No Fear Literature: The Canterbury Tales: The Wife of Bath's Tale 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.	HERE BIGINNETH THE TALE OF THE WYF OF BATHE.
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.	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.

Original Text	Modern Text
HERE BIGINNETH THE TALE OF THE WYF OF BATHE.	HERE BIGINNETH THE TALE OF THE WYF OF BATHE.
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.	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.