The Canterbury Tales and Other Works of Chaucer (Middle English), part 1 of 2

The Canterbury Tales

General Prologue

 Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
 The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
 And bathed every veyne in swich licour
 Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
 Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
 Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
 The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
 Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne,
 And smale foweles maken melodye,
10 That slepen al the nyght with open ye
 (So priketh hem Nature in hir corages),
 Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
 And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
 To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
 And specially from every shires ende
 Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,
 The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
 That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.
 Bifil that in that seson on a day,
20 In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay
 Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage
 To Caunterbury with ful devout corage,
 At nyght was come into that hostelrye
 Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye
 Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle
 In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle,
 That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde.
 The chambres and the stables weren wyde,
 And wel we weren esed atte beste.
30 And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste,
 So hadde I spoken with hem everichon
 That I was of hir felaweshipe anon,
 And made forward erly for to ryse,
 To take oure wey ther as I yow devyse.
 But nathelees, whil I have tyme and space,
 Er that I ferther in this tale pace,
 Me thynketh it acordaunt to resoun
 To telle yow al the condicioun
 Of ech of hem, so as it semed me,
40 And whiche they weren, and of what degree,
 And eek in what array that they were inne;
 And at a knyght than wol I first bigynne.
 A KNYGHT ther was, and that a worthy man,
 That fro the tyme that he first bigan
 To riden out, he loved chivalrie,
 Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisie.
 Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre,
 And therto hadde he riden, no man ferre,
 As wel in cristendom as in hethenesse,
50 And evere honoured for his worthynesse;
 At Alisaundre he was whan it was wonne.
 Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bigonne
 Aboven alle nacions in Pruce;
 In Lettow hadde he reysed and in Ruce,
 No Cristen man so ofte of his degree.
 In Gernade at the seege eek hadde he be
 Of Algezir, and riden in Belmarye.
 At Lyeys was he and at Satalye,
 Whan they were wonne, and in the Grete See
60 At many a noble armee hadde he be.
 At mortal batailles hadde he been fiftene,
 And foughten for oure feith at Tramyssene
 In lystes thries, and ay slayn his foo.
 This ilke worthy knyght hadde been also
 Somtyme with the lord of Palatye
 Agayn another hethen in Turkye;
 And everemoore he hadde a sovereyn prys.
 And though that he were worthy, he was wys,
 And of his port as meeke as is a mayde.
70 He nevere yet no vileynye ne sayde
 In al his lyf unto no maner wight.
 He was a verray, parfit gentil knyght.
 But for to tellen yow of his array,
 His hors were goode, but he was nat gay.
 Of fustian he wered a gypon
 Al bismotered with his habergeon,
 For he was late ycome from his viage,
 And wente for to doon his pilgrymage.
 With hym ther was his sone, a yong SQUIER,
80 A lovyere and a lusty bacheler,
 With lokkes crulle as they were leyd in presse.
 Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse.
 Of his stature he was of evene lengthe,
 And wonderly delyvere, and of greet strengthe.
 And he hadde been somtyme in chyvachie
 In Flaundres, in Artoys, and Pycardie,
 And born hym weel, as of so litel space,
 In hope to stonden in his lady grace.
 Embrouded was he, as it were a meede
90 Al ful of fresshe floures, whyte and reede.
 Syngynge he was, or floytynge, al the day;
 He was as fressh as is the month of May.
 Short was his gowne, with sleves longe and wyde.
 Wel koude he sitte on hors and faire ryde.
 He koude songes make and wel endite,
 Juste and eek daunce, and weel purtreye and write.
 So hoote he lovede that by nyghtertale
 He sleep namoore than dooth a nyghtyngale.
 Curteis he was, lowely, and servysable,
100 And carf biforn his fader at the table.
 A YEMAN hadde he and servantz namo
 At that tyme, for hym liste ride so,
 And he was clad in cote and hood of grene.
 A sheef of pecok arwes, bright and kene,
 Under his belt he bar ful thriftily
 (Wel koude he dresse his takel yemanly;
 His arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe),
 And in his hand he baar a myghty bowe.
 A not heed hadde he, with a broun visage.
110 Of wodecraft wel koude he al the usage.
 Upon his arm he baar a gay bracer,
 And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler,
 And on that oother syde a gay daggere
 Harneised wel and sharp as point of spere;
 A Cristopher on his brest of silver sheene.
 An horn he bar, the bawdryk was of grene;
 A forster was he, soothly, as I gesse.
 Ther was also a Nonne, a PRIORESSE,
 That of hir smylyng was ful symple and coy;
120 Hire gretteste ooth was but by Seinte Loy;
 And she was cleped madame Eglentyne.
 Ful weel she soong the service dyvyne,
 Entuned in hir nose ful semely;
 And Frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly,
 After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe,
 For Frenssh of Parys was to hire unknowe.
 At mete wel ytaught was she with alle;
 She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle,
 Ne wette hir fyngres in hir sauce depe;
130 Wel koude she carie a morsel and wel kepe
 That no drope ne fille upon hire brest.
 In curteisie was set ful muchel hir lest.
 Hir over-lippe wyped she so clene
 That in hir coppe ther was no ferthyng sene
 Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte.
 Ful semely after hir mete she raughte.
 And sikerly she was of greet desport,
 And ful plesaunt, and amyable of port,
 And peyned hire to countrefete cheere
140 Of court, and to been estatlich of manere,
 And to ben holden digne of reverence.
 But for to speken of hire conscience,
 She was so charitable and so pitous
 She wolde wepe, if that she saugh a mous
 Kaught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde.
 Of smale houndes hadde she that she fedde
 With rosted flessh, or milk and wastel-breed.
 But soore wepte she if oon of hem were deed,
 Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte;
150 And al was conscience and tendre herte.
 Ful semyly hir wympul pynched was,
 Hir nose tretys, hir eyen greye as glas,
 Hir mouth ful smal, and therto softe and reed.
 But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed;
 It was almoost a spanne brood, I trowe;
 For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe.
 Ful fetys was hir cloke, as I was war.
 Of smal coral aboute hire arm she bar
 A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene,
160 And theron heng a brooch of gold ful sheene,
 On which ther was first write a crowned A,
 And after Amor vincit omnia.
 Another NONNE with hire hadde she,
 That was hir chapeleyne, and preestes thre.
 A MONK ther was, a fair for the maistrie,
 An outridere, that lovede venerie,
 A manly man, to been an abbot able.
 Ful many a deyntee hors hadde he in stable,
 And whan he rood, men myghte his brydel heere
170 Gynglen in a whistlynge wynd als cleere
 And eek as loude as dooth the chapel belle
 Ther as this lord was kepere of the celle.
 The reule of Seint Maure or of Seint Beneit --
 By cause that it was old and somdel streit
 This ilke Monk leet olde thynges pace,
 And heeld after the newe world the space.
 He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen,
 That seith that hunters ben nat hooly men,
 Ne that a monk, whan he is recchelees,
180 Is likned til a fissh that is waterlees --
 This is to seyn, a monk out of his cloystre.
 But thilke text heeld he nat worth an oystre;
 And I seyde his opinion was good.
 What sholde he studie and make hymselven wood,
 Upon a book in cloystre alwey to poure,
 Or swynken with his handes, and laboure,
 As Austyn bit? How shal the world be served?
 Lat Austyn have his swynk to hym reserved!
 Therfore he was a prikasour aright:
190 Grehoundes he hadde as swift as fowel in flight;
 Of prikyng and of huntyng for the hare
 Was al his lust, for no cost wolde he spare.
 I seigh his sleves purfiled at the hond
 With grys, and that the fyneste of a lond;
 And for to festne his hood under his chyn,
 He hadde of gold ywroght a ful curious pyn;
 A love-knotte in the gretter ende ther was.
 His heed was balled, that shoon as any glas,
 And eek his face, as he hadde been enoynt.
200 He was a lord ful fat and in good poynt;
 His eyen stepe, and rollynge in his heed,
 That stemed as a forneys of a leed;
 His bootes souple, his hors in greet estaat.
 Now certeinly he was a fair prelaat;
 He was nat pale as a forpyned goost.
 A fat swan loved he best of any roost.
 His palfrey was as broun as is a berye.
 A FRERE ther was, a wantowne and a merye,
 A lymytour, a ful solempne man.
210 In alle the ordres foure is noon that kan
 So muchel of daliaunce and fair langage.
 He hadde maad ful many a mariage
 Of yonge wommen at his owene cost.
 Unto his ordre he was a noble post.
 Ful wel biloved and famulier was he
 With frankeleyns over al in his contree,
 And eek with worthy wommen of the toun;
 For he hadde power of confessioun,
 As seyde hymself, moore than a curat,
220 For of his ordre he was licenciat.
 Ful swetely herde he confessioun,
 And plesaunt was his absolucioun:
 He was an esy man to yeve penaunce,
 Ther as he wiste to have a good pitaunce.
 For unto a povre ordre for to yive
 Is signe that a man is wel yshryve;
 For if he yaf, he dorste make avaunt,
 He wiste that a man was repentaunt;
 For many a man so hard is of his herte,
230 He may nat wepe, althogh hym soore smerte.
 Therfore in stede of wepynge and preyeres
 Men moote yeve silver to the povre freres.
 His typet was ay farsed ful of knyves
 And pynnes, for to yeven faire wyves.
 And certeinly he hadde a murye note:
 Wel koude he synge and pleyen on a rote;
 Of yeddynges he baar outrely the pris.
 His nekke whit was as the flour-de-lys;
 Therto he strong was as a champioun.
240 He knew the tavernes wel in every toun
 And everich hostiler and tappestere
 Bet than a lazar or a beggestere,
 For unto swich a worthy man as he
 Acorded nat, as by his facultee,
 To have with sike lazars aqueyntaunce.
 It is nat honest; it may nat avaunce,
 For to deelen with no swich poraille,
 But al with riche and selleres of vitaille.
 And over al, ther as profit sholde arise,
250 Curteis he was and lowely of servyse;
 Ther nas no man nowher so vertuous.
 He was the beste beggere in his hous;
 [And yaf a certeyn ferme for the graunt;
 Noon of his bretheren cam ther in his haunt;]
 For thogh a wydwe hadde noght a sho,
 So plesaunt was his "In principio,"
 Yet wolde he have a ferthyng, er he wente.
 His purchas was wel bettre than his rente.
 And rage he koude, as it were right a whelp.
 In love-dayes ther koude he muchel help,
 For ther he was nat lyk a cloysterer
260 With a thredbare cope, as is a povre scoler,
 But he was lyk a maister or a pope.
 Of double worstede was his semycope,
 That rounded as a belle out of the presse.
 Somwhat he lipsed, for his wantownesse,
 To make his Englissh sweete upon his tonge;
 And in his harpyng, whan that he hadde songe,
 His eyen twynkled in his heed aryght
 As doon the sterres in the frosty nyght.
 This worthy lymytour was cleped Huberd.
270 A MARCHANT was ther with a forked berd,
 In mottelee, and hye on horse he sat;
 Upon his heed a Flaundryssh bever hat,
 His bootes clasped faire and fetisly.
 His resons he spak ful solempnely,
 Sownynge alwey th' encrees of his wynnyng.
 He wolde the see were kept for any thyng
 Bitwixe Middelburgh and Orewelle.
 Wel koude he in eschaunge sheeldes selle.
 This worthy man ful wel his wit bisette:
280 Ther wiste no wight that he was in dette,
 So estatly was he of his governaunce
 With his bargaynes and with his chevyssaunce.
 For sothe he was a worthy man with alle,
 But, sooth to seyn, I noot how men hym calle.
 A CLERK ther was of Oxenford also,
 That unto logyk hadde longe ygo.
 As leene was his hors as is a rake,
 And he nas nat right fat, I undertake,
 But looked holwe, and therto sobrely.
290 Ful thredbare was his overeste courtepy,
 For he hadde geten hym yet no benefice,
 Ne was so worldly for to have office.
 For hym was levere have at his beddes heed
 Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reed,
 Of Aristotle and his philosophie
 Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrie.
 But al be that he was a philosophre,
 Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre;
 But al that he myghte of his freendes hente,
300 On bookes and on lernynge he it spente,
 And bisily gan for the soules preye
 Of hem that yaf hym wherwith to scoleye.
 Of studie took he moost cure and moost heede.
 Noght o word spak he moore than was neede,
 And that was seyd in forme and reverence,
 And short and quyk and ful of hy sentence;
 Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche,
 And gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche.
 A SERGEANT OF THE LAWE, war and wys,
310 That often hadde been at the Parvys,
 Ther was also, ful riche of excellence.
 Discreet he was and of greet reverence --
 He semed swich, his wordes weren so wise.
 Justice he was ful often in assise,
 By patente and by pleyn commissioun.
 For his science and for his heigh renoun,
 Of fees and robes hadde he many oon.
 So greet a purchasour was nowher noon:
 Al was fee symple to hym in effect;
320 His purchasyng myghte nat been infect.
 Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas,
 And yet he semed bisier than he was.
 In termes hadde he caas and doomes alle
 That from the tyme of kyng William were falle.
 Therto he koude endite and make a thyng,
 Ther koude no wight pynche at his writyng;
 And every statut koude he pleyn by rote.
 He rood but hoomly in a medlee cote,
 Girt with a ceint of silk, with barres smale;
330 Of his array telle I no lenger tale.
 A FRANKELEYN was in his compaignye.
 Whit was his berd as is the dayesye;
 Of his complexioun he was sangwyn.
 Wel loved he by the morwe a sop in wyn;
 To lyven in delit was evere his wone,
 For he was Epicurus owene sone,
 That heeld opinioun that pleyn delit
 Was verray felicitee parfit.
 An housholdere, and that a greet, was he;
340 Seint Julian he was in his contree.
 His breed, his ale, was alweys after oon;
 A bettre envyned man was nowher noon.
 Withoute bake mete was nevere his hous,
 Of fissh and flessh, and that so plentevous
 It snewed in his hous of mete and drynke;
 Of alle deyntees that men koude thynke,
 After the sondry sesons of the yeer,
 So chaunged he his mete and his soper.
 Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in muwe,
350 And many a breem and many a luce in stuwe.
 Wo was his cook but if his sauce were
 Poynaunt and sharp, and redy al his geere.
 His table dormant in his halle alway
 Stood redy covered al the longe day.
 At sessiouns ther was he lord and sire;
 Ful ofte tyme he was knyght of the shire.
 An anlaas and a gipser al of silk
 Heeng at his girdel, whit as morne milk.
 A shirreve hadde he been, and a contour.
360 Was nowher swich a worthy vavasour.
 AN HABERDASSHERE and a CARPENTER,
 A WEBBE, a DYERE, and a TAPYCER --
 And they were clothed alle in o lyveree
 Of a solempne and a greet fraternitee.
 Ful fressh and newe hir geere apiked was;
 Hir knyves were chaped noght with bras
 But al with silver, wroght ful clene and weel,
 Hire girdles and hir pouches everydeel.
 Wel semed ech of hem a fair burgeys
370 To sitten in a yeldehalle on a deys.
 Everich, for the wisdom that he kan,
 Was shaply for to been an alderman.
 For catel hadde they ynogh and rente,
 And eek hir wyves wolde it wel assente;
 And elles certeyn were they to blame.
 It is ful fair to been ycleped "madame,"
 And goon to vigilies al bifore,
 And have a mantel roialliche ybore.
 A COOK they hadde with hem for the nones
380 To boille the chiknes with the marybones,
 And poudre-marchant tart and galyngale.
 Wel koude he knowe a draughte of Londoun ale.
 He koude rooste, and sethe, and broille, and frye,
 Maken mortreux, and wel bake a pye.
 But greet harm was it, as it thoughte me,
 That on his shyne a mormal hadde he.
 For blankmanger, that made he with the beste.
 A SHIPMAN was ther, wonynge fer by weste;
 For aught I woot, he was of Dertemouthe.
390 He rood upon a rouncy, as he kouthe,
 In a gowne of faldyng to the knee.
 A daggere hangynge on a laas hadde he
 Aboute his nekke, under his arm adoun.
 The hoote somer hadde maad his hewe al broun;
 And certeinly he was a good felawe.
 Ful many a draughte of wyn had he ydrawe
 Fro Burdeux-ward, whil that the chapman sleep.
 Of nyce conscience took he no keep.
 If that he faught and hadde the hyer hond,
400 By water he sente hem hoom to every lond.
 But of his craft to rekene wel his tydes,
 His stremes, and his daungers hym bisides,
 His herberwe, and his moone, his lodemenage,
 Ther nas noon swich from Hulle to Cartage.
 Hardy he was and wys to undertake;
 With many a tempest hadde his berd been shake.
 He knew alle the havenes, as they were,
 Fro Gootlond to the cape of Fynystere,
 And every cryke in Britaigne and in Spayne.
410 His barge ycleped was the Maudelayne.
 With us ther was a DOCTOUR OF PHISIK;
 In al this world ne was ther noon hym lik,
 To speke of phisik and of surgerye,
 For he was grounded in astronomye.
 He kepte his pacient a ful greet deel
 In houres by his magyk natureel.
 Wel koude he fortunen the ascendent
 Of his ymages for his pacient.
 He knew the cause of everich maladye,
420 Were it of hoot, or coold, or moyste, or drye,
 And where they engendred, and of what humour.
 He was a verray, parfit praktisour:
 The cause yknowe, and of his harm the roote,
 Anon he yaf the sike man his boote.
 Ful redy hadde he his apothecaries
 To sende hym drogges and his letuaries,
 For ech of hem made oother for to wynne --
 Hir frendshipe nas nat newe to bigynne.
 Wel knew he the olde Esculapius,
430 And Deyscorides, and eek Rufus,
 Olde Ypocras, Haly, and Galyen,
 Serapion, Razis, and Avycen,
 Averrois, Damascien, and Constantyn,
 Bernard, and Gatesden, and Gilbertyn.
 Of his diete mesurable was he,
 For it was of no superfluitee,
 But of greet norissyng and digestible.
 His studie was but litel on the Bible.
 In sangwyn and in pers he clad was al,
440 Lyned with taffata and with sendal.
 And yet he was but esy of dispence;
 He kepte that he wan in pestilence.
 For gold in phisik is a cordial,
 Therefore he lovede gold in special.
 A good WIF was ther OF biside BATHE,
 But she was somdel deef, and that was scathe.
 Of clooth-makyng she hadde swich an haunt
 She passed hem of Ypres and of Gaunt.
 In al the parisshe wif ne was ther noon
450 That to the offrynge bifore hire sholde goon;
 And if ther dide, certeyn so wrooth was she
 That she was out of alle charitee.
 Hir coverchiefs ful fyne weren of ground;
 I dorste swere they weyeden ten pound
 That on a Sonday weren upon hir heed.
 Hir hosen weren of fyn scarlet reed,
 Ful streite yteyd, and shoes ful moyste and newe.
 Boold was hir face, and fair, and reed of hewe.
 She was a worthy womman al hir lyve:
460 Housbondes at chirche dore she hadde fyve,
 Withouten oother compaignye in youthe --
 But thereof nedeth nat to speke as nowthe.
 And thries hadde she been at Jerusalem;
 She hadde passed many a straunge strem;
 At Rome she hadde been, and at Boloigne,
 In Galice at Seint-Jame, and at Coloigne.
 She koude muchel of wandrynge by the weye.
 Gat-tothed was she, soothly for to seye.
 Upon an amblere esily she sat,
470 Ywympled wel, and on hir heed an hat
 As brood as is a bokeler or a targe;
 A foot-mantel aboute hir hipes large,
 And on hir feet a paire of spores sharpe.
 In felaweshipe wel koude she laughe and carpe.
 Of remedies of love she knew per chaunce,
 For she koude of that art the olde daunce.
 A good man was ther of religioun,
 And was a povre PERSOUN OF A TOUN,
 But riche he was of hooly thoght and werk.
480 He was also a lerned man, a clerk,
 That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche;
 His parisshens devoutly wolde he teche.
 Benygne he was, and wonder diligent,
 And in adversitee ful pacient,
 And swich he was ypreved ofte sithes.
 Ful looth were hym to cursen for his tithes,
 But rather wolde he yeven, out of doute,
 Unto his povre parisshens aboute
 Of his offryng and eek of his substaunce.
490 He koude in litel thyng have suffisaunce.
 Wyd was his parisshe, and houses fer asonder,
 But he ne lefte nat, for reyn ne thonder,
 In siknesse nor in meschief to visite
 The ferreste in his parisshe, muche and lite,
 Upon his feet, and in his hand a staf.
 This noble ensample to his sheep he yaf,
 That first he wroghte, and afterward he taughte.
 Out of the gospel he tho wordes caughte,
 And this figure he added eek therto,
500 That if gold ruste, what shal iren do?
 For if a preest be foul, on whom we truste,
 No wonder is a lewed man to ruste;
 And shame it is, if a prest take keep,
 A shiten shepherde and a clene sheep.
 Wel oghte a preest ensample for to yive,
 By his clennesse, how that his sheep sholde lyve.
 He sette nat his benefice to hyre
 And leet his sheep encombred in the myre
 And ran to Londoun unto Seinte Poules
510 To seken hym a chaunterie for soules,
 Or with a bretherhed to been withholde;
 But dwelte at hoom, and kepte wel his folde,
 So that the wolf ne made it nat myscarie;
 He was a shepherde and noght a mercenarie.
 And though he hooly were and vertuous,
 He was to synful men nat despitous,
 Ne of his speche daungerous ne digne,
 But in his techyng discreet and benygne.
 To drawen folk to hevene by fairnesse,
520 By good ensample, this was his bisynesse.
 But it were any persone obstinat,
 What so he were, of heigh or lough estat,
 Hym wolde he snybben sharply for the nonys.
 A bettre preest I trowe that nowher noon ys.
 He waited after no pompe and reverence,
 Ne maked him a spiced conscience,
 But Cristes loore and his apostles twelve
 He taughte; but first he folwed it hymselve.
 With hym ther was a PLOWMAN, was his brother,
530 That hadde ylad of dong ful many a fother;
 A trewe swynkere and a good was he,
 Lyvynge in pees and parfit charitee.
 God loved he best with al his hoole herte
 At alle tymes, thogh him gamed or smerte,
 And thanne his neighebor right as hymselve.
 He wolde thresshe, and therto dyke and delve,
 For Cristes sake, for every povre wight,
 Withouten hire, if it lay in his myght.
 His tithes payde he ful faire and wel,
540 Bothe of his propre swynk and his catel.
 In a tabard he rood upon a mere.
 Ther was also a REVE, and a MILLERE,
 A SOMNOUR, and a PARDONER also,
 A MAUNCIPLE, and myself -- ther were namo.
 The MILLERE was a stout carl for the nones;
 Ful byg he was of brawn, and eek of bones.
 That proved wel, for over al ther he cam,
 At wrastlynge he wolde have alwey the ram.
 He was short-sholdred, brood, a thikke knarre;
550 Ther was no dore that he nolde heve of harre,
 Or breke it at a rennyng with his heed.
 His berd as any sowe or fox was reed,
 And therto brood, as though it were a spade.
 Upon the cop right of his nose he hade
 A werte, and theron stood a toft of herys,
 Reed as the brustles of a sowes erys;
 His nosethirles blake were and wyde.
 A swerd and a bokeler bar he by his syde.
 His mouth as greet was as a greet forneys.
560 He was a janglere and a goliardeys,
 And that was moost of synne and harlotries.
 Wel koude he stelen corn and tollen thries;
 And yet he hadde a thombe of gold, pardee.
 A whit cote and a blew hood wered he.
 A baggepipe wel koude he blowe and sowne,
 And therwithal he broghte us out of towne.
 A gentil MAUNCIPLE was ther of a temple,
 Of which achatours myghte take exemple
 For to be wise in byynge of vitaille;
570 For wheither that he payde or took by taille,
 Algate he wayted so in his achaat
 That he was ay biforn and in good staat.
 Now is nat that of God a ful fair grace
 That swich a lewed mannes wit shal pace
 The wisdom of an heep of lerned men?
 Of maistres hadde he mo than thries ten,
 That weren of lawe expert and curious,
 Of which ther were a duszeyne in that hous
 Worthy to been stywardes of rente and lond
580 Of any lord that is in Engelond,
 To make hym lyve by his propre good
 In honour dettelees (but if he were wood),
 Or lyve as scarsly as hym list desire;
 And able for to helpen al a shire
 In any caas that myghte falle or happe.
 And yet this Manciple sette hir aller cappe.
 The REVE was a sclendre colerik man.
 His berd was shave as ny as ever he kan;
 His heer was by his erys ful round yshorn;
590 His top was dokked lyk a preest biforn.
 Ful longe were his legges and ful lene,
 Ylyk a staf; ther was no calf ysene.
 Wel koude he kepe a gerner and a bynne;
 Ther was noon auditour koude on him wynne.
 Wel wiste he by the droghte and by the reyn
 The yeldynge of his seed and of his greyn.
 His lordes sheep, his neet, his dayerye,
 His swyn, his hors, his stoor, and his pultrye
 Was hoolly in this Reves governynge,
600 And by his covenant yaf the rekenynge,
 Syn that his lord was twenty yeer of age.
 Ther koude no man brynge hym in arrerage.
 Ther nas baillif, ne hierde, nor oother hyne,
 That he ne knew his sleighte and his covyne;
 They were adrad of hym as of the deeth.
 His wonyng was ful faire upon an heeth;
 With grene trees yshadwed was his place.
 He koude bettre than his lord purchace.
 Ful riche he was astored pryvely.
610 His lord wel koude he plesen subtilly,
 To yeve and lene hym of his owene good,
 And have a thank, and yet a cote and hood.
 In youthe he hadde lerned a good myster:
 He was a wel good wrighte, a carpenter.
 This Reve sat upon a ful good stot
 That was al pomely grey and highte Scot.
 A long surcote of pers upon he hade,
 And by his syde he baar a rusty blade.
 Of Northfolk was this Reve of which I telle,
620 Biside a toun men clepen Baldeswelle.
 Tukked he was as is a frere aboute,
 And evere he rood the hyndreste of oure route.
 A SOMONOUR was ther with us in that place,
 That hadde a fyr-reed cherubynnes face,
 For saucefleem he was, with eyen narwe.
 As hoot he was and lecherous as a sparwe,
 With scalled browes blake and piled berd.
 Of his visage children were aferd.
 Ther nas quyk-silver, lytarge, ne brymstoon,
630 Boras, ceruce, ne oille of tartre noon,
 Ne oynement that wolde clense and byte,
 That hym myghte helpen of his whelkes white,
 Nor of the knobbes sittynge on his chekes.
 Wel loved he garleek, oynons, and eek lekes,
 And for to drynken strong wyn, reed as blood;
 Thanne wolde he speke and crie as he were wood.
 And whan that he wel dronken hadde the wyn,
 Thanne wolde he speke no word but Latyn.
 A fewe termes hadde he, two or thre,
640 That he had lerned out of som decree --
 No wonder is, he herde it al the day;
 And eek ye knowen wel how that a jay
 Kan clepen "Watte" as wel as kan the pope.
 But whoso koude in oother thyng hym grope,
 Thanne hadde he spent al his philosophie;
 Ay "Questio quid iuris" wolde he crie.
 He was a gentil harlot and a kynde;
 A bettre felawe sholde men noght fynde.
 He wolde suffre for a quart of wyn
650 A good felawe to have his concubyn
 A twelf month, and excuse hym atte fulle;
 Ful prively a fynch eek koude he pulle.
 And if he foond owher a good felawe,
 He wolde techen him to have noon awe
 In swich caas of the ercedekenes curs,
 But if a mannes soule were in his purs;
 For in his purs he sholde ypunysshed be.
 "Purs is the ercedekenes helle," seyde he.
 But wel I woot he lyed right in dede;
660 Of cursyng oghte ech gilty man him drede,
 For curs wol slee right as assoillyng savith,
 And also war hym of a Significavit.
 In daunger hadde he at his owene gise
 The yonge girles of the diocise,
 And knew hir conseil, and was al hir reed.
 A gerland hadde he set upon his heed,
 As greet as it were for an ale-stake.
 A bokeleer hadde he maad hym of a cake.
 With hym ther rood a gentil PARDONER
670 Of Rouncivale, his freend and his compeer,
 That streight was comen fro the court of Rome.
 Ful loude he soong "Com hider, love, to me!"
 This Somonour bar to hym a stif burdoun;
 Was nevere trompe of half so greet a soun.
 This Pardoner hadde heer as yelow as wex,
 But smothe it heeng as dooth a strike of flex;
 By ounces henge his lokkes that he hadde,
 And therwith he his shuldres overspradde;
 But thynne it lay, by colpons oon and oon.
680 But hood, for jolitee, wered he noon,
 For it was trussed up in his walet.
 Hym thoughte he rood al of the newe jet;
 Dischevelee, save his cappe, he rood al bare.
 Swiche glarynge eyen hadde he as an hare.
 A vernycle hadde he sowed upon his cappe.
 His walet, biforn hym in his lappe,
 Bretful of pardoun comen from Rome al hoot.
 A voys he hadde as smal as hath a goot.
 No berd hadde he, ne nevere sholde have;
690 As smothe it was as it were late shave.
 I trowe he were a geldyng or a mare.
 But of his craft, fro Berwyk into Ware
 Ne was ther swich another pardoner.
 For in his male he hadde a pilwe-beer,
 Which that he seyde was Oure Lady veyl;
 He seyde he hadde a gobet of the seyl
 That Seint Peter hadde, whan that he wente
 Upon the see, til Jhesu Crist hym hente.
 He hadde a croys of latoun ful of stones,
700 And in a glas he hadde pigges bones.
 But with thise relikes, whan that he fond
 A povre person dwellynge upon lond,
 Upon a day he gat hym moore moneye
 Than that the person gat in monthes tweye;
 And thus, with feyned flaterye and japes,
 He made the person and the peple his apes.
 But trewely to tellen atte laste,
 He was in chirche a noble ecclesiaste.
 Wel koude he rede a lessoun or a storie,
710 But alderbest he song an offertorie;
 For wel he wiste, whan that song was songe,
 He moste preche and wel affile his tonge
 To wynne silver, as he ful wel koude;
 Therefore he song the murierly and loude.
 Now have I toold you soothly, in a clause,
 Th' estaat, th' array, the nombre, and eek the cause
 Why that assembled was this compaignye
 In Southwerk at this gentil hostelrye
 That highte the Tabard, faste by the Belle.
720 But now is tyme to yow for to telle
 How that we baren us that ilke nyght,
 Whan we were in that hostelrie alyght;
 And after wol I telle of our viage
 And al the remenaunt of oure pilgrimage.
 But first I pray yow, of youre curteisye,
 That ye n' arette it nat my vileynye,
 Thogh that I pleynly speke in this mateere,
 To telle yow hir wordes and hir cheere,
 Ne thogh I speke hir wordes proprely.
730 For this ye knowen al so wel as I:
 Whoso shal telle a tale after a man,
 He moot reherce as ny as evere he kan
 Everich a word, if it be in his charge,
 Al speke he never so rudeliche and large,
 Or ellis he moot telle his tale untrewe,
 Or feyne thyng, or fynde wordes newe.
 He may nat spare, althogh he were his brother;
 He moot as wel seye o word as another.
 Crist spak hymself ful brode in hooly writ,
740 And wel ye woot no vileynye is it.
 Eek Plato seith, whoso kan hym rede,
 The wordes moote be cosyn to the dede.
 Also I prey yow to foryeve it me,
 Al have I nat set folk in hir degree
 Heere in this tale, as that they sholde stonde.
 My wit is short, ye may wel understonde.
 Greet chiere made oure Hoost us everichon,
 And to the soper sette he us anon.
 He served us with vitaille at the beste;
750 Strong was the wyn, and wel to drynke us leste.
 A semely man OURE HOOSTE was withalle
 For to been a marchal in an halle.
 A large man he was with eyen stepe --
 A fairer burgeys was ther noon in Chepe --
 Boold of his speche, and wys, and wel ytaught,
 And of manhod hym lakkede right naught.
 Eek therto he was right a myrie man;
 And after soper pleyen he bigan,
 And spak of myrthe amonges othere thynges,
760 Whan that we hadde maad oure rekenynges,
 And seyde thus: "Now, lordynges, trewely,
 Ye been to me right welcome, hertely;
 For by my trouthe, if that I shal nat lye,
 I saugh nat this yeer so myrie a compaignye
 Atones in this herberwe as is now.
 Fayn wolde I doon yow myrthe, wiste I how.
 And of a myrthe I am right now bythoght,
 To doon yow ese, and it shal coste noght.
 "Ye goon to Caunterbury -- God yow speede,
770 The blisful martir quite yow youre meede!
 And wel I woot, as ye goon by the weye,
 Ye shapen yow to talen and to pleye;
 For trewely, confort ne myrthe is noon
 To ride by the weye doumb as a stoon;
 And therfore wol I maken yow disport,
 As I seyde erst, and doon yow som confort.
 And if yow liketh alle by oon assent
 For to stonden at my juggement,
 And for to werken as I shal yow seye,
780 Tomorwe, whan ye riden by the weye,
 Now, by my fader soule that is deed,
 But ye be myrie, I wol yeve yow myn heed!
 Hoold up youre hondes, withouten moore speche."
 Oure conseil was nat longe for to seche.
 Us thoughte it was noght worth to make it wys,
 And graunted hym withouten moore avys,
 And bad him seye his voirdit as hym leste.
 "Lordynges," quod he, "now herkneth for the beste;
 But taak it nought, I prey yow, in desdeyn.
790 This is the poynt, to speken short and pleyn,
 That ech of yow, to shorte with oure weye,
 In this viage shal telle tales tweye
 To Caunterbury-ward, I mene it so,
 And homward he shal tellen othere two,
 Of aventures that whilom han bifalle.
 And which of yow that bereth hym best of alle --
 That is to seyn, that telleth in this caas
 Tales of best sentence and moost solaas --
 Shal have a soper at oure aller cost
800 Heere in this place, sittynge by this post,
 Whan that we come agayn fro Caunterbury.
 And for to make yow the moore mury,
 I wol myselven goodly with yow ryde,
 Right at myn owene cost, and be youre gyde;
 And whoso wole my juggement withseye
 Shal paye al that we spenden by the weye.
 And if ye vouche sauf that it be so,
 Tel me anon, withouten wordes mo,
 And I wol erly shape me therfore."
810 This thyng was graunted, and oure othes swore
 With ful glad herte, and preyden hym also
 That he wolde vouche sauf for to do so,
 And that he wolde been oure governour,
 And of oure tales juge and reportour,
 And sette a soper at a certeyn pris,
 And we wol reuled been at his devys
 In heigh and lough; and thus by oon assent
 We been acorded to his juggement.
 And therupon the wyn was fet anon;
820 We dronken, and to reste wente echon,
 Withouten any lenger taryynge.
 Amorwe, whan that day bigan to sprynge,
 Up roos oure Hoost, and was oure aller cok,
 And gadrede us togidre alle in a flok,
 And forth we riden a litel moore than paas
 Unto the Wateryng of Seint Thomas;
 And there oure Hoost bigan his hors areste
 And seyde, "Lordynges, herkneth, if yow leste.
 Ye woot youre foreward, and I it yow recorde.
830 If even-song and morwe-song accorde,
 Lat se now who shal telle the firste tale.
 As evere mote I drynke wyn or ale,
 Whoso be rebel to my juggement
 Shal paye for al that by the wey is spent.
 Now draweth cut, er that we ferrer twynne;
 He which that hath the shorteste shal bigynne.
 Sire Knyght," quod he, "my mayster and my lord,
 Now draweth cut, for that is myn accord.
 Cometh neer," quod he, "my lady Prioresse.
840 And ye, sire Clerk, lat be youre shamefastnesse,
 Ne studieth noght; ley hond to, every man!"
 Anon to drawen every wight bigan,
 And shortly for to tellen as it was,
 Were it by aventure, or sort, or cas,
 The sothe is this: the cut fil to the Knyght,
 Of which ful blithe and glad was every wyght,
 And telle he moste his tale, as was resoun,
 By foreward and by composicioun,
 As ye han herd; what nedeth wordes mo?
850 And whan this goode man saugh that it was so,
 As he that wys was and obedient
 To kepe his foreward by his free assent,
 He seyde, "Syn I shal bigynne the game,
 What, welcome be the cut, a Goddes name!
 Now lat us ryde, and herkneth what I seye."
 And with that word we ryden forth oure weye,
 And he bigan with right a myrie cheere
 His tale anon, and seyde as ye may heere.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Knight's Tale

