A Shipman was there, living far by west; <br />For aught I know, he was of Dartmouth. <br />He rode upon a rouncy, as he could, <br />In a gown of falding to the knee. <br />A dagger hanging on a lace had he <br />About his neck, under his arm, and down. <br />The hot summer had made his hue all brown; <br />And certainly he was a good fellow. <br />Full many a draft of wine had he draw. <br />From Bordeaux-ward, while that the chapman sleep. <br />Of nice conscience took he no keep. <br />If that he fought and had the higher hand, <br />By water he sent them home to every land. <br />But of his craft to reckon well his tides, <br />His steams, and his dangers him besides, <br />His harbor, and his moon, his pilotage, <br />There was none such from Hull to Carthage. <br />Hardy was he and wise to undertake; <br />With many a tempest had his beard been shake. <br />He knew all the havens, as they were, <br />From Gotland to the cape of Finisterre, <br />And every creek in Brittany and in Spain. <br />His barge was called the Madelene. <br /> <br /> <br />© 2009 Forrest Hainline<br /><br />Forrest Hainline<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/general-prologue-15-the-shipman-geoffrey-chaucer-forrest-hainline-s-minimalist-translation/
