The Canterbury Tales (NHB Modern Plays)
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The Canterbury Tales (NHB Modern Plays)

Geoffrey Chaucer

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  1. 224 pages
  2. English
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eBook - ePub

The Canterbury Tales (NHB Modern Plays)

Geoffrey Chaucer

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A landmark dramatisation for the Royal Shakespeare Company of one of the foundation stones of English literature. This two-play adaptation of Chaucer'sCanterbury Tales encompasses all 23 stories. All the famous characters are here - as well as many less well-known but equally full of life. Each of the stories has its own style - heroic verse for the Knight's Tale, vernacular rhymes for the Miller's Tale etc. - echoing the many narrative voices employed by Chaucer himself. The plays can be performed either together or separately. 'Rumbustious and passionate... this is quite simply a glorious compendium of stories and poetry' -Daily Mail 'Scintillating... Poulton's admirable version... what takes one's breath away is the range of styles and emotions on display' -Guardian 'Mike Poulton's superb adaptation is both faithful and accessible, comfortably inhabiting the middle ground between Middle English and the modern vernacular' -The Times

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Informations

Éditeur
Nick Hern Books
Année
2010
ISBN
9781780016740
PLAY ONE
PART ONE
One: Prologue
CHAUCER.
When that April with his showrers sweetë
The drought of March hath piercéd to the root
And bathĂ©d every vein in such licower –
Of which virtue engendrĂ©d is the flower –
When Zephirus eek with his sweetë breath
Inspiréd hath in every holt and heath
The tender crops – And the young Sun
Hath in the Ram his halfĂ«-course yrun –
And smallë fowlës maken melody
That sleepen all the night with open eye
(So priketh ’em Nature in their courages)
Then longen folk to go on pilgrimages –
PILGRIMS sing ‘When the Nightingale’ offstage.
And palmers for to seeken strangë strands
To fernë halwes, kowth in sundry lands;
And specially from every shire’s end
Of Engerland – To Canterb’ry they wend
The holy, blissful martyr for to seek
That them hath helpen when that they were sick
Befell that in that season on a day
In Southwark at The Tabard – as I lay
Ready to wenden on my pilgrimage
To Canterb’ry with full devout couráge –
At night was come into that hostelry
Well nine-and-twenty in a company
Of sundry folk, by ĂĄventure yfall
In fellowship 
 And pilgrims were they all
That tóward Canterb’ry would ride.
The PILGRIMS burst in, led by the low-life.
SONG.
When the nightingale is singing
The woods wax white and green
With leaf and with blossom springing
In April well I ween
And Love my poor heart is stinging
Pierced with his arrows keen
All the night my sighs go winging
In April well I ween.
The KNIGHT and the SQUIRE come in leading the richer sort, and are greeted by the HOST and his PEOPLE. They sit down to dinner.
CHAUCER.
A knight there was, and that a worthy man
That from the time that he at first began
To know the world, he worshipped chivalry –
Truth, and honour, freedom and courtesy.
He’d proved his worth in wars fought for his lord
Through Christendom and heathen lands abroad.
In mortal battles had he been – fifteen –
And championed our faith at Tramyssene.
With him there was his son, a brave young squire,
A lad in love with love, with youth on fire –
Singing he was, or whistling all the day –
As fresh and green as is the month of May.
Courteous he was – modest, and able –
HOST.
To board, sir! Supper time –
He hands him a drink, which CHAUCER drains.
CHAUCER.
And served his father when he came to table.
They brought no other servant but this yeoman –
An English archer – afraid of no man.
I rather like his silver Christopher –
You’d guess, by trade he is a forester,
And – here – we have a nun – a prioress –
An educated lady 
 more or less –
Most careful in her manners – sim’pring, coy –
And if she swears it’s only –
SQUIRE steps on her LAPDOG which yelps.
PRIORESS.
By Saint Loy!
SQUIRE.
Oh, I’m so very sorry!
PRIORESS.
Oh mon p’tee chien! Poverino! Venez au maman! Pauvre p’tee! O la! La!
CHAUCER.
What French she’s learned, in Convent-school inland,
In Paris they’d be pushed to understand.
MONK.
Let not my hounds see it, Lady. They’d bite its head off –
WIFE OF BATH.
Here – give it a bit of sausage –
PRIORESS.
Oh non, non, Madame! Its little stomach is tres, tres delicate. Vous comprenez?
CHAUCER.
Then there’s a reeve, a miller and a cook –
A crowd of holy folk – and then, just look –
This woman here’s a widow four times over –
WIFE OF BATH.
Five times, in truth. And who are you, sir?
CHAUCER.
O, I’m just – well – nobody – that is, nobody you’d know 

WIFE OF BATH.
Come sit by me, then. Come, sir will ye go?
CHAUCER.
As for the rest of this ebullient throng
I’ll introduce them as we ride along –
HOST.
To board! To board! The meat will burn –
CHAUCER.
Great cheer made us our Host – good meats, wine strong –
And to our supper set us down anon –
HOST.
Lordings! –
CHAUCER.
Quoth he –
HOST.
You’re going to Canterb’ry? Well God speed y...

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