 Whilom, as olde stories tellen us,
860 Ther was a duc that highte Theseus;
 Of Atthenes he was lord and governour,
 And in his tyme swich a conquerour
 That gretter was ther noon under the sonne.
 Ful many a riche contree hadde he wonne;
 What with his wysdom and his chivalrie,
 He conquered al the regne of Femenye,
 That whilom was ycleped Scithia,
 And weddede the queene Ypolita,
 And broghte hire hoom with hym in his contree
870 With muchel glorie and greet solempnytee,
 And eek hir yonge suster Emelye.
 And thus with victorie and with melodye
 Lete I this noble duc to Atthenes ryde,
 And al his hoost in armes hym bisyde.
 And certes, if it nere to long to heere,
 I wolde have toold yow fully the manere
 How wonnen was the regne of Femenye
 By Theseus and by his chivalrye;
 And of the grete bataille for the nones
880 Bitwixen Atthenes and Amazones;
 And how asseged was Ypolita,
 The faire, hardy queene of Scithia;
 And of the feste that was at hir weddynge,
 And of the tempest at hir hoom-comynge;
 But al that thyng I moot as now forbere.
 I have, God woot, a large feeld to ere,
 And wayke been the oxen in my plough.
 The remenant of the tale is long ynough.
 I wol nat letten eek noon of this route;
890 Lat every felawe telle his tale aboute,
 And lat se now who shal the soper wynne;
 And ther I lefte, I wol ayeyn bigynne.
 This duc, of whom I make mencioun,
 Whan he was come almoost unto the toun,
 In al his wele and in his mooste pride,
 He was war, as he caste his eye aside,
 Where that ther kneled in the heighe weye
 A compaignye of ladyes, tweye and tweye,
 Ech after oother clad in clothes blake;
900 But swich a cry and swich a wo they make
 That in this world nys creature lyvynge
 That herde swich another waymentynge;
 And of this cry they nolde nevere stenten
 Til they the reynes of his brydel henten.
 "What folk been ye, that at myn hom-comynge
 Perturben so my feste with criynge?"
 Quod Theseus. "Have ye so greet envye
 Of myn honour, that thus compleyne and crye?
 Or who hath yow mysboden or offended?
910 And telleth me if it may been amended,
 And why that ye been clothed thus in blak."
 The eldeste lady of hem alle spak,
 Whan she hadde swowned with a deedly cheere,
 That it was routhe for to seen and heere;
 She seyde, "Lord, to whom Fortune hath yiven
 Victorie, and as a conqueror to lyven,
 Nat greveth us youre glorie and youre honour,
 But we biseken mercy and socour.
 Have mercy on oure wo and oure distresse!
920 Som drope of pitee, thurgh thy gentillesse,
 Upon us wrecched wommen lat thou falle,
 For, certes, lord, ther is noon of us alle
 That she ne hath been a duchesse or a queene.
 Now be we caytyves, as it is wel seene,
 Thanked be Fortune and hire false wheel,
 That noon estaat assureth to be weel.
 And certes, lord, to abyden youre presence,
 Heere in this temple of the goddesse Clemence
 We han ben waitynge al this fourtenyght.
930 Now help us, lord, sith it is in thy myght.
 "I, wrecche, which that wepe and wayle thus,
 Was whilom wyf to kyng Cappaneus,
 That starf at Thebes -- cursed be that day! --
 And alle we that been in this array
 And maken al this lamentacioun,
 We losten alle oure housbondes at that toun,
 Whil that the seege theraboute lay.
 And yet now the olde Creon -- weylaway! --
 That lord is now of Thebes the citee,
940 Fulfild of ire and of iniquitee,
 He, for despit and for his tirannye,
 To do the dede bodyes vileynye
 Of alle oure lordes whiche that been yslawe,
 Hath alle the bodyes on an heep ydrawe,
 And wol nat suffren hem, by noon assent,
 Neither to been yburyed nor ybrent,
 But maketh houndes ete hem in despit."
 And with that word, withouten moore respit,
 They fillen gruf and criden pitously,
950 "Have on us wrecched wommen som mercy,
 And lat oure sorwe synken in thyn herte."
 This gentil duc doun from his courser sterte
 With herte pitous, whan he herde hem speke.
 Hym thoughte that his herte wolde breke,
 Whan he saugh hem so pitous and so maat,
 That whilom weren of so greet estaat;
 And in his armes he hem alle up hente,
 And hem conforteth in ful good entente,
 And swoor his ooth, as he was trewe knyght,
960 He wolde doon so ferforthly his myght
 Upon the tiraunt Creon hem to wreke
 That al the peple of Grece sholde speke
 How Creon was of Theseus yserved
 As he that hadde his deeth ful wel deserved.
 And right anoon, withouten moore abood,
 His baner he desplayeth, and forth rood
 To Thebes-ward, and al his hoost biside.
 No neer Atthenes wolde he go ne ride,
 Ne take his ese fully half a day,
970 But onward on his wey that nyght he lay,
 And sente anon Ypolita the queene,
 And Emelye, hir yonge suster sheene,
 Unto the toun of Atthenes to dwelle,
 And forth he rit; ther is namoore to telle.
 The rede statue of Mars, with spere and targe,
 So shyneth in his white baner large
 That alle the feeldes glyteren up and doun;
 And by his baner born is his penoun
 Of gold ful riche, in which ther was ybete
980 The Mynotaur, which that he wan in Crete.
 Thus rit this duc, thus rit this conquerour,
 And in his hoost of chivalrie the flour,
 Til that he cam to Thebes and alighte
 Faire in a feeld, ther as he thoughte to fighte.
 But shortly for to speken of this thyng,
 With Creon, which that was of Thebes kyng,
 He faught, and slough hym manly as a knyght
 In pleyn bataille, and putte the folk to flyght;
 And by assaut he wan the citee after,
990 And rente adoun bothe wall and sparre and rafter;
 And to the ladyes he restored agayn
 The bones of hir freendes that were slayn,
 To doon obsequies, as was tho the gyse.
 But it were al to longe for to devyse
 The grete clamour and the waymentynge
 That the ladyes made at the brennynge
 Of the bodies, and the grete honour
 That Theseus, the noble conquerour,
 Dooth to the ladyes, whan they from hym wente;
1000 But shortly for to telle is myn entente.
 Whan that this worthy duc, this Theseus,
 Hath Creon slayn and wonne Thebes thus,
 Stille in that feeld he took al nyght his reste,
 And dide with al the contree as hym leste.
 To ransake in the taas of bodyes dede,
 Hem for to strepe of harneys and of wede,
 The pilours diden bisynesse and cure
 After the bataille and disconfiture.
 And so bifel that in the taas they founde,
1010 Thurgh-girt with many a grevous blody wounde,
 Two yonge knyghtes liggynge by and by,
 Bothe in oon armes, wroght ful richely,
 Of whiche two Arcita highte that oon,
 And that oother knyght highte Palamon.
 Nat fully quyke, ne fully dede they were,
 But by hir cote-armures and by hir gere
 The heraudes knewe hem best in special
 As they that weren of the blood roial
 Of Thebes, and of sustren two yborn.
1020 Out of the taas the pilours han hem torn,
 And han hem caried softe unto the tente
 Of Theseus; and he ful soone hem sente
 To Atthenes, to dwellen in prisoun
 Perpetuelly -- he nolde no raunsoun.
 And whan this worthy duc hath thus ydon,
 He took his hoost, and hoom he rit anon
 With laurer crowned as a conquerour;
 And ther he lyveth in joye and in honour
 Terme of his lyf; what nedeth wordes mo?
1030 And in a tour, in angwissh and in wo,
 This Palamon and his felawe Arcite
 For everemoore; ther may no gold hem quite.
 This passeth yeer by yeer and day by day,
 Till it fil ones, in a morwe of May,
 That Emelye, that fairer was to sene
 Than is the lylie upon his stalke grene,
 And fressher than the May with floures newe --
 For with the rose colour stroof hire hewe,
 I noot which was the fyner of hem two --
1040 Er it were day, as was hir wone to do,
 She was arisen and al redy dight,
 For May wole have no slogardie anyght.
 The sesoun priketh every gentil herte,
 And maketh it out of his slep to sterte,
 And seith "Arys, and do thyn observaunce."
 This maked Emelye have remembraunce
 To doon honour to May, and for to ryse.
 Yclothed was she fressh, for to devyse:
 Hir yelow heer was broyded in a tresse
1050 Bihynde hir bak, a yerde long, I gesse.
 And in the gardyn, at the sonne upriste,
 She walketh up and doun, and as hire liste
 She gadereth floures, party white and rede,
 To make a subtil gerland for hire hede;
 And as an aungel hevenysshly she soong.
 The grete tour, that was so thikke and stroong,
 Which of the castel was the chief dongeoun
 (Ther as the knyghtes weren in prisoun
 Of which I tolde yow and tellen shal),
1060 Was evene joynant to the gardyn wal
 Ther as this Emelye hadde hir pleyynge.
 Bright was the sonne and cleer that morwenynge,
 And Palamoun, this woful prisoner,
 As was his wone, by leve of his gayler,
 Was risen and romed in a chambre an heigh,
 In which he al the noble citee seigh,
 And eek the gardyn, ful of braunches grene,
 Ther as this fresshe Emelye the shene
 Was in hire walk, and romed up and doun.
1070 This sorweful prisoner, this Palamoun,
 Goth in the chambre romynge to and fro
 And to hymself compleynynge of his wo.
 That he was born, ful ofte he seyde, "allas!"
 And so bifel, by aventure or cas,
 That thurgh a wyndow, thikke of many a barre
 Of iren greet and square as any sparre,
 He cast his eye upon Emelya,
 And therwithal he bleynte and cride, "A!"
 As though he stongen were unto the herte.
1080 And with that cry Arcite anon up sterte
 And seyde, "Cosyn myn, what eyleth thee,
 That art so pale and deedly on to see?
 Why cridestow? Who hath thee doon offence?
 For Goddes love, taak al in pacience
 Oure prisoun, for it may noon oother be.
 Fortune hath yeven us this adversitee.
 Som wikke aspect or disposicioun
 Of Saturne, by som constellacioun,
 Hath yeven us this, although we hadde it sworn;
1090 So stood the hevene whan that we were born.
 We moste endure it; this is the short and playn."
 This Palamon answerde and seyde agayn,
 "Cosyn, for sothe, of this opinioun
 Thow hast a veyn ymaginacioun.
 This prison caused me nat for to crye,
 But I was hurt right now thurghout myn ye
 Into myn herte, that wol my bane be.
 The fairnesse of that lady that I see
 Yond in the gardyn romen to and fro
1100 Is cause of al my criyng and my wo.
 I noot wher she be womman or goddesse,
 But Venus is it soothly, as I gesse."
 And therwithal on knees doun he fil,
 And seyde, "Venus, if it be thy wil
 Yow in this gardyn thus to transfigure
 Bifore me, sorweful, wrecched creature,
 Out of this prisoun help that we may scapen.
 And if so be my destynee be shapen
 By eterne word to dyen in prisoun,
1110 Of oure lynage have som compassioun,
 That is so lowe ybroght by tirannye."
 And with that word Arcite gan espye
 Wher as this lady romed to and fro,
 And with that sighte hir beautee hurte hym so,
 That, if that Palamon was wounded sore,
 Arcite is hurt as muche as he, or moore.
 And with a sigh he seyde pitously,
 "The fresshe beautee sleeth me sodeynly
 Of hire that rometh in the yonder place;
1120 And but I have hir mercy and hir grace,
 That I may seen hire atte leeste weye,
 I nam but deed; ther nis namoore to seye."
 This Palamon, whan he tho wordes herde,
 Dispitously he looked and answerde,
 "Wheither seistow this in ernest or in pley?"
 "Nay," quod Arcite, "in ernest, by my fey!
 God helpe me so, me list ful yvele pleye."
 This Palamon gan knytte his browes tweye.
 "It nere," quod he, "to thee no greet honour
1130 For to be fals, ne for to be traitour
 To me, that am thy cosyn and thy brother
 Ysworn ful depe, and ech of us til oother,
 That nevere, for to dyen in the peyne,
 Til that the deeth departe shal us tweyne,
 Neither of us in love to hyndre oother,
 Ne in noon oother cas, my leeve brother,
 But that thou sholdest trewely forthren me
 In every cas, as I shal forthren thee --
 This was thyn ooth, and myn also, certeyn;
1140 I woot right wel, thou darst it nat withseyn.
 Thus artow of my conseil, out of doute,
 And now thow woldest falsly been aboute
 To love my lady, whom I love and serve,
 And evere shal til that myn herte sterve.
 Nay, certes, false Arcite, thow shalt nat so.
 I loved hire first, and tolde thee my wo
 As to my conseil and my brother sworn
 To forthre me, as I have toold biforn.
 For which thou art ybounden as a knyght
1150 To helpen me, if it lay in thy myght,
 Or elles artow fals, I dar wel seyn."
 This Arcite ful proudly spak ageyn:
 "Thow shalt," quod he, "be rather fals than I;
 And thou art fals, I telle thee outrely,
 For paramour I loved hire first er thow.
 What wiltow seyen? Thou woost nat yet now
 Wheither she be a womman or goddesse!
 Thyn is affeccioun of hoolynesse,
 And myn is love as to a creature;
1160 For which I tolde thee myn aventure
 As to my cosyn and my brother sworn.
 I pose that thow lovedest hire biforn;
 Wostow nat wel the olde clerkes sawe,
 That `who shal yeve a lovere any lawe?'
 Love is a gretter lawe, by my pan,
 Than may be yeve to any erthely man;
 And therfore positif lawe and swich decree
 Is broken al day for love in ech degree.
 A man moot nedes love, maugree his heed;
1170 He may nat fleen it, thogh he sholde be deed,
 Al be she mayde, or wydwe, or elles wyf.
 And eek it is nat likly al thy lyf
 To stonden in hir grace; namoore shal I;
 For wel thou woost thyselven, verraily,
 That thou and I be dampned to prisoun
 Perpetuelly; us gayneth no raunsoun.
 We stryve as dide the houndes for the boon;
 They foughte al day, and yet hir part was noon.
 Ther cam a kyte, whil that they were so wrothe,
1180 And baar awey the boon bitwixe hem bothe.
 And therfore, at the kynges court, my brother,
 Ech man for hymself, ther is noon oother.
 Love, if thee list, for I love and ay shal;
 And soothly, leeve brother, this is al.
 Heere in this prisoun moote we endure,
 And everich of us take his aventure."
 Greet was the strif and long bitwix hem tweye,
 If that I hadde leyser for to seye;
 But to th' effect. It happed on a day,
1190 To telle it yow as shortly as I may,
 A worthy duc that highte Perotheus,
 That felawe was unto duc Theseus
 Syn thilke day that they were children lite,
 Was come to Atthenes his felawe to visite,
 And for to pleye as he was wont to do;
 For in this world he loved no man so,
 And he loved hym als tendrely agayn.
 So wel they lovede, as olde bookes sayn,
 That whan that oon was deed, soothly to telle,
1200 His felawe wente and soughte hym doun in helle --
 But of that storie list me nat to write.
 Duc Perotheus loved wel Arcite,
 And hadde hym knowe at Thebes yeer by yere,
 And finally at requeste and preyere
 Of Perotheus, withouten any raunsoun,
 Duc Theseus hym leet out of prisoun
 Frely to goon wher that hym liste over al,
 In swich a gyse as I you tellen shal.
 This was the forward, pleynly for t' endite,
1210 Bitwixen Theseus and hym Arcite:
 That if so were that Arcite were yfounde
 Evere in his lif, by day or nyght, oo stounde
 In any contree of this Theseus,
 And he were caught, it was acorded thus,
 That with a swerd he sholde lese his heed.
 Ther nas noon oother remedie ne reed;
 But taketh his leve, and homward he him spedde.
 Lat hym be war! His nekke lith to wedde.
 How greet a sorwe suffreth now Arcite!
1220 The deeth he feeleth thurgh his herte smyte;
 He wepeth, wayleth, crieth pitously;
 To sleen hymself he waiteth prively.
 He seyde, "Allas that day that I was born!
 Now is my prisoun worse than biforn;
 Now is me shape eternally to dwelle
 Noght in purgatorie, but in helle.
 Allas, that evere knew I Perotheus!
 For elles hadde I dwelled with Theseus,
 Yfetered in his prisoun everemo.
1230 Thanne hadde I been in blisse and nat in wo.
 Oonly the sighte of hire whom that I serve,
 Though that I nevere hir grace may deserve,
 Wolde han suffised right ynough for me.
 O deere cosyn Palamon," quod he,
 "Thyn is the victorie of this aventure.
 Ful blisfully in prison maistow dure --
 In prison? Certes nay, but in paradys!
 Wel hath Fortune yturned thee the dys,
 That hast the sighte of hire, and I th' absence.
1240 For possible is, syn thou hast hire presence,
 And art a knyght, a worthy and an able,
 That by som cas, syn Fortune is chaungeable,
 Thow maist to thy desir somtyme atteyne.
 But I, that am exiled and bareyne
 Of alle grace, and in so greet dispeir
 That ther nys erthe, water, fir, ne eir,
 Ne creature that of hem maked is,
 That may me helpe or doon confort in this,
 Wel oughte I sterve in wanhope and distresse.
1250 Farwel my lif, my lust, and my gladnesse!
 "Allas, why pleynen folk so in commune
 On purveiaunce of God, or of Fortune,
 That yeveth hem ful ofte in many a gyse
 Wel bettre than they kan hemself devyse?
 Som man desireth for to han richesse,
 That cause is of his mordre or greet siknesse;
 And som man wolde out of his prisoun fayn,
 That in his hous is of his meynee slayn.
 Infinite harmes been in this mateere.
1260 We witen nat what thing we preyen heere;
 We faren as he that dronke is as a mous.
 A dronke man woot wel he hath an hous,
 But he noot which the righte wey is thider,
 And to a dronke man the wey is slider.
 And certes, in this world so faren we;
 We seken faste after felicitee,
 But we goon wrong ful often, trewely.
 Thus may we seyen alle, and namely I,
 That wende and hadde a greet opinioun
1270 That if I myghte escapen from prisoun,
 Thanne hadde I been in joye and parfit heele,
 Ther now I am exiled fro my wele.
 Syn that I may nat seen you, Emelye,
 I nam but deed; ther nys no remedye."
 Upon that oother syde Palamon,
 Whan that he wiste Arcite was agon,
 Swich sorwe he maketh that the grete tour
 Resouneth of his youlyng and clamour.
 The pure fettres on his shynes grete
1280 Weren of his bittre, salte teeres wete.
 "Allas," quod he, "Arcita, cosyn myn,
 Of al oure strif, God woot, the fruyt is thyn.
 Thow walkest now in Thebes at thy large,
 And of my wo thow yevest litel charge.
 Thou mayst, syn thou hast wisdom and manhede,
 Assemblen alle the folk of oure kynrede,
 And make a werre so sharp on this citee
 That by som aventure or some tretee
 Thow mayst have hire to lady and to wyf
1290 For whom that I moste nedes lese my lyf.
 For, as by wey of possibilitee,
 Sith thou art at thy large, of prisoun free,
 And art a lord, greet is thyn avauntage
 Moore than is myn, that sterve here in a cage.
 For I moot wepe and wayle, whil I lyve,
 With al the wo that prison may me yive,
 And eek with peyne that love me yeveth also,
 That doubleth al my torment and my wo."
 Therwith the fyr of jalousie up sterte
1300 Withinne his brest, and hente him by the herte
 So woodly that he lyk was to biholde
 The boxtree or the asshen dede and colde.
 Thanne seyde he, "O crueel goddes that governe
 This world with byndyng of youre word eterne,
 And writen in the table of atthamaunt
 Youre parlement and youre eterne graunt,
 What is mankynde moore unto you holde
 Than is the sheep that rouketh in the folde?
 For slayn is man right as another beest,
1310 And dwelleth eek in prison and arreest,
 And hath siknesse and greet adversitee,
 And ofte tymes giltelees, pardee.
 "What governance is in this prescience,
 That giltelees tormenteth innocence?
 And yet encresseth this al my penaunce,
 That man is bounden to his observaunce,
 For Goddes sake, to letten of his wille,
 Ther as a beest may al his lust fulfille.
 And whan a beest is deed he hath no peyne;
1320 But man after his deeth moot wepe and pleyne,
 Though in this world he have care and wo.
 Withouten doute it may stonden so.
 The answere of this lete I to dyvynys,
 But wel I woot that in this world greet pyne ys.
 Allas, I se a serpent or a theef,
 That many a trewe man hath doon mescheef,
 Goon at his large, and where hym list may turne.
 But I moot been in prisoun thurgh Saturne,
 And eek thurgh Juno, jalous and eek wood,
1330 That hath destroyed wel ny al the blood
 Of Thebes with his waste walles wyde;
 And Venus sleeth me on that oother syde
 For jalousie and fere of hym Arcite."
 Now wol I stynte of Palamon a lite,
 And lete hym in his prisoun stille dwelle,
 And of Arcita forth I wol yow telle.
 The somer passeth, and the nyghtes longe
 Encressen double wise the peynes stronge
 Bothe of the lovere and the prisoner.
1340 I noot which hath the wofuller mester.
 For, shortly for to seyn, this Palamoun
 Perpetuelly is dampned to prisoun,
 In cheynes and in fettres to been deed;
 And Arcite is exiled upon his heed
 For everemo, as out of that contree,
 Ne nevere mo ne shal his lady see.
 Yow loveres axe I now this questioun:
 Who hath the worse, Arcite or Palamoun?
 That oon may seen his lady day by day,
1350 But in prison he moot dwelle alway;
 That oother wher hym list may ride or go,
 But seen his lady shal he nevere mo.
 Now demeth as yow liste, ye that kan,
 For I wol telle forth as I bigan.
 Whan that Arcite to Thebes comen was,
 Ful ofte a day he swelte and seyde "Allas!"
 For seen his lady shal he nevere mo.
 And shortly to concluden al his wo,
 So muche sorwe hadde nevere creature
1360 That is, or shal, whil that the world may dure.
 His slep, his mete, his drynke, is hym biraft,
 That lene he wex and drye as is a shaft;
 His eyen holwe and grisly to biholde,
 His hewe falow and pale as asshen colde,
 And solitarie he was and evere allone,
 And waillynge al the nyght, makynge his mone;
 And if he herde song or instrument,
 Thanne wolde he wepe, he myghte nat be stent.
 So feble eek were his spiritz, and so lowe,
1370 And chaunged so, that no man koude knowe
 His speche nor his voys, though men it herde.
 And in his geere for al the world he ferde
 Nat oonly lik the loveris maladye
 Of Hereos, but rather lyk manye,
 Engendred of humour malencolik
 Biforen, in his celle fantastik.
 And shortly, turned was al up so doun
 Bothe habit and eek disposicioun
 Of hym, this woful lovere daun Arcite.
1380 What sholde I al day of his wo endite?
 Whan he endured hadde a yeer or two
 This crueel torment and this peyne and wo,
 At Thebes, in his contree, as I seyde,
 Upon a nyght in sleep as he hym leyde,
 Hym thoughte how that the wynged god Mercurie
 Biforn hym stood and bad hym to be murie.
 His slepy yerde in hond he bar uprighte;
 An hat he werede upon his heris brighte.
 Arrayed was this god, as he took keep,
1390 As he was whan that Argus took his sleep;
 And seyde hym thus: "To Atthenes shaltou wende,
 Ther is thee shapen of thy wo an ende."
 And with that word Arcite wook and sterte.
 "Now trewely, hou soore that me smerte,"
 Quod he, "to Atthenes right now wol I fare,
 Ne for the drede of deeth shal I nat spare
 To se my lady, that I love and serve.
 In hire presence I recche nat to sterve."
 And with that word he caughte a greet mirour,
1400 And saugh that chaunged was al his colour,
 And saugh his visage al in another kynde.
 And right anon it ran hym in his mynde,
 That, sith his face was so disfigured
 Of maladye the which he hadde endured,
 He myghte wel, if that he bar hym lowe,
 Lyve in Atthenes everemoore unknowe,
 And seen his lady wel ny day by day.
 And right anon he chaunged his array,
 And cladde hym as a povre laborer,
1410 And al allone, save oonly a squier
 That knew his privetee and al his cas,
 Which was disgised povrely as he was,
 To Atthenes is he goon the nexte way.
 And to the court he wente upon a day,
 And at the gate he profreth his servyse
 To drugge and drawe, what so men wol devyse.
 And shortly of this matere for to seyn,
 He fil in office with a chamberleyn
 The which that dwellynge was with Emelye,
1420 For he was wys and koude soone espye,
 Of every servaunt, which that serveth here.
 Wel koude he hewen wode, and water bere,
 For he was yong and myghty for the nones,
 And therto he was long and big of bones
 To doon that any wight kan hym devyse.
 A yeer or two he was in this servyse,
 Page of the chambre of Emelye the brighte,
 And Philostrate he seyde that he highte.
 But half so wel biloved a man as he
1430 Ne was ther nevere in court of his degree;
 He was so gentil of condicioun
 That thurghout al the court was his renoun.
 They seyden that it were a charitee
 That Theseus wolde enhauncen his degree,
 And putten hym in worshipful servyse,
 Ther as he myghte his vertu excercise.
 And thus withinne a while his name is spronge,
 Bothe of his dedes and his goode tonge,
 That Theseus hath taken hym so neer
1440 That of his chambre he made hym a squier,
 And gaf hym gold to mayntene his degree.
 And eek men broghte hym out of his contree,
 From yeer to yeer, ful pryvely his rente;
 But honestly and slyly he it spente,
 That no man wondred how that he it hadde.
 And thre yeer in this wise his lif he ladde,
 And bar hym so, in pees and eek in werre,
 Ther was no man that Theseus hath derre.
 And in this blisse lete I now Arcite,
1450 And speke I wole of Palamon a lite.
 In derknesse and horrible and strong prisoun
 Thise seven yeer hath seten Palamoun
 Forpyned, what for wo and for distresse.
 Who feeleth double soor and hevynesse
 But Palamon, that love destreyneth so
 That wood out of his wit he goth for wo?
 And eek therto he is a prisoner
 Perpetuelly, noght oonly for a yer.
 Who koude ryme in Englyssh proprely
1460 His martirdom? For sothe it am nat I;
 Therfore I passe as lightly as I may.
 It fel that in the seventhe yer, of May
 The thridde nyght (as olde bookes seyn,
 That al this storie tellen moore pleyn),
 Were it by aventure or destynee --
 As, whan a thyng is shapen, it shal be --
 That soone after the mydnyght Palamoun,
 By helpyng of a freend, brak his prisoun
 And fleeth the citee faste as he may go.
1470 For he hadde yeve his gayler drynke so
 Of a clarree maad of a certeyn wyn,
 With nercotikes and opie of Thebes fyn,
 That al that nyght, thogh that men wolde him shake,
 The gayler sleep; he myghte nat awake.
 And thus he fleeth as faste as evere he may.
 The nyght was short and faste by the day
 That nedes cost he moot hymselven hyde,
 And til a grove faste ther bisyde
 With dredeful foot thanne stalketh Palamon.
1480 For, shortly, this was his opinion:
 That in that grove he wolde hym hyde al day,
 And in the nyght thanne wolde he take his way
 To Thebes-ward, his freendes for to preye
 On Theseus to helpe him to werreye;
 And shortly, outher he wolde lese his lif
 Or wynnen Emelye unto his wyf.
 This is th' effect and his entente pleyn.
 Now wol I turne to Arcite ageyn,
 That litel wiste how ny that was his care,
1490 Til that Fortune had broght him in the snare.
 The bisy larke, messager of day,
 Salueth in hir song the morwe gray,
 And firy Phebus riseth up so bright
 That al the orient laugheth of the light,
 And with his stremes dryeth in the greves
 The silver dropes hangynge on the leves.
 And Arcita, that in the court roial
 With Theseus is squier principal,
 Is risen and looketh on the myrie day.
1500 And for to doon his observaunce to May,
 Remembrynge on the poynt of his desir,
 He on a courser, startlynge as the fir,
 Is riden into the feeldes hym to pleye,
 Out of the court, were it a myle or tweye.
 And to the grove of which that I yow tolde
 By aventure his wey he gan to holde
 To maken hym a gerland of the greves,
 Were it of wodebynde or hawethorn leves,
 And loude he song ayeyn the sonne shene:
1510 "May, with alle thy floures and thy grene,
 Welcome be thou, faire, fresshe May,
 In hope that I som grene gete may."
 And from his courser, with a lusty herte,
 Into the grove ful hastily he sterte,
 And in a path he rometh up and doun,
 Ther as by aventure this Palamoun
 Was in a bussh, that no man myghte hym se,
 For soore afered of his deeth was he.
 No thyng ne knew he that it was Arcite;
1520 God woot he wolde have trowed it ful lite.
 But sooth is seyd, go sithen many yeres,
 That "feeld hath eyen and the wode hath eres."
 It is ful fair a man to bere hym evene,
 For al day meeteth men at unset stevene.
 Ful litel woot Arcite of his felawe,
 That was so ny to herknen al his sawe,
 For in the bussh he sitteth now ful stille.
 Whan that Arcite hadde romed al his fille,
 And songen al the roundel lustily,
1530 Into a studie he fil sodeynly,
 As doon thise loveres in hir queynte geres,
 Now in the crope, now doun in the breres,
 Now up, now doun, as boket in a welle.
 Right as the Friday, soothly for to telle,
 Now it shyneth, now it reyneth faste,
 Right so kan geery Venus overcaste
 The hertes of hir folk; right as hir day
 Is gereful, right so chaungeth she array.
 Selde is the Friday al the wowke ylike.
1540 Whan that Arcite had songe, he gan to sike
 And sette hym doun withouten any moore.
 "Allas," quod he, "that day that I was bore!
 How longe, Juno, thurgh thy crueltee,
 Woltow werreyen Thebes the citee?
 Allas, ybroght is to confusioun
 The blood roial of Cadme and Amphioun --
 Of Cadmus, which that was the firste man
 That Thebes bulte, or first the toun bigan,
 And of the citee first was crouned kyng.
1550 Of his lynage am I and his ofspryng
 By verray ligne, as of the stok roial,
 And now I am so caytyf and so thral,
 That he that is my mortal enemy,
 I serve hym as his squier povrely.
 And yet dooth Juno me wel moore shame,
 For I dar noght biknowe myn owene name;
 But ther as I was wont to highte Arcite,
 Now highte I Philostrate, noght worth a myte.
 Allas, thou felle Mars! Allas, Juno!
1560 Thus hath youre ire oure lynage al fordo,
 Save oonly me and wrecched Palamoun,
 That Theseus martireth in prisoun.
 And over al this, to sleen me outrely
 Love hath his firy dart so brennyngly
 Ystiked thurgh my trewe, careful herte
 That shapen was my deeth erst than my sherte.
 Ye sleen me with youre eyen, Emelye!
 Ye been the cause wherfore that I dye.
 Of al the remenant of myn oother care
1570 Ne sette I nat the montance of a tare,
 So that I koude doon aught to youre plesaunce."
 And with that word he fil doun in a traunce
 A longe tyme, and after he up sterte.
 This Palamoun, that thoughte that thurgh his herte
 He felte a coold swerd sodeynliche glyde,
 For ire he quook; no lenger wolde he byde.
 And whan that he had herd Arcites tale,
 As he were wood, with face deed and pale,
 He stirte hym up out of the buskes thikke
1580 And seide: "Arcite, false traytour wikke,
 Now artow hent, that lovest my lady so,
 For whom that I have al this peyne and wo,
 And art my blood, and to my conseil sworn,
 As I ful ofte have told thee heerbiforn,
 And hast byjaped heere duc Theseus,
 And falsly chaunged hast thy name thus!
 I wol be deed, or elles thou shalt dye.
 Thou shalt nat love my lady Emelye,
 But I wol love hire oonly and namo;
1590 For I am Palamon, thy mortal foo.
 And though that I no wepene have in this place,
 But out of prison am astert by grace,
 I drede noght that outher thow shalt dye,
 Or thow ne shalt nat loven Emelye.
 Chees which thou wolt, or thou shalt nat asterte!"
 This Arcite, with ful despitous herte,
 Whan he hym knew, and hadde his tale herd,
 As fiers as leon pulled out his swerd,
 And seyde thus: "By God that sit above,
1600 Nere it that thou art sik and wood for love,
 And eek that thow no wepne hast in this place,
 Thou sholdest nevere out of this grove pace,
 That thou ne sholdest dyen of myn hond.
 For I defye the seurete and the bond
 Which that thou seist that I have maad to thee.
 What! Verray fool, thynk wel that love is free,
 And I wol love hire maugree al thy myght!
 But for as muche thou art a worthy knyght
 And wilnest to darreyne hire by bataille,
1610 Have heer my trouthe; tomorwe I wol nat faille,
 Withoute wityng of any oother wight,
 That heere I wol be founden as a knyght,
 And bryngen harneys right ynough for thee;
 And ches the beste, and leef the worste for me.
 And mete and drynke this nyght wol I brynge
 Ynough for thee, and clothes for thy beddynge.
 And if so be that thou my lady wynne,
 And sle me in this wode ther I am inne,
 Thow mayst wel have thy lady as for me."
1620 This Palamon answerde, "I graunte it thee."
 And thus they been departed til amorwe,
 Whan ech of hem had leyd his feith to borwe.
 O Cupide, out of alle charitee!
 O regne, that wolt no felawe have with thee!
 Ful sooth is seyd that love ne lordshipe
 Wol noght, his thankes, have no felaweshipe.
 Wel fynden that Arcite and Palamoun.
 Arcite is riden anon unto the toun,
 And on the morwe, er it were dayes light,
1630 Ful prively two harneys hath he dight,
 Bothe suffisaunt and mete to darreyne
 The bataille in the feeld bitwix hem tweyne;
 And on his hors, allone as he was born,
 He carieth al the harneys hym biforn.
 And in the grove, at tyme and place yset,
 This Arcite and this Palamon ben met.
 To chaungen gan the colour in hir face;
 Right as the hunters in the regne of Trace,
 That stondeth at the gappe with a spere,
1640 Whan hunted is the leon or the bere,
 And hereth hym come russhyng in the greves,
 And breketh bothe bowes and the leves,
 And thynketh, "Heere cometh my mortal enemy!
 Withoute faille, he moot be deed, or I,
 For outher I moot sleen hym at the gappe,
 Or he moot sleen me, if that me myshappe."
 So ferden they in chaungyng of hir hewe,
 As fer as everich of hem oother knewe.
 Ther nas no good day, ne no saluyng,
1650 But streight, withouten word or rehersyng,
 Everich of hem heelp for to armen oother
 As freendly as he were his owene brother;
 And after that, with sharpe speres stronge
 They foynen ech at oother wonder longe.
 Thou myghtest wene that this Palamon
 In his fightyng were a wood leon,
 And as a crueel tigre was Arcite;
 As wilde bores gonne they to smyte,
 That frothen whit as foom for ire wood.
1660 Up to the ancle foghte they in hir blood.
 And in this wise I lete hem fightyng dwelle,
 And forth I wole of Theseus yow telle.
 The destinee, ministre general,
 That executeth in the world over al
 The purveiaunce that God hath seyn biforn,
 So strong it is that, though the world had sworn
 The contrarie of a thyng by ye or nay,
 Yet somtyme it shal fallen on a day
 That falleth nat eft withinne a thousand yeer.
1670 For certeinly, oure appetites heer,
 Be it of werre, or pees, or hate, or love,
 Al is this reuled by the sighte above.
 This mene I now by myghty Theseus,
 That for to hunten is so desirus,
 And namely at the grete hert in May,
 That in his bed ther daweth hym no day
 That he nys clad, and redy for to ryde
 With hunte and horn and houndes hym bisyde.
 For in his huntyng hath he swich delit
1680 That it is al his joye and appetit
 To been hymself the grete hertes bane,
 For after Mars he serveth now Dyane.
 Cleer was the day, as I have toold er this,
 And Theseus with alle joye and blis,
 With his Ypolita, the faire queene,
 And Emelye, clothed al in grene,
 On huntyng be they riden roially.
 And to the grove that stood ful faste by,
 In which ther was an hert, as men hym tolde,
1690 Duc Theseus the streighte wey hath holde.
 And to the launde he rideth hym ful right,
 For thider was the hert wont have his flight,
 And over a brook, and so forth on his weye.
 This duc wol han a cours at hym or tweye
 With houndes swiche as that hym list comaunde.
 And whan this duc was come unto the launde,
 Under the sonne he looketh, and anon
 He was war of Arcite and Palamon,
 That foughten breme as it were bores two.
1700 The brighte swerdes wenten to and fro
 So hidously that with the leeste strook
 It semed as it wolde felle an ook.
 But what they were, no thyng he ne woot.
 This duc his courser with his spores smoot,
 And at a stert he was bitwix hem two,
 And pulled out a swerd and cride, "Hoo!
 Namoore, up peyne of lesynge of youre heed!
 By myghty Mars, he shal anon be deed
 That smyteth any strook that I may seen.
1710 But telleth me what myster men ye been,
 That been so hardy for to fighten heere
 Withouten juge or oother officere,
 As it were in a lystes roially."
 This Palamon answerde hastily
 And seyde, "Sire, what nedeth wordes mo?
 We have the deeth disserved bothe two.
 Two woful wrecches been we, two caytyves,
 That been encombred of oure owene lyves;
 And as thou art a rightful lord and juge,
1720 Ne yif us neither mercy ne refuge,
 But sle me first, for seinte charitee!
 But sle my felawe eek as wel as me;
 Or sle hym first, for though thow knowest it lite,
 This is thy mortal foo, this is Arcite,
 That fro thy lond is banysshed on his heed,
 For which he hath deserved to be deed.
 For this is he that cam unto thy gate
 And seyde that he highte Philostrate.
 Thus hath he japed thee ful many a yer,
1730 And thou hast maked hym thy chief squier;
 And this is he that loveth Emelye.
 For sith the day is come that I shal dye,
 I make pleynly my confessioun
 That I am thilke woful Palamoun
 That hath thy prisoun broken wikkedly.
 I am thy mortal foo, and it am I
 That loveth so hoote Emelye the brighte
 That I wol dye present in hir sighte.
 Wherfore I axe deeth and my juwise;
1740 But sle my felawe in the same wise,
 For bothe han we deserved to be slayn."
 This worthy duc answerde anon agayn,
 And seyde, "This is a short conclusioun.
 Youre owene mouth, by youre confessioun,
 Hath dampned yow, and I wol it recorde;
 It nedeth noght to pyne yow with the corde.
 Ye shal be deed, by myghty Mars the rede!"
 The queene anon, for verray wommanhede,
 Gan for to wepe, and so dide Emelye,
1750 And alle the ladyes in the compaignye.
 Greet pitee was it, as it thoughte hem alle,
 That evere swich a chaunce sholde falle,
 For gentil men they were of greet estaat,
 And no thyng but for love was this debaat;
 And saugh hir blody woundes wyde and soore,
 And alle crieden, bothe lasse and moore,
 "Have mercy, Lord, upon us wommen alle!"
 And on hir bare knees adoun they falle
 And wolde have kist his feet ther as he stood;
1760 Til at the laste aslaked was his mood,
 For pitee renneth soone in gentil herte.
 And though he first for ire quook and sterte,
 He hath considered shortly, in a clause,
 The trespas of hem bothe, and eek the cause,
 And although that his ire hir gilt accused,
 Yet in his resoun he hem bothe excused,
 As thus: he thoghte wel that every man
 Wol helpe hymself in love, if that he kan,
 And eek delivere hymself out of prisoun.
1770 And eek his herte hadde compassioun
 Of wommen, for they wepen evere in oon,
 And in his gentil herte he thoughte anon,
 And softe unto hymself he seyde, "Fy
 Upon a lord that wol have no mercy,
 But been a leon, bothe in word and dede,
 To hem that been in repentaunce and drede,
 As wel as to a proud despitous man
 That wol mayntene that he first bigan.
 That lord hath litel of discrecioun,
1780 That in swich cas kan no divisioun
 But weyeth pride and humblesse after oon."
 And shortly, whan his ire is thus agoon,
 He gan to looken up with eyen lighte
 And spak thise same wordes al on highte:
 "The god of love, a benedicite!
 How myghty and how greet a lord is he!
 Ayeyns his myght ther gayneth none obstacles.
 He may be cleped a god for his myracles,
 For he kan maken, at his owene gyse,
1790 Of everich herte as that hym list divyse.
 Lo heere this Arcite and this Palamoun,
 That quitly weren out of my prisoun,
 And myghte han lyved in Thebes roially,
 And witen I am hir mortal enemy,
 And that hir deth lith in my myght also,
 And yet hath love, maugree hir eyen two,
 Broght hem hyder bothe for to dye.
 Now looketh, is nat that an heigh folye?
 Who may been a fool but if he love?
1800 Bihoold, for Goddes sake that sit above,
 Se how they blede! Be they noght wel arrayed?
 Thus hath hir lord, the god of love, ypayed
 Hir wages and hir fees for hir servyse!
 And yet they wenen for to been ful wyse
 That serven love, for aught that may bifalle.
 But this is yet the beste game of alle,
 That she for whom they han this jolitee
 Kan hem therfore as muche thank as me.
 She woot namoore of al this hoote fare,
1810 By God, than woot a cokkow or an hare!
 But all moot ben assayed, hoot and coold;
 A man moot ben a fool, or yong or oold --
 I woot it by myself ful yore agon,
 For in my tyme a servant was I oon.
 And therfore, syn I knowe of loves peyne
 And woot hou soore it kan a man distreyne,
 As he that hath ben caught ofte in his laas,
 I yow foryeve al hoolly this trespaas,
 At requeste of the queene, that kneleth heere,
1820 And eek of Emelye, my suster deere.
 And ye shul bothe anon unto me swere
 That nevere mo ye shal my contree dere,
 Ne make werre upon me nyght ne day,
 But been my freendes in all that ye may.
 I yow foryeve this trespas every deel."
 And they hym sworen his axyng faire and weel,
 And hym of lordshipe and of mercy preyde,
 And he hem graunteth grace, and thus he seyde:
 "To speke of roial lynage and richesse,
1830 Though that she were a queene or a princesse,
 Ech of you bothe is worthy, doutelees,
 To wedden whan tyme is; but nathelees --
 I speke as for my suster Emelye,
 For whom ye have this strif and jalousye --
 Ye woot yourself she may nat wedden two
 Atones, though ye fighten everemo,
 That oon of you, al be hym looth or lief,
 He moot go pipen in an yvy leef;
 This is to seyn, she may nat now han bothe,
1840 Al be ye never so jalouse ne so wrothe.
 And forthy I yow putte in this degree,
 That ech of yow shal have his destynee
 As hym is shape, and herkneth in what wyse;
 Lo, heere youre ende of that I shal devyse.
 My wyl is this, for plat conclusioun,
 Withouten any repplicacioun --
 If that you liketh, take it for the beste:
 That everich of you shal goon where hym leste
 Frely, withouten raunson or daunger,
1850 And this day fifty wykes, fer ne ner,
 Everich of you shal brynge an hundred knyghtes
 Armed for lystes up at alle rightes,
 Al redy to darreyne hire by bataille.
 And this bihote I yow withouten faille,
 Upon my trouthe, and as I am a knyght,
 That wheither of yow bothe that hath myght --
 This is to seyn, that wheither he or thow
 May with his hundred, as I spak of now,
 Sleen his contrarie, or out of lystes dryve,
1860 Thanne shal I yeve Emelya to wyve
 To whom that Fortune yeveth so fair a grace.
 The lystes shal I maken in this place,
 And God so wisly on my soule rewe
 As I shal evene juge been and trewe.
 Ye shul noon oother ende with me maken,
 That oon of yow ne shal be deed or taken.
 And if yow thynketh this is weel ysayd,
 Seyeth youre avys, and holdeth you apayd.
 This is youre ende and youre conclusioun."
1870 Who looketh lightly now but Palamoun?
 Who spryngeth up for joye but Arcite?
 Who kouthe telle, or who kouthe it endite,
 The joye that is maked in the place
 Whan Theseus hath doon so fair a grace?
 But doun on knees wente every maner wight,
 And thonked hym with al hir herte and myght,
 And namely the Thebans often sithe.
 And thus with good hope and with herte blithe
 They taken hir leve, and homward gonne they ride
1880 To Thebes with his olde walles wyde.
 I trowe men wolde deme it necligence
 If I foryete to tellen the dispence
 Of Theseus, that gooth so bisily
 To maken up the lystes roially,
 That swich a noble theatre as it was
 I dar wel seyen in this world ther nas.
 The circuit a myle was aboute,
 Walled of stoon, and dyched al withoute.
 Round was the shap, in manere of compas,
1890 Ful of degrees, the heighte of sixty pas,
 That whan a man was set on o degree,
 He letted nat his felawe for to see.
 Estward ther stood a gate of marbul whit,
 Westward right swich another in the opposit.
 And shortly to concluden, swich a place
 Was noon in erthe, as in so litel space;
 For in the lond ther was no crafty man
 That geometrie or ars-metrike kan,
 Ne portreyour, ne kervere of ymages,
1900 That Theseus ne yaf him mete and wages
 The theatre for to maken and devyse.
 And for to doon his ryte and sacrifise,
 He estward hath, upon the gate above,
 In worshipe of Venus, goddesse of love,
 Doon make an auter and an oratorie;
 And on the gate westward, in memorie
 Of Mars, he maked hath right swich another,
 That coste largely of gold a fother.
 And northward, in a touret on the wal,
1910 Of alabastre whit and reed coral,
 An oratorie, riche for to see,
 In worshipe of Dyane of chastitee,
 Hath Theseus doon wroght in noble wyse.
 But yet hadde I foryeten to devyse
 The noble kervyng and the portreitures,
 The shap, the contenaunce, and the figures
 That weren in thise oratories thre.
 First in the temple of Venus maystow se
 Wroght on the wal, ful pitous to biholde,
1920 The broken slepes, and the sikes colde,
 The sacred teeris, and the waymentynge,
 The firy strokes of the desirynge
 That loves servantz in this lyf enduren;
 The othes that hir covenantz assuren;
 Plesaunce and Hope, Desir, Foolhardynesse,
 Beautee and Youthe, Bauderie, Richesse,
 Charmes and Force, Lesynges, Flaterye,
 Despense, Bisynesse, and Jalousye,
 That wered of yelewe gooldes a gerland,
1930 And a cokkow sittynge on hir hand;
 Festes, instrumentz, caroles, daunces,
 Lust and array, and alle the circumstaunces
 Of love, which that I rekned and rekne shal,
 By ordre weren peynted on the wal,
 And mo than I kan make of mencioun.
 For soothly al the mount of Citheroun,
 Ther Venus hath hir principal dwellynge,
 Was shewed on the wal in portreyynge,
 With al the gardyn and the lustynesse.
1940 Nat was foryeten the porter, Ydelnesse,
 Ne Narcisus the faire of yore agon,
 Ne yet the folye of kyng Salomon,
 Ne yet the grete strengthe of Ercules --
 Th' enchauntementz of Medea and Circes --
 Ne of Turnus, with the hardy fiers corage,
 The riche Cresus, kaytyf in servage.
 Thus may ye seen that wysdom ne richesse,
 Beautee ne sleighte, strengthe ne hardynesse,
 Ne may with Venus holde champartie,
1950 For as hir list the world than may she gye.
 Lo, alle thise folk so caught were in hir las,
 Til they for wo ful ofte seyde "allas!"
 Suffiseth heere ensamples oon or two,
 And though I koude rekene a thousand mo.
 The statue of Venus, glorious for to se,
 Was naked, fletynge in the large see,
 And fro the navele doun al covered was
 With wawes grene, and brighte as any glas.
 A citole in hir right hand hadde she,
1960 And on hir heed, ful semely for to se,
 A rose gerland, fressh and wel smellynge;
 Above hir heed hir dowves flikerynge.
 Biforn hire stood hir sone Cupido;
 Upon his shuldres wynges hadde he two,
 And blynd he was, as it is often seene;
 A bowe he bar and arwes brighte and kene.
 Why sholde I noght as wel eek telle yow al
 The portreiture that was upon the wal
 Withinne the temple of myghty Mars the rede?
1970 Al peynted was the wal, in lengthe and brede,
 Lyk to the estres of the grisly place
 That highte the grete temple of Mars in Trace,
 In thilke colde, frosty regioun
 Ther as Mars hath his sovereyn mansioun.
 First on the wal was peynted a forest,
 In which ther dwelleth neither man ne best,
 With knotty, knarry, bareyne trees olde,
 Of stubbes sharpe and hidouse to biholde,
 In which ther ran a rumbel in a swough,
1980 As though a storm sholde bresten every bough.
 And dounward from an hille, under a bente,
 Ther stood the temple of Mars armypotente,
 Wroght al of burned steel, of which the entree
 Was long and streit, and gastly for to see.
 And therout came a rage and swich a veze
 That it made al the gate for to rese.
 The northren lyght in at the dores shoon,
 For wyndowe on the wal ne was ther noon,
 Thurgh which men myghten any light discerne.
1990 The dore was al of adamant eterne,
 Yclenched overthwart and endelong
 With iren tough; and for to make it strong,
 Every pyler, the temple to sustene,
 Was tonne-greet, of iren bright and shene.
 Ther saugh I first the derke ymaginyng
 Of Felonye, and al the compassyng;
 The crueel Ire, reed as any gleede;
 The pykepurs, and eek the pale Drede;
 The smylere with the knyf under the cloke;
2000 The shepne brennynge with the blake smoke;
 The tresoun of the mordrynge in the bedde;
 The open werre, with woundes al bibledde;
 Contek, with blody knyf and sharp manace.
 Al ful of chirkyng was that sory place.
 The sleere of hymself yet saugh I ther --
 His herte-blood hath bathed al his heer --
 The nayl ydryven in the shode anyght;
 The colde deeth, with mouth gapyng upright.
 Amyddes of the temple sat Meschaunce,
2010 With disconfort and sory contenaunce.
 Yet saugh I Woodnesse, laughynge in his rage,
 Armed Compleint, Outhees, and fiers Outrage;
 The careyne in the busk, with throte ycorve;
 A thousand slayn, and nat of qualm ystorve;
 The tiraunt, with the pray by force yraft;
 The toun destroyed, ther was no thyng laft.
 Yet saugh I brent the shippes hoppesteres;
 The hunte strangled with the wilde beres;
 The sowe freten the child right in the cradel;
2020 The cook yscalded, for al his longe ladel.
 Noght was foryeten by the infortune of Marte.
 The cartere overryden with his carte --
 Under the wheel ful lowe he lay adoun.
 Ther were also, of Martes divisioun,
 The barbour, and the bocher, and the smyth,
 That forgeth sharpe swerdes on his styth.
 And al above, depeynted in a tour,
 Saugh I Conquest, sittynge in greet honour,
 With the sharpe swerd over his heed
2030 Hangynge by a soutil twynes threed.
 Depeynted was the slaughtre of Julius,
 Of grete Nero, and of Antonius;
 Al be that thilke tyme they were unborn,
 Yet was hir deth depeynted ther-biforn
 By manasynge of Mars, right by figure;
 So was it shewed in that portreiture,
 As is depeynted in the sterres above
 Who shal be slayn or elles deed for love.
 Suffiseth oon ensample in stories olde;
2040 I may nat rekene hem alle though I wolde.
 The statue of Mars upon a carte stood
 Armed, and looked grym as he were wood;
 And over his heed ther shynen two figures
 Of sterres, that been cleped in scriptures,
 That oon Puella, that oother Rubeus --
 This god of armes was arrayed thus.
 A wolf ther stood biforn hym at his feet
 With eyen rede, and of a man he eet;
 With soutil pencel was depeynted this storie
2050 In redoutynge of Mars and of his glorie.
 Now to the temple of Dyane the chaste,
 As shortly as I kan, I wol me haste,
 To telle yow al the descripsioun.
 Depeynted been the walles up and doun
 Of huntyng and of shamefast chastitee.
 Ther saugh I how woful Calistopee,
 Whan that Diane agreved was with here,
 Was turned from a womman til a bere,
 And after was she maad the loode-sterre.
2060 Thus was it peynted; I kan sey yow no ferre.
 Hir sone is eek a sterre, as men may see.
 Ther saugh I Dane, yturned til a tree --
 I mene nat the goddesse Diane,
 But Penneus doghter, which that highte Dane.
 Ther saugh I Attheon an hert ymaked,
 For vengeaunce that he saugh Diane al naked;
 I saugh how that his houndes have hym caught
 And freeten hym, for that they knewe hym naught.
 Yet peynted was a litel forther moor
2070 How Atthalante hunted the wilde boor,
 And Meleagre, and many another mo,
 For which Dyane wroghte hym care and wo.
 Ther saugh I many another wonder storie,
 The which me list nat drawen to memorie.
 This goddesse on an hert ful hye seet,
 With smale houndes al aboute hir feet,
 And undernethe hir feet she hadde a moone --
 Wexynge it was and sholde wanye soone.
 In gaude grene hir statue clothed was,
2080 With bowe in honde and arwes in a cas.
 Hir eyen caste she ful lowe adoun
 Ther Pluto hath his derke regioun.
 A womman travaillynge was hire biforn;
 But for hir child so longe was unborn,
 Ful pitously Lucyna gan she calle
 And seyde, "Help, for thou mayst best of alle!"
 Wel koude he peynten lifly that it wroghte;
 With many a floryn he the hewes boghte.
 Now been thise lystes maad, and Theseus,
2090 That at his grete cost arrayed thus
 The temples and the theatre every deel,
 Whan it was doon, hym lyked wonder weel.
 But stynte I wole of Theseus a lite,
 And speke of Palamon and of Arcite.
 The day approcheth of hir retournynge,
 That everich sholde an hundred knyghtes brynge
 The bataille to darreyne, as I yow tolde.
 And til Atthenes, hir covenant for to holde,
 Hath everich of hem broght an hundred knyghtes,
2100 Wel armed for the werre at alle rightes.
 And sikerly ther trowed many a man
 That nevere, sithen that the world bigan,
 As for to speke of knyghthod of hir hond,
 As fer as God hath maked see or lond,
 Nas of so fewe so noble a compaignye.
 For every wight that lovede chivalrye
 And wolde, his thankes, han a passant name,
 Hath preyed that he myghte been of that game;
 And wel was hym that therto chosen was,
2110 For if ther fille tomorwe swich a cas,
 Ye knowen wel that every lusty knyght
 That loveth paramours and hath his myght,
 Were it in Engelond or elleswhere,
 They wolde, hir thankes, wilnen to be there --
 To fighte for a lady, benedicitee!
 It were a lusty sighte for to see.
 And right so ferden they with Palamon.
 With hym ther wenten knyghtes many on;
 Som wol ben armed in an haubergeoun,
2120 And in a brestplate and a light gypoun;
 And som wol have a paire plates large;
 And som wol have a Pruce sheeld or a targe;
 Som wol ben armed on his legges weel,
 And have an ax, and som a mace of steel --
 Ther is no newe gyse that it nas old.
 Armed were they, as I have yow told,
 Everych after his opinioun.
 Ther maistow seen, comynge with Palamoun,
 Lygurge hymself, the grete kyng of Trace.
2130 Blak was his berd, and manly was his face;
 The cercles of his eyen in his heed,
 They gloweden bitwixen yelow and reed,
 And lik a grifphon looked he aboute,
 With kempe heeris on his browes stoute;
 His lymes grete, his brawnes harde and stronge,
 His shuldres brode, his armes rounde and longe;
 And as the gyse was in his contree,
 Ful hye upon a chaar of gold stood he,
 With foure white boles in the trays.
2140 In stede of cote-armure over his harnays,
 With nayles yelewe and brighte as any gold,
 He hadde a beres skyn, col-blak for old.
 His longe heer was kembd bihynde his bak;
 As any ravenes fethere it shoon for blak;
 A wrethe of gold, arm-greet, of huge wighte,
 Upon his heed, set ful of stones brighte,
 Of fyne rubyes and of dyamauntz.
 Aboute his chaar ther wenten white alauntz,
 Twenty and mo, as grete as any steer,
2150 To hunten at the leoun or the deer,
 And folwed hym with mosel faste ybounde,
 Colered of gold, and tourettes fyled rounde.
 An hundred lordes hadde he in his route,
 Armed ful wel, with hertes stierne and stoute.
 With Arcita, in stories as men fynde,
 The grete Emetreus, the kyng of Inde,
 Upon a steede bay trapped in steel,
 Covered in clooth of gold, dyapred weel,
 Cam ridynge lyk the god of armes, Mars.
2160 His cote-armure was of clooth of Tars
 Couched with perles white and rounde and grete;
 His sadel was of brend gold newe ybete;
 A mantelet upon his shulder hangynge,
 Bret-ful of rubyes rede as fyr sparklynge;
 His crispe heer lyk rynges was yronne,
 And that was yelow, and glytered as the sonne.
 His nose was heigh, his eyen bright citryn,
 His lippes rounde, his colour was sangwyn;
 A fewe frakenes in his face yspreynd,
2170 Bitwixen yelow and somdel blak ymeynd;
 And as a leon he his lookyng caste.
 Of fyve and twenty yeer his age I caste.
 His berd was wel bigonne for to sprynge;
 His voys was as a trompe thonderynge.
 Upon his heed he wered of laurer grene
 A gerland, fressh and lusty for to sene.
 Upon his hand he bar for his deduyt
 An egle tame, as any lilye whyt.
 An hundred lordes hadde he with hym there,
2180 Al armed, save hir heddes, in al hir gere,
 Ful richely in alle maner thynges.
 For trusteth wel that dukes, erles, kynges
 Were gadered in this noble compaignye,
 For love and for encrees of chivalrye.
 Aboute this kyng ther ran on every part
 Ful many a tame leon and leopart.
 And in this wise thise lordes, alle and some,
 Been on the Sonday to the citee come
 Aboute pryme, and in the toun alight.
2190 This Theseus, this duc, this worthy knyght,
 Whan he had broght hem into his citee,
 And inned hem, everich at his degree,
 He festeth hem, and dooth so greet labour
 To esen hem and doon hem al honour
 That yet men wenen that no mannes wit
 Of noon estaat ne koude amenden it.
 The mynstralcye, the service at the feeste,
 The grete yiftes to the meeste and leeste,
 The riche array of Theseus paleys,
2200 Ne who sat first ne last upon the deys,
 What ladyes fairest been or best daunsynge,
 Or which of hem kan dauncen best and synge,
 Ne who moost felyngly speketh of love;
 What haukes sitten on the perche above,
 What houndes liggen on the floor adoun --
 Of al this make I now no mencioun,
 But al th' effect; that thynketh me the beste.
 Now cometh the point, and herkneth if yow leste.
 The Sonday nyght, er day bigan to sprynge,
2210 Whan Palamon the larke herde synge
 (Although it nere nat day by houres two,
 Yet song the larke) and Palamon right tho
 With hooly herte and with an heigh corage,
 He roos to wenden on his pilgrymage
 Unto the blisful Citherea benigne --
 I mene Venus, honurable and digne.
 And in hir houre he walketh forth a pas
 Unto the lystes ther hire temple was,
 And doun he kneleth, and with humble cheere
2220 And herte soor he seyde as ye shal heere:
 "Faireste of faire, O lady myn, Venus,
 Doughter to Jove and spouse of Vulcanus,
 Thow gladere of the mount of Citheron,
 For thilke love thow haddest to Adoon,
 Have pitee of my bittre teeris smerte,
 And taak myn humble preyere at thyn herte.
 Allas! I ne have no langage to telle
 Th' effectes ne the tormentz of myn helle;
 Myn herte may myne harmes nat biwreye;
2230 I am so confus that I kan noght seye
 But `Mercy, lady bright, that knowest weele
 My thought and seest what harmes that I feele!'
 Considere al this and rewe upon my soore,
 As wisly as I shal for everemoore,
 Emforth my myght, thy trewe servant be,
 And holden werre alwey with chastitee.
 That make I myn avow, so ye me helpe!
 I kepe noght of armes for to yelpe,
 Ne I ne axe nat tomorwe to have victorie,
2240 Ne renoun in this cas, ne veyne glorie
 Of pris of armes blowen up and doun;
 But I wolde have fully possessioun
 Of Emelye, and dye in thy servyse.
 Fynd thow the manere hou and in what wyse:
 I recche nat but it may bettre be
 To have victorie of hem, or they of me,
 So that I have my lady in myne armes.
 For though so be that Mars is god of armes,
 Youre vertu is so greet in hevene above
2250 That if yow list, I shal wel have my love.
 Thy temple wol I worshipe everemo,
 And on thyn auter, where I ride or go,
 I wol doon sacrifice and fires beete.
 And if ye wol nat so, my lady sweete,
 Thanne preye I thee, tomorwe with a spere
 That Arcita me thurgh the herte bere.
 Thanne rekke I noght, whan I have lost my lyf,
 Though that Arcita wynne hire to his wyf.
 This is th' effect and ende of my preyere:
2260 Yif me my love, thow blisful lady deere."
 Whan the orison was doon of Palamon,
 His sacrifice he dide, and that anon,
 Ful pitously, with alle circumstaunces,
 Al telle I noght as now his observaunces;
 But atte laste the statue of Venus shook,
 And made a signe, wherby that he took
 That his preyere accepted was that day.
 For thogh the signe shewed a delay,
 Yet wiste he wel that graunted was his boone,
2270 And with glad herte he wente hym hoom ful soone.
 The thridde houre inequal that Palamon
 Bigan to Venus temple for to gon,
 Up roos the sonne, and up roos Emelye
 And to the temple of Dyane gan hye.
 Hir maydens, that she thider with hire ladde,
 Ful redily with hem the fyr they hadde,
 Th' encens, the clothes, and the remenant al
 That to the sacrifice longen shal;
 The hornes fulle of meeth, as was the gyse --
2280 Ther lakked noght to doon hir sacrifise.
 Smokynge the temple, ful of clothes faire,
 This Emelye, with herte debonaire,
 Hir body wessh with water of a welle.
 But hou she dide hir ryte I dar nat telle,
 But it be any thing in general;
 And yet it were a game to heeren al.
 To hym that meneth wel it were no charge;
 But it is good a man been at his large.
 Hir brighte heer was kembd, untressed al;
2290 A coroune of a grene ook cerial
 Upon hir heed was set ful fair and meete.
 Two fyres on the auter gan she beete,
 And dide hir thynges, as men may biholde
 In Stace of Thebes and thise bookes olde.
 Whan kyndled was the fyr, with pitous cheere
 Unto Dyane she spak as ye may heere:
 "O chaste goddesse of the wodes grene,
 To whom bothe hevene and erthe and see is sene,
 Queene of the regne of Pluto derk and lowe,
2300 Goddesse of maydens, that myn herte hast knowe
 Ful many a yeer, and woost what I desire,
 As keepe me fro thy vengeaunce and thyn ire,
 That Attheon aboughte cruelly.
 Chaste goddesse, wel wostow that I
 Desire to ben a mayden al my lyf,
 Ne nevere wol I be no love ne wyf.
 I am, thow woost, yet of thy compaignye,
 A mayde, and love huntynge and venerye,
 And for to walken in the wodes wilde,
2310 And noght to ben a wyf and be with childe.
 Noght wol I knowe compaignye of man.
 Now help me, lady, sith ye may and kan,
 For tho thre formes that thou hast in thee.
 And Palamon, that hath swich love to me,
 And eek Arcite, that loveth me so soore,
 This grace I preye thee withoute moore,
 As sende love and pees bitwixe hem two,
 And fro me turne awey hir hertes so
 That al hire hoote love and hir desir,
2320 And al hir bisy torment, and hir fir
 Be queynt, or turned in another place.
 And if so be thou wolt nat do me grace,
 Or if my destynee be shapen so
 That I shal nedes have oon of hem two,
 As sende me hym that moost desireth me.
 Bihoold, goddesse of clene chastitee,
 The bittre teeris that on my chekes falle.
 Syn thou art mayde and kepere of us alle,
 My maydenhede thou kepe and wel conserve,
2330 And whil I lyve, a mayde I wol thee serve."
 The fires brenne upon the auter cleere,
 Whil Emelye was thus in hir preyere.
 But sodeynly she saugh a sighte queynte,
 For right anon oon of the fyres queynte
 And quyked agayn, and after that anon
 That oother fyr was queynt and al agon;
 And as it queynte it made a whistelynge,
 As doon thise wete brondes in hir brennynge,
 And at the brondes ende out ran anon
2340 As it were blody dropes many oon;
 For which so soore agast was Emelye
 That she was wel ny mad and gan to crye,
 For she ne wiste what it signyfied,
 But oonly for the feere thus hath she cried,
 And weep that it was pitee for to heere.
 And therwithal Dyane gan appeere,
 With bowe in honde, right as an hunteresse,
 And seyde, "Doghter, stynt thyn hevynesse.
 Among the goddes hye it is affermed,
2350 And by eterne word writen and confermed,
 Thou shalt ben wedded unto oon of tho
 That han for thee so muchel care and wo,
 But unto which of hem I may nat telle.
 Farwel, for I ne may no lenger dwelle.
 The fires which that on myn auter brenne
 Shulle thee declaren, er that thou go henne,
 Thyn aventure of love, as in this cas."
 And with that word, the arwes in the caas
 Of the goddesse clateren faste and rynge,
2360 And forth she wente and made a vanysshynge;
 For which this Emelye astoned was,
 And seyde, "What amounteth this, allas?
 I putte me in thy proteccioun,
 Dyane, and in thy disposicioun."
 And hoom she goth anon the nexte weye.
 This is th' effect; ther is namoore to seye.
 The nexte houre of Mars folwynge this,
 Arcite unto the temple walked is
 Of fierse Mars to doon his sacrifise,
2370 With alle the rytes of his payen wyse.
 With pitous herte and heigh devocioun,
 Right thus to Mars he seyde his orisoun:
 "O stronge god, that in the regnes colde
 Of Trace honoured art and lord yholde,
 And hast in every regne and every lond
 Of armes al the brydel in thyn hond,
 And hem fortunest as thee lyst devyse,
 Accepte of me my pitous sacrifise.
 If so be that my youthe may deserve,
2380 And that my myght be worthy for to serve
 Thy godhede, that I may been oon of thyne,
 Thanne preye I thee to rewe upon my pyne.
 For thilke peyne and thilke hoote fir
 In which thow whilom brendest for desir,
 Whan that thow usedest the beautee
 Of faire, yonge, fresshe Venus free,
 And haddest hire in armes at thy wille --
 Although thee ones on a tyme mysfille,
 Whan Vulcanus hadde caught thee in his las
2390 And foond thee liggynge by his wyf, allas! --
 For thilke sorwe that was in thyn herte,
 Have routhe as wel upon my peynes smerte.
 I am yong and unkonnynge, as thow woost,
 And, as I trowe, with love offended moost
 That evere was any lyves creature,
 For she that dooth me al this wo endure
 Ne reccheth nevere wher I synke or fleete.
 And wel I woot, er she me mercy heete,
 I moot with strengthe wynne hire in the place,
2400 And wel I woot, withouten help or grace
 Of thee ne may my strengthe noght availle.
 Thanne help me, lord, tomorwe in my bataille,
 For thilke fyr that whilom brente thee,
 As wel as thilke fyr now brenneth me,
 And do that I tomorwe have victorie.
 Myn be the travaille, and thyn be the glorie!
 Thy sovereyn temple wol I moost honouren
 Of any place, and alwey moost labouren
 In thy plesaunce and in thy craftes stronge,
2410 And in thy temple I wol my baner honge
 And alle the armes of my compaignye,
 And everemo, unto that day I dye,
 Eterne fir I wol bifore thee fynde.
 And eek to this avow I wol me bynde:
 My beerd, myn heer, that hongeth long adoun,
 That nevere yet ne felte offensioun
 Of rasour nor of shere, I wol thee yive,
 And ben thy trewe servant whil I lyve.
 Now, lord, have routhe upon my sorwes soore;
2420 Yif me [victorie]; I aske thee namoore."
 The preyere stynt of Arcita the stronge,
 The rynges on the temple dore that honge,
 And eek the dores, clatereden ful faste,
 Of which Arcita somwhat hym agaste.
 The fyres brenden upon the auter brighte
 That it gan al the temple for to lighte;
 A sweete smel the ground anon up yaf,
 And Arcita anon his hand up haf,
 And moore encens into the fyr he caste,
2430 With othere rytes mo; and atte laste
 The statue of Mars bigan his hauberk rynge,
 And with that soun he herde a murmurynge
 Ful lowe and dym, and seyde thus, "Victorie!"
 For which he yaf to Mars honour and glorie.
 And thus with joye and hope wel to fare
 Arcite anon unto his in is fare,
 As fayn as fowel is of the brighte sonne.
 And right anon swich strif ther is bigonne,
 For thilke grauntyng, in the hevene above,
2440 Bitwixe Venus, the goddesse of love,
 And Mars, the stierne god armypotente,
 That Juppiter was bisy it to stente,
 Til that the pale Saturnus the colde,
 That knew so manye of aventures olde,
 Foond in his olde experience an art
 That he ful soone hath plesed every part.
 As sooth is seyd, elde hath greet avantage;
 In elde is bothe wysdom and usage;
 Men may the olde atrenne and noght atrede.
2450 Saturne anon, to stynten strif and drede,
 Al be it that it is agayn his kynde,
 Of al this strif he gan remedie fynde.
 "My deere doghter Venus," quod Saturne,
 "My cours, that hath so wyde for to turne,
 Hath moore power than woot any man.
 Myn is the drenchyng in the see so wan;
 Myn is the prison in the derke cote;
 Myn is the stranglyng and hangyng by the throte,
 The murmure and the cherles rebellyng,
2460 The groynynge, and the pryvee empoysonyng;
 I do vengeance and pleyn correccioun,
 Whil I dwelle in the signe of the leoun.
 Myn is the ruyne of the hye halles,
 The fallynge of the toures and of the walles
 Upon the mynour or the carpenter.
 I slow Sampsoun, shakynge the piler;
 And myne be the maladyes colde,
 The derke tresons, and the castes olde;
 My lookyng is the fader of pestilence.
2470 Now weep namoore; I shal doon diligence
 That Palamon, that is thyn owene knyght,
 Shal have his lady, as thou hast him hight.
 Though Mars shal helpe his knyght, yet nathelees
 Bitwixe yow ther moot be som tyme pees,
 Al be ye noght of o compleccioun,
 That causeth al day swich divisioun.
 I am thyn aiel, redy at thy wille;
 Weep now namoore; I wol thy lust fulfille."
 Now wol I stynten of the goddes above,
2480 Of Mars, and of Venus, goddesse of love,
 And telle yow as pleynly as I kan
 The grete effect, for which that I bygan.
 Greet was the feeste in Atthenes that day,
 And eek the lusty seson of that May
 Made every wight to been in swich plesaunce
 That al that Monday justen they and daunce,
 And spenden it in Venus heigh servyse.
 But by the cause that they sholde ryse
 Eerly, for to seen the grete fight,
2490 Unto hir reste wenten they at nyght.
 And on the morwe, whan that day gan sprynge,
 Of hors and harneys noyse and claterynge
 Ther was in hostelryes al aboute,
 And to the paleys rood ther many a route
 Of lordes upon steedes and palfreys.
 Ther maystow seen devisynge of harneys
 So unkouth and so riche, and wroght so weel
 Of goldsmythrye, of browdynge, and of steel;
 The sheeldes brighte, testeres, and trappures,
2500 Gold-hewen helmes, hauberkes, cote-armures;
 Lordes in parementz on hir courseres,
 Knyghtes of retenue, and eek squieres
 Nailynge the speres, and helmes bokelynge;
 Giggynge of sheeldes, with layneres lacynge --
 There as nede is they weren no thyng ydel;
 The fomy steedes on the golden brydel
 Gnawynge, and faste the armurers also
 With fyle and hamer prikynge to and fro;
 Yemen on foote, and communes many oon
2510 With shorte staves, thikke as they may goon;
 Pypes, trompes, nakers, clariounes,
 That in the bataille blowen blody sounes;
 The paleys ful of peple up and doun,
 Heere thre, ther ten, holdynge hir questioun,
 Dyvynynge of thise Thebane knyghtes two.
 Somme seyden thus, somme seyde "it shal be so";
 Somme helden with hym with the blake berd,
 Somme with the balled, somme with the thikke herd;
 Somme seyde he looked grymme, and he wolde fighte:
2520 "He hath a sparth of twenty pound of wighte."
 Thus was the halle ful of divynynge,
 Longe after that the sonne gan to sprynge.
 The grete Theseus, that of his sleep awaked
 With mynstralcie and noyse that was maked,
 Heeld yet the chambre of his paleys riche
 Til that the Thebane knyghtes, bothe yliche
 Honured, were into the paleys fet.
 Duc Theseus was at a wyndow set,
 Arrayed right as he were a god in trone.
2530 The peple preesseth thiderward ful soone
 Hym for to seen, and doon heigh reverence,
 And eek to herkne his heste and his sentence.
 An heraud on a scaffold made an "Oo!"
 Til al the noyse of peple was ydo,
 And whan he saugh the peple of noyse al stille,
 Tho shewed he the myghty dukes wille:
 "The lord hath of his heigh discrecioun
 Considered that it were destruccioun
 To gentil blood to fighten in the gyse
2540 Of mortal bataille now in this emprise.
 Wherfore, to shapen that they shal nat dye,
 He wol his firste purpos modifye.
 No man therfore, up peyne of los of lyf,
 No maner shot, ne polax, ne short knyf
 Into the lystes sende or thider brynge;
 Ne short swerd, for to stoke with poynt bitynge,
 No man ne drawe, ne bere it by his syde.
 Ne no man shal unto his felawe ryde
 But o cours with a sharpe ygrounde spere;
2550 Foyne, if hym list, on foote, hymself to were.
 And he that is at meschief shal be take
 And noght slayn, but be broght unto the stake
 That shal ben ordeyned on either syde;
 But thider he shal by force, and there abyde.
 And if so falle the chieftayn be take
 On outher syde, or elles sleen his make,
 No lenger shal the turneiynge laste.
 God spede you! Gooth forth and ley on faste!
 With long swerd and with mace fighteth youre fille.
2560 Gooth now youre wey; this is the lordes wille."
 The voys of peple touchede the hevene,
 So loude cride they with murie stevene,
 "God save swich a lord, that is so good
 He wilneth no destruccion of blood!"
 Up goon the trompes and the melodye,
 And to the lystes rit the compaignye,
 By ordinance, thurghout the citee large,
 Hanged with clooth of gold, and nat with sarge.
 Ful lik a lord this noble duc gan ryde,
2570 Thise two Thebans upon either syde,
 And after rood the queene and Emelye,
 And after that another compaignye
 Of oon and oother, after hir degree.
 And thus they passen thurghout the citee,
 And to the lystes come they by tyme.
 It nas nat of the day yet fully pryme
 Whan set was Theseus ful riche and hye,
 Ypolita the queene, and Emelye,
 And othere ladys in degrees aboute.
2580 Unto the seetes preesseth al the route.
 And westward, thurgh the gates under Marte,
 Arcite, and eek the hondred of his parte,
 With baner reed is entred right anon;
 And in that selve moment Palamon
 Is under Venus, estward in the place,
 With baner whyt and hardy chiere and face.
 In al the world, to seken up and doun,
 So evene, withouten variacioun,
 Ther nere swiche compaignyes tweye,
2590 For ther was noon so wys that koude seye
 That any hadde of oother avauntage
 Of worthynesse, ne of estaat, ne age,
 So evene were they chosen, for to gesse.
 And in two renges faire they hem dresse.
 Whan that hir names rad were everichon,
 That in hir nombre gyle were ther noon,
 Tho were the gates shet, and cried was loude:
 "Do now youre devoir, yonge knyghtes proude!"
 The heraudes lefte hir prikyng up and doun;
2600 Now ryngen trompes loude and clarioun.
 Ther is namoore to seyn, but west and est
 In goon the speres ful sadly in arrest;
 In gooth the sharpe spore into the syde.
 Ther seen men who kan juste and who kan ryde;
 Ther shyveren shaftes upon sheeldes thikke;
 He feeleth thurgh the herte-spoon the prikke.
 Up spryngen speres twenty foot on highte;
 Out goon the swerdes as the silver brighte;
 The helmes they tohewen and toshrede;
2610 Out brest the blood with stierne stremes rede;
 With myghty maces the bones they tobreste.
 He thurgh the thikkeste of the throng gan threste;
 Ther stomblen steedes stronge, and doun gooth al,
 He rolleth under foot as dooth a bal;
 He foyneth on his feet with his tronchoun,
 And he hym hurtleth with his hors adoun;
 He thurgh the body is hurt and sithen ytake,
 Maugree his heed, and broght unto the stake;
 As forward was, right there he moste abyde.
2620 Another lad is on that oother syde.
 And some tyme dooth hem Theseus to reste,
 Hem to refresshe and drynken, if hem leste.
 Ful ofte a day han thise Thebanes two
 Togydre ymet, and wroght his felawe wo;
 Unhorsed hath ech oother of hem tweye.
 Ther nas no tygre in the vale of Galgopheye,
 Whan that hir whelp is stole whan it is lite,
 So crueel on the hunte as is Arcite
 For jelous herte upon this Palamon.
2630 Ne in Belmarye ther nys so fel leon,
 That hunted is, or for his hunger wood,
 Ne of his praye desireth so the blood,
 As Palamon to sleen his foo Arcite.
 The jelous strokes on hir helmes byte;
 Out renneth blood on bothe hir sydes rede.
 Som tyme an ende ther is of every dede.
 For er the sonne unto the reste wente,
 The stronge kyng Emetreus gan hente
 This Palamon, as he faught with Arcite,
2640 And made his swerd depe in his flessh to byte,
 And by the force of twenty is he take
 Unyolden, and ydrawen to the stake.
 And in the rescus of this Palamoun
 The stronge kyng Lygurge is born adoun,
 And kyng Emetreus, for al his strengthe,
 Is born out of his sadel a swerdes lengthe,
 So hitte him Palamoun er he were take.
 But al for noght; he was broght to the stake.
 His hardy herte myghte hym helpe naught:
2650 He moste abyde, whan that he was caught,
 By force and eek by composicioun.
 Who sorweth now but woful Palamoun,
 That moot namoore goon agayn to fighte?
 And whan that Theseus hadde seyn this sighte,
 Unto the folk that foghten thus echon
 He cryde, "Hoo! namoore, for it is doon!
 I wol be trewe juge, and no partie.
 Arcite of Thebes shal have Emelie,
 That by his fortune hath hire faire ywonne."
2660 Anon ther is a noyse of peple bigonne
 For joye of this, so loude and heighe withalle
 It semed that the lystes sholde falle.
 What kan now faire Venus doon above?
 What seith she now? What dooth this queene of love,
 But wepeth so, for wantynge of hir wille,
 Til that hir teeres in the lystes fille?
 She seyde, "I am ashamed, doutelees."
 Saturnus seyde, "Doghter, hoold thy pees!
 Mars hath his wille, his knyght hath al his boone,
2670 And, by myn heed, thow shalt been esed soone."
 The trompours, with the loude mynstralcie,
 The heraudes, that ful loude yelle and crie,
 Been in hire wele for joye of daun Arcite.
 But herkneth me, and stynteth noyse a lite,
 Which a myracle ther bifel anon.
 This fierse Arcite hath of his helm ydon,
 And on a courser, for to shewe his face,
 He priketh endelong the large place
 Lokynge upward upon this Emelye;
2680 And she agayn hym caste a freendlich ye
 (For wommen, as to speken in comune,
 Thei folwen alle the favour of Fortune)
 And was al his chiere, as in his herte.
 Out of the ground a furie infernal sterte,
 From Pluto sent at requeste of Saturne,
 For which his hors for fere gan to turne,
 And leep aside, and foundred as he leep;
 And er that Arcite may taken keep,
 He pighte hym on the pomel of his heed,
2690 That in the place he lay as he were deed,
 His brest tobrosten with his sadel-bowe.
 As blak he lay as any cole or crowe,
 So was the blood yronnen in his face.
 Anon he was yborn out of the place,
 With herte soor, to Theseus paleys.
 Tho was he korven out of his harneys
 And in a bed ybrought ful faire and blyve,
 For he was yet in memorie and alyve,
 And alwey criynge after Emelye.
2700 Duc Theseus, with al his compaignye,
 Is comen hoom to Atthenes his citee,
 With alle blisse and greet solempnitee.
 Al be it that this aventure was falle,
 He nolde noght disconforten hem alle.
 Men seyde eek that Arcite shal nat dye;
 He shal been heeled of his maladye.
 And of another thyng they weren as fayn,
 That of hem alle was ther noon yslayn,
 Al were they soore yhurt, and namely oon,
2710 That with a spere was thirled his brest boon.
 To othere woundes and to broken armes
 Somme hadden salves, and somme hadden charmes;
 Fermacies of herbes, and eek save
 They dronken, for they wolde hir lymes have.
 For which this noble duc, as he wel kan,
 Conforteth and honoureth every man,
 And made revel al the longe nyght
 Unto the straunge lordes, as was right.
 Ne ther was holden no disconfitynge
2720 But as a justes or a tourneiynge;
 For soothly ther was no disconfiture.
 For fallyng nys nat but an aventure,
 Ne to be lad by force unto the stake
 Unyolden, and with twenty knyghtes take,
 O persone allone, withouten mo,
 And haryed forth by arme, foot, and too,
 And eke his steede dryven forth with staves
 With footmen, bothe yemen and eek knaves --
 It nas arretted hym no vileynye;
2730 Ther may no man clepen it cowardye.
 For which anon duc Theseus leet crye,
 To stynten alle rancour and envye,
 The gree as wel of o syde as of oother,
 And eyther syde ylik as ootheres brother;
 And yaf hem yiftes after hir degree,
 And fully heeld a feeste dayes three,
 And conveyed the kynges worthily
 Out of his toun a journee largely.
 And hoom wente every man the righte way.
2740 Ther was namoore but "Fare wel, have good day!"
 Of this bataille I wol namoore endite,
 But speke of Palamon and of Arcite.
 Swelleth the brest of Arcite, and the soore
 Encreesseth at his herte moore and moore.
 The clothered blood, for any lechecraft,
 Corrupteth, and is in his bouk ylaft,
 That neither veyne-blood, ne ventusynge,
 Ne drynke of herbes may ben his helpynge.
 The vertu expulsif, or animal,
2750 Fro thilke vertu cleped natural
 Ne may the venym voyden ne expelle.
 The pipes of his longes gonne to swelle,
 And every lacerte in his brest adoun
 Is shent with venym and corrupcioun.
 Hym gayneth neither, for to gete his lif,
 Vomyt upward, ne dounward laxatif.
 Al is tobrosten thilke regioun;
 Nature hath now no dominacioun.
 And certeinly, ther Nature wol nat wirche,
2760 Fare wel phisik! Go ber the man to chirche!
 This al and som, that Arcita moot dye;
 For which he sendeth after Emelye,
 And Palamon, that was his cosyn deere.
 Thanne seyde he thus, as ye shal after heere:
 "Naught may the woful spirit in myn herte
 Declare o point of alle my sorwes smerte
 To yow, my lady, that I love moost,
 But I biquethe the servyce of my goost
 To yow aboven every creature,
2770 Syn that my lyf may no lenger dure.
 Allas, the wo! Allas, the peynes stronge,
 That I for yow have suffred, and so longe!
 Allas, the deeth! Allas, myn Emelye!
 Allas, departynge of oure compaignye!
 Allas, myn hertes queene! Allas, my wyf,
 Myn hertes lady, endere of my lyf!
 What is this world? What asketh men to have?
 Now with his love, now in his colde grave
 Allone, withouten any compaignye.
2780 Fare wel, my sweete foo, myn Emelye!
 And softe taak me in youre armes tweye,
 For love of God, and herkneth what I seye.
 "I have heer with my cosyn Palamon
 Had strif and rancour many a day agon
 For love of yow, and for my jalousye.
 And Juppiter so wys my soule gye,
 To speken of a servaunt proprely,
 With alle circumstances trewely --
 That is to seyen, trouthe, honour, knyghthede,
2790 Wysdom, humblesse, estaat, and heigh kynrede,
 Fredom, and al that longeth to that art --
 So Juppiter have of my soule part,
 As in this world right now ne knowe I non
 So worthy to ben loved as Palamon,
 That serveth yow, and wol doon al his lyf.
 And if that evere ye shul ben a wyf,
 Foryet nat Palamon, the gentil man."
 And with that word his speche faille gan,
 For from his feet up to his brest was come
2800 The coold of deeth, that hadde hym overcome,
 And yet mooreover, for in his armes two
 The vital strengthe is lost and al ago.
 Oonly the intellect, withouten moore,
 That dwelled in his herte syk and soore,
 Gan faillen whan the herte felte deeth.
 Dusked his eyen two, and failled breeth,
 But on his lady yet caste he his ye;
 His laste word was, "Mercy, Emelye!"
 His spirit chaunged hous and wente ther,
2810 As I cam nevere, I kan nat tellen wher.
 Therfore I stynte; I nam no divinistre;
 Of soules fynde I nat in this registre,
 Ne me ne list thilke opinions to telle
 Of hem, though that they writen wher they dwelle.
 Arcite is coold, ther Mars his soule gye!
 Now wol I speken forth of Emelye.
 Shrighte Emelye, and howleth Palamon,
 And Theseus his suster took anon
 Swownynge, and baar hire fro the corps away.
2820 What helpeth it to tarien forth the day
 To tellen how she weep bothe eve and morwe?
 For in swich cas wommen have swich sorwe,
 Whan that hir housbondes ben from hem ago,
 That for the moore part they sorwen so,
 Or ellis fallen in swich maladye
 That at the laste certeinly they dye.
 Infinite been the sorwes and the teeres
 Of olde folk and folk of tendre yeeres
 In al the toun for deeth of this Theban.
2830 For hym ther wepeth bothe child and man;
 So greet wepyng was ther noon, certayn,
 Whan Ector was ybroght, al fressh yslayn,
 To Troye. Allas, the pitee that was ther,
 Cracchynge of chekes, rentynge eek of heer.
 "Why woldestow be deed," thise wommen crye,
 "And haddest gold ynough, and Emelye?"
 No man myghte gladen Theseus,
 Savynge his olde fader Egeus,
 That knew this worldes transmutacioun,
2840 As he hadde seyn it chaunge bothe up and doun,
 Joye after wo, and wo after gladnesse,
 And shewed hem ensamples and liknesse.
 "Right as ther dyed nevere man," quod he,
 "That he ne lyvede in erthe in some degree,
 Right so ther lyvede never man," he seyde,
 "In al this world, that som tyme he ne deyde.
 This world nys but a thurghfare ful of wo,
 And we been pilgrymes, passynge to and fro.
 Deeth is an ende of every worldly soore."
2850 And over al this yet seyde he muchel moore
 To this effect, ful wisely to enhorte
 The peple that they sholde hem reconforte.
 Duc Theseus, with al his bisy cure,
 Caste now wher that the sepulture
 Of goode Arcite may best ymaked be,
 And eek moost honurable in his degree.
 And at the laste he took conclusioun
 That ther as first Arcite and Palamoun
 Hadden for love the bataille hem bitwene,
2860 That in that selve grove, swoote and grene,
 Ther as he hadde his amorouse desires,
 His compleynte, and for love his hoote fires,
 He wolde make a fyr in which the office
 Funeral he myghte al accomplice.
 And leet comande anon to hakke and hewe
 The okes olde, and leye hem on a rewe
 In colpons wel arrayed for to brenne.
 His officers with swifte feet they renne
 And ryde anon at his comandement.
2870 And after this, Theseus hath ysent
 After a beere, and it al overspradde
 With clooth of gold, the richeste that he hadde.
 And of the same suyte he cladde Arcite;
 Upon his hondes hadde he gloves white,
 Eek on his heed a coroune of laurer grene,
 And in his hond a swerd ful bright and kene.
 He leyde hym, bare the visage, on the beere;
 Therwith he weep that pitee was to heere.
 And for the peple sholde seen hym alle,
2880 Whan it was day, he broghte hym to the halle,
 That roreth of the criyng and the soun.
 Tho cam this woful Theban Palamoun,
 With flotery berd and ruggy, asshy heeres,
 In clothes blake, ydropped al with teeres;
 And, passynge othere of wepynge, Emelye,
 The rewefulleste of al the compaignye.
 In as muche as the servyce sholde be
 The moore noble and riche in his degree,
 Duc Theseus leet forth thre steedes brynge,
2890 That trapped were in steel al gliterynge,
 And covered with the armes of daun Arcite.
 Upon thise steedes, that weren grete and white,
 Ther seten folk, of whiche oon baar his sheeld,
 Another his spere up on his hondes heeld,
 The thridde baar with hym his bowe Turkeys
 (Of brend gold was the caas and eek the harneys);
 And riden forth a paas with sorweful cheere
 Toward the grove, as ye shul after heere.
 The nobleste of the Grekes that ther were
2900 Upon hir shuldres caryeden the beere,
 With slakke paas and eyen rede and wete,
 Thurghout the citee by the maister strete,
 That sprad was al with blak, and wonder hye
 Right of the same is the strete ywrye.
 Upon the right hond wente olde Egeus,
 And on that oother syde duc Theseus,
 With vessels in hir hand of gold ful fyn,
 Al ful of hony, milk, and blood, and wyn;
 Eek Palamon, with ful greet compaignye;
2910 And after that cam woful Emelye,
 With fyr in honde, as was that tyme the gyse,
 To do the office of funeral servyse.
 Heigh labour and ful greet apparaillynge
 Was at the service and the fyr-makynge,
 That with his grene top the hevene raughte;
 And twenty fadme of brede the armes straughte --
 This is to seyn, the bowes weren so brode.
 Of stree first ther was leyd ful many a lode.
 But how the fyr was maked upon highte,
2920 Ne eek the names that the trees highte,
 As ook, firre, birch, aspe, alder, holm, popler,
 Wylugh, elm, plane, assh, box, chasteyn, lynde, laurer,
 Mapul, thorn, bech, hasel, ew, whippeltree --
 How they weren feld shal nat be toold for me;
 Ne hou the goddes ronnen up and doun,
 Disherited of hire habitacioun,
 In which they woneden in reste and pees,
 Nymphes, fawnes and amadrides;
 Ne hou the beestes and the briddes alle
2930 Fledden for fere, whan the wode was falle;
 Ne how the ground agast was of the light,
 That was nat wont to seen the sonne bright;
 Ne how the fyr was couched first with stree,
 And thanne with drye stikkes cloven a thre,
 And thanne with grene wode and spicerye,
 And thanne with clooth of gold and with perrye,
 And gerlandes, hangynge with ful many a flour;
 The mirre, th' encens, with al so greet odour;
 Ne how Arcite lay among al this,
2940 Ne what richesse aboute his body is;
 Ne how that Emelye, as was the gyse,
 Putte in the fyr of funeral servyse;
 Ne how she swowned whan men made the fyr,
 Ne what she spak, ne what was hir desir;
 Ne what jeweles men in the fyre caste,
 Whan that the fyr was greet and brente faste;
 Ne how somme caste hir sheeld, and somme hir spere,
 And of hire vestimentz, whiche that they were,
 And coppes fulle of wyn, and milk, and blood,
2950 Into the fyr, that brente as it were wood;
 Ne how the Grekes, with an huge route,
 Thries riden al the fyr aboute
 Upon the left hand, with a loud shoutynge,
 And thries with hir speres claterynge;
 And thries how the ladyes gonne crye;
 And how that lad was homward Emelye;
 Ne how Arcite is brent to asshen colde;
 Ne how that lyche-wake was yholde
 Al thilke nyght; ne how the Grekes pleye
2960 The wake-pleyes; ne kepe I nat to seye
 Who wrastleth best naked with oille enoynt,
 Ne who that baar hym best, in no disjoynt.
 I wol nat tellen eek how that they goon
 Hoom til Atthenes, whan the pley is doon;
 But shortly to the point thanne wol I wende
 And maken of my longe tale an ende.
 By processe and by lengthe of certeyn yeres,
 Al stynted is the moornynge and the teres
 Of Grekes, by oon general assent.
2970 Thanne semed me ther was a parlement
 At Atthenes, upon certein pointz and caas;
 Among the whiche pointz yspoken was,
 To have with certein contrees alliaunce,
 And have fully of Thebans obeisaunce.
 For which this noble Theseus anon
 Leet senden after gentil Palamon,
 Unwist of hym what was the cause and why,
 But in his blake clothes sorwefully
 He cam at his comandement in hye.
2980 Tho sente Theseus for Emelye.
 Whan they were set, and hust was al the place,
 And Theseus abiden hadde a space
 Er any word cam fram his wise brest,
 His eyen sette he ther as was his lest.
 And with a sad visage he siked stille,
 And after that right thus he seyde his wille:
 "The Firste Moevere of the cause above,
 Whan he first made the faire cheyne of love,
 Greet was th' effect, and heigh was his entente.
2990 Wel wiste he why, and what thereof he mente,
 For with that faire cheyne of love he bond
 The fyr, the eyr, the water, and the lond
 In certeyn boundes, that they may nat flee.
 That same Prince and that Moevere," quod he,
 "Hath stablissed in this wrecched world adoun
 Certeyne dayes and duracioun
 To al that is engendred in this place,
 Over the whiche day they may nat pace,
 Al mowe they yet tho dayes wel abregge.
3000 Ther nedeth noght noon auctoritee t' allegge,
 For it is preeved by experience,
 But that me list declaren my sentence.
 Thanne may men by this ordre wel discerne
 That thilke Moevere stable is and eterne.
 Wel may men knowe, but it be a fool,
 That every part dirryveth from his hool,
 For nature hath nat taken his bigynnyng
 Of no partie or cantel of a thyng,
 But of a thyng that parfit is and stable,
3010 Descendynge so til it be corrumpable.
 And therfore, of his wise purveiaunce,
 He hath so wel biset his ordinaunce
 That speces of thynges and progressiouns
 Shullen enduren by successiouns,
 And nat eterne, withouten any lye.
 This maystow understonde and seen at ye.
 "Loo the ook, that hath so long a norisshynge
 From tyme that it first bigynneth to sprynge,
 And hath so long a lif, as we may see,
3020 Yet at the laste wasted is the tree.
 "Considereth eek how that the harde stoon
 Under oure feet, on which we trede and goon,
 Yet wasteth it as it lyth by the weye.
 The brode ryver somtyme wexeth dreye;
 The grete tounes se we wane and wende.
 Thanne may ye se that al this thyng hath ende.
 "Of man and womman seen we wel also
 That nedes, in oon of thise termes two --
 This is to seyn, in youthe or elles age --
3030 He moot be deed, the kyng as shal a page;
 Som in his bed, som in the depe see,
 Som in the large feeld, as men may see;
 Ther helpeth noght; al goth that ilke weye.
 Thanne may I seyn that al this thyng moot deye.
 "What maketh this but Juppiter, the kyng,
 That is prince and cause of alle thyng,
 Convertynge al unto his propre welle
 From which it is dirryved, sooth to telle?
 And heer-agayns no creature on lyve,
3040 Of no degree, availleth for to stryve.
 "Thanne is it wysdom, as it thynketh me,
 To maken vertu of necessitee,
 And take it weel that we may nat eschue,
 And namely that to us alle is due.
 And whoso gruccheth ought, he dooth folye,
 And rebel is to hym that al may gye.
 And certeinly a man hath moost honour
 To dyen in his excellence and flour,
 Whan he is siker of his goode name;
3050 Thanne hath he doon his freend, ne hym, no shame.
 And gladder oghte his freend been of his deeth,
 Whan with honour up yolden is his breeth,
 Than whan his name apalled is for age,
 For al forgeten is his vassellage.
 Thanne is it best, as for a worthy fame,
 To dyen whan that he is best of name.
 "The contrarie of al this is wilfulnesse.
 Why grucchen we, why have we hevynesse,
 That goode Arcite, of chivalrie flour,
3060 Departed is with duetee and honour
 Out of this foule prisoun of this lyf?
 Why grucchen heere his cosyn and his wyf
 Of his welfare, that loved hem so weel?
 Kan he hem thank? Nay, God woot, never a deel,
 That both his soule and eek hemself offende,
 And yet they mowe hir lustes nat amende.
 "What may I conclude of this longe serye,
 But after wo I rede us to be merye
 And thanken Juppiter of al his grace?
3070 And er that we departen from this place
 I rede that we make of sorwes two
 O parfit joye, lastynge everemo.
 And looketh now, wher moost sorwe is herinne,
 Ther wol we first amenden and bigynne.
 "Suster," quod he, "this is my fulle assent,
 With al th' avys heere of my parlement,
 That gentil Palamon, youre owene knyght,
 That serveth yow with wille, herte, and myght,
 And ever hath doon syn ye first hym knewe,
3080 That ye shul of youre grace upon hym rewe,
 And taken hym for housbonde and for lord.
 Lene me youre hond, for this is oure accord.
 Lat se now of youre wommanly pitee.
 He is a kynges brother sone, pardee;
 And though he were a povre bacheler,
 Syn he hath served yow so many a yeer,
 And had for yow so greet adversitee,
 It moste been considered, leeveth me,
 For gentil mercy oghte to passen right."
3090 Thanne seyde he thus to Palamon the knight:
 "I trowe ther nedeth litel sermonyng
 To make yow assente to this thyng.
 Com neer, and taak youre lady by the hond."
 Bitwixen hem was maad anon the bond
 That highte matrimoigne or mariage,
 By al the conseil and the baronage.
 And thus with alle blisse and melodye
 Hath Palamon ywedded Emelye.
 And God, that al this wyde world hath wroght,
3100 Sende hym his love that hath it deere aboght;
 For now is Palamon in alle wele,
 Lyvynge in blisse, in richesse, and in heele,
 And Emelye hym loveth so tendrely,
 And he hire serveth so gentilly,
 That nevere was ther no word hem bitwene
 Of jalousie or any oother teene.
 Thus endeth Palamon and Emelye;
 And God save al this faire compaignye! Amen.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Miller's Prologue

