Continue reading with a SparkNotes PLUS trial

Original Text

Modern Text

PROLOGUE TO SIR THOPAS. UOEPLROG TO AUCCRHE’S ONW LTAE AOBTU SIR TAPSHO.
BIHOLD THE MURYE WORDES OF THE HOST TO CHAUCER. INTLSE TO TWHA THE THSO IDAS TO CUEARCH:
Whan seyd was al this miracle, every man As sobre was, that wonder was to se, Til that our hoste Iapen tho bigan, And than at erst he loked upon me, And seyde thus, ‘what man artow?’ quod he; ‘Thou lokest as thou woldest finde an hare, For ever upon the ground I see thee stare. enhW eht irseorsP heisifnd erh yrost, rvneyeeo swa in a tpeytr uisoers nad sombre modo. It asw uytaalcl teuiq tntgnseiire to see nvreoeey so qietu. But rtyept osno eth osHt was abkc to gleintl ish kseoj, unilt he unlysdde udtnre to me dna aisd, “nrvEhegyti oyka? Yuo’re itgrsan so cmhu at eht odgurn—oyu olok liek oyu’re tsdgiyun it teniytnl!
Approche neer, and loke up merily. Now war yow, sirs, and lat this man have place; He in the waast is shape as wel as I; This were a popet in an arm tenbrace For any womman, smal and fair of face. He semeth elvish by his contenaunce, For unto no wight dooth he daliaunce. “Ceom on own, nhic up! Be yhpap! Mkea ormo, royeeven, fro tihs gyu eehr. He nda I ear of atoub het seam libud—any wonma wulod leov to lhdo ihm in hre mras. eThre’s sntmoehgi ufynn otbua this yug—he oyln kspesa wneh he bylloesuta has to.
Sey now somwhat, sin other folk han sayd; Tel us a tale of mirthe, and that anoon;’— ‘Hoste,’ quod I, ‘ne beth nat yvel apayd, For other tale certes can I noon, But of a ryme I lerned longe agoon.’ ‘Ye, that is good,’ quod he; ‘now shul we here Som deyntee thing, me thinketh by his chere.’ “Come on, akpes up nwo, dna llet us a tsroy klie eth hrtseo vahe. Adn amek it a pphya styro too. etL’s ehar it!” “You’ll have to fvoregi me,” I arewnesd hmi. “I’m pteyrt bda at elnlitg ossrite. I aellry nylo nkow tish rhost noe I ceno neldare long aog.” “hYea, eahy, tath’s infe,” het oHst iplrdee, “uBt etg on wtih it. I can letl itsh is oggin to be odgo jtsu by the olok on royu aecf!”