Chapter 1
The Prologe of the Frankeleyns Tale. [This Prologue follows immediately after the Words on p. 481.]
Thise olde gentil Britons in hir dayes
Of diverse aventures maden layes,
Rymeyed in hir firste Briton tonge; Which layes with hir instruments they songe,
Or elles redden hem for hir plesaunce; And oon of hem have I in remembraunce,
Which I shal seyn with good wil as I can.
Of diverse aventures maden layes,
Rymeyed in hir firste Briton tonge; Which layes with hir instruments they songe,
Or elles redden hem for hir plesaunce; And oon of hem have I in remembraunce,
Which I shal seyn with good wil as I can.
But, sires, by-cause I am a burel man,
At my biginning first I yow biseche
Have me excused of my rude speche; I lerned never rethoryk certeyn; Thing that I speke, it moot be bare and pleyn. I sleep never on the mount of Pernaso,
Ne lerned Marcus Tullius Cithero. Colours ne knowe I none, with-outen drede,
But swiche colours as growen in the mede,
Or elles swiche as men dye or peynte. Colours of rethoryk ben me to queynte; My spirit feleth noght of swich matere. But if yow list, my tale shul ye here.
At my biginning first I yow biseche
Have me excused of my rude speche; I lerned never rethoryk certeyn; Thing that I speke, it moot be bare and pleyn. I sleep never on the mount of Pernaso,
Ne lerned Marcus Tullius Cithero. Colours ne knowe I none, with-outen drede,
But swiche colours as growen in the mede,
Or elles swiche as men dye or peynte. Colours of rethoryk ben me to queynte; My spirit feleth noght of swich matere. But if yow list, my tale shul ye here.