 Whan that the Knyght had thus his tale ytoold,
3110 In al the route nas ther yong ne oold
 That he ne seyde it was a noble storie
 And worthy for to drawen to memorie,
 And namely the gentils everichon.
 Oure Hooste lough and swoor, "So moot I gon,
 This gooth aright; unbokeled is the male.
 Lat se now who shal telle another tale;
 For trewely the game is wel bigonne.
 Now telleth ye, sir Monk, if that ye konne,
 Somwhat to quite with the Knyghtes tale."
3120 The Millere, that for dronken was al pale,
 So that unnethe upon his hors he sat,
 He nolde avalen neither hood ne hat,
 Ne abyde no man for his curteisie,
 But in Pilates voys he gan to crie,
 And swoor, "By armes, and by blood and bones,
 I kan a noble tale for the nones,
 With which I wol now quite the Knyghtes tale."
 Oure Hooste saugh that he was dronke of ale,
 And seyde, "Abyd, Robyn, my leeve brother;
3130 Som bettre man shal telle us first another.
 Abyd, and lat us werken thriftily."
 "By Goddes soule," quod he, "that wol nat I;
 For I wol speke or elles go my wey."
 Oure Hoost answerde, "Tel on, a devel wey!
 Thou art a fool; thy wit is overcome."
 "Now herkneth," quod the Millere, "alle and some!
 But first I make a protestacioun
 That I am dronke; I knowe it by my soun.
 And therfore if that I mysspeke or seye,
3140 Wyte it the ale of Southwerk, I you preye.
 For I wol telle a legende and a lyf
 Bothe of a carpenter and of his wyf,
 How that a clerk hath set the wrightes cappe."
 The Reve answerde and seyde, "Stynt thy clappe!
 Lat be thy lewed dronken harlotrye.
 It is a synne and eek a greet folye
 To apeyren any man, or hym defame,
 And eek to bryngen wyves in swich fame.
 Thou mayst ynogh of othere thynges seyn."
3150 This dronke Millere spak ful soone ageyn
 And seyde, "Leve brother Osewold,
 Who hath no wyf, he is no cokewold.
 But I sey nat therfore that thou art oon;
 Ther been ful goode wyves many oon,
 And evere a thousand goode ayeyns oon badde.
 That knowestow wel thyself, but if thou madde.
 Why artow angry with my tale now?
 I have a wyf, pardee, as wel as thow;
 Yet nolde I, for the oxen in my plogh,
3160 Take upon me moore than ynogh,
 As demen of myself that I were oon;
 I wol bileve wel that I am noon.
 An housbonde shal nat been inquisityf
 Of Goddes pryvetee, nor of his wyf.
 So he may fynde Goddes foyson there,
 Of the remenant nedeth nat enquere."
 What sholde I moore seyn, but this Millere
 He nolde his wordes for no man forbere,
 But tolde his cherles tale in his manere.
3170 M' athynketh that I shal reherce it heere.
 And therfore every gentil wight I preye,
 For Goddes love, demeth nat that I seye
 Of yvel entente, but for I moot reherce
 Hir tales alle, be they bettre or werse,
 Or elles falsen som of my mateere.
 And therfore, whoso list it nat yheere,
 Turne over the leef and chese another tale;
 For he shal fynde ynowe, grete and smale,
 Of storial thyng that toucheth gentillesse,
3180 And eek moralitee and hoolynesse.
 Blameth nat me if that ye chese amys.
 The Millere is a cherl; ye knowe wel this.
 So was the Reve eek and othere mo,
 And harlotrie they tolden bothe two.
 Avyseth yow, and put me out of blame;
 And eek men shal nat maken ernest of game.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Miller's Tale

