"The Canterbury Tales" by Geoffrey Chaucer, The Shipman's Tale

He had a wife, unusually fair,
One of a gay, companionable air,
A thing which causes more pecunial dearth
Than all the foppish compliments are worth
That menfolk offer them at feasts and dances.

He had a wife, unusually fair,
One of a gay, companionable air,
A thing which causes more pecunial dearth
Than all the foppish compliments are worth
That menfolk offer them at feasts and dances.

He had a wife, unusually fair,
One of a gay, companionable air,
A thing which causes more pecunial dearth
Than all the foppish compliments are worth
That menfolk offer them at feasts and dances.

And if he cannot pay, as it may chance,
Or won’t submit to such extravagance,
Thinking his money thrown away and lost,
Then someone else will have to bear the cost
Or lend us money, and that’s dangerous.

It pleased the merchant’s heart, and his compliance
Had furthered this unbreakable alliance,
And each was happy to assure the other
He always would regard him as a brother.

The merchant, as it happened, one fine day,
Began to make arrangements for a stay
Somewhere near Bruges to further his affairs
And buy a fresh consignment of his wares.

He saw his Abbot and he got permission,
Being a man of prudence and position,
In fact a superintendent, one to ride
Inspecting abbey granges far and wide.

Many a ledger and money-bag he got
And laid them out upon his counting-board.

It’s unbecoming, since I am his wife,
To tell a soul about our private life,
Whether in bed or any other place,
And God forbid I sank to such disgrace!

God help me, he’s not worth
A fly upon the wall! In no respect.
But his worst fault is niggardly neglect.

They want to have their husbands, to be candid,
Sturdy and prudent, rich and open-handed

Sir John, I say, lend me these hundred francs!
Trust me I will not fail you in my thanks
If only you’ll oblige me as I say.

And here I promise you and plight my word
That when your husband has gone off to Flanders
I will deliver you from fear of slanders
For I will bring you down a hundred francs.

How long will you be reckoning up and casting
All those accounts of yours and books and things?
The devil run off with all such reckonings!

how little you divine
The complicated nature of affairs!

Quickly they all went off to Mass and prayed,
And quickly too the tables then were laid;
The merchant and his wife attacked the spread,
Sir John the monk was sumptuously fed.

Now do be careful, cousin, how you ride,
And moderate in your diet; in this heat
You should be temperate in what you eat.

Once there he worked in haste without remission
And did his business, borrowed, made advances

But just to see him, ask how he was doing
And tell him what affairs he was pursuing
As friends will do on their occasional meetings.
Sir John was most effusive in his greetings

And he as blithely chatted back and told
How prosperously he had bought and sold

How prosperously he had bought and sold,
Thanks be to God, in all his merchandise,
Save that it was incumbent to devise
The raising of a loan at interest

This merchant, who was wary and discreet,
Soon managed to negotiate his loan

He left as merry as a popinjay
For home, his business done in such a way
That he was bound to make, to the extent
Of fully a thousand francs, more than he’d spent.

This merchant saw that there was no redress
And that to chide her was but foolishness

Well, I forgive you what you spent,
But don’t be so extravagant again;
You must economize, let that be plain.