Although Chaucer's language is much closer to
modern English than Old English texts, it differs enough that most publications modernise
his idiom. Following is a sample from the prologue of the "Summoner's
Tale" that compares Chaucer's text to a modern translation:
|
Chaucer's text |
Modern translation |
|
This frere bosteth that he knoweth helle, |
This friar boasts that he
knows hell, |
|
And God it woot, that it is litel wonder; |
And God knows that it is
little wonder; |
|
Freres and feendes been but lyte asonder. |
Friars and fiends are seldom
far apart. |
|
For, pardee, ye han ofte tyme herd telle |
For, by God, you have
ofttimes heard tell |
|
How that a frere ravyshed was to helle |
How a friar was taken to
hell |
|
In spirit ones by a visioun; |
In spirit, once by a vision; |
|
And as an angel ladde hym up and doun, |
And as an angel led him up
and down, |
|
To shewen hym the peynes that the were, |
To show him the pains that
were there, |
|
In al the place saugh he nat a frere; |
In the whole place he saw
not one friar; |
|
Of oother folk he saugh ynowe in wo. |
He saw enough of other folk
in woe. |
|
Unto this angel spak the frere tho: |
To the angel spoke the friar
thus: |
|
Now, sire, quod he, han freres swich a grace |
"Now sir", said he, "Do
friars have such a grace |
|
That noon of hem shal come to this place? |
That none of them come to
this place?" |
|
Yis, quod this aungel, many a millioun! |
"Yes", said the angel, "many
a million!" |
|
And unto sathanas he ladde hym doun. |
And the angel led him down
to Satan. |
|
--And now hath sathanas,--seith he,--a tayl |
He said, "And Satan has a
tail, |
|
Brodder than of a carryk is the sayl. |
Broader than a large ship's
sail. |
|
Hold up thy tayl, thou sathanas!--quod he; |
Hold up your tail, Satan!"
said he. |
|
--shewe forth thyn ers, and lat the frere se |
"Show forth your arse, and
let the friar see |
|
Where is the nest of freres in this place!-- |
Where the nest of friars is
in this place!" |
|
And er that half a furlong wey of space, |
And before half a furlong of
space, |
|
Right so as bees out swarmen from an hyve, |
Just as bees swarm from a
hive, |
|
Out of the develes ers ther gonne dryve |
Out of the devil's arse
there were driven |
|
Twenty thousand freres on a route, |
Twenty thousand friars on a
rout, |
|
And thurghout helle swarmed al aboute, |
And throughout hell swarmed
all about, |
|
And comen agayn as faste as they may gon, |
And came again as fast as
they could go, |
|
And in his ers they crepten everychon. |
And every one crept back
into his arse. |
|
He clapte his tayl agayn and lay ful stille. |
He shut his tail again and
lay very still. |