 Whilom ther was dwellynge at Oxenford
 A riche gnof, that gestes heeld to bord,
 And of his craft he was a carpenter.
3190 With hym ther was dwellynge a poure scoler,
 Hadde lerned art, but al his fantasye
 Was turned for to lerne astrologye,
 And koude a certeyn of conclusiouns,
 To demen by interrogaciouns,
 If that men asked hym, in certein houres
 Whan that men sholde have droghte or elles shoures,
 Or if men asked hym what sholde bifalle
 Of every thyng; I may nat rekene hem alle.
 This clerk was cleped hende Nicholas.
3200 Of deerne love he koude and of solas;
 And therto he was sleigh and ful privee,
 And lyk a mayden meke for to see.
 A chambre hadde he in that hostelrye
 Allone, withouten any compaignye,
 Ful fetisly ydight with herbes swoote;
 And he hymself as sweete as is the roote
 Of lycorys or any cetewale.
 His Almageste, and bookes grete and smale,
 His astrelabie, longynge for his art,
3210 His augrym stones layen faire apart,
 On shelves couched at his beddes heed;
 His presse ycovered with a faldyng reed;
 And al above ther lay a gay sautrie,
 On which he made a-nyghtes melodie
 So swetely that all the chambre rong;
 And Angelus ad virginem he song;
 And after that he song the Kynges Noote.
 Ful often blessed was his myrie throte.
 And thus this sweete clerk his tyme spente
3220 After his freendes fyndyng and his rente.
 This carpenter hadde wedded newe a wyf,
 Which that he lovede moore than his lyf;
 Of eighteteene yeer she was of age.
 Jalous he was, and heeld hire narwe in cage,
 For she was wylde and yong, and he was old
 And demed hymself been lik a cokewold.
 He knew nat Catoun, for his wit was rude,
 That bad man sholde wedde his simylitude.
 Men sholde wedden after hire estaat,
3230 For youthe and elde is often at debaat.
 But sith that he was fallen in the snare,
 He moste endure, as oother folk, his care.
 Fair was this yonge wyf, and therwithal
 As any wezele hir body gent and smal.
 A ceynt she werede, barred al of silk,
 A barmclooth as whit as morne milk
 Upon hir lendes, ful of many a goore.
 Whit was hir smok, and broyden al bifoore
 And eek bihynde, on hir coler aboute,
3240 Of col-blak silk, withinne and eek withoute.
 The tapes of hir white voluper
 Were of the same suyte of hir coler;
 Hir filet brood of silk, and set ful hye.
 And sikerly she hadde a likerous ye;
 Ful smale ypulled were hire browes two,
 And tho were bent and blake as any sloo.
 She was ful moore blisful on to see
 Than is the newe pere-jonette tree,
 And softer than the wolle is of a wether.
3250 And by hir girdel heeng a purs of lether,
 Tasseled with silk and perled with latoun.
 In al this world, to seken up and doun,
 There nys no man so wys that koude thenche
 So gay a popelote or swich a wenche.
 Ful brighter was the shynyng of hir hewe
 Than in the Tour the noble yforged newe.
 But of hir song, it was as loude and yerne
 As any swalwe sittynge on a berne.
 Therto she koude skippe and make game,
3260 As any kyde or calf folwynge his dame.
 Hir mouth was sweete as bragot or the meeth,
 Or hoord of apples leyd in hey or heeth.
 Wynsynge she was, as is a joly colt,
 Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.
 A brooch she baar upon hir lowe coler,
 As brood as is the boos of a bokeler.
 Hir shoes were laced on hir legges hye.
 She was a prymerole, a piggesnye,
 For any lord to leggen in his bedde,
3270 Or yet for any good yeman to wedde.
 Now, sire, and eft, sire, so bifel the cas
 That on a day this hende Nicholas
 Fil with this yonge wyf to rage and pleye,
 Whil that hir housbonde was at Oseneye,
 As clerkes ben ful subtile and ful queynte;
 And prively he caughte hire by the queynte,
 And seyde, "Ywis, but if ich have my wille,
 For deerne love of thee, lemman, I spille."
 And heeld hire harde by the haunchebones,
3280 And seyde, "Lemman, love me al atones,
 Or I wol dyen, also God me save!"
 And she sproong as a colt dooth in the trave,
 And with hir heed she wryed faste awey,
 And seyde, "I wol nat kisse thee, by my fey!
 Why, lat be!" quod she. "Lat be, Nicholas,
 Or I wol crie `out, harrow' and `allas'!
 Do wey youre handes, for youre curteisye!"
 This Nicholas gan mercy for to crye,
 And spak so faire, and profred him so faste,
3290 That she hir love hym graunted atte laste,
 And swoor hir ooth, by Seint Thomas of Kent,
 That she wol been at his comandement,
 Whan that she may hir leyser wel espie.
 "Myn housbonde is so ful of jalousie
 That but ye wayte wel and been privee,
 I woot right wel I nam but deed," quod she.
 "Ye moste been ful deerne, as in this cas."
 "Nay, therof care thee noght," quod Nicholas.
 "A clerk hadde litherly biset his whyle,
3300 But if he koude a carpenter bigyle."
 And thus they been accorded and ysworn
 To wayte a tyme, as I have told biforn.
 Whan Nicholas had doon thus everideel
 And thakked hire aboute the lendes weel,
 He kiste hire sweete and taketh his sawtrie,
 And pleyeth faste, and maketh melodie.
 Thanne fil it thus, that to the paryssh chirche,
 Cristes owene werkes for to wirche,
 This goode wyf went on an haliday.
3310 Hir forheed shoon as bright as any day,
 So was it wasshen whan she leet hir werk.
 Now was ther of that chirche a parissh clerk,
 The which that was ycleped Absolon.
 Crul was his heer, and as the gold it shoon,
 And strouted as a fanne large and brode;
 Ful streight and evene lay his joly shode.
 His rode was reed, his eyen greye as goos.
 With Poules wyndow corven on his shoos,
 In hoses rede he wente fetisly.
3320 Yclad he was ful smal and proprely
 Al in a kirtel of a lyght waget;
 Ful faire and thikke been the poyntes set.
 And therupon he hadde a gay surplys
 As whit as is the blosme upon the rys.
 A myrie child he was, so God me save.
 Wel koude he laten blood, and clippe and shave,
 And maken a chartre of lond or acquitaunce.
 In twenty manere koude he trippe and daunce
 After the scole of Oxenforde tho,
3330 And with his legges casten to and fro,
 And pleyen songes on a smal rubible;
 Therto he song som tyme a loud quynyble;
 And as wel koude he pleye on a giterne.
 In al the toun nas brewhous ne taverne
 That he ne visited with his solas,
 Ther any gaylard tappestere was.
 But sooth to seyn, he was somdeel squaymous
 Of fartyng, and of speche daungerous.
 This Absolon, that jolif was and gay,
3340 Gooth with a sencer on the haliday,
 Sensynge the wyves of the parisshe faste;
 And many a lovely look on hem he caste,
 And namely on this carpenteris wyf.
 To looke on hire hym thoughte a myrie lyf,
 She was so propre and sweete and likerous.
 I dar wel seyn, if she hadde been a mous,
 And he a cat, he wolde hire hente anon.
 This parissh clerk, this joly Absolon,
 Hath in his herte swich a love-longynge
3350 That of no wyf took he noon offrynge;
 For curteisie, he seyde, he wolde noon.
 The moone, whan it was nyght, ful brighte shoon,
 And Absolon his gyterne hath ytake;
 For paramours he thoghte for to wake.
 And forth he gooth, jolif and amorous,
 Til he cam to the carpenteres hous
 A litel after cokkes hadde ycrowe,
 And dressed hym up by a shot-wyndowe
 That was upon the carpenteris wal.
3360 He syngeth in his voys gentil and smal,
 "Now, deere lady, if thy wille be,
 I praye yow that ye wole rewe on me,"
 Ful wel acordaunt to his gyternynge.
 This carpenter awook, and herde him synge,
 And spak unto his wyf, and seyde anon,
 "What! Alison! Herestow nat Absolon,
 That chaunteth thus under oure boures wal?"
 And she answerde hir housbonde therwithal,
 "Yis, God woot, John, I heere it every deel."
3370 This passeth forth; what wol ye bet than weel?
 Fro day to day this joly Absolon
 So woweth hire that hym is wo bigon.
 He waketh al the nyght and al the day;
 He kembeth his lokkes brode, and made hym gay;
 He woweth hire by meenes and brocage,
 And swoor he wolde been hir owene page;
 He syngeth, brokkynge as a nyghtyngale;
 He sente hire pyment, meeth, and spiced ale,
 And wafres, pipyng hoot out of the gleede;
3380 And, for she was of town, he profred meede;
 For som folk wol ben wonnen for richesse,
 And somme for strokes, and somme for gentillesse.
 Somtyme, to shewe his lightnesse and maistrye,
 He pleyeth Herodes upon a scaffold hye.
 But what availleth hym as in this cas?
 She loveth so this hende Nicholas
 That Absolon may blowe the bukkes horn;
 He ne hadde for his labour but a scorn.
 And thus she maketh Absolon hire ape,
3390 And al his ernest turneth til a jape.
 Ful sooth is this proverbe, it is no lye,
 Men seyn right thus: "Alwey the nye slye
 Maketh the ferre leeve to be looth."
 For though that Absolon be wood or wrooth,
 By cause that he fer was from hire sight,
 This nye Nicholas stood in his light.
 Now ber thee wel, thou hende Nicholas,
 For Absolon may waille and synge "allas."
 And so bifel it on a Saterday,
3400 This carpenter was goon til Osenay;
 And hende Nicholas and Alisoun
 Acorded been to this conclusioun,
 That Nicholas shal shapen hym a wyle
 This sely jalous housbonde to bigyle;
 And if so be the game wente aright,
 She sholde slepen in his arm al nyght,
 For this was his desir and hire also.
 And right anon, withouten wordes mo,
 This Nicholas no lenger wolde tarie,
3410 But dooth ful softe unto his chambre carie
 Bothe mete and drynke for a day or tweye,
 And to hire housbonde bad hire for to seye,
 If that he axed after Nicholas,
 She sholde seye she nyste where he was;
 Of al that day she saugh hym nat with ye;
 She trowed that he was in maladye,
 For, for no cry hir mayde koude hym calle,
 He nolde answere for thyng that myghte falle.
 This passeth forth al thilke Saterday,
3420 That Nicholas stille in his chambre lay,
 And eet and sleep, or dide what hym leste,
 Til Sonday, that the sonne gooth to reste.
 This sely carpenter hath greet merveyle
 Of Nicholas, or what thyng myghte hym eyle,
 And seyde, "I am adrad, by Seint Thomas,
 It stondeth nat aright with Nicholas.
 God shilde that he deyde sodeynly!
 This world is now ful tikel, sikerly.
 I saugh today a cors yborn to chirche
3430 That now, on Monday last, I saugh hym wirche.
 "Go up," quod he unto his knave anoon,
 "Clepe at his dore, or knokke with a stoon.
 Looke how it is, and tel me boldely."
 This knave gooth hym up ful sturdily,
 And at the chambre dore whil that he stood,
 He cride and knokked as that he were wood,
 "What, how! What do ye, maister Nicholay?
 How may ye slepen al the longe day?"
 But al for noght; he herde nat a word.
3440 An hole he foond, ful lowe upon a bord,
 Ther as the cat was wont in for to crepe,
 And at that hole he looked in ful depe,
 And at the laste he hadde of hym a sight.
 This Nicholas sat evere capyng upright,
 As he had kiked on the newe moone.
 Adoun he gooth, and tolde his maister soone
 In what array he saugh this ilke man.
 This carpenter to blessen hym bigan,
 And seyde, "Help us, Seinte Frydeswyde!
3450 A man woot litel what hym shal bityde.
 This man is falle, with his astromye,
 In some woodnesse or in som agonye.
 I thoghte ay wel how that it sholde be!
 Men sholde nat knowe of Goddes pryvetee.
 Ye, blessed be alwey a lewed man
 That noght but oonly his bileve kan!
 So ferde another clerk with astromye;
 He walked in the feeldes for to prye
 Upon the sterres, what ther sholde bifalle,
3460 Til he was in a marle-pit yfalle;
 He saugh nat that. But yet, by Seint Thomas,
 Me reweth soore of hende Nicholas.
 He shal be rated of his studiyng,
 If that I may, by Jhesus, hevene kyng!
 Get me a staf, that I may underspore,
 Whil that thou, Robyn, hevest up the dore.
 He shal out of his studiyng, as I gesse."
 And to the chambre dore he gan hym dresse.
 His knave was a strong carl for the nones,
3470 And by the haspe he haaf it of atones;
 Into the floor the dore fil anon.
 This Nicholas sat ay as stille as stoon,
 And evere caped upward into the eir.
 This carpenter wende he were in despeir,
 And hente hym by the sholdres myghtily,
 And shook hym harde, and cride spitously,
 "What! Nicholay! What, how! What, looke adoun!
 Awak, and thenk on Cristes passioun!
 I crouche thee from elves and fro wightes."
3480 Therwith the nyght-spel seyde he anon-rightes
 On foure halves of the hous aboute,
 And on the thresshfold of the dore withoute:
 "Jhesu Crist and Seinte Benedight,
 Blesse this hous from every wikked wight,
 For nyghtes verye, the white pater-noster!
 Where wentestow, Seinte Petres soster?"
 And atte laste this hende Nicholas
 Gan for to sik soore, and seyde, "Allas!
 Shal al the world be lost eftsoones now?"
3490 This carpenter answerde, "What seystow?
 What! Thynk on God, as we doon, men that swynke."
 This Nicholas answerde, "Fecche me drynke,
 And after wol I speke in pryvetee
 Of certeyn thyng that toucheth me and thee.
 I wol telle it noon oother man, certeyn."
 This carpenter goth doun, and comth ageyn,
 And broghte of myghty ale a large quart;
 And whan that ech of hem had dronke his part,
 This Nicholas his dore faste shette,
3500 And doun the carpenter by hym he sette.
 He seyde, "John, myn hooste, lief and deere,
 Thou shalt upon thy trouthe swere me heere
 That to no wight thou shalt this conseil wreye,
 For it is Cristes conseil that I seye,
 And if thou telle it man, thou art forlore;
 For this vengeaunce thou shalt han therfore,
 That if thou wreye me, thou shalt be wood."
 "Nay, Crist forbede it, for his hooly blood!"
 Quod tho this sely man, "I nam no labbe,
3510 Ne, though I seye, I nam nat lief to gabbe.
 Sey what thou wolt, I shal it nevere telle
 To child ne wyf, by hym that harwed helle!"
 "Now John," quod Nicholas, "I wol nat lye;
 I have yfounde in myn astrologye,
 As I have looked in the moone bright,
 That now a Monday next, at quarter nyght,
 Shal falle a reyn, and that so wilde and wood
 That half so greet was nevere Noes flood.
 This world," he seyde, "in lasse than an hour
3520 Shal al be dreynt, so hidous is the shour.
 Thus shal mankynde drenche, and lese hir lyf."
 This carpenter answerde, "Allas, my wyf!
 And shal she drenche? Allas, myn Alisoun!"
 For sorwe of this he fil almoost adoun,
 And seyde, "Is ther no remedie in this cas?"
 "Why, yis, for Gode," quod hende Nicholas,
 "If thou wolt werken after loore and reed.
 Thou mayst nat werken after thyn owene heed;
 For thus seith Salomon, that was ful trewe:
3530 `Werk al by conseil, and thou shalt nat rewe.'
 And if thou werken wolt by good conseil,
 I undertake, withouten mast and seyl,
 Yet shal I saven hire and thee and me.
 Hastow nat herd hou saved was Noe,
 Whan that oure Lord hadde warned hym biforn
 That al the world with water sholde be lorn?"
 "Yis," quod this Carpenter, "ful yoore ago."
 "Hastou nat herd," quod Nicholas, "also
 The sorwe of Noe with his felaweshipe,
3540 Er that he myghte gete his wyf to shipe?
 Hym hadde be levere, I dar wel undertake,
 At thilke tyme, than alle his wetheres blake
 That she hadde had a ship hirself allone.
 And therfore, woostou what is best to doone?
 This asketh haste, and of an hastif thyng
 Men may nat preche or maken tariyng.
 "Anon go gete us faste into this in
 A knedyng trogh, or ellis a kymelyn,
 For ech of us, but looke that they be large,
3550 In which we mowe swymme as in a barge,
 And han therinne vitaille suffisant
 But for a day -- fy on the remenant!
 The water shal aslake and goon away
 Aboute pryme upon the nexte day.
 But Robyn may nat wite of this, thy knave,
 Ne eek thy mayde Gille I may nat save;
 Axe nat why, for though thou aske me,
 I wol nat tellen Goddes pryvetee.
 Suffiseth thee, but if thy wittes madde,
3560 To han as greet a grace as Noe hadde.
 Thy wyf shal I wel saven, out of doute.
 Go now thy wey, and speed thee heer-aboute.
 "But whan thou hast, for hire and thee and me,
 Ygeten us thise knedyng tubbes thre,
 Thanne shaltow hange hem in the roof ful hye,
 That no man of oure purveiaunce espye.
 And whan thou thus hast doon as I have seyd,
 And hast oure vitaille faire in hem yleyd,
 And eek an ax to smyte the corde atwo,
3570 Whan that the water comth, that we may go
 And breke an hole an heigh, upon the gable,
 Unto the gardyn-ward, over the stable,
 That we may frely passen forth oure way,
 Whan that the grete shour is goon away.
 Thanne shaltou swymme as myrie, I undertake,
 As dooth the white doke after hire drake.
 Thanne wol I clepe, `How, Alison! How, John!
 Be myrie, for the flood wol passe anon.'
 And thou wolt seyn, `Hayl, maister Nicholay!
3580 Good morwe, I se thee wel, for it is day.'
 And thanne shul we be lordes al oure lyf
 Of al the world, as Noe and his wyf.
 "But of o thyng I warne thee ful right:
 Be wel avysed on that ilke nyght
 That we ben entred into shippes bord,
 That noon of us ne speke nat a word,
 Ne clepe, ne crie, but be in his preyere;
 For it is Goddes owene heeste deere.
 "Thy wyf and thou moote hange fer atwynne,
3590 For that bitwixe yow shal be no synne,
 Namoore in lookyng than ther shal in deede.
 This ordinance is seyd. Go, God thee speede!
 Tomorwe at nyght, whan men ben alle aslepe,
 Into oure knedyng-tubbes wol we crepe,
 And sitten there, abidyng Goddes grace.
 Go now thy wey; I have no lenger space
 To make of this no lenger sermonyng.
 Men seyn thus, `sende the wise, and sey no thyng.'
 Thou art so wys, it needeth thee nat teche.
3600 Go, save oure lyf, and that I the biseche."
 This sely carpenter goth forth his wey.
 Ful ofte he seide "Allas and weylawey,"
 And to his wyf he tolde his pryvetee,
 And she was war, and knew it bet than he,
 What al this queynte cast was for to seye.
 But nathelees she ferde as she wolde deye,
 And seyde, "Allas! go forth thy wey anon,
 Help us to scape, or we been dede echon!
 I am thy trewe, verray wedded wyf;
3610 Go, deere spouse, and help to save oure lyf."
 Lo, which a greet thyng is affeccioun!
 Men may dyen of ymaginacioun,
 So depe may impressioun be take.
 This sely carpenter bigynneth quake;
 Hym thynketh verraily that he may see
 Noees flood come walwynge as the see
 To drenchen Alisoun, his hony deere.
 He wepeth, weyleth, maketh sory cheere;
 He siketh with ful many a sory swogh;
3620 He gooth and geteth hym a knedyng trogh,
 And after that a tubbe and a kymelyn,
 And pryvely he sente hem to his in,
 And heng hem in the roof in pryvetee.
 His owene hand he made laddres thre,
 To clymben by the ronges and the stalkes
 Unto the tubbes hangynge in the balkes,
 And hem vitailled, bothe trogh and tubbe,
 With breed, and chese, and good ale in a jubbe,
 Suffisynge right ynogh as for a day.
3630 But er that he hadde maad al this array,
 He sente his knave, and eek his wenche also,
 Upon his nede to London for to go.
 And on the Monday, whan it drow to nyght,
 He shette his dore withoute candel-lyght,
 And dressed alle thyng as it sholde be.
 And shortly, up they clomben alle thre;
 They seten stille wel a furlong way.
 "Now, Pater-noster, clom!" seyde Nicholay,
 And "Clom!" quod John, and "Clom!" seyde Alisoun.
3640 This carpenter seyde his devocioun,
 And stille he sit, and biddeth his preyere,
 Awaitynge on the reyn, if he it heere.
 The dede sleep, for wery bisynesse,
 Fil on this carpenter right, as I gesse,
 Aboute corfew-tyme, or litel moore;
 For travaille of his goost he groneth soore,
 And eft he routeth, for his heed myslay.
 Doun of the laddre stalketh Nicholay,
 And Alisoun ful softe adoun she spedde;
3650 Withouten wordes mo they goon to bedde,
 Ther as the carpenter is wont to lye.
 Ther was the revel and the melodye;
 And thus lith Alison and Nicholas,
 In bisynesse of myrthe and of solas,
 Til that the belle of laudes gan to rynge,
 And freres in the chauncel gonne synge.
 This parissh clerk, this amorous Absolon,
 That is for love alwey so wo bigon,
 Upon the Monday was at Oseneye
3660 With compaignye, hym to disporte and pleye,
 And axed upon cas a cloisterer
 Ful prively after John the carpenter;
 And he drough hym apart out of the chirche,
 And seyde, "I noot; I saugh hym heere nat wirche
 Syn Saterday; I trowe that he be went
 For tymber, ther oure abbot hath hym sent;
 For he is wont for tymber for to go
 And dwellen at the grange a day or two;
 Or elles he is at his hous, certeyn.
3670 Where that he be, I kan nat soothly seyn."
 This Absolon ful joly was and light,
 And thoghte, "Now is tyme to wake al nyght,
 For sikirly I saugh hym nat stirynge
 Aboute his dore, syn day bigan to sprynge.
 "So moot I thryve, I shal, at cokkes crowe,
 Ful pryvely knokken at his wyndowe
 That stant ful lowe upon his boures wal.
 To Alison now wol I tellen al
 My love-longynge, for yet I shal nat mysse
3680 That at the leeste wey I shal hire kisse.
 Som maner confort shal I have, parfay.
 My mouth hath icched al this longe day;
 That is a signe of kissyng atte leeste.
 Al nyght me mette eek I was at a feeste.
 Therfore I wol go slepe an houre or tweye,
 And al the nyght thanne wol I wake and pleye."
 Whan that the firste cok hath crowe, anon
 Up rist this joly lovere Absolon,
 And hym arraieth gay, at poynt-devys.
3690 But first he cheweth greyn and lycorys,
 To smellen sweete, er he hadde kembd his heer.
 Under his tonge a trewe-love he beer,
 For therby wende he to ben gracious.
 He rometh to the carpenteres hous,
 And stille he stant under the shot-wyndowe --
 Unto his brest it raughte, it was so lowe --
 And softe he cougheth with a semy soun:
 "What do ye, hony-comb, sweete Alisoun,
 My faire bryd, my sweete cynamome?
3700 Awaketh, lemman myn, and speketh to me!
 Wel litel thynken ye upon my wo,
 That for youre love I swete ther I go.
 No wonder is thogh that I swelte and swete;
 I moorne as dooth a lamb after the tete.
 Ywis, lemman, I have swich love-longynge
 That lik a turtel trewe is my moornynge.
 I may nat ete na moore than a mayde."
 "Go fro the wyndow, Jakke fool," she sayde;
 "As help me God, it wol nat be `com pa me.'
3710 I love another -- and elles I were to blame --
 Wel bet than thee, by Jhesu, Absolon.
 Go forth thy wey, or I wol caste a ston,
 And lat me slepe, a twenty devel wey!"
 "Allas," quod Absolon, "and weylawey,
 That trewe love was evere so yvel biset!
 Thanne kysse me, syn it may be no bet,
 For Jhesus love, and for the love of me."
 "Wiltow thanne go thy wey therwith?" quod she.
 "Ye, certes, lemman," quod this Absolon.
3720 "Thanne make thee redy," quod she, "I come anon."
 And unto Nicholas she seyde stille,
 "Now hust, and thou shalt laughen al thy fille."
 This Absolon doun sette hym on his knees
 And seyde, "I am a lord at alle degrees;
 For after this I hope ther cometh moore.
 Lemman, thy grace, and sweete bryd, thyn oore!"
 The wyndow she undoth, and that in haste.
 "Have do," quod she, "com of, and speed the faste,
 Lest that oure neighebores thee espie."
3730 This Absolon gan wype his mouth ful drie.
 Derk was the nyght as pich, or as the cole,
 And at the wyndow out she putte hir hole,
 And Absolon, hym fil no bet ne wers,
 But with his mouth he kiste hir naked ers
 Ful savourly, er he were war of this.
 Abak he stirte, and thoughte it was amys,
 For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd.
 He felte a thyng al rough and long yherd,
 And seyde, "Fy! allas! what have I do?"
3740 "Tehee!" quod she, and clapte the wyndow to,
 And Absolon gooth forth a sory pas.
 "A berd! A berd!" quod hende Nicholas,
 "By Goddes corpus, this goth faire and weel."
 This sely Absolon herde every deel,
 And on his lippe he gan for anger byte,
 And to hymself he seyde, "I shal thee quyte."
 Who rubbeth now, who froteth now his lippes
 With dust, with sond, with straw, with clooth, with chippes,
 But Absolon, that seith ful ofte, "Allas!"
3750 "My soule bitake I unto Sathanas,
 But me were levere than al this toun," quod he,
 "Of this despit awroken for to be.
 Allas," quod he, "allas, I ne hadde ybleynt!"
 His hoote love was coold and al yqueynt;
 For fro that tyme that he hadde kist hir ers,
 Of paramours he sette nat a kers,
 For he was heeled of his maladie.
 Ful ofte paramours he gan deffie,
 And weep as dooth a child that is ybete.
3760 A softe paas he wente over the strete
 Until a smyth men cleped daun Gerveys,
 That in his forge smythed plough harneys;
 He sharpeth shaar and kultour bisily.
 This Absolon knokketh al esily,
 And seyde, "Undo, Gerveys, and that anon."
 "What, who artow?" "It am I, Absolon."
 "What, Absolon! for Cristes sweete tree,
 Why rise ye so rathe? Ey, benedicitee!
 What eyleth yow? Som gay gerl, God it woot,
3770 Hath broght yow thus upon the viritoot.
 By Seinte Note, ye woot wel what I mene."
 This Absolon ne roghte nat a bene
 Of al his pley; no word agayn he yaf;
 He hadde moore tow on his distaf
 Than Gerveys knew, and seyde, "Freend so deere,
 That hoote kultour in the chymenee heere,
 As lene it me; I have therwith to doone,
 And I wol brynge it thee agayn ful soone."
 Gerveys answerde, "Certes, were it gold,
3780 Or in a poke nobles alle untold,
 Thou sholdest have, as I am trewe smyth.
 Ey, Cristes foo! What wol ye do therwith?"
 "Therof," quod Absolon, "be as be may.
 I shal wel telle it thee to-morwe day" --
 And caughte the kultour by the colde stele.
 Ful softe out at the dore he gan to stele,
 And wente unto the carpenteris wal.
 He cogheth first, and knokketh therwithal
 Upon the wyndowe, right as he dide er.
3790 This Alison answerde, "Who is ther
 That knokketh so? I warante it a theef."
 "Why, nay," quod he, "God woot, my sweete leef,
 I am thyn Absolon, my deerelyng.
 Of gold," quod he, "I have thee broght a ryng.
 My mooder yaf it me, so God me save;
 Ful fyn it is, and therto wel ygrave.
 This wol I yeve thee, if thou me kisse."
 This Nicholas was risen for to pisse,
 And thoughte he wolde amenden al the jape;
3800 He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape.
 And up the wyndowe dide he hastily,
 And out his ers he putteth pryvely
 Over the buttok, to the haunche-bon;
 And therwith spak this clerk, this Absolon,
 "Spek, sweete bryd, I noot nat where thou art."
 This Nicholas anon leet fle a fart
 As greet as it had been a thonder-dent,
 That with the strook he was almoost yblent;
 And he was redy with his iren hoot,
3810 And Nicholas amydde the ers he smoot.
 Of gooth the skyn an hande-brede aboute,
 The hoote kultour brende so his toute,
 And for the smert he wende for to dye.
 As he were wood, for wo he gan to crye,
 "Help! Water! Water! Help, for Goddes herte!"
 This carpenter out of his slomber sterte,
 And herde oon crien "water!" as he were wood,
 And thoughte, "Allas, now comth Nowelis flood!"
 He sit hym up withouten wordes mo,
3820 And with his ax he smoot the corde atwo,
 And doun gooth al; he foond neither to selle,
 Ne breed ne ale, til he cam to the celle
 Upon the floor, and ther aswowne he lay.
 Up stirte hire Alison and Nicholay,
 And criden "Out" and "Harrow" in the strete.
 The neighebores, bothe smale and grete,
 In ronnen for to gauren on this man,
 That yet aswowne lay, bothe pale and wan,
 For with the fal he brosten hadde his arm.
3830 But stonde he moste unto his owene harm;
 For whan he spak, he was anon bore doun
 With hende Nicholas and Alisoun.
 They tolden every man that he was wood;
 He was agast so of Nowelis flood
 Thurgh fantasie that of his vanytee
 He hadde yboght hym knedyng tubbes thre,
 And hadde hem hanged in the roof above;
 And that he preyed hem, for Goddes love,
 To sitten in the roof, par compaignye.
3840 The folk gan laughen at his fantasye;
 Into the roof they kiken and they cape,
 And turned al his harm unto a jape.
 For what so that this carpenter answerde,
 It was for noght; no man his reson herde.
 With othes grete he was so sworn adoun
 That he was holde wood in al the toun;
 For every clerk anonright heeld with oother.
 They seyde, "The man is wood, my leeve brother";
 And every wight gan laughen at this stryf.
3850 Thus swyved was this carpenteris wyf,
 For al his kepyng and his jalousye,
 And Absolon hath kist hir nether ye,
 And Nicholas is scalded in the towte.
 This tale is doon, and God save al the rowte!

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Reeve's Prologue

 Whan folk hadde laughen at this nyce cas
 Of Absolon and hende Nicholas,
 Diverse folk diversely they seyde,
 But for the moore part they loughe and pleyde.
 Ne at this tale I saugh no man hym greve,
3860 But it were oonly Osewold the Reve.
 By cause he was of carpenteris craft,
 A litel ire is in his herte ylaft;
 He gan to grucche, and blamed it a lite.
 "So theek," quod he, "ful wel koude I thee quite
 With bleryng of a proud milleres ye,
 If that me liste speke of ribaudye.
 But ik am oold; me list not pley for age;
 Gras tyme is doon; my fodder is now forage;
 This white top writeth myne olde yeris;
3870 Myn herte is also mowled as myne heris,
 But if I fare as dooth an open-ers --
 That ilke fruyt is ever lenger the wers,
 Til it be roten in mullok or in stree.
 We olde men, I drede, so fare we:
 Til we be roten, kan we nat be rype;
 We hoppen alwey whil that the world wol pype.
 For in oure wyl ther stiketh evere a nayl,
 To have an hoor heed and a grene tayl,
 As hath a leek; for thogh oure myght be goon,
3880 Oure wyl desireth folie evere in oon.
 For whan we may nat doon, than wol we speke;
 Yet in oure asshen olde is fyr yreke.
 "Foure gleedes han we, which I shal devyse --
 Avauntyng, liyng, anger, coveitise;
 Thise foure sparkles longen unto eelde.
 Oure olde lemes mowe wel been unweelde,
 But wyl ne shal nat faillen, that is sooth.
 And yet ik have alwey a coltes tooth,
 As many a yeer as it is passed henne
3890 Syn that my tappe of lif bigan to renne.
 For sikerly, whan I was bore, anon
 Deeth drough the tappe of lyf and leet it gon,
 And ever sithe hath so the tappe yronne
 Til that almoost al empty is the tonne.
 The streem of lyf now droppeth on the chymbe.
 The sely tonge may wel rynge and chymbe
 Of wrecchednesse that passed is ful yoore;
 With olde folk, save dotage, is namoore!"
 Whan that oure Hoost hadde herd this sermonyng,
3900 He gan to speke as lordly as a kyng.
 He seide, "What amounteth al this wit?
 What shul we speke alday of hooly writ?
 The devel made a reve for to preche,
 Or of a soutere a shipman or a leche.
 Sey forth thy tale, and tarie nat the tyme.
 Lo Depeford, and it is half-wey pryme!
 Lo Grenewych, ther many a shrewe is inne!
 It were al tyme thy tale to bigynne."
 "Now, sires," quod this Osewold the Reve,
3910 "I pray yow alle that ye nat yow greve,
 Thogh I answere, and somdeel sette his howve;
 For leveful is with force force of-showve.
 "This dronke Millere hath ytoold us heer
 How that bigyled was a carpenteer,
 Peraventure in scorn, for I am oon.
 And, by youre leve, I shal hym quite anoon;
 Right in his cherles termes wol I speke.
 I pray to God his nekke mote to-breke;
 He kan wel in myn eye seen a stalke,
3920 But in his owene he kan nat seen a balke."

