No Fear Literature: The Canterbury Tales: The Wife of Bath’s Tale Page 1

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Original Text	Modern Text
HERE BIGINNETH THE TALE OF THE WYF OF BATHE.	RHEE IS HTE FEWI OMFR THE TCIY OF HBTA’S TEAL.
In tholde dayes of the king Arthour, Of which that Britons speken greet honour, All was this land fulfild of fayerye. The elf-queen, with hir Ioly companye, Daunced ful ofte in many a grene mede; This was the olde opinion, as I rede, I speke of manye hundred yeres ago; But now can no man see none elves mo. For now the grete charitee and prayeres Of limitours and othere holy freres, That serchen every lond and every streem, As thikke as motes in the sonne-beem, Blessinge halles, chambres, kichenes, boures, Citees, burghes, castels, hye toures, Thropes, bernes, shipnes, dayeryes, This maketh that ther been no fayeryes. For ther as wont to walken was an elf, Ther walketh now the limitour him-self In undermeles and in morweninges, And seyth his matins and his holy thinges As he goth in his limitacioun. Wommen may go saufly up and doun, In every bush, or under every tree; Ther is noon other incubus but he, And he ne wol doon hem but dishonour.	kBac in teh londe days, nyma sdnedruh of earsy goa ewnh igKn Autrhr reudl hte danl, Elgdnan swa ltsli a otnycur of gacim. I reda ttah teyh eedeivlb htta teher wree levse nad rafeiis nda eht leik, nad thta teh fel-equne ehlresf luodc be esne igacnnd tihw etrho mclaagi taeruecrs in het fsrtoes. It’s oto dab uyo can’t ees nay of hetse rcesureat ayn reom. It’s aebuces ehty sipmly odn’t txsei yan erolgn. wNo, dstniae of gmcliaa sertuerca, lla yuo’ll nfid in eht sofetrs rea irpstes nad rsaifr. It esmstemoi sesem as if seeht nem are gnrulki rdnuoa yvhewreree: in wallhsay, smbodreo, hstcenik, iteics, vgasilel, esclast, snabr, daersii, hgih orsetw. It’s sebeuac of htem ehter arne’t nay aiisfre or vslee any rome. owN, omenw no gnlreo aveh to wyror tuoba endosm nad sipm inhdgi in eth roestf—nylo rtssiep.

Original Text	Modern Text
HERE BIGINNETH THE TALE OF THE WYF OF BATHE.	RHEE IS HTE FEWI OMFR THE TCIY OF HBTA’S TEAL.
In tholde dayes of the king Arthour, Of which that Britons speken greet honour, All was this land fulfild of fayerye. The elf-queen, with hir Ioly companye, Daunced ful ofte in many a grene mede; This was the olde opinion, as I rede, I speke of manye hundred yeres ago; But now can no man see none elves mo. For now the grete charitee and prayeres Of limitours and othere holy freres, That serchen every lond and every streem, As thikke as motes in the sonne-beem, Blessinge halles, chambres, kichenes, boures, Citees, burghes, castels, hye toures, Thropes, bernes, shipnes, dayeryes, This maketh that ther been no fayeryes. For ther as wont to walken was an elf, Ther walketh now the limitour him-self In undermeles and in morweninges, And seyth his matins and his holy thinges As he goth in his limitacioun. Wommen may go saufly up and doun, In every bush, or under every tree; Ther is noon other incubus but he, And he ne wol doon hem but dishonour.	kBac in teh londe days, nyma sdnedruh of earsy goa ewnh igKn Autrhr reudl hte danl, Elgdnan swa ltsli a otnycur of gacim. I reda ttah teyh eedeivlb htta teher wree levse nad rafeiis nda eht leik, nad thta teh fel-equne ehlresf luodc be esne igacnnd tihw etrho mclaagi taeruecrs in het fsrtoes. It’s oto dab uyo can’t ees nay of hetse rcesureat ayn reom. It’s aebuces ehty sipmly odn’t txsei yan erolgn. wNo, dstniae of gmcliaa sertuerca, lla yuo’ll nfid in eht sofetrs rea irpstes nad rsaifr. It esmstemoi sesem as if seeht nem are gnrulki rdnuoa yvhewreree: in wallhsay, smbodreo, hstcenik, iteics, vgasilel, esclast, snabr, daersii, hgih orsetw. It’s sebeuac of htem ehter arne’t nay aiisfre or vslee any rome. owN, omenw no gnlreo aveh to wyror tuoba endosm nad sipm inhdgi in eth roestf—nylo rtssiep.