Prologue to the tale of the canon’s yeoman

The pilgrims were nearing Canterbury when they were overtaken by two horsemen. The horses were sweating so much, they must have been ridden at top speed for fully three miles. One rider, dressed in black, was a canon1, the was his yeoman. When they caught up with the pilgrims the canon cried:

“God save this jolly company; I have spurred fast on account of you.” His yeoman added: “We wished to overtake you, for my lord and master is eager to ride with such a merry group.”

“ Can he tell any kind of merry tale with which to gladden this company?” asked the host.

“Who, sir? My master? Why! He is such a marvel he could pave all the road with silver and gold.”

“But if your master is such a clever man, why is his coat so dirty and all in rags?” the host asked.

“Oh,” said the yeoman, “he is too wise, and what is overdone will never come out right. He misuses his talents, God helped him.”

“Well”, said the host, “since you understand your master so well, tell us where you live, if it can be told.”

“On the outskirts of the town,” the yeoman answered, “we lurk in corners like thieves afraid to show ourselves.”

“Why is your face so discoloured?” the host suddenly asked.

“Saint Peter, bad luck! I am so used to blowing the fire that it changed my colour. We continually creep around the fire. We deceived many people. We borrow gold, be it a pound or more; we melt it and boil it and mix it and hope to make at least two pounds from one. But in spite of all our efforts it always turn out wrong. That science is too far ahead of us, we cannot overtake it and it will sooner turn us to beggars.”

Here the canon drew near to listen to his yeoman. A man who is guilty is always suspicious of everyone who talks about him.

“Hold your tongue,” he said, “or you shall pay for it dearly. How dare you slander me here in this company. Don’t speak of things you should keep secret.”

“Go on,” said the host, “don’t you care a farthing about his threats.”

“In faith, I don’t care much any longer.”

When the canon saw that he could not have his way, he fled in grief and shame.

“Ah,” said the yeoman, “now we’ll have some fun. I wish I had the wit to tell you the details of that art. Nevertheless, I’ll tell you something of it. Never will I have anything more to do with my master for penny or for pound. What I know I’ll tell!”