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Reeve's Tale

 At Trumpyngtoun, nat fer fro Cantebrigge,
 Ther gooth a brook, and over that a brigge,
 Upon the whiche brook ther stant a melle;
 And this is verray sooth that I yow telle:
 A millere was ther dwellynge many a day.
 As any pecok he was proud and gay.
 Pipen he koude and fisshe, and nettes beete,
 And turne coppes, and wel wrastle and sheete;
 Ay by his belt he baar a long panade,
3930 And of a swerd ful trenchant was the blade.
 A joly poppere baar he in his pouche;
 Ther was no man, for peril, dorste hym touche.
 A Sheffeld thwitel baar he in his hose.
 Round was his face, and camus was his nose;
 As piled as an ape was his skulle.
 He was a market-betere atte fulle.
 Ther dorste no wight hand upon hym legge,
 That he ne swoor he sholde anon abegge.
 A theef he was for sothe of corn and mele,
3940 And that a sly, and usaunt for to stele.
 His name was hoote deynous Symkyn.
 A wyf he hadde, ycomen of noble kyn;
 The person of the toun hir fader was.
 With hire he yaf ful many a panne of bras,
 For that Symkyn sholde in his blood allye.
 She was yfostred in a nonnerye;
 For Symkyn wolde no wyf, as he sayde,
 But she were wel ynorissed and a mayde,
 To saven his estaat of yomanrye.
3950 And she was proud, and peert as is a pye.
 A ful fair sighte was it upon hem two;
 On halydayes biforn hire wolde he go
 With his typet wounde aboute his heed,
 And she cam after in a gyte of reed;
 And Symkyn hadde hosen of the same.
 Ther dorste no wight clepen hire but "dame";
 Was noon so hardy that wente by the weye
 That with hire dorste rage or ones pleye,
 But if he wolde be slayn of Symkyn
3960 With panade, or with knyf, or boidekyn.
 For jalous folk ben perilous everemo --
 Algate they wolde hire wyves wenden so.
 And eek, for she was somdel smoterlich,
 She was as digne as water in a dich,
 And ful of hoker and of bisemare.
 Hir thoughte that a lady sholde hire spare,
 What for hire kynrede and hir nortelrie
 That she hadde lerned in the nonnerie.
 A doghter hadde they bitwixe hem two
3970 Of twenty yeer, withouten any mo,
 Savynge a child that was of half yeer age;
 In cradel it lay and was a propre page.
 This wenche thikke and wel ygrowen was,
 With kamus nose and eyen greye as glas,
 With buttokes brode and brestes rounde and hye.
 But right fair was hire heer; I wol nat lye.
 This person of the toun, for she was feir,
 In purpos was to maken hire his heir,
 Bothe of his catel and his mesuage,
3980 And straunge he made it of hir mariage.
 His purpos was for to bistowe hire hye
 Into som worthy blood of auncetrye;
 For hooly chirches good moot been despended
 On hooly chirches blood, that is descended.
 Therfore he wolde his hooly blood honoure,
 Though that he hooly chirche sholde devoure.
 Greet sokene hath this millere, out of doute,
 With whete and malt of al the land aboute;
 And nameliche ther was a greet collegge
3990 Men clepen the Soler Halle at Cantebregge;
 Ther was hir whete and eek hir malt ygrounde.
 And on a day it happed, in a stounde,
 Sik lay the maunciple on a maladye;
 Men wenden wisly that he sholde dye.
 For which this millere stal bothe mele and corn
 An hundred tyme moore than biforn;
 For therbiforn he stal but curteisly,
 But now he was a theef outrageously,
 For which the wardeyn chidde and made fare.
4000 But therof sette the millere nat a tare;
 He craketh boost, and swoor it was nat so.
 Thanne were ther yonge povre scolers two,
 That dwelten in this halle, of which I seye.
 Testif they were, and lusty for to pleye,
 And, oonly for hire myrthe and revelrye,
 Upon the wardeyn bisily they crye
 To yeve hem leve, but a litel stounde,
 To goon to mille and seen hir corn ygrounde;
 And hardily they dorste leye hir nekke
4010 The millere sholde not stele hem half a pekke
 Of corn by sleighte, ne by force hem reve;
 And at the laste the wardeyn yaf hem leve.
 John highte that oon, and Aleyn highte that oother;
 Of o toun were they born, that highte Strother,
 Fer in the north; I kan nat telle where.
 This Aleyn maketh redy al his gere,
 And on an hors the sak he caste anon.
 Forth goth Aleyn the clerk, and also John,
 With good swerd and with bokeler by hir syde.
4020 John knew the wey -- hem nedede no gyde --
 And at the mille the sak adoun he layth.
 Aleyn spak first: "Al hayl, Symond, y-fayth!
 Hou fares thy faire doghter and thy wyf?"
 "Aleyn, welcome," quod Symkyn, "by my lyf!
 And John also, how now, what do ye heer?"
 "Symond," quod John, "by God, nede has na peer.
 Hym boes serve hymself that has na swayn,
 Or elles he is a fool, as clerkes sayn.
 Oure manciple, I hope he wil be deed,
4030 Swa werkes ay the wanges in his heed;
 And forthy is I come, and eek Alayn,
 To grynde oure corn and carie it ham agayn;
 I pray yow spede us heythen that ye may."
 "It shal be doon," quod Symkyn, "by my fay!
 What wol ye doon whil that it is in hande?"
 "By God, right by the hopur wil I stande,"
 Quod John, "and se howgates the corn gas in.
 Yet saugh I nevere, by my fader kyn,
 How that the hopur wagges til and fra."
4040 Aleyn answerde, "John, and wiltow swa?
 Thanne wil I be bynethe, by my croun,
 And se how that the mele falles doun
 Into the trough; that sal be my disport.
 For John, y-faith, I may been of youre sort;
 I is as ille a millere as ar ye."
 This millere smyled of hir nycetee,
 And thoghte, "Al this nys doon but for a wyle.
 They wene that no man may hem bigyle,
 But by my thrift, yet shal I blere hir ye,
4050 For al the sleighte in hir philosophye.
 The moore queynte crekes that they make,
 The moore wol I stele whan I take.
 In stide of flour yet wol I yeve hem bren.
 `The gretteste clerkes been noght wisest men,'
 As whilom to the wolf thus spak the mare.
 Of al hir art counte I noght a tare."
 Out at the dore he gooth ful pryvely,
 Whan that he saugh his tyme, softely.
 He looketh up and doun til he hath founde
4060 The clerkes hors, ther as it stood ybounde
 Bihynde the mille, under a levesel;
 And to the hors he goth hym faire and wel;
 He strepeth of the brydel right anon.
 And whan the hors was laus, he gynneth gon
 Toward the fen, ther wilde mares renne,
 And forth with "wehee," thurgh thikke and thurgh thenne.
 This millere gooth agayn, no word he seyde,
 But dooth his note, and with the clerkes pleyde
 Til that hir corn was faire and weel ygrounde.
4070 And whan the mele is sakked and ybounde,
 This John goth out and fynt his hors away,
 And gan to crie "Harrow!" and "Weylaway!
 Oure hors is lorn, Alayn, for Goddes banes,
 Step on thy feet! Com of, man, al atanes!
 Allas, our wardeyn has his palfrey lorn."
 This Aleyn al forgat, bothe mele and corn;
 Al was out of his mynde his housbondrie.
 "What, whilk way is he geen?" he gan to crie.
 The wyf cam lepynge inward with a ren.
4080 She seyde, "Allas! youre hors goth to the fen
 With wilde mares, as faste as he may go.
 Unthank come on his hand that boond hym so,
 And he that bettre sholde han knyt the reyne!"
 "Allas," quod John, "Aleyn, for Cristes peyne
 Lay doun thy swerd, and I wil myn alswa.
 I is ful wight, God waat, as is a raa;
 By Goddes herte, he sal nat scape us bathe!
 Why ne had thow pit the capul in the lathe?
 Ilhayl! By God, Alayn, thou is a fonne!"
4090 Thise sely clerkes han ful faste yronne
 Toward the fen, bothe Aleyn and eek John.
 And whan the millere saugh that they were gon,
 He half a busshel of hir flour hath take,
 And bad his wyf go knede it in a cake.
 He seyde, "I trowe the clerkes were aferd.
 Yet kan a millere make a clerkes berd,
 For al his art; now lat hem goon hir weye!
 Lo, wher he gooth! Ye, lat the children pleye.
 They gete hym nat so lightly, by my croun."
4100 Thise sely clerkes rennen up and doun
 With "Keep! Keep! Stand! Stand! Jossa, warderere,
 Ga whistle thou, and I shal kepe hym heere!"
 But shortly, til that it was verray nyght,
 They koude nat, though they dide al hir myght,
 Hir capul cacche, he ran alwey so faste,
 Til in a dych they caughte hym atte laste.
 Wery and weet, as beest is in the reyn,
 Comth sely John, and with him comth Aleyn.
 "Allas," quod John, "the day that I was born!
4110 Now are we dryve til hethyng and til scorn.
 Oure corn is stoln; men wil us fooles calle,
 Bathe the wardeyn and oure felawes alle,
 And namely the millere, weylaway!"
 Thus pleyneth John as he gooth by the way
 Toward the mille, and Bayard in his hond.
 The millere sittynge by the fyr he fond,
 For it was nyght, and forther myghte they noght;
 But for the love of God they hym bisoght
 Of herberwe and of ese, as for hir peny.
4120 The millere seyde agayn, "If ther be eny,
 Swich as it is, yet shal ye have youre part.
 Myn hous is streit, but ye han lerned art;
 Ye konne by argumentes make a place
 A myle brood of twenty foot of space.
 Lat se now if this place may suffise,
 Or make it rowm with speche, as is youre gise."
 "Now, Symond," seyde John, "by Seint Cutberd,
 Ay is thou myrie, and this is faire answerd.
 I have herd seyd, `Man sal taa of twa thynges:
4130 Slyk as he fyndes, or taa slyk as he brynges.'
 But specially I pray thee, hooste deere,
 Get us som mete and drynke, and make us cheere,
 And we wil payen trewely atte fulle.
 With empty hand men may na haukes tulle;
 Loo, heere oure silver, redy for to spende."
 This millere into toun his doghter sende
 For ale and breed, and rosted hem a goos,
 And boond hire hors, it sholde namoore go loos,
 And in his owene chambre hem made a bed,
4140 With sheetes and with chalons faire yspred
 Noght from his owene bed ten foot or twelve.
 His doghter hadde a bed, al by hirselve,
 Right in the same chambre by and by.
 It myghte be no bet, and cause why?
 Ther was no roumer herberwe in the place.
 They soupen and they speke, hem to solace,
 And drynken evere strong ale atte beste.
 Aboute mydnyght wente they to reste.
 Wel hath this millere vernysshed his heed;
4150 Ful pale he was for dronken, and nat reed.
 He yexeth, and he speketh thurgh the nose
 As he were on the quakke, or on the pose.
 To bedde he goth, and with hym goth his wyf.
 As any jay she light was and jolyf,
 So was hir joly whistle wel ywet.
 The cradel at hir beddes feet is set,
 To rokken, and to yeve the child to sowke.
 And whan that dronken al was in the crowke,
 To bedde wente the doghter right anon;
4160 To bedde goth Aleyn and also John;
 Ther nas na moore -- hem nedede no dwale.
 This millere hath so wisely bibbed ale
 That as an hors he fnorteth in his sleep,
 Ne of his tayl bihynde he took no keep.
 His wyf bar hym a burdon, a ful strong;
 Men myghte hir rowtyng heere two furlong;
 The wenche rowteth eek, par compaignye.
 Aleyn the clerk, that herde this melodye,
 He poked John, and seyde, "Slepestow?
4170 Herdestow evere slyk a sang er now?
 Lo, swilk a complyn is ymel hem alle;
 A wilde fyr upon thair bodyes falle!
 Wha herkned evere slyk a ferly thyng?
 Ye, they sal have the flour of il endyng.
 This lange nyght ther tydes me na reste;
 But yet, na fors, al sal be for the beste.
 For, John," seyde he, "als evere moot I thryve,
 If that I may, yon wenche wil I swyve.
 Som esement has lawe yshapen us,
4180 For, John, ther is a lawe that says thus:
 That gif a man in a point be agreved,
 That in another he sal be releved.
 Oure corn is stoln, sothly, it is na nay,
 And we han had an il fit al this day;
 And syn I sal have neen amendement
 Agayn my los, I will have esement.
 By Goddes sale, it sal neen other bee!"
 This John answerde, "Alayn, avyse thee!
 The millere is a perilous man," he seyde,
4190 "And gif that he out of his sleep abreyde,
 He myghte doon us bathe a vileynye."
 Aleyn answerde, "I counte hym nat a flye."
 And up he rist, and by the wenche he crepte.
 This wenche lay uprighte and faste slepte,
 Til he so ny was, er she myghte espie,
 That it had been to late for to crie,
 And shortly for to seyn, they were aton.
 Now pley, Aleyn, for I wol speke of John.
 This John lith stille a furlong wey or two,
4200 And to hymself he maketh routhe and wo.
 "Allas!" quod he, "this is a wikked jape;
 Now may I seyn that I is but an ape.
 Yet has my felawe somwhat for his harm;
 He has the milleris doghter in his arm.
 He auntred hym, and has his nedes sped,
 And I lye as a draf-sak in my bed;
 And when this jape is tald another day,
 I sal been halde a daf, a cokenay!
 I wil arise and auntre it, by my fayth!
4210 `Unhardy is unseely,' thus men sayth."
 And up he roos, and softely he wente
 Unto the cradel, and in his hand it hente,
 And baar it softe unto his beddes feet.
 Soone after this the wyf hir rowtyng leet,
 And gan awake, and wente hire out to pisse,
 And cam agayn, and gan hir cradel mysse,
 And groped heer and ther, but she foond noon.
 "Allas!" quod she, "I hadde almoost mysgoon;
 I hadde almoost goon to the clerkes bed.
4220 Ey, benedicite! Thanne hadde I foule ysped!"
 And forth she gooth til she the cradel fond.
 She gropeth alwey forther with hir hond,
 And foond the bed, and thoghte noght but good,
 By cause that the cradel by it stood,
 And nyste wher she was, for it was derk;
 But faire and wel she creep in to the clerk,
 And lith ful stille, and wolde han caught a sleep.
 Withinne a while this John the clerk up leep,
 And on this goode wyf he leith on soore.
4230 So myrie a fit ne hadde she nat ful yoore;
 He priketh harde and depe as he were mad.
 This joly lyf han thise two clerkes lad
 Til that the thridde cok bigan to synge.
 Aleyn wax wery in the dawenynge,
 For he had swonken al the longe nyght,
 And seyde, "Fare weel, Malyne, sweete wight!
 The day is come; I may no lenger byde;
 But everemo, wher so I go or ryde,
 I is thyn awen clerk, swa have I seel!"
4240 "Now, deere lemman," quod she, "go, far weel!
 But er thow go, o thyng I wol thee telle:
 Whan that thou wendest homward by the melle,
 Right at the entree of the dore bihynde
 Thou shalt a cake of half a busshel fynde
 That was ymaked of thyn owene mele,
 Which that I heelp my sire for to stele.
 And, goode lemman, God thee save and kepe!"
 And with that word almoost she gan to wepe.
 Aleyn up rist, and thoughte, "Er that it dawe,
4250 I wol go crepen in by my felawe,"
 And fond the cradel with his hand anon.
 "By God," thoughte he, "al wrang I have mysgon.
 Myn heed is toty of my swynk to-nyght,
 That makes me that I ga nat aright.
 I woot wel by the cradel I have mysgo;
 Heere lith the millere and his wyf also."
 And forth he goth, a twenty devel way,
 Unto the bed ther as the millere lay.
 He wende have cropen by his felawe John,
4260 And by the millere in he creep anon,
 And caughte hym by the nekke, and softe he spak.
 He seyde, "Thou John, thou swynes-heed, awak,
 For Cristes saule, and heer a noble game.
 For by that lord that called is Seint Jame,
 As I have thries in this shorte nyght
 Swyved the milleres doghter bolt upright,
 Whil thow hast, as a coward, been agast."
 "Ye, false harlot," quod the millere, "hast?
 A, false traitour! False clerk!" quod he,
4270 "Thow shalt be deed, by Goddes dignitee!
 Who dorste be so boold to disparage
 My doghter, that is come of swich lynage?"
 And by the throte-bolle he caughte Alayn,
 And he hente hym despitously agayn,
 And on the nose he smoot hym with his fest.
 Doun ran the blody streem upon his brest;
 And in the floor, with nose and mouth tobroke,
 They walwe as doon two pigges in a poke;
 And up they goon, and doun agayn anon,
4280 Til that the millere sporned at a stoon,
 And doun he fil bakward upon his wyf,
 That wiste no thyng of this nyce stryf;
 For she was falle aslepe a lite wight
 With John the clerk, that waked hadde al nyght,
 And with the fal out of hir sleep she breyde.
 "Help! hooly croys of Bromeholm," she seyde,
 "In manus tuas! Lord, to thee I calle!
 Awak, Symond! The feend is on me falle.
 Myn herte is broken; help! I nam but deed!
4290 Ther lyth oon upon my wombe and on myn heed.
 Help, Symkyn, for the false clerkes fighte!"
 This John stirte up as faste as ever he myghte,
 And graspeth by the walles to and fro,
 To fynde a staf; and she stirte up also,
 And knew the estres bet than dide this John,
 And by the wal a staf she foond anon,
 And saugh a litel shymeryng of a light,
 For at an hole in shoon the moone bright,
 And by that light she saugh hem bothe two,
4300 But sikerly she nyste who was who,
 But as she saugh a whit thyng in hir ye.
 And whan she gan this white thyng espye,
 She wende the clerk hadde wered a volupeer,
 And with the staf she drow ay neer and neer,
 And wende han hit this Aleyn at the fulle,
 And smoot the millere on the pyled skulle,
 That doun he gooth, and cride, "Harrow! I dye!"
 Thise clerkes beete hym weel and lete hym lye,
 And greythen hem, and tooke hir hors anon,
4310 And eek hire mele, and on hir wey they gon.
 And at the mille yet they tooke hir cake
 Of half a busshel flour, ful wel ybake.
 Thus is the proude millere wel ybete,
 And hath ylost the gryndynge of the whete,
 And payed for the soper everideel
 Of Aleyn and of John, that bette hym weel.
 His wyf is swyved, and his doghter als.
 Lo, swich it is a millere to be fals!
 And therfore this proverbe is seyd ful sooth,
4320 "Hym thar nat wene wel that yvele dooth."
 A gylour shal hymself bigyled be.
 And God, that sitteth heighe in magestee,
 Save al this compaignye, grete and smale!
 Thus have I quyt the Millere in my tale.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Cook's Prologue

 The Cook of Londoun, whil the Reve spak,
 For joye him thoughte he clawed him on the bak.
 "Ha! ha!" quod he, "For Cristes passion,
 This millere hadde a sharp conclusion
 Upon his argument of herbergage!
4330 Wel seyde Salomon in his langage,
 `Ne bryng nat every man into thyn hous,'
 For herberwynge by nyghte is perilous.
 Wel oghte a man avysed for to be
 Whom that he broghte into his pryvetee.
 I pray to God, so yeve me sorwe and care
 If evere, sitthe I highte Hogge of Ware,
 Herde I a millere bettre yset a-werk.
 He hadde a jape of malice in the derk.
 But God forbede that we stynte heere;
4340 And therfore, if ye vouche-sauf to heere
 A tale of me, that am a povre man,
 I wol yow telle, as wel as evere I kan,
 A litel jape that fil in oure citee."
 Oure Hoost answerde and seide, "I graunte it thee.
 Now telle on, Roger; looke that it be good,
 For many a pastee hastow laten blood,
 And many a Jakke of Dovere hastow soold
 That hath been twies hoot and twies coold.
 Of many a pilgrym hastow Cristes curs,
4350 For of thy percely yet they fare the wors,
 That they han eten with thy stubbel goos,
 For in thy shoppe is many a flye loos.
 Now telle on, gentil Roger by thy name.
 But yet I pray thee, be nat wroth for game;
 A man may seye ful sooth in game and pley."
 "Thou seist ful sooth," quod Roger, "by my fey!
 But `sooth pley, quaad pley,' as the Flemyng seith.
 And therfore, Herry Bailly, by thy feith,
 Be thou nat wrooth, er we departen heer,
4360 Though that my tale be of an hostileer.
 But nathelees I wol nat telle it yit;
 But er we parte, ywis, thou shalt be quit."
 And therwithal he lough and made cheere,
 And seyde his tale, as ye shul after heere.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Cook's Tale

 A prentys whilom dwelled in oure citee,
 And of a craft of vitailliers was hee.
 Gaillard he was as goldfynch in the shawe,
 Broun as a berye, a propre short felawe,
 With lokkes blake, ykembd ful fetisly.
4370 Dauncen he koude so wel and jolily
 That he was cleped Perkyn Revelour.
 He was as ful of love and paramour
 As is the hyve ful of hony sweete;
 Wel was the wenche with hym myghte meete.
 At every bridale wolde he synge and hoppe;
 He loved bet the taverne than the shoppe.
 For whan ther any ridyng was in Chepe,
 Out of the shoppe thider wolde he lepe --
 Til that he hadde al the sighte yseyn,
4380 And daunced wel, he wolde nat come ayeyn --
 And gadered hym a meynee of his sort
 To hoppe and synge and maken swich disport;
 And ther they setten stevene for to meete,
 To pleyen at the dys in swich a streete.
 For in the toune nas ther no prentys
 That fairer koude caste a paire of dys
 Than Perkyn koude, and therto he was free
 Of his dispense, in place of pryvetee.
 That fond his maister wel in his chaffare,
4390 For often tyme he foond his box ful bare.
 For sikerly a prentys revelour
 That haunteth dys, riot, or paramour,
 His maister shal it in his shoppe abye,
 Al have he no part of the mynstralcye.
 For thefte and riot, they been convertible,
 Al konne he pleye on gyterne or ribible.
 Revel and trouthe, as in a lowe degree,
 They been ful wrothe al day, as men may see.
 This joly prentys with his maister bood,
4400 Til he were ny out of his prentishood,
 Al were he snybbed bothe erly and late,
 And somtyme lad with revel to Newegate.
 But atte laste his maister hym bithoghte,
 Upon a day, whan he his papir soghte,
 Of a proverbe that seith this same word:
 "Wel bet is roten appul out of hoord
 Than that it rotie al the remenaunt."
 So fareth it by a riotous servaunt;
 It is ful lasse harm to lete hym pace,
4410 Than he shende alle the servantz in the place.
 Therfore his maister yaf hym acquitance,
 And bad hym go, with sorwe and with meschance!
 And thus this joly prentys hadde his leve.
 Now lat hym riote al the nyght or leve.
 And for ther is no theef withoute a lowke,
 That helpeth hym to wasten and to sowke
 Of that he brybe kan or borwe may,
 Anon he sente his bed and his array
 Unto a compeer of his owene sort,
4420 That lovede dys, and revel, and disport,
 And hadde a wyf that heeld for contenance
 A shoppe, and swyved for hir sustenance.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Man of Law's Introduction and Prologue

 Oure Hooste saugh wel that the brighte sonne
 The ark of his artificial day hath ronne
 The ferthe part, and half an houre and moore,
 And though he were not depe ystert in loore,
 He wiste it was the eightetethe day
 Of Aprill, that is messager to May;
 And saugh wel that the shadwe of every tree
 Was in lengthe the same quantitee
 That was the body erect that caused it.
10 And therefore by the shadwe he took his wit
 That Phebus, which that shoon so clere and brighte,
 Degrees was fyve and fourty clombe on highte,
 And for that day, as in that latitude,
 It was ten of the clokke, he gan conclude,
 And sodeynly he plighte his horse aboute.
 "Lordynges," quod he, "I warne yow, al this route,
 The fourthe party of this day is gon.
 Now for the love of God and of Seint John,
 Leseth no tyme, as ferforth as ye may.
20 Lordynges, the tyme wasteth nyght and day,
 And steleth from us, what pryvely slepynge,
 And what thurgh necligence in oure wakynge,
 As dooth the streem that turneth nevere agayn,
 Descendynge from the mountaigne into playn.
 Wel kan Senec and many a philosophre
 Biwaillen tyme moore than gold in cofre;
 For `Los of catel may recovered be,
 But los of tyme shendeth us,' quod he.
 It wol nat come agayn, withouten drede,
30 Nomoore than wole Malkynes maydenhede,
 Whan she hath lost it in hir wantownesse.
 Lat us nat mowlen thus in ydelnesse.
 "Sire Man of Lawe," quod he, "so have ye blis,
 Telle us a tale anon, as forward is.
 Ye been submytted, thurgh youre free assent,
 To stonden in this cas at my juggement.
 Acquiteth yow now of youre biheeste;
 Thanne have ye do youre devoir atte leeste."
 "Hooste," quod he, "depardieux, ich assente;
40 To breke forward is nat myn entente.
 Biheste is dette, and I wole holde fayn
 Al my biheste, I kan no bettre sayn.
 For swich lawe as a man yeveth another wight,
 He sholde hymselven usen it, by right;
 Thus wole oure text. But nathelees, certeyn,
 I kan right now no thrifty tale seyn
 That Chaucer, thogh he kan but lewedly
 On metres and on rymyng craftily,
 Hath seyd hem in swich Englissh as he kan
50 Of olde tyme, as knoweth many a man;
 And if he have noght seyd hem, leve brother,
 In o book, he hath seyd hem in another.
 For he hath toold of loveris up and doun
 Mo than Ovide made of mencioun
 In his Episteles, that been ful olde.
 What sholde I tellen hem, syn they been tolde?
 "In youthe he made of Ceys and Alcione,
 And sitthen hath he spoken of everichone,
 Thise noble wyves and thise loveris eke.
60 Whoso that wole his large volume seke,
 Cleped the Seintes Legende of Cupide,
 Ther may he seen the large woundes wyde
 Of Lucresse, and of Babilan Tesbee;
 The swerd of Dido for the false Enee;
 The tree of Phillis for hire Demophon;
 The pleinte of Dianire and of Hermyon,
 Of Adriane, and of Isiphilee --
 The bareyne yle stondynge in the see --
 The dreynte Leandre for his Erro;
70 The teeris of Eleyne, and eek the wo
 Of Brixseyde, and of the, Ladomya;
 The crueltee of the, queene Medea,
 Thy litel children hangynge by the hals,
 For thy Jason, that was of love so fals!
 O Ypermystra, Penelopee, Alceste,
 Youre wifhod he comendeth with the beste!
 "But certeinly no word ne writeth he
 Of thilke wikke ensample of Canacee,
 That loved hir owene brother synfully --
80 Of swiche cursed stories I sey fy! --
 Or ellis of Tyro Appollonius,
 How that the cursed kyng Antiochus
 Birafte his doghter of hir maydenhede,
 That is so horrible a tale for to rede,
 Whan he hir threw upon the pavement.
 And therfore he, of ful avysement,
 Nolde nevere write in none of his sermons
 Of swiche unkynde abhomynacions,
 Ne I wol noon reherce, if that I may.
90 "But of my tale how shal I doon this day?
 Me were looth be likned, doutelees,
 To Muses that men clepe Pierides --
 Methamorphosios woot what I mene;
 But nathelees, I recche noght a bene
 Though I come after hym with hawebake.
 I speke in prose, and lat him rymes make."
 And with that word he, with a sobre cheere,
 Bigan his tale, as ye shal after heere.
 O hateful harm, condicion of poverte!
100 With thurst, with coold, with hunger so confoundid!
 To asken help thee shameth in thyn herte;
 If thou noon aske, with nede artow so woundid
 That verray nede unwrappeth al thy wounde hid!
 Maugree thyn heed, thou most for indigence
 Or stele, or begge, or borwe thy despence!
 Thow blamest Crist and seist ful bitterly
 He mysdeparteth richesse temporal;
 Thy neighebor thou wytest synfully,
 And seist thou hast to lite and he hath al.
110 "Parfay," seistow, "somtyme he rekene shal,
 Whan that his tayl shal brennen in the gleede,
 For he noght helpeth needfulle in hir neede."
 Herkne what is the sentence of the wise:
 "Bet is to dyen than have indigence";
 "Thy selve neighebor wol thee despise."
 If thou be povre, farwel thy reverence!
 Yet of the wise man take this sentence:
 "Alle the dayes of povre men been wikke."
 Be war, therfore, er thou come to that prikke!
120 If thou be povre, thy brother hateth thee,
 And alle thy freendes fleen from thee, allas!
 O riche marchauntz, ful of wele been yee,
 O noble, o prudent folk, as in this cas!
 Youre bagges been nat fild with ambes as,
 But with sys cynk, that renneth for youre chaunce;
 At Cristemasse myrie may ye daunce!
 Ye seken lond and see for yowre wynnynges;
 As wise folk ye knowen al th' estaat
 Of regnes; ye been fadres of tidynges
130 And tales, bothe of pees and of debaat.
 I were right now of tales desolaat,
 Nere that a marchant, goon is many a yeere,
 Me taughte a tale, which that ye shal heere.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Man of Law's Tale

