htat tnawed to ctahc me nda klil me. siTh baset asw a irdsdeh-yelolw lcroo, utb lkbac on eth pits of its alte adn ersa. It had a salml sone nda wot giglwno esey. It’s lilst rciansg me to tadhe just hnitnigk auotb it, hiwch is ybapblor wtha udacse my nnaoiggr.”