Here bygynneth the Book of the tales of Caunterbury."Chauc" written above the initial rubricWhan that Aueryll with his shoures sooteThe droghte of March / hath perced to the rooteAnd bathed euery veyne in swich lycourOf which vertu engendred is the flourWhan zephirus eek with his sweete breethInspired hath in euery holt and heethThe tendre croppes / and the yonge sonneHath in the Ram / his half cours yronneAnd smale foweles / maken melodyeThat slepen al the nyght with open IyeSo priketh hem nature / in hir coragesThanne longen folk to goon on pilgrymagesAnd Palmeres for to seeken straunge strondesTo ferne halwes / kouthe in sondry londesAnd specially / from euery shyres endeOf Engelond / to Caunterbury they wendeThe holy blisful martir / for to sekeThat hem hath holpen whan þat they weere seekeBifel þat in that sesoūn on a dayIn Southwerk at the Tabard / as .I. layRedy to weenden / on my pilgrymageTo Caunterbury / with ful deuout corageAt nyght was come / in to that hostelryeWel .xxix. in a compaignye Of sondry folk / by auenture yfalleIn felaweshipe / and pilgrymes weere they alleThat toward Caunterbury wolden rydeThe chambres and the stables / weeren wydeAnd wel we weeren esed / at the besteAnd shortly whan the sonne was to resteSo hadde I spoken with hem euerichoonThat I was of hir felaweshipe anon