 In Surrye whilom dwelte a compaignye
 Of chapmen riche, and therto sadde and trewe,
 That wyde-where senten hir spicerye,
 Clothes of gold, and satyns riche of hewe.
 Hir chaffare was so thrifty and so newe
 That every wight hath deyntee to chaffare
140 With hem, and eek to sellen hem hire ware.
 Now fil it that the maistres of that sort
 Han shapen hem to Rome for to wende;
 Were it for chapmanhod or for disport,
 Noon oother message wolde they thider sende,
 But comen hemself to Rome; this is the ende.
 And in swich place as thoughte hem avantage
 For hire entente, they take hir herbergage.
 Sojourned han thise merchantz in that toun
 A certein tyme, as fil to hire plesance.
150 And so bifel that th' excellent renoun
 Of the Emperoures doghter, dame Custance,
 Reported was, with every circumstance,
 Unto thise Surryen marchantz in swich wyse,
 Fro day to day, as I shal yow devyse.
 This was the commune voys of every man:
 "Oure Emperour of Rome -- God hym see! --
 A doghter hath that, syn the world bigan,
 To rekene as wel hir goodnesse as beautee,
 Nas nevere swich another as is shee.
160 I prey to God in honour hire susteene,
 And wolde she were of al Europe the queene.
 "In hire is heigh beautee, withoute pride,
 Yowthe, withoute grenehede or folye;
 To alle hire werkes vertu is hir gyde;
 Humblesse hath slayn in hire al tirannye.
 She is mirour of alle curteisye;
 Hir herte is verray chambre of hoolynesse,
 Hir hand, ministre of fredam for almesse."
 And al this voys was sooth, as God is trewe.
170 But now to purpos lat us turne agayn.
 Thise marchantz han doon fraught hir shippes newe,
 And whan they han this blisful mayden sayn,
 Hoom to Surrye been they went ful fayn,
 And doon hir nedes as they han doon yoore,
 And lyven in wele; I kan sey yow namoore.
 Now fil it that thise marchantz stode in grace
 Of hym that was the Sowdan of Surrye;
 For whan they cam from any strange place,
 He wolde, of his benigne curteisye,
180 Make hem good chiere, and bisily espye
 Tidynges of sondry regnes, for to leere
 The wondres that they myghte seen or heere.
 Amonges othere thynges, specially,
 Thise marchantz han hym toold of dame Custance
 So greet noblesse in ernest, ceriously,
 That this Sowdan hath caught so greet plesance
 To han hir figure in his remembrance,
 That al his lust and al his bisy cure
 Was for to love hire while his lyf may dure.
190 Paraventure in thilke large book
 Which that men clepe the hevene ywriten was
 With sterres, whan that he his birthe took,
 That he for love sholde han his deeth, allas!
 For in the sterres, clerer than is glas,
 Is writen, God woot, whoso koude it rede,
 The deeth of every man, withouten drede.
 In sterres, many a wynter therbiforn,
 Was writen the deeth of Ector, Achilles,
 Of Pompei, Julius, er they were born;
200 The strif of Thebes; and of Ercules,
 Of Sampson, Turnus, and of Socrates
 The deeth; but mennes wittes ben so dulle
 That no wight kan wel rede it atte fulle.
 This Sowdan for his privee conseil sente,
 And, shortly of this matiere for to pace,
 He hath to hem declared his entente,
 And seyde hem, certein, but he myghte have grace
 To han Custance withinne a litel space,
 He nas but deed; and charged hem in hye
210 To shapen for his lyf som remedye.
 Diverse men diverse thynges seyden;
 They argumenten, casten up and doun;
 Many a subtil resoun forth they leyden;
 They speken of magyk and abusioun.
 But finally, as in conclusioun,
 They kan nat seen in that noon avantage,
 Ne in noon oother wey, save mariage.
 Thanne sawe they therinne swich difficultee
 By wey of reson, for to speke al playn,
220 By cause that ther was swich diversitee
 Bitwene hir bothe lawes, that they sayn
 They trowe that no "Cristen prince wolde fayn
 Wedden his child under oure lawe sweete
 That us was taught by Mahoun, oure prophete."
 And he answerde, "Rather than I lese
 Custance, I wol be cristned, doutelees.
 I moot been hires; I may noon oother chese.
 I prey yow hoold youre argumentz in pees;
 Saveth my lyf, and beth noght recchelees
230 To geten hire that hath my lyf in cure,
 For in this wo I may nat longe endure."
 What nedeth gretter dilatacioun?
 I seye, by tretys and embassadrie,
 And by the popes mediacioun,
 And al the chirche, and al the chivalrie,
 That in destruccioun of mawmettrie,
 And in encrees of Cristes lawe deere,
 They been acorded, so as ye shal heere:
 How that the Sowdan and his baronage
240 And alle his liges sholde ycristned be,
 And he shal han Custance in mariage,
 And certein gold, I noot what quantitee;
 And heer-to founden sufficient suretee.
 This same accord was sworn on eyther syde;
 Now, faire Custance, almyghty God thee gyde!
 Now wolde som men waiten, as I gesse,
 That I sholde tellen al the purveiance
 That th' Emperour, of his grete noblesse,
 Hath shapen for his doghter, dame Custance.
250 Wel may men knowen that so greet ordinance
 May no man tellen in a litel clause
 As was arrayed for so heigh a cause.
 Bisshopes been shapen with hire for to wende,
 Lordes, ladies, knyghtes of renoun,
 And oother folk ynowe; this is th' ende;
 And notified is thurghout the toun
 That every wight, with greet devocioun,
 Sholde preyen Crist that he this mariage
 Receyve in gree and spede this viage.
260 The day is comen of hir departynge;
 I seye, the woful day fatal is come,
 That ther may be no lenger tariynge,
 But forthward they hem dressen, alle and some.
 Custance, that was with sorwe al overcome,
 Ful pale arist, and dresseth hire to wende;
 For wel she seeth ther is noon oother ende.
 Allas, what wonder is it thogh she wepte,
 That shal be sent to strange nacioun
 Fro freendes that so tendrely hire kepte,
270 And to be bounden under subjeccioun
 Of oon, she knoweth nat his condicioun?
 Housbondes been alle goode, and han ben yoore;
 That knowen wyves; I dar sey yow na moore.
 "Fader," she seyde, "thy wrecched child Custance,
 Thy yonge doghter fostred up so softe,
 And ye, my mooder, my soverayn plesance
 Over alle thyng, out-taken Crist on-lofte,
 Custance youre child hire recomandeth ofte
 Unto youre grace, for I shal to Surrye,
280 Ne shal I nevere seen yow moore with ye.
 "Allas, unto the Barbre nacioun
 I moste anoon, syn that it is youre wille;
 But Crist, that starf for our redempcioun
 So yeve me grace his heestes to fulfille!
 I, wrecche womman, no fors though I spille!
 Wommen are born to thraldom and penance,
 And to been under mannes governance."
 I trowe at Troye, whan Pirrus brak the wal
 Or Ilion brende, at Thebes the citee,
290 N' at Rome, for the harm thurgh Hanybal
 That Romayns hath venquysshed tymes thre,
 Nas herd swich tendre wepyng for pitee
 As in the chambre was for hire departynge;
 But forth she moot, wher-so she wepe or synge.
 O firste moevyng! Crueel firmament,
 With thy diurnal sweigh that crowdest ay
 And hurlest al from est til occident
 That naturelly wolde holde another way,
 Thy crowdyng set the hevene in swich array
300 At the bigynnyng of this fiers viage,
 That crueel Mars hath slayn this mariage.
 Infortunat ascendent tortuous,
 Of which the lord is helplees falle, allas,
 Out of his angle into the derkeste hous!
 O Mars, o atazir, as in this cas!
 O fieble moone, unhappy been thy paas!
 Thou knyttest thee ther thou art nat receyved;
 Ther thou were weel, fro thennes artow weyved.
 Imprudent Emperour of Rome, allas!
310 Was ther no philosophre in al thy toun?
 Is no tyme bet than oother in swich cas?
 Of viage is ther noon eleccioun,
 Namely to folk of heigh condicioun?
 Noght whan a roote is of a burthe yknowe?
 Allas, we been to lewed or to slowe!
 To shippe is brought this woful faire mayde
 Solempnely, with every circumstance.
 "Now Jhesu Crist be with yow alle!" she sayde;
 Ther nys namoore, but "Farewel, faire Custance!"
320 She peyneth hire to make good contenance;
 And forth I lete hire saille in this manere,
 And turne I wole agayn to my matere.
 The mooder of the Sowdan, welle of vices,
 Espied hath hir sones pleyn entente,
 How he wol lete his olde sacrifices;
 And right anon she for hir conseil sente,
 And they been come to knowe what she mente.
 And whan assembled was this folk in-feere,
 She sette hire doun, and seyde as ye shal heere.
330 "Lordes," quod she, "ye knowen everichon,
 How that my sone in point is for to lete
 The hooly lawes of our Alkaron,
 Yeven by Goddes message Makomete.
 But oon avow to grete God I heete,
 The lyf shal rather out of my body sterte
 Or Makometes lawe out of myn herte!
 "What sholde us tyden of this newe lawe
 But thraldom to oure bodies and penance,
 And afterward in helle to be drawe,
340 For we reneyed Mahoun oure creance?
 But, lordes, wol ye maken assurance,
 As I shal seyn, assentynge to my loore,
 And I shal make us sauf for everemoore?"
 They sworen and assenten, every man,
 To lyve with hire and dye, and by hire stonde,
 And everich, in the beste wise he kan,
 To strengthen hire shal alle his frendes fonde;
 And she hath this emprise ytake on honde,
 Which ye shal heren that I shal devyse,
350 And to hem alle she spak right in this wyse:
 "We shul first feyne us cristendom to take --
 Coold water shal nat greve us but a lite! --
 And I shal swich a feeste and revel make
 That, as I trowe, I shal the Sowdan quite.
 For thogh his wyf be cristned never so white,
 She shal have nede to wasshe awey the rede,
 Thogh she a font-ful water with hire lede."
 O Sowdanesse, roote of iniquitee!
 Virago, thou Semyrame the secounde!
360 O serpent under femynynytee,
 Lik to the serpent depe in helle ybounde!
 O feyned womman, al that may confounde
 Vertu and innocence, thurgh thy malice,
 Is bred in thee, as nest of every vice!
 O Sathan, envious syn thilke day
 That thou were chaced from oure heritage,
 Wel knowestow to wommen the olde way!
 Thou madest Eva brynge us in servage;
 Thou wolt fordoon this Cristen mariage.
370 Thyn instrument so -- weylawey the while! --
 Makestow of wommen, whan thou wolt bigile.
 This Sowdanesse, whom I thus blame and warye,
 Leet prively hire conseil goon hire way.
 What sholde I in this tale lenger tarye?
 She rydeth to the Sowdan on a day,
 And seyde hym that she wolde reneye hir lay,
 And cristendom of preestes handes fonge,
 Repentynge hire she hethen was so longe,
 Bisechynge hym to doon hire that honour,
380 That she moste han the Cristen folk to feeste --
 "To plesen hem I wol do my labour."
 The Sowdan seith, "I wol doon at youre heeste,"
 And knelynge thanketh hire of that requeste.
 So glad he was, he nyste what to seye.
 She kiste hir sone, and hoom she gooth hir weye.
 Arryved been this Cristen folk to londe
 In Surrye, with a greet solempne route,
 And hastifliche this Sowdan sente his sonde
 First to his mooder, and al the regne aboute,
390 And seyde his wyf was comen, out of doute,
 And preyde hire for to ryde agayn the queene,
 The honour of his regne to susteene.
 Greet was the prees, and riche was th' array
 Of Surryens and Romayns met yfeere;
 The mooder of the Sowdan, riche and gay,
 Receyveth hire with also glad a cheere
 As any mooder myghte hir doghter deere,
 And to the nexte citee ther bisyde
 A softe paas solempnely they ryde.
400 Noght trowe I the triumphe of Julius,
 Of which that Lucan maketh swich a boost,
 Was roialler ne moore curius
 Than was th' assemblee of this blisful hoost.
 But this scorpioun, this wikked goost,
 The Sowdanesse, for al hire flaterynge,
 Caste under this ful mortally to stynge.
 The Sowdan comth hymself soone after this
 So roially that wonder is to telle,
 And welcometh hire with alle joye and blis.
410 And thus in murthe and joye I lete hem dwelle;
 The fruyt of this matiere is that I telle.
 Whan tyme cam, men thoughte it for the beste
 That revel stynte, and men goon to hir reste.
 The tyme cam, this olde Sowdanesse
 Ordeyned hath this feeste of which I tolde,
 And to the feeste Cristen folk hem dresse
 In general, ye, bothe yonge and olde.
 Heere may men feeste and roialtee biholde,
 And deyntees mo than I kan yow devyse;
420 But al to deere they boghte it er they ryse.
 O sodeyn wo, that evere art successour
 To worldly blisse, spreynd with bitternesse,
 The ende of the joye of oure worldly labour!
 Wo occupieth the fyn of oure gladnesse.
 Herke this conseil for thy sikernesse:
 Upon thy glade day have in thy mynde
 The unwar wo or harm that comth bihynde.
 For shortly for to tellen, at o word,
 The Sowdan and the Cristen everichone
430 Been al tohewe and stiked at the bord,
 But it were oonly dame Custance allone.
 This olde Sowdanesse, cursed krone,
 Hath with hir freendes doon this cursed dede,
 For she hirself wolde al the contree lede.
 Ne ther was Surryen noon that was converted,
 That of the conseil of the Sowdan woot,
 That he nas al tohewe er he asterted.
 And Custance han they take anon, foot-hoot,
 And in a ship al steerelees, God woot,
440 They han hir set, and bidde hire lerne saille
 Out of Surrye agaynward to Ytaille.
 A certein tresor that she thider ladde,
 And, sooth to seyn, vitaille greet plentee
 They han hire yeven, and clothes eek she hadde,
 And forth she sailleth in the salte see.
 O my Custance, ful of benignytee,
 O Emperoures yonge doghter deere,
 He that is lord of Fortune be thy steere!
 She blesseth hire, and with ful pitous voys
450 Unto the croys of Crist thus seyde she:
 "O cleere, o welful auter, hooly croys,
 Reed of the Lambes blood ful of pitee,
 That wessh the world fro the olde iniquitee,
 Me fro the feend and fro his clawes kepe,
 That day that I shal drenchen in the depe.
 "Victorious tree, proteccioun of trewe,
 That oonly worthy were for to bere
 The Kyng of Hevene with his woundes newe,
 The white Lamb, that hurt was with a spere,
460 Flemere of feendes out of hym and here
 On which thy lymes feithfully extenden,
 Me kepe, and yif me myght my lyf t' amenden."
 Yeres and dayes fleet this creature
 Thurghout the See of Grece unto the Strayte
 Of Marrok, as it was hire aventure.
 On many a sory meel now may she bayte;
 After hir deeth ful often may she wayte,
 Er that the wilde wawes wol hire dryve
 Unto the place ther she shal arryve.
470 Men myghten asken why she was nat slayn
 Eek at the feeste? Who myghte hir body save?
 And I answere to that demande agayn,
 Who saved Danyel in the horrible cave
 Ther every wight save he, maister and knave,
 Was with the leon frete er he asterte?
 No wight but God that he bar in his herte.
 God liste to shewe his wonderful myracle
 In hire, for we sholde seen his myghty werkis;
 Crist, which that is to every harm triacle,
480 By certeine meenes ofte, as knowen clerkis,
 Dooth thyng for certein ende that ful derk is
 To mannes wit, that for oure ignorance
 Ne konne noght knowe his prudent purveiance.
 Now sith she was nat at the feeste yslawe,
 Who kepte hire fro the drenchyng in the see?
 Who kepte Jonas in the fisshes mawe
 Til he was spouted up at Nynyvee?
 Wel may men knowe it was no wight but he
 That kepte peple Ebrayk from hir drenchynge,
490 With drye feet thurghout the see passynge.
 Who bad the foure spirites of tempest
 That power han t' anoyen lond and see,
 Bothe north and south, and also west and est,
 "Anoyeth neither see, ne land, ne tree"?
 Soothly, the comandour of that was he
 That fro the tempest ay this womman kepte
 As wel whan she wook as whan she slepte.
 Where myghte this womman mete and drynke have
 Thre yeer and moore? How lasteth hire vitaille?
500 Who fedde the Egipcien Marie in the cave,
 Or in desert? No wight but Crist, sanz faille.
 Fyve thousand folk it was as greet mervaille
 With loves fyve and fisshes two to feede.
 God sente his foyson at hir grete neede.
 She dryveth forth into oure occian
 Thurghout oure wilde see, til atte laste
 Under an hoold that nempnen I ne kan,
 Fer in Northhumberlond the wawe hire caste,
 And in the sond hir ship stiked so faste
510 That thennes wolde it noght of al a tyde;
 The wyl of Crist was that she sholde abyde.
 The constable of the castel doun is fare
 To seen this wrak, and al the ship he soghte,
 And foond this wery womman ful of care;
 He foond also the tresor that she broghte.
 In hir langage mercy she bisoghte,
 The lyf out of hir body for to twynne,
 Hire to delivere of wo that she was inne.
 A maner Latyn corrupt was hir speche,
520 But algates therby was she understonde.
 The constable, whan hym lyst no longer seche,
 This woful womman broghte he to the londe.
 She kneleth doun and thanketh Goddes sonde;
 But what she was she wolde no man seye,
 For foul ne fair, thogh that she sholde deye.
 She seyde she was so mazed in the see
 That she forgat hir mynde, by hir trouthe.
 The constable hath of hire so greet pitee,
 And eek his wyf, that they wepen for routhe.
530 She was so diligent, withouten slouthe,
 To serve and plesen everich in that place
 That alle hir loven that looken in hir face.
 This constable and dame Hermengyld, his wyf,
 Were payens, and that contree everywhere;
 But Hermengyld loved hire right as hir lyf,
 And Custance hath so longe sojourned there,
 In orisons, with many a bitter teere,
 Til Jhesu hath converted thurgh his grace
 Dame Hermengyld, constablesse of that place.
540 In al that lond no Cristen dorste route;
 Alle Cristen folk been fled fro that contree
 Thurgh payens, that conquereden al aboute
 The plages of the north, by land and see.
 To Walys fledde the Cristyanytee
 Of olde Britons dwellynge in this ile;
 Ther was hir refut for the meene while.
 But yet nere Cristene Britons so exiled
 That ther nere somme that in hir privetee
 Honoured Crist and hethen folk bigiled,
550 And ny the castel swiche ther dwelten three.
 That oon of hem was blynd and myghte nat see,
 But it were with thilke eyen of his mynde
 With whiche men seen, after that they ben blynde.
 Bright was the sonne as in that someres day,
 For which the constable and his wyf also
 And Custance han ytake the righte way
 Toward the see a furlong wey or two,
 To pleyen and to romen to and fro,
 And in hir walk this blynde man they mette,
560 Croked and oold, with eyen faste yshette.
 "In name of Crist," cride this blinde Britoun,
 "Dame Hermengyld, yif me my sighte agayn!"
 This lady weex affrayed of the soun,
 Lest that hir housbonde, shortly for to sayn,
 Wolde hire for Jhesu Cristes love han slayn,
 Til Custance made hire boold, and bad hire wirche
 The wyl of Crist, as doghter of his chirche.
 The constable weex abasshed of that sight,
 And seyde, "What amounteth al this fare?"
570 Custance answerde, "Sire, it is Cristes myght,
 That helpeth folk out of the feendes snare."
 And so ferforth she gan oure lay declare
 That she the constable, er that it was eve
 Converteth, and on Crist made hym bileve.
 This constable was nothyng lord of this place
 Of which I speke, ther he Custance fond,
 But kepte it strongly many a wyntres space
 Under Alla, kyng of al Northhumbrelond,
 That was ful wys, and worthy of his hond
580 Agayn the Scottes, as men may wel heere;
 But turne I wole agayn to my mateere.
 Sathan, that evere us waiteth to bigile,
 Saugh of Custance al hire perfeccioun,
 And caste anon how he myghte quite hir while,
 And made a yong knyght that dwelte in that toun
 Love hire so hoote, of foul affeccioun,
 That verraily hym thoughte he sholde spille,
 But he of hire myghte ones have his wille.
 He woweth hire, but it availleth noght;
590 She wolde do no synne, by no weye.
 And for despit he compassed in his thoght
 To maken hire on shameful deeth to deye.
 He wayteth whan the constable was aweye,
 And pryvely upon a nyght he crepte
 In Hermengyldes chambre, whil she slepte.
 Wery, forwaked in hire orisouns,
 Slepeth Custance, and Hermengyld also.
 This knyght, thurgh Sathanas temptaciouns,
 Al softely is to the bed ygo,
600 And kitte the throte of Hermengyld atwo,
 And leyde the blody knyf by dame Custance,
 And wente his wey, ther God yeve hym meschance!
 Soone after cometh this constable hoom agayn,
 And eek Alla, that kyng was of that lond,
 And saugh his wyf despitously yslayn,
 For which ful ofte he weep and wroong his hond,
 And in the bed the blody knyf he fond
 By Dame Custance. Allas, what myghte she seye?
 For verray wo hir wit was al aweye.
610 To kyng Alla was toold al this meschance,
 And eek the tyme, and where, and in what wise
 That in a ship was founden this Custance,
 As heer-biforn that ye han herd devyse.
 The kynges herte of pitee gan agryse,
 Whan he saugh so benigne a creature
 Falle in disese and in mysaventure.
 For as the lomb toward his deeth is broght,
 So stant this innocent bifore the kyng.
 This false knyght, that hath this tresoun wroght,
620 Berth hire on hond that she hath doon thys thyng.
 But nathelees, ther was greet moornyng
 Among the peple, and seyn they kan nat gesse
 That she had doon so greet a wikkednesse,
 For they han seyn hire evere so vertuous,
 And lovynge Hermengyld right as hir lyf.
 Of this baar witnesse everich in that hous,
 Save he that Hermengyld slow with his knyf.
 This gentil kyng hath caught a greet motyf
 Of this witnesse, and thoghte he wolde enquere
630 Depper in this, a trouthe for to lere.
 Allas! Custance, thou hast no champioun,
 Ne fighte kanstow noght, so weylaway!
 But he that starf for our redempcioun,
 And boond Sathan (and yet lith ther he lay),
 So be thy stronge champion this day!
 For, but if Crist open myracle kithe,
 Withouten gilt thou shalt be slayn as swithe.
 She sette hire doun on knees, and thus she sayde:
 "Immortal God, that savedest Susanne
640 Fro false blame, and thou, merciful mayde,
 Marie I meene, doghter to Seint Anne,
 Bifore whos child angeles synge Osanne,
 If I be giltlees of this felonye,
 My socour be, for ellis shal I dye!"
 Have ye nat seyn somtyme a pale face,
 Among a prees, of hym that hath be lad
 Toward his deeth, wher as hym gat no grace,
 And swich a colour in his face hath had
 Men myghte knowe his face that was bistad
650 Amonges alle the faces in that route?
 So stant Custance, and looketh hire aboute.
 O queenes, lyvynge in prosperitee,
 Duchesses, and ye ladyes everichone,
 Haveth som routhe on hire adversitee!
 An Emperoures doghter stant allone;
 She hath no wight to whom to make hir mone.
 O blood roial, that stondest in this drede,
 Fer been thy freendes at thy grete nede!
 This Alla kyng hath swich compassioun,
660 As gentil herte is fulfild of pitee,
 That from his eyen ran the water doun.
 "Now hastily do fecche a book," quod he,
 "And if this knyght wol sweren how that she
 This womman slow, yet wol we us avyse
 Whom that we wole that shal been oure justise."
 A Britoun book, written with Evaungiles,
 Was fet, and on this book he swoor anoon
 She gilty was, and in the meene whiles
 An hand hym smoot upon the nekke-boon,
670 That doun he fil atones as a stoon,
 And bothe his eyen broste out of his face
 In sighte of every body in that place.
 A voys was herd in general audience,
 And seyde, "Thou hast desclaundred, giltelees,
 The doghter of hooly chirche in heigh presence;
 Thus hastou doon, and yet holde I my pees!"
 Of this mervaille agast was al the prees;
 As mazed folk they stoden everichone,
 For drede of wreche, save Custance allone.
680 Greet was the drede and eek the repentance
 Of hem that hadden wrong suspecioun
 Upon this sely innocent, Custance;
 And for this miracle, in conclusioun,
 And by Custances mediacioun,
 The kyng -- and many another in that place --
 Converted was, thanked be Cristes grace!
 This false knyght was slayn for his untrouthe
 By juggement of Alla hastifly;
 And yet Custance hadde of his deeth greet routhe.
690 And after this Jhesus, of his mercy,
 Made Alla wedden ful solempnely
 This hooly mayden, that is so bright and sheene;
 And thus hath Crist ymaad Custance a queene.
 But who was woful, if I shal nat lye,
 Of this weddyng but Donegild, and namo,
 The kynges mooder, ful of tirannye?
 Hir thoughte hir cursed herte brast atwo.
 She wolde noght hir sone had do so;
 Hir thoughte a despit that he sholde take
700 So strange a creature unto his make.
 Me list nat of the chaf, ne of the stree,
 Maken so long a tale as of the corn.
 What sholde I tellen of the roialtee
 At mariage, or which cours goth biforn;
 Who bloweth in a trumpe or in an horn?
 The fruyt of every tale is for to seye:
 They ete, and drynke, and daunce, and synge, and pleye.
 They goon to bedde, as it was skile and right;
 For thogh that wyves be ful hooly thynges,
710 They moste take in pacience at nyght
 Swiche manere necessaries as been plesynges
 To folk that han ywedded hem with rynges,
 And leye a lite hir hoolynesse aside,
 As for the tyme -- it may no bet bitide.
 On hire he gat a knave child anon,
 And to a bisshop, and his constable eke,
 He took his wyf to kepe, whan he is gon
 To Scotlond-ward, his foomen for to seke.
 Now faire Custance, that is so humble and meke,
720 So longe is goon with childe, til that stille
 She halt hire chambre, abidyng Cristes wille.
 The tyme is come a knave child she beer;
 Mauricius at the fontstoon they hym calle.
 This constable dooth forth come a messageer,
 And wroot unto his kyng, that cleped was Alle,
 How that this blisful tidyng is bifalle,
 And othere tidynges spedeful for to seye.
 He taketh the lettre, and forth he gooth his weye.
 This messager, to doon his avantage,
730 Unto the kynges mooder rideth swithe,
 And salueth hire ful faire in his langage:
 "Madame," quod he, "ye may be glad and blithe,
 And thanketh God an hundred thousand sithe!
 My lady queene hath child, withouten doute,
 To joye and blisse to al this regne aboute.
 "Lo, heere the lettres seled of this thyng,
 That I moot bere with al the haste I may.
 If ye wol aught unto youre sone the kyng,
 I am youre servant, bothe nyght and day."
740 Donegild answerde, "As now at this tyme, nay;
 But heere al nyght I wol thou take thy reste.
 To-morwe wol I seye thee what me leste."
 This messager drank sadly ale and wyn,
 And stolen were his lettres pryvely
 Out of his box, whil he sleep as a swyn;
 And countrefeted was ful subtilly
 Another lettre, wroght ful synfully,
 Unto the kyng direct of this mateere
 Fro his constable, as ye shal after heere.
750 The lettre spak the queene delivered was
 Of so horrible a feendly creature
 That in the castel noon so hardy was
 That any while dorste ther endure.
 The mooder was an elf, by aventure
 Ycomen, by charmes or by sorcerie,
 And every wight hateth hir compaignye.
 Wo was this kyng whan he this lettre had sayn,
 But to no wight he tolde his sorwes soore,
 But of his owene hand he wroot agayn,
760 "Welcome the sonde of Crist for everemoore
 To me that am now lerned in his loore!
 Lord, welcome be thy lust and thy plesaunce;
 My lust I putte al in thyn ordinaunce.
 "Kepeth this child, al be it foul or feir,
 And eek my wyf, unto myn hoom-comynge.
 Crist, whan hym list, may sende me an heir
 Moore agreable than this to my likynge."
 This lettre he seleth, pryvely wepynge,
 Which to the messager was take soone,
770 And forth he gooth; ther is na moore to doone.
 O messager, fulfild of dronkenesse,
 Strong is thy breeth, thy lymes faltren ay,
 And thou biwreyest alle secreenesse.
 Thy mynde is lorn, thou janglest as a jay,
 Thy face is turned in a newe array.
 Ther dronkenesse regneth in any route,
 Ther is no conseil hyd, withouten doute.
 O Donegild, I ne have noon Englissh digne
 Unto thy malice and thy tirannye!
780 And therfore to the feend I thee resigne;
 Lat hym enditen of thy traitorie!
 Fy, mannysh, fy! -- o nay, by God, I lye --
 Fy, feendlych spirit, for I dar wel telle,
 Thogh thou heere walke, thy spirit is in helle!
 This messager comth fro the kyng agayn,
 And at the kynges moodres court he lighte,
 And she was of this messager ful fayn,
 And plesed hym in al that ever she myghte.
 He drank, and wel his girdel underpighte;
790 He slepeth, and he fnorteth in his gyse
 Al nyght, til the sonne gan aryse.
 Eft were his lettres stolen everychon,
 And countrefeted lettres in this wyse:
 "The king comandeth his constable anon,
 Up peyne of hangyng, and on heigh juyse,
 That he ne sholde suffren in no wyse
 Custance in-with his reawme for t' abyde
 Thre dayes and o quarter of a tyde;
 "But in the same ship as he hire fond,
800 Hire, and hir yonge sone, and al hir geere,
 He sholde putte, and croude hire fro the lond,
 And charge hire that she never eft coome theere."
 O my Custance, wel may thy goost have feere,
 And, slepynge, in thy dreem been in penance,
 Whan Donegild cast al this ordinance.
 This messager on morwe, whan he wook,
 Unto the castel halt the nexte way,
 And to the constable he the lettre took;
 And whan that he this pitous lettre say,
810 Ful ofte he seyde, "Allas and weylaway!"
 "Lord Crist," quod he, "how may this world endure,
 So ful of synne is many a creature?
 "O myghty God, if that it be thy wille,
 Sith thou art rightful juge, how may it be
 That thou wolt suffren innocentz to spille,
 And wikked folk regne in prosperitee?
 O goode Custance, allas, so wo is me
 That I moot be thy tormentour, or deye
 On shames deeth; ther is noon oother weye."
820 Wepen bothe yonge and olde in al that place
 Whan that the kyng this cursed lettre sente,
 And Custance, with a deedly pale face,
 The ferthe day toward hir ship she wente.
 But nathelees she taketh in good entente
 The wyl of Crist, and knelynge on the stronde,
 She seyde, "Lord, ay welcome be thy sonde!
 "He that me kepte fro the false blame
 While I was on the lond amonges yow,
 He kan me kepe from harm and eek fro shame
830 In salte see, althogh I se noght how.
 As strong as evere he was, he is yet now.
 In hym triste I, and in his mooder deere,
 That is to me my seyl and eek my steere."
 Hir litel child lay wepyng in hir arm,
 And knelynge, pitously to hym she seyde,
 "Pees, litel sone, I wol do thee noon harm."
 With that hir coverchief of hir heed she breyde,
 And over his litel eyen she it leyde,
 And in hir arm she lulleth it ful faste,
840 And into hevene hire eyen up she caste.
 "Mooder," quod she, "and mayde bright, Marie,
 Sooth is that thurgh wommanes eggement
 Mankynde was lorn, and damned ay to dye,
 For which thy child was on a croys yrent.
 Thy blisful eyen sawe al his torment;
 Thanne is ther no comparison bitwene
 Thy wo and any wo man may sustene.
 "Thow sawe thy child yslayn bifore thyne yen,
 And yet now lyveth my litel child, parfay!
850 Now, lady bright, to whom alle woful cryen,
 Thow glorie of wommanhede, thow faire may,
 Thow haven of refut, brighte sterre of day,
 Rewe on my child, that of thy gentillesse
 Rewest on every reweful in distresse.
 "O litel child, allas! What is thy gilt,
 That nevere wroghtest synne as yet, pardee?
 Why wil thyn harde fader han thee spilt?
 O mercy, deere constable," quod she,
 "As lat my litel child dwelle heer with thee;
860 And if thou darst nat saven hym, for blame,
 So kys hym ones in his fadres name!"
 Therwith she looked bakward to the londe,
 And seyde, "Farewel, housbonde routhelees!"
 And up she rist, and walketh doun the stronde
 Toward the ship -- hir folweth al the prees --
 And evere she preyeth hire child to holde his pees;
 And taketh hir leve, and with an hooly entente
 She blisseth hire, and into ship she wente.
 Vitailled was the ship, it is no drede,
870 Habundantly for hire ful longe space,
 And othere necessaries that sholde nede
 She hadde ynogh -- heryed be Goddes grace!
 For wynd and weder almyghty God purchace,
 And brynge hire hoom! I kan no bettre seye,
 But in the see she dryveth forth hir weye.
 Alla the kyng comth hoom soone after this
 Unto his castel, of the which I tolde,
 And asketh where his wyf and his child is.
 The constable gan aboute his herte colde,
880 And pleynly al the manere he hym tolde
 As ye han herd -- I kan telle it no bettre --
 And sheweth the kyng his seel and eek his lettre,
 And seyde, "Lord, as ye comanded me
 Up peyne of deeth, so have I doon, certein."
 This messager tormented was til he
 Moste biknowe and tellen, plat and pleyn,
 Fro nyght to nyght, in what place he had leyn;
 And thus, by wit and sotil enquerynge,
 Ymagined was by whom this harm gan sprynge.
890 The hand was knowe that the lettre wroot,
 And al the venym of this cursed dede,
 But in what wise, certeinly, I noot.
 Th' effect is this: that Alla, out of drede,
 His mooder slow -- that may men pleynly rede --
 For that she traitour was to hire ligeance.
 Thus endeth olde Donegild, with meschance!
 The sorwe that this Alla nyght and day
 Maketh for his wyf, and for his child also,
 Ther is no tonge that it telle may.
900 But now wol I unto Custance go,
 That fleteth in the see, in peyne and wo,
 Fyve yeer and moore, as liked Cristes sonde,
 Er that hir ship approched unto londe.
 Under an hethen castel, atte laste,
 Of which the name in my text noght I fynde,
 Custance, and eek hir child, the see up caste.
 Almyghty God, that saveth al mankynde,
 Have on Custance and on hir child som mynde,
 That fallen is in hethen hand eft soone,
910 In point to spille, as I shal telle yow soone.
 Doun fro the castel comth ther many a wight
 To gauren on this ship and on Custance.
 But shortly, from the castel, on a nyght,
 The lordes styward -- God yeve hym meschance! --
 A theef, that hadde reneyed oure creance,
 Cam into ship allone, and seyde he sholde
 Hir lemman be, wher-so she wolde or nolde.
 Wo was this wrecched womman tho bigon;
 Hir child cride, and she cride pitously.
920 But blisful Marie heelp hire right anon;
 For with hir struglyng wel and myghtily
 The theef fil over bord al sodeynly,
 And in the see he dreynte for vengeance;
 And thus hath Crist unwemmed kept Custance.
 O foule lust of luxurie, lo, thyn ende!
 Nat oonly that thou feyntest mannes mynde,
 But verraily thou wolt his body shende.
 Th' ende of thy werk, or of thy lustes blynde,
 Is compleynyng. Hou many oon may men fynde
930 That noght for werk somtyme, but for th' entente
 To doon this synne, been outher slayn or shente!
 How may this wayke womman han this strengthe
 Hire to defende agayn this renegat?
 O Golias, unmesurable of lengthe,
 Hou myghte David make thee so maat,
 So yong and of armure so desolaat?
 Hou dorste he looke upon thy dredful face?
 Wel may men seen, it nas but Goddes grace.
 Who yaf Judith corage or hardynesse
940 To sleen hym Olofernus in his tente,
 And to deliveren out of wrecchednesse
 The peple of God? I seye, for this entente,
 That right as God spirit of vigour sente
 To hem and saved hem out of meschance,
 So sente he myght and vigour to Custance.
 Forth gooth hir ship thurghout the narwe mouth
 Of Jubaltare and Septe, dryvynge ay
 Somtyme west, and somtyme north and south,
 And somtyme est, ful many a wery day,
950 Til Cristes mooder -- blessed be she ay! --
 Hath shapen, thurgh hir endelees goodnesse,
 To make an ende of al hir hevynesse.
 Now lat us stynte of Custance but a throwe,
 And speke we of the Romayn Emperour,
 That out of Surrye hath by lettres knowe
 The slaughtre of cristen folk, and dishonour
 Doon to his doghter by a fals traytour,
 I mene the cursed wikked Sowdanesse
 That at the feeste leet sleen bothe moore and lesse.
960 For which this Emperour hath sent anon
 His senatour, with roial ordinance,
 And othere lordes, God woot, many oon,
 On Surryens to taken heigh vengeance.
 They brennen, sleen, and brynge hem to meschance
 Ful many a day; but shortly -- this is th' ende --
 Homward to Rome they shapen hem to wende.
 This senatour repaireth with victorie
 To Rome-ward, saillynge ful roially,
 And mette the ship dryvynge, as seith the storie,
970 In which Custance sit ful pitously.
 Nothyng ne knew he what she was, ne why
 She was in swich array, ne she nyl seye
 Of hire estaat, althogh she sholde deye.
 He bryngeth hire to Rome, and to his wyf
 He yaf hire, and hir yonge sone also;
 And with the senatour she ladde hir lyf.
 Thus kan Oure Lady bryngen out of wo
 Woful Custance, and many another mo.
 And longe tyme dwelled she in that place,
980 In hooly werkes evere, as was hir grace.
 The senatoures wyf hir aunte was,
 But for al that she knew hire never the moore.
 I wol no lenger tarien in this cas,
 But to kyng Alla, which I spak of yoore,
 That for his wyf wepeth and siketh soore,
 I wol retourne, and lete I wol Custance
 Under the senatoures governance.
 Kyng Alla, which that hadde his mooder slayn,
 Upon a day fil in swich repentance
990 That, if I shortly tellen shal and playn,
 To Rome he comth to receyven his penance;
 And putte hym in the Popes ordinance
 In heigh and logh, and Jhesu Crist bisoghte
 Foryeve his wikked werkes that he wroghte.
 The fame anon thurgh Rome toun is born,
 How Alla kyng shal comen in pilgrymage,
 By herbergeours that wenten hym biforn;
 For which the senatour, as was usage,
 Rood hym agayns, and many of his lynage,
1000 As wel to shewen his heighe magnificence
 As to doon any kyng a reverence.
 Greet cheere dooth this noble senatour
 To kyng Alla, and he to hym also;
 Everich of hem dooth oother greet honour.
 And so bifel that in a day or two
 This senatour is to kyng Alla go
 To feste, and shortly, if I shal nat lye,
 Custances sone wente in his compaignye.
 Som men wolde seyn at requeste of Custance
1010 This senatour hath lad this child to feeste;
 I may nat tellen every circumstance --
 Be as be may, ther was he at the leeste.
 But sooth is this, that at his moodres heeste
 Biforn Alla, durynge the metes space,
 The child stood, lookynge in the kynges face.
 This Alla kyng hath of this child greet wonder,
 And to the senatour he seyde anon,
 "Whos is that faire child that stondeth yonder?"
 "I noot," quod he, "by God, and by Seint John!
1020 A mooder he hath, but fader hath he noon
 That I of woot" -- and shortly, in a stounde,
 He tolde Alla how that this child was founde.
 "But God woot," quod this senatour also,
 "So vertuous a lyvere in my lyf
 Ne saugh I nevere as she, ne herde of mo,
 Of worldly wommen, mayde, ne of wyf.
 I dar wel seyn hir hadde levere a knyf
 Thurghout hir brest, than ben a womman wikke;
 There is no man koude brynge hire to that prikke."
1030 Now was this child as lyk unto Custance
 As possible is a creature to be.
 This Alla hath the face in remembrance
 Of dame Custance, and ther on mused he
 If that the childes mooder were aught she
 That is his wyf, and pryvely he sighte,
 And spedde hym fro the table that he myghte.
 "Parfay," thoghte he, "fantome is in myn heed!
 I oghte deme, of skilful juggement,
 That in the salte see my wyf is deed."
1040 And afterward he made his argument:
 "What woot I if that Crist have hyder ysent
 My wyf by see, as wel as he hire sente
 To my contree fro thennes that she wente?"
 And after noon, hoom with the senatour
 Goth Alla, for to seen this wonder chaunce.
 This senatour dooth Alla greet honour,
 And hastifly he sente after Custaunce.
 But trusteth weel, hire liste nat to daunce
 Whan that she wiste wherfore was that sonde;
1050 Unnethe upon hir feet she myghte stonde.
 Whan Alla saugh his wyf, faire he hire grette,
 And weep that it was routhe for to see;
 For at the firste look he on hire sette
 He knew wel verraily that it was she.
 And she, for sorwe, as doumb stant as a tree,
 So was hir herte shet in hir distresse,
 Whan she remembred his unkyndenesse.
 Twyes she swowned in his owene sighte;
 He weep, and hym excuseth pitously.
1060 "Now God," quod he, "and his halwes brighte
 So wisly on my soule as have mercy,
 That of youre harm as giltelees am I
 As is Maurice my sone, so lyk youre face;
 Elles the feend me fecche out of this place!"
 Long was the sobbyng and the bitter peyne,
 Er that hir woful hertes myghte cesse;
 Greet was the pitee for to heere hem pleyne,
 Thurgh whiche pleintes gan hir wo encresse.
 I pray yow alle my labour to relesse;
1070 I may nat telle hir wo until to-morwe,
 I am so wery for to speke of sorwe.
 But finally, whan that the sothe is wist
 That Alla giltelees was of hir wo,
 I trowe an hundred tymes been they kist,
 And swich a blisse is ther bitwix hem two
 That, save the joye that lasteth everemo,
 Ther is noon lyk that any creature
 Hath seyn or shal, whil that the world may dure.
 Tho preyde she hir housbonde mekely,
1080 In relief of hir longe, pitous pyne,
 That he wolde preye hir fader specially
 That of his magestee he wolde enclyne
 To vouche sauf som day with hym to dyne.
 She preyde hym eek he sholde by no weye
 Unto hir fader no word of hire seye.
 Som men wolde seyn how that the child Maurice
 Dooth this message unto this Emperour;
 But, as I gesse, Alla was nat so nyce
 To hym that was of so sovereyn honour
1090 As he that is of Cristen folk the flour,
 Sente any child, but it is bet to deeme
 He wente hymself, and so it may wel seeme.
 This Emperour hath graunted gentilly
 To come to dyner, as he hym bisoughte;
 And wel rede I he looked bisily
 Upon this child, and on his doghter thoghte.
 Alla goth to his in, and as hym oghte,
 Arrayed for this feste in every wise
 As ferforth as his konnyng may suffise.
1100 The morwe cam, and Alla gan hym dresse,
 And eek his wyf, this Emperour to meete;
 And forth they ryde in joye and in gladnesse.
 And whan she saugh hir fader in the strete,
 She lighte doun, and falleth hym to feete.
 "Fader," quod she, "youre yonge child Custance
 Is now ful clene out of youre remembrance.
 "I am youre doghter Custance," quod she,
 "That whilom ye han sent unto Surrye.
 It am I, fader, that in the salte see
1110 Was put allone and dampned for to dye.
 Now, goode fader, mercy I yow crye!
 Sende me namoore unto noon hethenesse,
 But thonketh my lord heere of his kyndenesse."
 Who kan the pitous joye tellen al
 Bitwixe hem thre, syn they been thus ymette?
 But of my tale make an ende I shal;
 The day goth faste, I wol no lenger lette.
 This glade folk to dyner they hem sette;
 In joye and blisse at mete I lete hem dwelle
1120 A thousand foold wel moore than I kan telle.
 This child Maurice was sithen Emperour
 Maad by the Pope, and lyved cristenly;
 To Cristes chirche he dide greet honour.
 But I lete al his storie passen by;
 Of Custance is my tale specially.
 In the olde Romayn geestes may men fynde
 Maurices lyf; I bere it noght in mynde.
 This kyng Alla, whan he his tyme say,
 With his Custance, his hooly wyf so sweete,
1130 To Engelond been they come the righte way,
 Wher as they lyve in joye and in quiete.
 But litel while it lasteth, I yow heete,
 Joye of this world, for tyme wol nat abyde;
 Fro day to nyght it changeth as the tyde.
 Who lyved euere in swich delit o day
 That hym ne moeved outher conscience,
 Or ire, or talent, or som kynnes affray,
 Envye, or pride, or passion, or offence?
 I ne seye but for this ende this sentence,
1140 That litel while in joye or in plesance
 Lasteth the blisse of Alla with Custance.
 For Deeth, that taketh of heigh and logh his rente,
 Whan passed was a yeer, evene as I gesse,
 Out of this world this kyng Alla he hente,
 For whom Custance hath ful greet hevynesse.
 Now lat us prayen God his soule blesse!
 And dame Custance, finally to seye,
 Toward the toun of Rome goth hir weye.
 To Rome is come this hooly creature,
1150 And fyndeth hire freendes hoole and sounde;
 Now is she scaped al hire aventure.
 And whan that she hir fader hath yfounde,
 Doun on hir knees falleth she to grounde;
 Wepynge for tendrenesse in herte blithe,
 She heryeth God an hundred thousand sithe.
 In vertu and in hooly almus-dede
 They lyven alle, and nevere asonder wende;
 Til deeth departeth hem, this lyf they lede.
 And fareth now weel! my tale is at an ende.
1160 Now Jhesu Crist, that of his myght may sende
 Joye after wo, governe us in his grace,
 And kepe us alle that been in this place! Amen

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Man of Law's Epilogue

 [Owre Hoost upon his stiropes stood anon,
 And seyde, "Goode men, herkeneth everych on!
 This was a thrifty tale for the nones!
 Sir Parisshe Prest," quod he, "for Goddes bones,
 Telle us a tale, as was thi forward yore.
 I se wel that ye lerned men in lore
 Can moche good, by Goddes dignitee!"
1170 The Parson him answerde, "Benedicite!
 What eyleth the man, so synfully to swere?"
 Oure Host answerde, "O Jankin, be ye there?
 I smelle a Lollere in the wynd," quod he.
 "Now! goode men," quod oure Hoste, "herkeneth me;
 Abydeth, for Goddes digne passioun,
 For we schal han a predicacioun;
 This Lollere heer wil prechen us somwhat."
 "Nay, by my fader soule, that schal he nat!"
 Seyde the Shipman, "Heer schal he nat preche;
1180 He schal no gospel glosen here ne teche.
 We leven alle in the grete God," quod he;
 "He wolde sowen som difficulte,
 Or springen cokkel in our clene corn.
 And therfore, Hoost, I warne thee biforn,
 My joly body schal a tale telle,
 And I schal clynken you so mery a belle,
 That I schal waken al this compaignie.
 But it schal not ben of philosophie,
 Ne phislyas, ne termes queinte of lawe.
1190 Ther is but litel Latyn in my mawe!"]

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Wife of Bath's Prologue

 "Experience, though noon auctoritee
 Were in this world, is right ynogh for me
 To speke of wo that is in mariage;
 For, lordynges, sith I twelve yeer was of age,
 Thonked be God that is eterne on lyve,
 Housbondes at chirche dore I have had fyve --
 If I so ofte myghte have ywedded bee --
 And alle were worthy men in hir degree.
 But me was toold, certeyn, nat longe agoon is,
10 That sith that Crist ne wente nevere but onis
 To weddyng, in the Cane of Galilee,
 That by the same ensample taughte he me
 That I ne sholde wedded be but ones.
 Herkne eek, lo, which a sharp word for the nones,
 Biside a welle, Jhesus, God and man,
 Spak in repreeve of the Samaritan:
 `Thou hast yhad fyve housbondes,' quod he,
 `And that ilke man that now hath thee
 Is noght thyn housbonde,' thus seyde he certeyn.
20 What that he mente therby, I kan nat seyn;
 But that I axe, why that the fifthe man
 Was noon housbonde to the Samaritan?
 How manye myghte she have in mariage?
 Yet herde I nevere tellen in myn age
 Upon this nombre diffinicioun.
 Men may devyne and glosen, up and doun,
 But wel I woot, expres, withoute lye,
 God bad us for to wexe and multiplye;
 That gentil text kan I wel understonde.
30 Eek wel I woot, he seyde myn housbonde
 Sholde lete fader and mooder and take to me.
 But of no nombre mencion made he,
 Of bigamye, or of octogamye;
 Why sholde men thanne speke of it vileynye?
 Lo, heere the wise kyng, daun Salomon;
 I trowe he hadde wyves mo than oon.
 As wolde God it leveful were unto me
 To be refresshed half so ofte as he!
 Which yifte of God hadde he for alle his wyvys!
40 No man hath swich that in this world alyve is.
 God woot, this noble kyng, as to my wit,
 The firste nyght had many a myrie fit
 With ech of hem, so wel was hym on lyve.
 Yblessed be God that I have wedded fyve!
 [Of whiche I have pyked out the beste,
 Bothe of here nether purs and of here cheste.
 Diverse scoles maken parfyt clerkes,
 And diverse practyk in many sondry werkes
 Maketh the werkman parfyt sekirly;
 Of fyve husbondes scoleiyng am I.]
 Welcome the sixte, whan that evere he shal.
 For sothe, I wol nat kepe me chaast in al.
 Whan myn housbonde is fro the world ygon,
 Som Cristen man shal wedde me anon,
 For thanne th' apostle seith that I am free
50 To wedde, a Goddes half, where it liketh me.
 He seith that to be wedded is no synne;
 Bet is to be wedded than to brynne.
 What rekketh me, thogh folk seye vileynye
 Of shrewed Lameth and his bigamye?
 I woot wel Abraham was an hooly man,
 And Jacob eek, as ferforth as I kan;
 And ech of hem hadde wyves mo than two,
 And many another holy man also.
 Wher can ye seye, in any manere age,
60 That hye God defended mariage
 By expres word? I pray yow, telleth me.
 Or where comanded he virginitee?
 I woot as wel as ye, it is no drede,
 Th' apostel, whan he speketh of maydenhede,
 He seyde that precept therof hadde he noon.
 Men may conseille a womman to been oon,
 But conseillyng is no comandement.
 He putte it in oure owene juggement;
 For hadde God comanded maydenhede,
70 Thanne hadde he dampned weddyng with the dede.
 And certes, if ther were no seed ysowe,
 Virginitee, thanne wherof sholde it growe?
 Poul dorste nat comanden, atte leeste,
 A thyng of which his maister yaf noon heeste.
 The dart is set up for virginitee;
 Cacche whoso may, who renneth best lat see.
 But this word is nat taken of every wight,
 But ther as God lust gyve it of his myght.
 I woot wel that th' apostel was a mayde;
80 But nathelees, thogh that he wroot and sayde
 He wolde that every wight were swich as he,
 Al nys but conseil to virginitee.
 And for to been a wyf he yaf me leve
 Of indulgence; so nys it no repreve
 To wedde me, if that my make dye,
 Withouten excepcion of bigamye.
 Al were it good no womman for to touche --
 He mente as in his bed or in his couche,
 For peril is bothe fyr and tow t' assemble;
90 Ye knowe what this ensample may resemble.
 This is al and som: he heeld virginitee
 Moore parfit than weddyng in freletee.
 Freletee clepe I, but if that he and she
 Wolde leden al hir lyf in chastitee.
 I graunte it wel; I have noon envie,
 Thogh maydenhede preferre bigamye.
 It liketh hem to be clene, body and goost;
 Of myn estaat I nyl nat make no boost,
 For wel ye knowe, a lord in his houshold,
100 He nath nat every vessel al of gold;
 Somme been of tree, and doon hir lord servyse.
 God clepeth folk to hym in sondry wyse,
 And everich hath of God a propre yifte --
 Som this, som that, as hym liketh shifte.
 Virginitee is greet perfeccion,
 And continence eek with devocion,
 But Crist, that of perfeccion is welle,
 Bad nat every wight he sholde go selle
 Al that he hadde, and gyve it to the poore,
110 And in swich wise folwe hym and his foore.
 He spak to hem that wolde lyve parfitly;
 And lordynges, by youre leve, that am nat I.
 I wol bistowe the flour of al myn age
 In the actes and in fruyt of mariage.
 Telle me also, to what conclusion
 Were membres maad of generacion,
 And of so parfit wys a [wright] ywroght?
 Trusteth right wel, they were nat maad for noght.
 Glose whoso wole, and seye bothe up and doun
120 That they were maked for purgacioun
 Of uryne, and oure bothe thynges smale
 Were eek to knowe a femele from a male,
 And for noon oother cause -- say ye no?
 The experience woot wel it is noght so.
 So that the clerkes be nat with me wrothe,
 I sey this: that they maked ben for bothe;
 That is to seye, for office and for ese
 Of engendrure, ther we nat God displese.
 Why sholde men elles in hir bookes sette
130 That man shal yelde to his wyf hire dette?
 Now wherwith sholde he make his paiement,
 If he ne used his sely instrument?
 Thanne were they maad upon a creature
 To purge uryne, and eek for engendrure.
 But I seye noght that every wight is holde,
 That hath swich harneys as I to yow tolde,
 To goon and usen hem in engendrure.
 Thanne sholde men take of chastitee no cure.
 Crist was a mayde and shapen as a man,
140 And many a seint, sith that the world bigan;
 Yet lyved they evere in parfit chastitee.
 I nyl envye no virginitee.
 Lat hem be breed of pured whete-seed,
 And lat us wyves hoten barly-breed;
 And yet with barly-breed, Mark telle kan,
 Oure Lord Jhesu refresshed many a man.
 In swich estaat as God hath cleped us
 I wol persevere; I nam nat precius.
 In wyfhod I wol use myn instrument
150 As frely as my Makere hath it sent.
 If I be daungerous, God yeve me sorwe!
 Myn housbonde shal it have bothe eve and morwe,
 Whan that hym list come forth and paye his dette.
 An housbonde I wol have -- I wol nat lette --
 Which shal be bothe my dettour and my thral,
 And have his tribulacion withal
 Upon his flessh, whil that I am his wyf.
 I have the power durynge al my lyf
 Upon his propre body, and noght he.
160 Right thus the Apostel tolde it unto me,
 And bad oure housbondes for to love us weel.
 Al this sentence me liketh every deel" --
 Up stirte the Pardoner, and that anon;
 "Now, dame," quod he, "by God and by Seint John!
 Ye been a noble prechour in this cas.
 I was aboute to wedde a wyf; allas!
 What sholde I bye it on my flessh so deere?
 Yet hadde I levere wedde no wyf to-yeere!"
 "Abyde!" quod she, "my tale is nat bigonne.
170 Nay, thou shalt drynken of another tonne,
 Er that I go, shal savoure wors than ale.
 And whan that I have toold thee forth my tale
 Of tribulacion in mariage,
 Of which I am expert in al myn age --
 This is to seyn, myself have been the whippe --
 Than maystow chese wheither thou wolt sippe
 Of thilke tonne that I shal abroche.
 Be war of it, er thou to ny approche;
 For I shal telle ensamples mo than ten.
180 `Whoso that nyl be war by othere men,
 By hym shul othere men corrected be.'
 The same wordes writeth Ptholomee;
 Rede in his Almageste, and take it there."
 "Dame, I wolde praye yow, if youre wyl it were,"
 Seyde this Pardoner, "as ye bigan,
 Telle forth youre tale, spareth for no man,
 And teche us yonge men of youre praktike."
 "Gladly," quod she, "sith it may yow like;
 But yet I praye to al this compaignye,
190 If that I speke after my fantasye,
 As taketh not agrief of that I seye,
 For myn entente nys but for to pleye.
 Now, sire, now wol I telle forth my tale.
 As evere moote I drynken wyn or ale,
 I shal seye sooth; tho housbondes that I hadde,
 As thre of hem were goode, and two were badde.
 The thre were goode men, and riche, and olde;
 Unnethe myghte they the statut holde
 In which that they were bounden unto me.
200 Ye woot wel what I meene of this, pardee!
 As help me God, I laughe whan I thynke
 How pitously a-nyght I made hem swynke!
 And, by my fey, I tolde of it no stoor.
 They had me yeven hir lond and hir tresoor;
 Me neded nat do lenger diligence
 To wynne hir love, or doon hem reverence.
 They loved me so wel, by God above,
 That I ne tolde no deyntee of hir love!
 A wys womman wol bisye hire evere in oon
210 To gete hire love, ye, ther as she hath noon.
 But sith I hadde hem hoolly in myn hond,
 And sith they hadde me yeven al hir lond,
 What sholde I taken keep hem for to plese,
 But it were for my profit and myn ese?
 I sette hem so a-werke, by my fey,
 That many a nyght they songen `Weilawey!'
 The bacon was nat fet for hem, I trowe,
 That som men han in Essex at Dunmowe.
 I governed hem so wel, after my lawe,
220 That ech of hem ful blisful was and fawe
 To brynge me gaye thynges fro the fayre.
 They were ful glad whan I spak to hem faire,
 For, God it woot, I chidde hem spitously.
 Now herkneth hou I baar me proprely,
 Ye wise wyves, that kan understonde.
 Thus shulde ye speke and bere hem wrong on honde,
 For half so boldely kan ther no man
 Swere and lyen, as a womman kan.
 I sey nat this by wyves that been wyse,
230 But if it be whan they hem mysavyse.
 A wys wyf, if that she kan hir good,
 Shal beren hym on honde the cow is wood,
 And take witnesse of hir owene mayde
 Of hir assent. But herkneth how I sayde:
 `Sire olde kaynard, is this thyn array?
 Why is my neighebores wyf so gay?
 She is honoured overal ther she gooth;
 I sitte at hoom; I have no thrifty clooth.
 What dostow at my neighebores hous?
240 Is she so fair? Artow so amorous?
 What rowne ye with oure mayde? Benedicite!
 Sire olde lecchour, lat thy japes be!
 And if I have a gossib or a freend,
 Withouten gilt, thou chidest as a feend,
 If that I walke or pleye unto his hous!
 Thou comest hoom as dronken as a mous,
 And prechest on thy bench, with yvel preef!
 Thou seist to me it is a greet meschief
 To wedde a povre womman, for costage;
250 And if that she be riche, of heigh parage,
 Thanne seistow that it is a tormentrie
 To soffre hire pride and hire malencolie.
 And if that she be fair, thou verray knave,
 Thou seyst that every holour wol hire have;
 She may no while in chastitee abyde,
 That is assailled upon ech a syde.
 Thou seyst som folk desiren us for richesse,
 Somme for oure shap, and somme for oure fairnesse,
 And som for she kan outher synge or daunce,
260 And som for gentillesse and daliaunce;
 Som for hir handes and hir armes smale;
 Thus goth al to the devel, by thy tale.
 Thou seyst men may nat kepe a castel wal,
 It may so longe assailled been overal.
 And if that she be foul, thou seist that she
 Coveiteth every man that she may se,
 For as a spanyel she wol on hym lepe,
 Til that she fynde som man hire to chepe.
 Ne noon so grey goos gooth ther in the lake
270 As, seistow, wol been withoute make.
 And seyst it is an hard thyng for to welde
 A thyng that no man wole, his thankes, helde.
 Thus seistow, lorel, whan thow goost to bedde,
 And that no wys man nedeth for to wedde,
 Ne no man that entendeth unto hevene.
 With wilde thonder-dynt and firy levene
 Moote thy welked nekke be tobroke!
 Thow seyst that droppyng houses, and eek smoke,
 And chidyng wyves maken men to flee
280 Out of hir owene houses; a, benedicitee!
 What eyleth swich an old man for to chide?
 Thow seyst we wyves wol oure vices hide
 Til we be fast, and thanne we wol hem shewe --
 Wel may that be a proverbe of a shrewe!
 Thou seist that oxen, asses, hors, and houndes,
 They been assayed at diverse stoundes;
 Bacyns, lavours, er that men hem bye,
 Spoones and stooles, and al swich housbondrye,
 And so been pottes, clothes, and array;
290 But folk of wyves maken noon assay,
 Til they be wedded -- olde dotard shrewe! --
 And thanne, seistow, we wol oure vices shewe.
 Thou seist also that it displeseth me
 But if that thou wolt preyse my beautee,
 And but thou poure alwey upon my face,
 And clepe me "faire dame" in every place.
 And but thou make a feeste on thilke day
 That I was born, and make me fressh and gay;
 And but thou do to my norice honour,
300 And to my chamberere withinne my bour,
 And to my fadres folk and his allyes --
 Thus seistow, olde barel-ful of lyes!
 And yet of oure apprentice Janekyn,
 For his crispe heer, shynynge as gold so fyn,
 And for he squiereth me bothe up and doun,
 Yet hastow caught a fals suspecioun.
 I wol hym noght, thogh thou were deed tomorwe!
 But tel me this: why hydestow, with sorwe,
 The keyes of thy cheste awey fro me?
310 It is my good as wel as thyn, pardee!
 What, wenestow make an ydiot of oure dame?
 Now by that lord that called is Seint Jame,
 Thou shalt nat bothe, thogh that thou were wood,
 Be maister of my body and of my good;
 That oon thou shalt forgo, maugree thyne yen.
 What helpith it of me to enquere or spyen?
 I trowe thou woldest loke me in thy chiste!
 Thou sholdest seye, "Wyf, go wher thee liste;
 Taak youre disport; I wol nat leve no talys.
320 I knowe yow for a trewe wyf, dame Alys."
 We love no man that taketh kep or charge
 Wher that we goon; we wol ben at oure large.
 Of alle men yblessed moot he be,
 The wise astrologien, Daun Ptholome,
 That seith this proverbe in his Almageste:
 "Of alle men his wysdom is the hyeste
 That rekketh nevere who hath the world in honde."
 By this proverbe thou shalt understonde,
 Have thou ynogh, what thar thee recche or care
330 How myrily that othere folkes fare?
 For, certeyn, olde dotard, by youre leve,
 Ye shul have queynte right ynogh at eve.
 He is to greet a nygard that wolde werne
 A man to lighte a candle at his lanterne;
 He shal have never the lasse light, pardee.
 Have thou ynogh, thee thar nat pleyne thee.
 Thou seyst also, that if we make us gay
 With clothyng, and with precious array,
 That it is peril of oure chastitee;
340 And yet -- with sorwe! -- thou most enforce thee,
 And seye thise wordes in the Apostles name:
 "In habit maad with chastitee and shame
 Ye wommen shul apparaille yow," quod he,
 "And noght in tressed heer and gay perree,
 As perles, ne with gold, ne clothes riche."
 After thy text, ne after thy rubriche,
 I wol nat wirche as muchel as a gnat.
 Thou seydest this, that I was lyk a cat;
 For whoso wolde senge a cattes skyn,
350 Thanne wolde the cat wel dwellen in his in;
 And if the cattes skyn be slyk and gay,
 She wol nat dwelle in house half a day,
 But forth she wole, er any day be dawed,
 To shewe hir skyn and goon a-caterwawed.
 This is to seye, if I be gay, sire shrewe,
 I wol renne out my borel for to shewe.
 Sire olde fool, what helpeth thee to spyen?
 Thogh thou preye Argus with his hundred yen
 To be my warde-cors, as he kan best,
360 In feith, he shal nat kepe me but me lest;
 Yet koude I make his berd, so moot I thee!
 Thou seydest eek that ther been thynges thre,
 The whiche thynges troublen al this erthe,
 And that no wight may endure the ferthe.
 O leeve sire shrewe, Jhesu shorte thy lyf!
 Yet prechestow and seyst an hateful wyf
 Yrekened is for oon of thise meschances.
 Been ther none othere maner resemblances
 That ye may likne youre parables to,
370 But if a sely wyf be oon of tho?
 Thou liknest eek wommenes love to helle,
 To bareyne lond, ther water may nat dwelle.
 Thou liknest it also to wilde fyr;
 The moore it brenneth, the moore it hath desir
 To consume every thyng that brent wole be.
 Thou seyest, right as wormes shende a tree,
 Right so a wyf destroyeth hire housbonde;
 This knowe they that been to wyves bonde.'
 Lordynges, right thus, as ye have understonde,
380 Baar I stifly myne olde housbondes on honde
 That thus they seyden in hir dronkenesse;
 And al was fals, but that I took witnesse
 On Janekyn, and on my nece also.
 O Lord! The peyne I dide hem and the wo,
 Ful giltelees, by Goddes sweete pyne!
 For as an hors I koude byte and whyne.
 I koude pleyne, and yit was in the gilt,
 Or elles often tyme hadde I been spilt.
 Whoso that first to mille comth, first grynt;
390 I pleyned first, so was oure werre ystynt.
 They were ful glade to excuse hem blyve
 Of thyng of which they nevere agilte hir lyve.
 Of wenches wolde I beren hem on honde,
 Whan that for syk unnethes myghte they stonde.
 Yet tikled I his herte, for that he
 Wende that I hadde of hym so greet chiertee!
 I swoor that al my walkynge out by nyghte
 Was for t' espye wenches that he dighte;
 Under that colour hadde I many a myrthe.
400 For al swich wit is yeven us in oure byrthe;
 Deceite, wepyng, spynnyng God hath yive
 To wommen kyndely, whil that they may lyve.
 And thus of o thyng I avaunte me:
 Atte ende I hadde the bettre in ech degree,
 By sleighte, or force, or by som maner thyng,
 As by continueel murmur or grucchyng.
 Namely abedde hadden they meschaunce:
 Ther wolde I chide and do hem no plesaunce;
 I wolde no lenger in the bed abyde,
410 If that I felte his arm over my syde,
 Til he had maad his raunson unto me;
 Thanne wolde I suffre hym do his nycetee.
 And therfore every man this tale I telle,
 Wynne whoso may, for al is for to selle;
 With empty hand men may none haukes lure.
 For wynnyng wolde I al his lust endure,
 And make me a feyned appetit;
 And yet in bacon hadde I nevere delit.
 That made me that evere I wolde hem chide,
420 For thogh the pope hadde seten hem biside,
 I wolde nat spare hem at hir owene bord,
 For, by my trouthe, I quitte hem word for word.
 As helpe me verray God omnipotent,
 Though I right now sholde make my testament,
 I ne owe hem nat a word that it nys quit.
 I broghte it so aboute by my wit
 That they moste yeve it up, as for the beste,
 Or elles hadde we nevere been in reste;
 For thogh he looked as a wood leon,
430 Yet sholde he faille of his conclusion.
 Thanne wolde I seye, `Goode lief, taak keep
 How mekely looketh Wilkyn, oure sheep!
 Com neer, my spouse, lat me ba thy cheke!
 Ye sholde been al pacient and meke,
 And han a sweete spiced conscience,
 Sith ye so preche of Jobes pacience.
 Suffreth alwey, syn ye so wel kan preche;
 And but ye do, certein we shal yow teche
 That it is fair to have a wyf in pees.
440 Oon of us two moste bowen, doutelees,
 And sith a man is moore resonable
 Than womman is, ye moste been suffrable.
 What eyleth yow to grucche thus and grone?
 Is it for ye wolde have my queynte allone?
 Wy, taak it al! Lo, have it every deel!
 Peter! I shrewe yow, but ye love it weel;
 For if I wolde selle my bele chose,
 I koude walke as fressh as is a rose;
 But I wol kepe it for youre owene tooth.
450 Ye be to blame, by God! I sey yow sooth.'
 Swiche manere wordes hadde we on honde.
 Now wol I speken of my fourthe housbonde.
 My fourthe housbonde was a revelour --
 This is to seyn, he hadde a paramour --
 And I was yong and ful of ragerye,
 Stibourn and strong, and joly as a pye.
 How koude I daunce to an harpe smale,
 And synge, ywis, as any nyghtyngale,
 Whan I had dronke a draughte of sweete wyn!
460 Metellius, the foule cherl, the swyn,
 That with a staf birafte his wyf hir lyf,
 For she drank wyn, thogh I hadde been his wyf,
 He sholde nat han daunted me fro drynke!
 And after wyn on Venus moste I thynke,
 For al so siker as cold engendreth hayl,
 A likerous mouth moste han a likerous tayl.
 In wommen vinolent is no defence --
 This knowen lecchours by experience.
 But -- Lord Crist! -- whan that it remembreth me
470 Upon my yowthe, and on my jolitee,
 It tikleth me aboute myn herte roote.
 Unto this day it dooth myn herte boote
 That I have had my world as in my tyme.
 But age, allas, that al wole envenyme,
 Hath me biraft my beautee and my pith.
 Lat go. Farewel! The devel go therwith!
 The flour is goon; ther is namoore to telle;
 The bren, as I best kan, now moste I selle;
 But yet to be right myrie wol I fonde.
480 Now wol I tellen of my fourthe housbonde.
 I seye, I hadde in herte greet despit
 That he of any oother had delit.
 But he was quit, by God and by Seint Joce!
 I made hym of the same wode a croce;
 Nat of my body, in no foul manere,
 But certeinly, I made folk swich cheere
 That in his owene grece I made hym frye
 For angre, and for verray jalousye.
 By God, in erthe I was his purgatorie,
490 For which I hope his soule be in glorie.
 For, God it woot, he sat ful ofte and song,
 Whan that his shoo ful bitterly hym wrong.
 Ther was no wight, save God and he, that wiste,
 In many wise, how soore I hym twiste.
 He deyde whan I cam fro Jerusalem,
 And lith ygrave under the roode beem,
 Al is his tombe noght so curyus
 As was the sepulcre of hym Daryus,
 Which that Appelles wroghte subtilly;
500 It nys but wast to burye hym preciously.
 Lat hym fare wel; God yeve his soule reste!
 He is now in his grave and in his cheste.
 Now of my fifthe housbonde wol I telle.
 God lete his soule nevere come in helle!
 And yet was he to me the mooste shrewe;
 That feele I on my ribbes al by rewe,
 And evere shal unto myn endyng day.
 But in oure bed he was so fressh and gay,
 And therwithal so wel koude he me glose,
510 Whan that he wolde han my bele chose;
 That thogh he hadde me bete on every bon,
 He koude wynne agayn my love anon.
 I trowe I loved hym best, for that he
 Was of his love daungerous to me.
 We wommen han, if that I shal nat lye,
 In this matere a queynte fantasye:
 Wayte what thyng we may nat lightly have,
 Therafter wol we crie al day and crave.
 Forbede us thyng, and that desiren we;
520 Preesse on us faste, and thanne wol we fle.
 With daunger oute we al oure chaffare;
 Greet prees at market maketh deere ware,
 And to greet cheep is holde at litel prys:
 This knoweth every womman that is wys.
 My fifthe housbonde -- God his soule blesse! --
 Which that I took for love, and no richesse,
 He som tyme was a clerk of Oxenford,
 And hadde left scole, and wente at hom to bord
 With my gossib, dwellynge in oure toun;
530 God have hir soule! Hir name was Alisoun.
 She knew myn herte, and eek my privetee,
 Bet than oure parisshe preest, so moot I thee!
 To hire biwreyed I my conseil al.
 For hadde myn housbonde pissed on a wal,
 Or doon a thyng that sholde han cost his lyf,
 To hire, and to another worthy wyf,
 And to my nece, which that I loved weel,
 I wolde han toold his conseil every deel.
 And so I dide ful often, God it woot,
540 That made his face often reed and hoot
 For verray shame, and blamed hymself for he
 Had toold to me so greet a pryvetee.
 And so bifel that ones in a Lente --
 So often tymes I to my gossyb wente,
 For evere yet I loved to be gay,
 And for to walke in March, Averill, and May,
 Fro hous to hous, to heere sondry talys --
 That Jankyn clerk, and my gossyb dame Alys,
 And I myself, into the feeldes wente.
550 Myn housbonde was at Londoun al that Lente;
 I hadde the bettre leyser for to pleye,
 And for to se, and eek for to be seye
 Of lusty folk. What wiste I wher my grace
 Was shapen for to be, or in what place?
 Therfore I made my visitaciouns
 To vigilies and to processiouns,
 To prechyng eek, and to thise pilgrimages,
 To pleyes of myracles, and to mariages,
 And wered upon my gaye scarlet gytes.
560 Thise wormes, ne thise motthes, ne thise mytes,
 Upon my peril, frete hem never a deel;
 And wostow why? For they were used weel.
 Now wol I tellen forth what happed me.
 I seye that in the feeldes walked we,
 Til trewely we hadde swich daliance,
 This clerk and I, that of my purveiance
 I spak to hym and seyde hym how that he,
 If I were wydwe, sholde wedde me.
 For certeinly -- I sey for no bobance --
570 Yet was I nevere withouten purveiance
 Of mariage, n' of othere thynges eek.
 I holde a mouses herte nat worth a leek
 That hath but oon hole for to sterte to,
 And if that faille, thanne is al ydo.
 I bar hym on honde he hadde enchanted me --
 My dame taughte me that soutiltee --
 And eek I seyde I mette of hym al nyght,
 He wolde han slayn me as I lay upright,
 And al my bed was ful of verray blood;
580 `But yet I hope that ye shal do me good,
 For blood bitokeneth gold, as me was taught.'
 And al was fals; I dremed of it right naught,
 But as I folwed ay my dames loore,
 As wel of this as of othere thynges moore.
 But now, sire, lat me se what I shal seyn.
 A ha! By God, I have my tale ageyn.
 Whan that my fourthe housbonde was on beere,
 I weep algate, and made sory cheere,
 As wyves mooten, for it is usage,
590 And with my coverchief covered my visage,
 But for that I was purveyed of a make,
 I wepte but smal, and that I undertake.
 To chirche was myn housbonde born a-morwe
 With neighebores, that for hym maden sorwe;
 And Jankyn, oure clerk, was oon of tho.
 As help me God, whan that I saugh hym go
 After the beere, me thoughte he hadde a paire
 Of legges and of feet so clene and faire
 That al myn herte I yaf unto his hoold.
600 He was, I trowe, twenty wynter oold,
 And I was fourty, if I shal seye sooth;
 But yet I hadde alwey a coltes tooth.
 Gat-tothed I was, and that bicam me weel;
 I hadde the prente of seinte Venus seel.
 As help me God, I was a lusty oon,
 And faire, and riche, and yong, and wel bigon,
 And trewely, as myne housbondes tolde me,
 I hadde the beste quoniam myghte be.
 For certes, I am al Venerien
610 In feelynge, and myn herte is Marcien.
 Venus me yaf my lust, my likerousnesse,
 And Mars yaf me my sturdy hardynesse;
 Myn ascendent was Taur, and Mars therinne.
 Allas, allas! That evere love was synne!
 I folwed ay myn inclinacioun
 By vertu of my constellacioun;
 That made me I koude noght withdrawe
 My chambre of Venus from a good felawe.
 Yet have I Martes mark upon my face,
620 And also in another privee place.
 For God so wys be my savacioun,
 I ne loved nevere by no discrecioun,
 But evere folwede myn appetit,
 Al were he short, or long, or blak, or whit;
 I took no kep, so that he liked me,
 How poore he was, ne eek of what degree.
 What sholde I seye but, at the monthes ende,
 This joly clerk, Jankyn, that was so hende,
 Hath wedded me with greet solempnytee,
630 And to hym yaf I al the lond and fee
 That evere was me yeven therbifoore.
 But afterward repented me ful soore;
 He nolde suffre nothyng of my list.
 By God, he smoot me ones on the lyst,
 For that I rente out of his book a leef,
 That of the strook myn ere wax al deef.
 Stibourn I was as is a leonesse,
 And of my tonge a verray jangleresse,
 And walke I wolde, as I had doon biforn,
640 From hous to hous, although he had it sworn;
 For which he often tymes wolde preche,
 And me of olde Romayn geestes teche;
 How he Symplicius Gallus lefte his wyf,
 And hire forsook for terme of al his lyf,
 Noght but for open-heveded he hir say
 Lookynge out at his dore upon a day.
 Another Romayn tolde he me by name,
 That, for his wyf was at a someres game
 Withouten his wityng, he forsook hire eke.
650 And thanne wolde he upon his Bible seke
 That ilke proverbe of Ecclesiaste
 Where he comandeth and forbedeth faste
 Man shal nat suffre his wyf go roule aboute.
 Thanne wolde he seye right thus, withouten doute:
 `Whoso that buyldeth his hous al of salwes,
 And priketh his blynde hors over the falwes,
 And suffreth his wyf to go seken halwes,
 Is worthy to been hanged on the galwes!'
 But al for noght, I sette noght an hawe
660 Of his proverbes n' of his olde sawe,
 Ne I wolde nat of hym corrected be.
 I hate hym that my vices telleth me,
 And so doo mo, God woot, of us than I.
 This made hym with me wood al outrely;
 I nolde noght forbere hym in no cas.
 Now wol I seye yow sooth, by Seint Thomas,
 Why that I rente out of his book a leef,
 For which he smoot me so that I was deef.
 He hadde a book that gladly, nyght and day,
670 For his desport he wolde rede alway;
 He cleped it Valerie and Theofraste,
 At which book he lough alwey ful faste.
 And eek ther was somtyme a clerk at Rome,
 A cardinal, that highte Seint Jerome,
 That made a book agayn Jovinian;
 In which book eek ther was Tertulan,
 Crisippus, Trotula, and Helowys,
 That was abbesse nat fer fro Parys,
 And eek the Parables of Salomon,
680 Ovides Art, and bookes many on,
 And alle thise were bounden in o volume.
 And every nyght and day was his custume,
 Whan he hadde leyser and vacacioun
 From oother worldly occupacioun,
 To reden on this book of wikked wyves.
 He knew of hem mo legendes and lyves
 Than been of goode wyves in the Bible.
 For trusteth wel, it is an impossible
 That any clerk wol speke good of wyves,
690 But if it be of hooly seintes lyves,
 Ne of noon oother womman never the mo.
 Who peyntede the leon, tel me who?
 By God, if wommen hadde writen stories,
 As clerkes han withinne hire oratories,
 They wolde han writen of men moore wikkednesse
 Than al the mark of Adam may redresse.
 The children of Mercurie and of Venus
 Been in hir wirkyng ful contrarius;
 Mercurie loveth wysdam and science,
700 And Venus loveth ryot and dispence.
 And, for hire diverse disposicioun,
 Ech falleth in otheres exaltacioun.
 And thus, God woot, Mercurie is desolat
 In Pisces, wher Venus is exaltat,
 And Venus falleth ther Mercurie is reysed.
 Therfore no womman of no clerk is preysed.
 The clerk, whan he is oold, and may noght do
 Of Venus werkes worth his olde sho,
 Thanne sit he doun, and writ in his dotage
710 That wommen kan nat kepe hir mariage!
 But now to purpos, why I tolde thee
 That I was beten for a book, pardee!
 Upon a nyght Jankyn, that was oure sire,
 Redde on his book, as he sat by the fire,
 Of Eva first, that for hir wikkednesse
 Was al mankynde broght to wrecchednesse,
 For which that Jhesu Crist hymself was slayn,
 That boghte us with his herte blood agayn.
 Lo, heere expres of womman may ye fynde
720 That womman was the los of al mankynde.
 Tho redde he me how Sampson loste his heres:
 Slepynge, his lemman kitte it with hir sheres;
 Thurgh which treson loste he bothe his yen.
 Tho redde he me, if that I shal nat lyen,
 Of Hercules and of his Dianyre,
 That caused hym to sette hymself afyre.
 No thyng forgat he the care and the wo
 That Socrates hadde with his wyves two,
 How Xantippa caste pisse upon his heed.
730 This sely man sat stille as he were deed;
 He wiped his heed, namoore dorste he seyn,
 But `Er that thonder stynte, comth a reyn!'
 Of Phasipha, that was the queene of Crete,
 For shrewednesse, hym thoughte the tale swete;
 Fy! Spek namoore -- it is a grisly thyng --
 Of hire horrible lust and hir likyng.
 Of Clitermystra, for hire lecherye,
 That falsly made hire housbonde for to dye,
 He redde it with ful good devocioun.
740 He tolde me eek for what occasioun
 Amphiorax at Thebes loste his lyf.
 Myn housbonde hadde a legende of his wyf,
 Eriphilem, that for an ouche of gold
 Hath prively unto the Grekes told
 Wher that hir housbonde hidde hym in a place,
 For which he hadde at Thebes sory grace.
 Of Lyvia tolde he me, and of Lucye:
 They bothe made hir housbondes for to dye,
 That oon for love, that oother was for hate.
750 Lyvia hir housbonde, on an even late,
 Empoysoned hath, for that she was his fo;
 Lucia, likerous, loved hire housbonde so
 That, for he sholde alwey upon hire thynke,
 She yaf hym swich a manere love-drynke
 That he was deed er it were by the morwe;
 And thus algates housbondes han sorwe.
 Thanne tolde he me how oon Latumyus
 Compleyned unto his felawe Arrius
 That in his gardyn growed swich a tree
760 On which he seyde how that his wyves thre
 Hanged hemself for herte despitus.
 `O leeve brother,' quod this Arrius,
 `Yif me a plante of thilke blissed tree,
 And in my gardyn planted shal it bee.'
 Of latter date, of wyves hath he red
 That somme han slayn hir housbondes in hir bed,
 And lete hir lecchour dighte hire al the nyght,
 Whan that the corps lay in the floor upright.
 And somme han dryve nayles in hir brayn,
770 Whil that they slepte, and thus they had hem slayn.
 Somme han hem yeve poysoun in hire drynke.
 He spak moore harm than herte may bithynke,
 And therwithal he knew of mo proverbes
 Than in this world ther growen gras or herbes.
 `Bet is,' quod he, `thyn habitacioun
 Be with a leon or a foul dragoun,
 Than with a womman usynge for to chyde.
 Bet is,' quod he, `hye in the roof abyde,
 Than with an angry wyf doun in the hous;
780 They been so wikked and contrarious,
 They haten that hir housbondes loven ay.'
 He seyde, `A womman cast hir shame away,
 Whan she cast of hir smok'; and forthermo,
 `A fair womman, but she be chaast also,
 Is lyk a gold ryng in a sowes nose.'
 Who wolde wene, or who wolde suppose,
 The wo that in myn herte was, and pyne?
 And whan I saugh he wolde nevere fyne
 To reden on this cursed book al nyght,
790 Al sodeynly thre leves have I plyght
 Out of his book, right as he radde, and eke
 I with my fest so took hym on the cheke
 That in oure fyr he fil bakward adoun.
 And he up stirte as dooth a wood leoun,
 And with his fest he smoot me on the heed
 That in the floor I lay as I were deed.
 And whan he saugh how stille that I lay,
 He was agast and wolde han fled his way,
 Til atte laste out of my swogh I breyde.
800 `O! hastow slayn me, false theef?' I seyde,
 `And for my land thus hastow mordred me?
 Er I be deed, yet wol I kisse thee.'
 And neer he cam, and kneled faire adoun,
 And seyde, `Deere suster Alisoun,
 As help me God, I shal thee nevere smyte!
 That I have doon, it is thyself to wyte.
 Foryeve it me, and that I thee biseke!'
 And yet eftsoones I hitte hym on the cheke,
 And seyde, `Theef, thus muchel am I wreke;
810 Now wol I dye, I may no lenger speke.'
 But atte laste, with muchel care and wo,
 We fille acorded by us selven two.
 He yaf me al the bridel in myn hond,
 To han the governance of hous and lond,
 And of his tonge, and of his hond also;
 And made hym brenne his book anon right tho.
 And whan that I hadde geten unto me,
 By maistrie, al the soveraynetee,
 And that he seyde, `Myn owene trewe wyf,
820 Do as thee lust the terme of al thy lyf;
 Keep thyn honour, and keep eek myn estaat' --
 After that day we hadden never debaat.
 God helpe me so, I was to hym as kynde
 As any wyf from Denmark unto Ynde,
 And also trewe, and so was he to me.
 I prey to God, that sit in magestee,
 So blesse his soule for his mercy deere.
 Now wol I seye my tale, if ye wol heere."
 The Frere lough, whan he hadde herd al this;
830 "Now dame," quod he, "so have I joye or blis,
 This is a long preamble of a tale!"
 And whan the Somonour herde the Frere gale,
 "Lo," quod the Somonour, "Goddes armes two!
 A frere wol entremette hym everemo.
 Lo, goode men, a flye and eek a frere
 Wol falle in every dyssh and eek mateere.
 What spekestow of preambulacioun?
 What! amble, or trotte, or pees, or go sit doun!
 Thou lettest oure disport in this manere."
840 "Ye, woltow so, sire Somonour?" quod the Frere;
 "Now, by my feith I shal, er that I go,
 Telle of a somonour swich a tale or two
 That alle the folk shal laughen in this place."
 "Now elles, Frere, I bishrewe thy face,"
 Quod this Somonour, "and I bishrewe me,
 But if I telle tales two or thre
 Of freres er I come to Sidyngborne
 That I shal make thyn herte for to morne,
 For wel I woot thy pacience is gon."
850 Oure Hooste cride "Pees! And that anon!"
 And seyde, "Lat the womman telle hire tale.
 Ye fare as folk that dronken ben of ale.
 Do, dame, telle forth youre tale, and that is best."
 "Al redy, sire," quod she, "right as yow lest,
 If I have licence of this worthy Frere."
 "Yis, dame," quod he, "tel forth, and I wol heere."

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Wife of Bath's Tale

 In th' olde dayes of the Kyng Arthour,
 Of which that Britons speken greet honour,
 Al was this land fulfild of fayerye.
860 The elf-queene, with hir joly compaignye,
 Daunced ful ofte in many a grene mede.
 This was the olde opinion, as I rede;
 I speke of manye hundred yeres ago.
 But now kan no man se none elves mo,
 For now the grete charitee and prayeres
 Of lymytours and othere hooly freres,
 That serchen every lond and every streem,
 As thikke as motes in the sonne-beem,
 Blessynge halles, chambres, kichenes, boures,
870 Citees, burghes, castels, hye toures,
 Thropes, bernes, shipnes, dayeryes --
 This maketh that ther ben no fayeryes.
 For ther as wont to walken was an elf
 Ther walketh now the lymytour hymself
 In undermeles and in morwenynges,
 And seyth his matyns and his hooly thynges
 As he gooth in his lymytacioun.
 Wommen may go saufly up and doun.
 In every bussh or under every tree
880 Ther is noon oother incubus but he,
 And he ne wol doon hem but dishonour.
 And so bifel that this kyng Arthour
 Hadde in his hous a lusty bacheler,
 That on a day cam ridynge fro ryver,
 And happed that, allone as he was born,
 He saugh a mayde walkynge hym biforn,
 Of which mayde anon, maugree hir heed,
 By verray force, he rafte hire maydenhed;
 For which oppressioun was swich clamour
890 And swich pursute unto the kyng Arthour
 That dampned was this knyght for to be deed,
 By cours of lawe, and sholde han lost his heed --
 Paraventure swich was the statut tho --
 But that the queene and other ladyes mo
 So longe preyeden the kyng of grace
 Til he his lyf hym graunted in the place,
 And yaf hym to the queene, al at hir wille,
 To chese wheither she wolde hym save or spille.
 The queene thanketh the kyng with al hir myght,
900 And after this thus spak she to the knyght,
 Whan that she saugh hir tyme, upon a day:
 "Thou standest yet," quod she, "in swich array
 That of thy lyf yet hastow no suretee.
 I grante thee lyf, if thou kanst tellen me
 What thyng is it that wommen moost desiren.
 Be war, and keep thy nekke-boon from iren!
 And if thou kanst nat tellen it anon,
 Yet wol I yeve thee leve for to gon
 A twelf-month and a day, to seche and leere
910 An answere suffisant in this mateere;
 And suretee wol I han, er that thou pace,
 Thy body for to yelden in this place."
 Wo was this knyght, and sorwefully he siketh;
 But what! He may nat do al as hym liketh.
 And at the laste he chees hym for to wende
 And come agayn, right at the yeres ende,
 With swich answere as God wolde hym purveye;
 And taketh his leve, and wendeth forth his weye.
 He seketh every hous and every place
920 Where as he hopeth for to fynde grace
 To lerne what thyng wommen loven moost,
 But he ne koude arryven in no coost
 Wher as he myghte fynde in this mateere
 Two creatures accordynge in-feere.
 Somme seyde wommen loven best richesse,
 Somme seyde honour, somme seyde jolynesse,
 Somme riche array, somme seyden lust abedde,
 And oftetyme to be wydwe and wedde.
 Somme seyde that oure hertes been moost esed
930 Whan that we been yflatered and yplesed.
 He gooth ful ny the sothe, I wol nat lye.
 A man shal wynne us best with flaterye,
 And with attendance and with bisynesse
 Been we ylymed, bothe moore and lesse.
 And somme seyen that we loven best
 For to be free and do right as us lest,
 And that no man repreve us of oure vice,
 But seye that we be wise and no thyng nyce.
 For trewely ther is noon of us alle,
940 If any wight wol clawe us on the galle,
 That we nel kike, for he seith us sooth.
 Assay, and he shal fynde it that so dooth;
 For, be we never so vicious withinne,
 We wol been holden wise and clene of synne.
 And somme seyn that greet delit han we
 For to been holden stable, and eek secree,
 And in o purpos stedefastly to dwelle,
 And nat biwreye thyng that men us telle.
 But that tale is nat worth a rake-stele.
950 Pardee, we wommen konne no thyng hele;
 Witnesse on Myda -- wol ye heere the tale?
 Ovyde, amonges othere thynges smale,
 Seyde Myda hadde, under his longe heres,
 Growynge upon his heed two asses eres,
 The whiche vice he hydde as he best myghte
 Ful subtilly from every mannes sighte,
 That, save his wyf, ther wiste of it namo.
 He loved hire moost, and trusted hire also;
 He preyede hire that to no creature
960 She sholde tellen of his disfigure.
 She swoor him, "Nay"; for al this world to wynne,
 She nolde do that vileynye or synne,
 To make hir housbonde han so foul a name.
 She nolde nat telle it for hir owene shame.
 But nathelees, hir thoughte that she dyde
 That she so longe sholde a conseil hyde;
 Hir thoughte it swal so soore aboute hir herte
 That nedely som word hire moste asterte;
 And sith she dorste telle it to no man,
970 Doun to a mareys faste by she ran --
 Til she cam there hir herte was afyre --
 And as a bitore bombleth in the myre,
 She leyde hir mouth unto the water doun:
 "Biwreye me nat, thou water, with thy soun,"
 Quod she; "to thee I telle it and namo;
 Myn housbonde hath longe asses erys two!
 Now is myn herte al hool; now is it oute.
 I myghte no lenger kepe it, out of doute."
 Heere may ye se, thogh we a tyme abyde,
980 Yet out it moot; we kan no conseil hyde.
 The remenant of the tale if ye wol heere,
 Redeth Ovyde, and ther ye may it leere.
 This knyght, of which my tale is specially,
 Whan that he saugh he myghte nat come therby --
 This is to seye, what wommen love moost --
 Withinne his brest ful sorweful was the goost.
 But hoom he gooth; he myghte nat sojourne;
 The day was come that homward moste he tourne.
 And in his wey it happed hym to ryde,
990 In al this care, under a forest syde,
 Wher as he saugh upon a daunce go
 Of ladyes foure and twenty, and yet mo;
 Toward the whiche daunce he drow ful yerne,
 In hope that som wysdom sholde he lerne.
 But certeinly, er he cam fully there,
 Vanysshed was this daunce, he nyste where.
 No creature saugh he that bar lyf,
 Save on the grene he saugh sittynge a wyf --
 A fouler wight ther may no man devyse.
1000 Agayn the knyght this olde wyf gan ryse,
 And seyde, "Sire knyght, heer forth ne lith no wey.
 Tel me what that ye seken, by youre fey!
 Paraventure it may the bettre be;
 Thise olde folk kan muchel thyng," quod she.
 "My leeve mooder," quod this knyght, "certeyn
 I nam but deed but if that I kan seyn
 What thyng it is that wommen moost desire.
 Koude ye me wisse, I wolde wel quite youre hire."
 "Plight me thy trouthe heere in myn hand," quod she,
1010 "The nexte thyng that I requere thee,
 Thou shalt it do, if it lye in thy myght,
 And I wol telle it yow er it be nyght."
 "Have heer my trouthe," quod the knyght, "I grante."
 "Thanne," quod she, "I dar me wel avante
 Thy lyf is sauf, for I wol stonde therby;
 Upon my lyf, the queene wol seye as I.
 Lat se which is the proudeste of hem alle
 That wereth on a coverchief or a calle
 That dar seye nay of that I shal thee teche.
1020 Lat us go forth withouten lenger speche."
 Tho rowned she a pistel in his ere,
 And bad hym to be glad and have no fere.
 Whan they be comen to the court, this knyght
 Seyde he had holde his day, as he hadde hight,
 And redy was his answere, as he sayde.
 Ful many a noble wyf, and many a mayde,
 And many a wydwe, for that they been wise,
 The queene hirself sittynge as a justise,
 Assembled been, his answere for to heere;
1030 And afterward this knyght was bode appeere.
 To every wight comanded was silence,
 And that the knyght sholde telle in audience
 What thyng that worldly wommen loven best.
 This knyght ne stood nat stille as doth a best,
 But to his questioun anon answerde
 With manly voys, that al the court it herde:
 "My lige lady, generally," quod he,
 "Wommen desiren to have sovereynetee
 As wel over hir housbond as hir love,
1040 And for to been in maistrie hym above.
 This is youre mooste desir, thogh ye me kille.
 Dooth as yow list; I am heer at youre wille."
 In al the court ne was ther wyf, ne mayde,
 Ne wydwe that contraried that he sayde,
 But seyden he was worthy han his lyf.
 And with that word up stirte the olde wyf,
 Which that the knyght saugh sittynge on the grene:
 "Mercy," quod she, "my sovereyn lady queene!
 Er that youre court departe, do me right.
1050 I taughte this answere unto the knyght;
 For which he plighte me his trouthe there,
 The firste thyng that I wolde hym requere
 He wolde it do, if it lay in his myghte.
 Bifore the court thanne preye I thee, sir knyght,"
 Quod she, "that thou me take unto thy wyf,
 For wel thou woost that I have kept thy lyf.
 If I seye fals, sey nay, upon thy fey!"
 This knyght answerde, "Allas and weylawey!
 I woot right wel that swich was my biheste.
1060 For Goddes love, as chees a newe requeste!
 Taak al my good and lat my body go."
 "Nay, thanne," quod she, "I shrewe us bothe two!
 For thogh that I be foul, and oold, and poore
 I nolde for al the metal, ne for oore
 That under erthe is grave or lith above,
 But if thy wyf I were, and eek thy love."
 "My love?" quod he, "nay, my dampnacioun!
 Allas, that any of my nacioun
 Sholde evere so foule disparaged be!"
1070 But al for noght; the ende is this, that he
 Constreyned was; he nedes moste hire wedde,
 And taketh his olde wyf, and gooth to bedde.
 Now wolden som men seye, paraventure,
 That for my necligence I do no cure
 To tellen yow the joye and al th' array
 That at the feeste was that ilke day.
 To which thyng shortly answeren I shal:
 I seye ther nas no joye ne feeste at al;
 Ther nas but hevynesse and muche sorwe.
1080 For prively he wedded hire on morwe,
 And al day after hidde hym as an owle,
 So wo was hym, his wyf looked so foule.
 Greet was the wo the knyght hadde in his thoght,
 Whan he was with his wyf abedde ybroght;
 He walweth and he turneth to and fro.
 His olde wyf lay smylynge everemo,
 And seyde, "O deere housbonde, benedicitee!
 Fareth every knyght thus with his wyf as ye?
 Is this the lawe of kyng Arthures hous?
1090 Is every knyght of his so dangerous?
 I am youre owene love and youre wyf;
 I am she which that saved hath youre lyf,
 And, certes, yet ne dide I yow nevere unright;
 Why fare ye thus with me this firste nyght?
 Ye faren lyk a man had lost his wit.
 What is my gilt? For Goddes love, tel it,
 And it shal been amended, if I may."
 "Amended?" quod this knyght, "Allas, nay, nay!
 It wol nat been amended nevere mo.
1100 Thou art so loothly, and so oold also,
 And therto comen of so lough a kynde,
 That litel wonder is thogh I walwe and wynde.
 So wolde God myn herte wolde breste!"
 "Is this," quod she, "the cause of youre unreste?"
 "Ye, certeinly," quod he, "no wonder is."
 "Now, sire," quod she, "I koude amende al this,
 If that me liste, er it were dayes thre,
 So wel ye myghte bere yow unto me.
 "But, for ye speken of swich gentillesse
1110 As is descended out of old richesse,
 That therfore sholden ye be gentil men,
 Swich arrogance is nat worth an hen.
 Looke who that is moost vertuous alway,
 Pryvee and apert, and moost entendeth ay
 To do the gentil dedes that he kan;
 Taak hym for the grettest gentil man.
 Crist wole we clayme of hym oure gentillesse,
 Nat of oure eldres for hire old richesse.
 For thogh they yeve us al hir heritage,
1120 For which we clayme to been of heigh parage,
 Yet may they nat biquethe for no thyng
 To noon of us hir vertuous lyvyng,
 That made hem gentil men ycalled be,
 And bad us folwen hem in swich degree.
 "Wel kan the wise poete of Florence,
 That highte Dant, speken in this sentence.
 Lo, in swich maner rym is Dantes tale:
 `Ful selde up riseth by his branches smale
 Prowesse of man, for God, of his goodnesse,
1130 Wole that of hym we clayme oure gentillesse';
 For of oure eldres may we no thyng clayme
 But temporel thyng, that man may hurte and mayme.
 "Eek every wight woot this as wel as I,
 If gentillesse were planted natureelly
 Unto a certeyn lynage doun the lyne,
 Pryvee and apert thanne wolde they nevere fyne
 To doon of gentillesse the faire office;
 They myghte do no vileynye or vice.
 "Taak fyr and ber it in the derkeste hous
1140 Bitwix this and the mount of Kaukasous,
 And lat men shette the dores and go thenne;
 Yet wole the fyr as faire lye and brenne
 As twenty thousand men myghte it biholde;
 His office natureel ay wol it holde,
 Up peril of my lyf, til that it dye.
 "Heere may ye se wel how that genterye
 Is nat annexed to possessioun,
 Sith folk ne doon hir operacioun
 Alwey, as dooth the fyr, lo, in his kynde.
1150 For, God it woot, men may wel often fynde
 A lordes sone do shame and vileynye;
 And he that wole han pris of his gentrye,
 For he was boren of a gentil hous
 And hadde his eldres noble and vertuous,
 And nel hymselven do no gentil dedis
 Ne folwen his gentil auncestre that deed is,
 He nys nat gentil, be he duc or erl,
 For vileyns synful dedes make a cherl.
 For gentillesse nys but renomee
1160 Of thyne auncestres, for hire heigh bountee,
 Which is a strange thyng to thy persone.
 Thy gentillesse cometh fro God allone.
 Thanne comth oure verray gentillesse of grace;
 It was no thyng biquethe us with oure place.
 "Thenketh hou noble, as seith Valerius,
 Was thilke Tullius Hostillius,
 That out of poverte roos to heigh noblesse.
 Reedeth Senek, and redeth eek Boece;
 Ther shul ye seen expres that it no drede is
1170 That he is gentil that dooth gentil dedis.
 And therfore, leeve housbonde, I thus conclude:
 Al were it that myne auncestres were rude,
 Yet may the hye God, and so hope I,
 Grante me grace to lyven vertuously.
 Thanne am I gentil, whan that I bigynne
 To lyven vertuously and weyve synne.
 "And ther as ye of poverte me repreeve,
 The hye God, on whom that we bileeve,
 In wilful poverte chees to lyve his lyf.
1180 And certes every man, mayden, or wyf
 May understonde that Jhesus, hevene kyng,
 Ne wolde nat chese a vicious lyvyng.
 Glad poverte is an honest thyng, certeyn;
 This wole Senec and othere clerkes seyn.
 Whoso that halt hym payd of his poverte,
 I holde hym riche, al hadde he nat a sherte.
 He that coveiteth is a povre wight,
 For he wolde han that is nat in his myght;
 But he that noght hath, ne coveiteth have,
1190 Is riche, although ye holde hym but a knave.
 Verray poverte, it syngeth proprely;
 Juvenal seith of poverte myrily:
 `The povre man, whan he goth by the weye,
 Bifore the theves he may synge and pleye.'
 Poverte is hateful good and, as I gesse,
 A ful greet bryngere out of bisynesse;
 A greet amendere eek of sapience
 To hym that taketh it in pacience.
 Poverte is this, although it seme alenge:
1200 Possessioun that no wight wol chalenge.
 Poverte ful ofte, whan a man is lowe,
 Maketh his God and eek hymself to knowe.
 Poverte a spectacle is, as thynketh me,
 Thurgh which he may his verray freendes see.
 And therfore, sire, syn that I noght yow greve,
 Of my poverte namoore ye me repreve.
 "Now, sire, of elde ye repreve me;
 And certes, sire, thogh noon auctoritee
 Were in no book, ye gentils of honour
1210 Seyn that men sholde an oold wight doon favour
 And clepe hym fader, for youre gentillesse;
 And auctours shal I fynden, as I gesse.
 "Now ther ye seye that I am foul and old,
 Than drede you noght to been a cokewold;
 For filthe and eelde, also moot I thee,
 Been grete wardeyns upon chastitee.
 But nathelees, syn I knowe youre delit,
 I shal fulfille youre worldly appetit.
 "Chese now," quod she, "oon of thise thynges tweye:
1220 To han me foul and old til that I deye,
 And be to yow a trewe, humble wyf,
 And nevere yow displese in al my lyf,
 Or elles ye wol han me yong and fair,
 And take youre aventure of the repair
 That shal be to youre hous by cause of me,
 Or in som oother place, may wel be.
 Now chese yourselven, wheither that yow liketh."
 This knyght avyseth hym and sore siketh,
 But atte laste he seyde in this manere:
1230 "My lady and my love, and wyf so deere,
 I put me in youre wise governance;
 Cheseth youreself which may be moost plesance
 And moost honour to yow and me also.
 I do no fors the wheither of the two,
 For as yow liketh, it suffiseth me."
 "Thanne have I gete of yow maistrie," quod she,
 "Syn I may chese and governe as me lest?"
 "Ye, certes, wyf," quod he, "I holde it best."
 "Kys me," quod she, "we be no lenger wrothe,
1240 For, by my trouthe, I wol be to yow bothe --
 This is to seyn, ye, bothe fair and good.
 I prey to God that I moote sterven wood,
 But I to yow be also good and trewe
 As evere was wyf, syn that the world was newe.
 And but I be to-morn as fair to seene
 As any lady, emperice, or queene,
 That is bitwixe the est and eke the west,
 Dooth with my lyf and deth right as yow lest.
 Cast up the curtyn, looke how that it is."
1250 And whan the knyght saugh verraily al this,
 That she so fair was, and so yong therto,
 For joye he hente hire in his armes two.
 His herte bathed in a bath of blisse.
 A thousand tyme a-rewe he gan hire kisse,
 And she obeyed hym in every thyng
 That myghte doon hym plesance or likyng.
 And thus they lyve unto hir lyves ende
 In parfit joye; and Jhesu Crist us sende
 Housbondes meeke, yonge, and fressh abedde,
1260 And grace t' overbyde hem that we wedde;
 And eek I praye Jhesu shorte hir lyves
 That noght wol be governed by hir wyves;
 And olde and angry nygardes of dispence,
 God sende hem soone verray pestilence!

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Friar's Prologue

 This worthy lymytour, this noble Frere,
 He made alwey a maner louryng chiere
 Upon the Somonour, but for honestee
 No vileyns word as yet to hym spak he.
 But atte laste he seyde unto the wyf,
1270 "Dame," quod he, "God yeve yow right good lyf!
 Ye han heer touched, also moot I thee,
 In scole-matere greet difficultee.
 Ye han seyd muche thyng right wel, I seye;
 But, dame, heere as we ryde by the weye,
 Us nedeth nat to speken but of game,
 And lete auctoritees, on Goddes name,
 To prechyng and to scoles of clergye.
 But if it lyke to this compaignye,
 I wol yow of a somonour telle a game.
1280 Pardee, ye may wel knowe by the name
 That of a somonour may no good be sayd;
 I praye that noon of you be yvele apayd.
 A somonour is a rennere up and doun
 With mandementz for fornicacioun,
 And is ybet at every townes ende."
 Oure Hoost tho spak, "A, sire, ye sholde be hende
 And curteys, as a man of youre estaat;
 In compaignye we wol have no debaat.
 Telleth youre tale, and lat the Somonour be."
1290 "Nay," quod the Somonour, "lat hym seye to me
 What so hym list; whan it comth to my lot,
 By God, I shal hym quiten every grot.
 I shal hym tellen which a greet honour
 It is to be a flaterynge lymytour,
 And of many another manere cryme
 Which nedeth nat rehercen at this tyme;
 And his office I shal hym telle, ywis."
 Oure Hoost answerde, "Pees, namoore of this!"
 And after this he seyde unto the Frere,
1300 "Tel forth youre tale, leeve maister deere."

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Friar's Tale

 Whilom ther was dwellynge in my contree
 An erchedeken, a man of heigh degree,
 That boldely dide execucioun
 In punysshynge of fornicacioun,
 Of wicchecraft, and eek of bawderye,
 Of diffamacioun, and avowtrye,
 Of chirche reves, and of testamentz,
 Of contractes and of lakke of sacramentz,
 Of usure, and of symonye also.
1310 But certes, lecchours dide he grettest wo;
 They sholde syngen if that they were hent;
 And smale tytheres weren foule yshent,
 If any persoun wolde upon hem pleyne.
 Ther myghte asterte hym no pecunyal peyne.
 For smale tithes and for smal offrynge
 He made the peple pitously to synge,
 For er the bisshop caughte hem with his hook,
 They weren in the erchedeknes book.
 Thanne hadde he, thurgh his jurisdiccioun,
1320 Power to doon on hem correccioun.
 He hadde a somonour redy to his hond;
 A slyer boye nas noon in Engelond;
 For subtilly he hadde his espiaille,
 That taughte hym wel wher that hym myghte availle.
 He koude spare of lecchours oon or two,
 To techen hym to foure and twenty mo.
 For thogh this Somonour wood were as an hare,
 To telle his harlotrye I wol nat spare;
 For we been out of his correccioun.
1330 They han of us no jurisdiccioun,
 Ne nevere shullen, terme of alle hir lyves.
 "Peter! so been wommen of the styves,"
 Quod the Somonour, "yput out of oure cure!"
 "Pees! with myschance and with mysaventure!"
 Thus seyde oure Hoost, "and lat hym telle his tale.
 Now telleth forth, thogh that the Somonour gale;
 Ne spareth nat, myn owene maister deere."
 This false theef, this somonour, quod the Frere,
 Hadde alwey bawdes redy to his hond,
1340 As any hauk to lure in Engelond,
 That tolde hym al the secree that they knewe,
 For hire acqueyntance was nat come of newe.
 They weren his approwours prively.
 He took hymself a greet profit therby;
 His maister knew nat alwey what he wan.
 Withouten mandement a lewed man
 He koude somne, on peyne of Cristes curs,
 And they were glade for to fille his purs
 And make hym grete feestes atte nale.
1350 And right as Judas hadde purses smale,
 And was a theef, right swich a theef was he;
 His maister hadde but half his duetee.
 He was, if I shal yeven hym his laude,
 A theef, and eek a somnour, and a baude.
 He hadde eek wenches at his retenue,
 That, wheither that sir Robert or sir Huwe,
 Or Jakke, or Rauf, or whoso that it were
 That lay by hem, they tolde it in his ere.
 Thus was the wenche and he of oon assent,
1360 And he wolde fecche a feyned mandement,
 And somne hem to chapitre bothe two,
 And pile the man, and lete the wenche go.
 Thanne wolde he seye, "Freend, I shal for thy sake
 Do striken hire out of oure lettres blake;
 Thee thar namoore as in this cas travaille.
 I am thy freend, ther I thee may availle."
 Certeyn he knew of briberyes mo
 Than possible is to telle in yeres two.
 For in this world nys dogge for the bowe
1370 That kan an hurt deer from an hool yknowe
 Bet than this somnour knew a sly lecchour,
 Or an avowtier, or a paramour.
 And for that was the fruyt of al his rente,
 Therfore on it he sette al his entente.
 And so bifel that ones on a day
 This somnour, evere waityng on his pray,
 Rood for to somne an old wydwe, a ribibe,
 Feynynge a cause, for he wolde brybe.
 And happed that he saugh bifore hym ryde
1380 A gay yeman, under a forest syde.
 A bowe he bar, and arwes brighte and kene;
 He hadde upon a courtepy of grene,
 An hat upon his heed with frenges blake.
 "Sire," quod this somnour, "hayl, and wel atake!"
 "Welcome," quod he, "and every good felawe!
 Wher rydestow, under this grene-wode shawe?"
 Seyde this yeman, "Wiltow fer to day?"
 This somnour hym answerde and seyde, "Nay;
 Heere faste by," quod he, "is myn entente
1390 To ryden, for to reysen up a rente
 That longeth to my lordes duetee."
 "Artow thanne a bailly?" "Ye," quod he.
 He dorste nat, for verray filthe and shame
 Seye that he was a somonour, for the name.
 "Depardieux," quod this yeman, "deere broother,
 Thou art a bailly, and I am another.
 I am unknowen as in this contree;
 Of thyn aqueyntance I wolde praye thee,
 And eek of bretherhede, if that yow leste.
1400 I have gold and silver in my cheste;
 If that thee happe to comen in oure shire,
 Al shal be thyn, right as thou wolt desire."
 "Grant mercy," quod this somonour, "by my feith!"
 Everych in ootheres hand his trouthe leith,
 For to be sworne bretheren til they deye.
 In daliance they ryden forth and pleye.
 This somonour, which that was as ful of jangles
 As ful of venym been thise waryangles
 And evere enqueryng upon every thyng,
1410 "Brother," quod he, "where is now youre dwellyng
 Another day if that I sholde yow seche?"
 This yeman hym answerde in softe speche,
 "Brother," quod he, "fer in the north contree,
 Whereas I hope som tyme I shal thee see.
 Er we departe, I shal thee so wel wisse
 That of myn hous ne shaltow nevere mysse."
 "Now, brother," quod this somonour, "I yow preye,
 Teche me, whil that we ryden by the weye,
 Syn that ye been a baillif as am I,
1420 Som subtiltee, and tel me feithfully
 In myn office how that I may moost wynne;
 And spareth nat for conscience ne synne,
 But as my brother tel me, how do ye."
 "Now, by my trouthe, brother deere," seyde he,
 "As I shal tellen thee a feithful tale,
 My wages been ful streite and ful smale.
 My lord is hard to me and daungerous,
 And myn office is ful laborous,
 And therfore by extorcions I lyve.
1430 For sothe, I take al that men wol me yive.
 Algate, by sleyghte or by violence,
 Fro yeer to yeer I wynne al my dispence.
 I kan no bettre telle, feithfully."
 "Now certes," quod this Somonour, "so fare I.
 I spare nat to taken, God it woot,
 But if it be to hevy or to hoot.
 What I may gete in conseil prively,
 No maner conscience of that have I.
 Nere myn extorcioun, I myghte nat lyven,
1440 Ne of swiche japes wol I nat be shryven.
 Stomak ne conscience ne knowe I noon;
 I shrewe thise shrifte-fadres everychoon.
 Wel be we met, by God and by Seint Jame!
 But, leeve brother, tel me thanne thy name,"
 Quod this somonour. In this meene while
 This yeman gan a litel for to smyle.
 "Brother," quod he, "wiltow that I thee telle?
 I am a feend; my dwellyng is in helle,
 And heere I ryde aboute my purchasyng,
1450 To wite wher men wol yeve me any thyng.
 My purchas is th' effect of al my rente.
 Looke how thou rydest for the same entente,
 To wynne good, thou rekkest nevere how;
 Right so fare I, for ryde wolde I now
 Unto the worldes ende for a preye."
 "A!" quod this somonour, "benedicite! What sey ye?
 I wende ye were a yeman trewely.
 Ye han a mannes shap as wel as I;
 Han ye a figure thanne determinat
1460 In helle, ther ye been in youre estat?"
 "Nay, certeinly," quod he, "ther have we noon;
 But whan us liketh we kan take us oon,
 Or elles make yow seme we been shape;
 Somtyme lyk a man, or lyk an ape,
 Or lyk an angel kan I ryde or go.
 It is no wonder thyng thogh it be so;
 A lowsy jogelour kan deceyve thee,
 And pardee, yet kan I moore craft than he."
 "Why," quod this somonour, "ryde ye thanne or goon
1470 In sondry shap, and nat alwey in oon?"
 "For we," quod he, "wol us swiche formes make
 As moost able is oure preyes for to take."
 "What maketh yow to han al this labour?"
 "Ful many a cause, leeve sire somonour,"
 Seyde this feend, "but alle thyng hath tyme.
 The day is short, and it is passed pryme,
 And yet ne wan I nothyng in this day.
 I wol entende to wynnyng, if I may,
 And nat entende oure wittes to declare.
1480 For, brother myn, thy wit is al to bare
 To understonde, althogh I tolde hem thee.
 But, for thou axest why labouren we --
 For somtyme we been Goddes instrumentz
 And meenes to doon his comandementz,
 Whan that hym list, upon his creatures,
 In divers art and in diverse figures.
 Withouten hym we have no myght, certayn,
 If that hym list to stonden ther-agayn.
 And somtyme, at oure prayere, han we leve
1490 Oonly the body and nat the soule greve;
 Witnesse on Job, whom that we diden wo.
 And somtyme han we myght of bothe two --
 This is to seyn, of soule and body eke.
 And somtyme be we suffred for to seke
 Upon a man and doon his soule unreste
 And nat his body, and al is for the beste.
 Whan he withstandeth oure temptacioun,
 It is a cause of his savacioun,
 Al be it that it was nat oure entente
1500 He sholde be sauf, but that we wolde hym hente.
 And somtyme be we servant unto man,
 As to the erchebisshop Seint Dunstan,
 And to the apostles servant eek was I."
 "Yet tel me," quod the somonour, "feithfully,
 Make ye yow newe bodies thus alway
 Of elementz?" The feend answerde, "Nay.
 Somtyme we feyne, and somtyme we aryse
 With dede bodyes, in ful sondry wyse,
 And speke as renably and faire and wel
1510 As to the Phitonissa dide Samuel.
 (And yet wol som men seye it was nat he;
 I do no fors of youre dyvynytee.)
 But o thyng warne I thee, I wol nat jape:
 Thou wolt algates wite how we been shape;
 Thou shalt herafterward, my brother deere,
 Come there thee nedeth nat of me to leere,
 For thou shalt, by thyn owene experience,
 Konne in a chayer rede of this sentence
 Bet than Virgile, while he was on lyve,
1520 Or Dant also. Now lat us ryde blyve,
 For I wole holde compaignye with thee
 Til it be so that thou forsake me."
 "Nay," quod this somonour, "that shal nat bityde!
 I am a yeman, knowen is ful wyde;
 My trouthe wol I holde, as in this cas.
 For though thou were the devel Sathanas,
 My trouthe wol I holde to my brother,
 As I am sworn, and ech of us til oother,
 For to be trewe brother in this cas;
1530 And bothe we goon abouten oure purchas.
 Taak thou thy part, what that men wol thee yive,
 And I shal myn; thus may we bothe lyve.
 And if that any of us have moore than oother,
 Lat hym be trewe and parte it with his brother."
 "I graunte," quod the devel, "by my fey."
 And with that word they ryden forth hir wey.
 And right at the entryng of the townes ende,
 To which this somonour shoop hym for to wende,
 They saugh a cart that charged was with hey,
1540 Which that a cartere droof forth in his wey.
 Deep was the wey, for which the carte stood.
 The cartere smoot and cryde as he were wood,
 "Hayt, Brok! Hayt, Scot! What spare ye for the stones?
 The feend," quod he, "yow fecche, body and bones,
 As ferforthly as evere were ye foled,
 So muche wo as I have with yow tholed!
 The devel have al, bothe hors and cart and hey!"
 This somonour seyde, "Heere shal we have a pley."
 And neer the feend he drough, as noght ne were,
1550 Ful prively, and rowned in his ere:
 "Herkne, my brother, herkne, by thy feith!
 Herestow nat how that the cartere seith?
 Hent it anon, for he hath yeve it thee,
 Bothe hey and cart, and eek his caples thre."
 "Nay," quod the devel, "God woot, never a deel!
 It is nat his entente, trust me weel.
 Axe hym thyself, if thou nat trowest me;
 Or elles stynt a while, and thou shalt see."
 This cartere thakketh his hors upon the croupe,
1560 And they bigonne to drawen and to stoupe.
 "Heyt! Now," quod he, "ther Jhesu Crist yow blesse,
 And al his handwerk, bothe moore and lesse!
 That was wel twight, myn owene lyard boy.
 I pray God save thee, and Seinte Loy!
 Now is my cart out of the slow, pardee!"
 "Lo, brother," quod the feend, "what tolde I thee?
 Heere may ye se, myn owene deere brother,
 The carl spak oo thing, but he thoghte another.
 Lat us go forth abouten oure viage;
1570 Heere wynne I nothyng upon cariage."
 Whan that they coomen somwhat out of towne,
 This somonour to his brother gan to rowne:
 "Brother," quod he, "heere woneth an old rebekke
 That hadde almoost as lief to lese hire nekke
 As for to yeve a peny of hir good.
 I wole han twelf pens, though that she be wood,
 Or I wol sompne hire unto oure office;
 And yet, God woot, of hire knowe I no vice.
 But for thou kanst nat, as in this contree,
1580 Wynne thy cost, taak heer ensample of me."
 This somonour clappeth at the wydwes gate.
 "Com out," quod he, "thou olde virytrate!
 I trowe thou hast som frere or preest with thee."
 "Who clappeth?" seyde this wyf, "benedicitee!
 God save you, sire, what is youre sweete wille?"
 "I have," quod he, "of somonce here a bille;
 Up peyne of cursyng, looke that thou be
 Tomorn bifore the erchedeknes knee
 T' answere to the court of certeyn thynges."
1590 "Now, Lord," quod she, "Crist Jhesu, kyng of kynges,
 So wisly helpe me, as I ne may.
 I have been syk, and that ful many a day.
 I may nat go so fer," quod she, "ne ryde,
 But I be deed, so priketh it in my syde.
 May I nat axe a libel, sire somonour,
 And answere there by my procuratour
 To swich thyng as men wole opposen me?"
 "Yis," quod this somonour, "pay anon -- lat se --
 Twelf pens to me, and I wol thee acquite.
1600 I shal no profit han therby but lite;
 My maister hath the profit and nat I.
 Com of, and lat me ryden hastily;
 Yif me twelf pens, I may no lenger tarye."
 "Twelf pens!" quod she, "Now, lady Seinte Marie
 So wisly help me out of care and synne,
 This wyde world thogh that I sholde wynne,
 Ne have I nat twelf pens withinne myn hoold.
 Ye knowen wel that I am povre and oold;
 Kithe youre almesse on me, povre wrecche."
1610 "Nay thanne," quod he, "the foule feend me fecche
 If I th' excuse, though thou shul be spilt!"
 "Allas!" quod she, "God woot, I have no gilt."
 "Pay me," quod he, "or by the sweete Seinte Anne,
 As I wol bere awey thy newe panne
 For dette which thou owest me of old.
 Whan that thou madest thyn housbonde cokewold,
 I payde at hoom for thy correccioun."
 "Thou lixt!" quod she, "by my savacioun,
 Ne was I nevere er now, wydwe ne wyf,
1620 Somoned unto youre court in al my lyf;
 Ne nevere I nas but of my body trewe!
 Unto the devel blak and rough of hewe
 Yeve I thy body and my panne also!"
 And whan the devel herde hire cursen so
 Upon hir knees, he seyde in this manere,
 "Now, Mabely, myn owene mooder deere,
 Is this youre wyl in ernest that ye seye?"
 "The devel," quod she, "so fecche hym er he deye,
 And panne and al, but he wol hym repente!"
1630 "Nay, olde stot, that is nat myn entente,"
 Quod this somonour, "for to repente me
 For any thyng that I have had of thee.
 I wolde I hadde thy smok and every clooth!"
 "Now, brother," quod the devel, "be nat wrooth;
 Thy body and this panne been myne by right.
 Thou shalt with me to helle yet tonyght,
 Where thou shalt knowen of oure privetee
 Moore than a maister of dyvynytee."
 And with that word this foule feend hym hente;
1640 Body and soule he with the devel wente
 Where as that somonours han hir heritage.
 And God, that maked after his ymage
 Mankynde, save and gyde us, alle and some,
 And leve thise somonours goode men bicome!
 Lordynges, I koude han toold yow, quod this Frere,
 Hadde I had leyser for this Somnour heere,
 After the text of Crist, Poul, and John,
 And of oure othere doctours many oon,
 Swiche peynes that youre hertes myghte agryse,
1650 Al be it so no tonge may it devyse,
 Thogh that I myghte a thousand wynter telle
 The peynes of thilke cursed hous of helle.
 But for to kepe us fro that cursed place,
 Waketh and preyeth Jhesu for his grace
 So kepe us fro the temptour Sathanas.
 Herketh this word! Beth war, as in this cas:
 "The leoun sit in his awayt alway
 To sle the innocent, if that he may."
 Disposeth ay youre hertes to withstonde
1660 The feend, that yow wolde make thral and bonde.
 He may nat tempte yow over youre myght,
 For Crist wol be youre champion and knyght.
 And prayeth that thise somonours hem repente
 Of hir mysdedes, er that the feend hem hente!

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Summoner's Prologue

 This Somonour in his styropes hye stood;
 Upon this Frere his herte was so wood
 That lyk an aspen leef he quook for ire.
 "Lordynges," quod he, "but o thyng I desire;
 I yow biseke that, of youre curteisye,
1670 Syn ye han herd this false Frere lye,
 As suffreth me I may my tale telle.
 This Frere bosteth that he knoweth helle,
 And God it woot, that it is litel wonder;
 Freres and feendes been but lyte asonder.
 For, pardee, ye han ofte tyme herd telle
 How that a frere ravysshed was to helle
 In spirit ones by a visioun;
 And as an angel ladde hym up and doun,
 To shewen hym the peynes that ther were,
1680 In al the place saugh he nat a frere;
 Of oother folk he saugh ynowe in wo.
 Unto this angel spak the frere tho:
 `Now, sire,' quod he, `han freres swich a grace
 That noon of hem shal come to this place?'
 `Yis' quod this angel, `many a millioun!'
 And unto Sathanas he ladde hym doun.
 `And now hath Sathanas,' seith he, `a tayl
 Brodder than of a carryk is the sayl.
 Hold up thy tayl, thou Sathanas!' quod he;
1690 `Shewe forth thyn ers, and lat the frere se
 Where is the nest of freres in this place!'
 And er that half a furlong wey of space,
 Right so as bees out swarmen from an hyve,
 Out of the develes ers ther gonne dryve
 Twenty thousand freres on a route,
 And thurghout helle swarmed al aboute,
 And comen agayn as faste as they may gon,
 And in his ers they crepten everychon.
 He clapte his tayl agayn and lay ful stille.
1700 This frere, whan he looked hadde his fille
 Upon the tormentz of this sory place,
 His spirit God restored, of his grace,
 Unto his body agayn, and he awook.
 But natheles, for fere yet he quook,
 So was the develes ers ay in his mynde,
 That is his heritage of verray kynde.
 God save yow alle, save this cursed Frere!
 My prologe wol I ende in this manere."

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Summoner's Tale

 Lordynges, ther is in Yorkshire, as I gesse,
1710 A mersshy contree called Holdernesse,
 In which ther wente a lymytour aboute
 To preche, and eek to begge, it is no doute.
 And so bifel that on a day this frere
 Hadde preched at a chirche in his manere,
 And specially, aboven every thyng,
 Excited he the peple in his prechyng
 To trentals, and to yeve, for Goddes sake,
 Wherwith men myghte hooly houses make,
 Ther as divine servyce is honoured,
1720 Nat ther as it is wasted and devoured,
 Ne ther it nedeth nat for to be yive,
 As to possessioners, that mowen lyve,
 Thanked be God, in wele and habundaunce.
 "Trentals," seyde he, "deliveren fro penaunce
 Hir freendes soules, as wel olde as yonge --
 Ye, whan that they been hastily ysonge,
 Nat for to holde a preest joly and gay --
 He syngeth nat but o masse in a day.
 Delivereth out," quod he, "anon the soules!
1730 Ful hard it is with flesshhook or with oules
 To been yclawed, or to brenne or bake.
 Now spede yow hastily, for Cristes sake!"
 And whan this frere had seyd al his entente,
 With qui cum patre forth his wey he wente.
 Whan folk in chirche had yeve him what hem leste,
 He wente his wey; no lenger wolde he reste.
 With scrippe and tipped staf, ytukked hye,
 In every hous he gan to poure and prye,
 And beggeth mele and chese, or elles corn.
1740 His felawe hadde a staf tipped with horn,
 A peyre of tables al of yvory,
 And a poyntel polysshed fetisly,
 And wroot the names alwey, as he stood,
 Of alle folk that yaf hym any good,
 Ascaunces that he wolde for hem preye.
 "Yif us a busshel whete, malt, or reye,
 A Goddes kechyl, or a trype of chese,
 Or elles what yow lyst, we may nat cheese;
 A Goddes halfpeny, or a masse peny,
1750 Or yif us of youre brawn, if ye have eny;
 A dagon of youre blanket, leeve dame,
 Oure suster deere -- lo! Heere I write youre name --
 Bacon or beef, or swich thyng as ye fynde."
 A sturdy harlot wente ay hem bihynde,
 That was hir hostes man, and bar a sak,
 And what men yaf hem, leyde it on his bak.
 And whan that he was out at dore, anon
 He planed awey the names everichon
 That he biforn had writen in his tables;
1760 He served hem with nyfles and with fables.
 "Nay, ther thou lixt, thou Somonour!" quod the Frere.
 "Pees," quod oure Hoost, "for Cristes mooder deere!
 Tel forth thy tale, and spare it nat at al."
 "So thryve I," quod this Somonour, "so I shal!"
 So longe he wente, hous by hous, til he
 Cam til an hous ther he was wont to be
 Refresshed moore than in an hundred placis.
 Syk lay the goode man whos that the place is;
 Bedrede upon a couche lowe he lay.
1770 "Deus hic!" quod he, "O Thomas, freend, good day!"
 Seyde this frere, curteisly and softe.
 "Thomas," quod he, "God yelde yow! Ful ofte
 Have I upon this bench faren ful weel;
 Heere have I eten many a myrie meel."
 And fro the bench he droof awey the cat,
 And leyde adoun his potente and his hat,
 And eek his scrippe, and sette hym softe adoun.
 His felawe was go walked into toun
 Forth with his knave, into that hostelrye
1780 Where as he shoop hym thilke nyght to lye.
 "O deere maister," quod this sike man,
 "How han ye fare sith that March bigan?
 I saugh yow noght this fourtenyght or moore."
 "God woot," quod he, "laboured I have ful soore,
 And specially for thy savacion
 Have I seyd many a precious orison,
 And for oure othere freendes, God hem blesse!
 I have to day been at youre chirche at messe,
 And seyd a sermon after my symple wit --
1790 Nat al after the text of hooly writ,
 For it is hard to yow, as I suppose,
 And therfore wol I teche yow al the glose.
 Glosynge is a glorious thyng, certeyn,
 For lettre sleeth, so as we clerkes seyn --
 There have I taught hem to be charitable,
 And spende hir good ther it is resonable;
 And there I saugh oure dame -- A! Where is she?"
 "Yond in the yerd I trowe that she be,"
 Seyde this man, "and she wol come anon."
1800 "Ey, maister, welcome be ye, by Seint John!"
 Seyde this wyf, "How fare ye, hertely?"
 The frere ariseth up ful curteisly,
 And hire embraceth in his armes narwe,
 And kiste hire sweete, and chirketh as a sparwe
 With his lyppes: "Dame," quod he, "right weel,
 As he that is youre servant every deel,
 Thanked be God, that yow yaf soule and lyf!
 Yet saugh I nat this day so fair a wyf
 In al the chirche, God so save me!"
1810 "Ye, God amende defautes, sire," quod she.
 "Algates, welcome be ye, by my fey!"
 "Graunt mercy, dame, this have I founde alwey.
 But of youre grete goodnesse, by youre leve,
 I wolde prey yow that ye nat yow greve,
 I wole with Thomas speke a litel throwe.
 Thise curatz been ful necligent and slowe
 To grope tendrely a conscience
 In shrift; in prechyng is my diligence,
 And studie in Petres wordes and in Poules.
1820 I walke and fisshe Cristen mennes soules
 To yelden Jhesu Crist his propre rente;
 To sprede his word is set al myn entente."
 "Now, by youre leve, o deere sire," quod she,
 "Chideth him weel, for seinte Trinitee!
 He is as angry as a pissemyre,
 Though that he have al that he kan desire;
 Though I hym wrye a-nyght and make hym warm,
 And over hym leye my leg outher myn arm,
 He groneth lyk oure boor, lith in oure sty.
1830 Oother desport right noon of hym have I;
 I may nat plese hym in no maner cas."
 "O Thomas, je vous dy, Thomas! Thomas!
 This maketh the feend; this moste ben amended.
 Ire is a thyng that hye God defended,
 And therof wol I speke a word or two."
 "Now, maister," quod the wyf, "er that I go,
 What wol ye dyne? I wol go theraboute."
 "Now, dame," quod he, "now je vous dy sanz doute,
 Have I nat of a capon but the lyvere,
1840 And of youre softe breed nat but a shyvere,
 And after that a rosted pigges heed --
 But that I nolde no beest for me were deed --
 Thanne hadde I with yow hoomly suffisaunce.
 I am a man of litel sustenaunce;
 My spirit hath his fostryng in the Bible.
 The body is ay so redy and penyble
 To wake, that my stomak is destroyed.
 I prey yow, dame, ye be nat anoyed,
 Though I so freendly yow my conseil shewe.
1850 By God! I wolde nat telle it but a fewe."
 "Now, sire," quod she, "but o word er I go.
 My child is deed withinne thise wykes two,
 Soone after that ye wente out of this toun."
 "His deeth saugh I by revelacioun,"
 Seide this frere, "at hoom in oure dortour.
 I dar wel seyn that, er that half an hour
 After his deeth, I saugh hym born to blisse
 In myn avision, so God me wisse!
 So dide oure sexteyn and oure fermerer,
1860 That han been trewe freres fifty yeer;
 They may now -- God be thanked of his loone! --
 Maken hir jubilee and walke allone.
 And up I roos, and al oure covent eke,
 With many a teere trillyng on my cheke,
 Withouten noyse or claterynge of belles;
 Te Deum was oure song, and nothyng elles,
 Save that to Crist I seyde an orison,
 Thankynge hym of his revelacion.
 For, sire and dame, trusteth me right weel,
1870 Oure orisons been moore effectueel,
 And moore we seen of Cristes secree thynges,
 Than burel folk, although they weren kynges.
 We lyve in poverte and in abstinence,
 And burell folk in richesse and despence
 Of mete and drynke, and in hir foul delit.
 We han this worldes lust al in despit.
 Lazar and Dives lyveden diversly,
 And divers gerdon hadden they therby.
 Whoso wol preye, he moot faste and be clene,
1880 And fatte his soule, and make his body lene.
 We fare as seith th' apostle; clooth and foode
 Suffisen us, though they be nat ful goode.
 The clennesse and the fastynge of us freres
 Maketh that Crist accepteth oure preyeres.
 "Lo, Moyses fourty dayes and fourty nyght
 Fasted, er that the heighe God of myght
 Spak with hym in the mountayne of Synay.
 With empty wombe, fastynge many a day,
 Receyved he the lawe that was writen
1890 With Goddes fynger; and Elye, wel ye witen,
 In mount Oreb, er he hadde any speche
 With hye God, that is oure lyves leche,
 He fasted longe and was in contemplaunce.
 "Aaron, that hadde the temple in governaunce,
 And eek the othere preestes everichon,
 Into the temple whan they sholde gon
 To preye for the peple and do servyse,
 They nolden drynken in no maner wyse
 No drynke which that myghte hem dronke make,
1900 But there in abstinence preye and wake,
 Lest that they deyden. Taak heede what I seye!
 But they be sobre that for the peple preye,
 War that -- I seye namoore, for it suffiseth.
 "Oure Lord Jhesu, as hooly writ devyseth,
 Yaf us ensample of fastynge and preyeres.
 Therfore we mendynantz, we sely freres,
 Been wedded to poverte and continence,
 To charite, humblesse, and abstinence,
 To persecucioun for rightwisnesse,
1910 To wepynge, misericorde, and clennesse.
 And therfore may ye se that oure preyeres --
 I speke of us, we mendynantz, we freres --
 Been to the hye God moore acceptable
 Than youres, with youre feestes at the table.
 Fro Paradys first, if I shal nat lye,
 Was man out chaced for his glotonye;
 And chaast was man in Paradys, certeyn.
 "But herkne now, Thomas, what I shal seyn.
 I ne have no text of it, as I suppose,
1920 But I shal fynde it in a maner glose,
 That specially oure sweete Lord Jhesus
 Spak this by freres, whan he seyde thus:
 `Blessed be they that povere in spirit been.'
 And so forth al the gospel may ye seen,
 Wher it be likker oure professioun,
 Or hirs that swymmen in possessioun.
 Fy on hire pompe and on hire glotonye!
 And for hir lewednesse I hem diffye.
 "Me thynketh they been lyk Jovinyan,
1930 Fat as a whale, and walkynge as a swan,
 Al vinolent as botel in the spence.
 Hir preyere is of ful greet reverence,
 Whan they for soules seye the psalm of Davit:
 Lo, `buf!' they seye, `cor meum eructavit!'
 Who folweth Cristes gospel and his foore,
 But we that humble been, and chaast, and poore,
 Werkeris of Goddes word, nat auditours?
 Therfore, right as an hauk up at a sours
 Up springeth into th' eir, right so prayeres
1940 Of charitable and chaste bisy freres
 Maken hir sours to Goddes eres two.
 Thomas, Thomas! So moote I ryde or go,
 And by that lord that clepid is Seint Yve,
 Nere thou oure brother, sholdestou nat thryve.
 In our chapitre praye we day and nyght
 To Crist, that he thee sende heele and myght
 Thy body for to weelden hastily."
 "God woot," quod he, "no thyng therof feele I!
 As help me Crist, as I in fewe yeres,
1950 Have spent upon diverse manere freres
 Ful many a pound; yet fare I never the bet.
 Certeyn, my good have I almoost biset.
 Farwel, my gold, for it is al ago!"
 The frere answerde, "O Thomas, dostow so?
 What nedeth yow diverse freres seche?
 What nedeth hym that hath a parfit leche
 To sechen othere leches in the toun?
 Youre inconstance is youre confusioun.
 Holde ye thanne me, or elles oure covent,
1960 To praye for yow been insufficient?
 Thomas, that jape nys nat worth a myte.
 Youre maladye is for we han to lyte.
 A, yif that covent half a quarter otes!
 A, yif that covent foure and twenty grotes!
 A, yif that frere a peny, and lat hym go!
 Nay, nay, Thomas, it may no thyng be so!
 What is a ferthyng worth parted in twelve?
 Lo, ech thyng that is oned in himselve
 Is moore strong than whan it is toscatered.
1970 Thomas, of me thou shalt nat been yflatered;
 Thou woldest han oure labour al for noght.
 The hye God, that al this world hath wroght,
 Seith that the werkman worthy is his hyre.
 Thomas, noght of youre tresor I desire
 As for myself, but that al oure covent
 To preye for yow is ay so diligent,
 And for to buylden Cristes owene chirche.
 Thomas, if ye wol lernen for to wirche,
 Of buyldynge up of chirches may ye fynde
1980 If it be good in Thomas lyf of Inde.
 Ye lye heere ful of anger and of ire,
 With which the devel set youre herte afyre,
 And chiden heere the sely innocent,
 Youre wyf, that is so meke and pacient.
 And therfore, Thomas, trowe me if thee leste,
 Ne stryve nat with thy wyf, as for thy beste;
 And ber this word awey now, by thy feith;
 Touchynge swich thyng, lo, what the wise seith:
 `Withinne thyn hous ne be thou no leon;
1990 To thy subgitz do noon oppression,
 Ne make thyne aqueyntances nat to flee.'
 And, Thomas, yet eft-soones I charge thee,
 Be war from Ire that in thy bosom slepeth;
 War fro the serpent that so slily crepeth
 Under the gras and styngeth subtilly.
 Be war, my sone, and herkne paciently
 That twenty thousand men han lost hir lyves
 For stryvyng with hir lemmans and hir wyves.
 Now sith ye han so hooly meke a wyf,
2000 What nedeth yow, Thomas, to maken stryf?
 Ther nys, ywys, no serpent so cruel,
 Whan man tret on his tayl, ne half so fel,
 As womman is, whan she hath caught an ire;
 Vengeance is thanne al that they desire.
 Ire is a synne, oon of the grete of sevene,
 Abhomynable unto the God of hevene;
 And to hymself it is destruccion.
 This every lewed viker or person
 Kan seye, how ire engendreth homycide.
2010 Ire is, in sooth, executour of pryde.
 I koude of ire seye so muche sorwe,
 My tale sholde laste til to-morwe.
 And therfore preye I God bothe day and nyght
 An irous man, God sende hym litel myght!
 It is greet harm and certes greet pitee
 To sette an irous man in heigh degree.
 "Whilom ther was an irous potestat,
 As seith Senek, that, durynge his estaat,
 Upon a day out ryden knyghtes two,
2020 And as Fortune wolde that it were so,
 That oon of hem cam hoom, that oother noght.
 Anon the knyght bifore the juge is broght,
 That seyde thus, `Thou hast thy felawe slayn,
 For which I deme thee to the deeth, certayn.'
 And to another knyght comanded he,
 `Go lede hym to the deeth, I charge thee.'
 And happed, as they wente by the weye
 Toward the place ther he sholde deye,
 The knyght cam which men wenden had be deed.
2030 Thanne thoughte they it were the beste reed
 To lede hem bothe to the juge agayn.
 They seiden, `Lord, the knyght ne hath nat slayn
 His felawe; heere he standeth hool alyve.'
 `Ye shul be deed,' quod he, `so moot I thryve!
 That is to seyn, bothe oon, and two, and thre!'
 And to the firste knyght right thus spak he,
 `I dampned thee; thou most algate be deed.
 And thou also most nedes lese thyn heed,
 For thou art cause why thy felawe deyth.'
2040 And to the thridde knyght right thus he seith,
 `Thou hast nat doon that I comanded thee.'
 And thus he dide doon sleen hem alle thre.
 "Irous Cambises was eek dronkelewe,
 And ay delited hym to been a shrewe.
 And so bifel, a lord of his meynee
 That loved vertuous moralitee
 Seyde on a day bitwix hem two right thus:
 "`A lord is lost, if he be vicius;
 And dronkenesse is eek a foul record
2050 Of any man, and namely in a lord.
 Ther is ful many an eye and many an ere
 Awaityng on a lord, and he noot where.
 For Goddes love, drynk moore attemprely!
 Wyn maketh man to lesen wrecchedly
 His mynde and eek his lymes everichon.'
 "`The revers shaltou se,' quod he, `anon,
 And preve it by thyn owene experience,
 That wyn ne dooth to folk no swich offence.
 Ther is no wyn bireveth me my myght
2060 Of hand ne foot, ne of myne eyen sight.'
 And for despit he drank ful muchel moore,
 An hondred part, than he hadde don bifoore;
 And right anon this irous, cursed wrecche
 Leet this knyghtes sone bifore hym fecche,
 Comandynge hym he sholde bifore hym stonde.
 And sodeynly he took his bowe in honde,
 And up the streng he pulled to his ere,
 And with an arwe he slow the child right there.
 `Now wheither have I a siker hand or noon?'
2070 Quod he; `Is al my myght and mynde agon?
 Hath wyn bireved me myn eyen sight?'
 What sholde I telle th' answere of the knyght?
 His sone was slayn; ther is namoore to seye.
 Beth war, therfore, with lordes how ye pleye.
 Syngeth Placebo and `I shal, if I kan,'
 But if it be unto a povre man.
 To a povre man men sholde his vices telle,
 But nat to a lord, thogh he sholde go to helle.
 "Lo irous Cirus, thilke Percien,
2080 How he destroyed the ryver of Gysen,
 For that an hors of his was dreynt therinne,
 Whan that he wente Babiloigne to wynne.
 He made that the ryver was so smal
 That wommen myghte wade it over al.
 Lo, what seyde he that so wel teche kan?
 `Ne be no felawe to an irous man,
 Ne with no wood man walke by the weye,
 Lest thee repente;' I wol no ferther seye.
 "Now, Thomas, leeve brother, lef thyn ire;
2090 Thou shalt me fynde as just as is a squyre.
 Hoold nat the develes knyf ay at thyn herte --
 Thyn angre dooth thee al to soore smerte --
 But shewe to me al thy confessioun."
 "Nay," quod the sike man, "by Seint Symoun!
 I have be shryven this day at my curat.
 I have hym toold hoolly al myn estat;
 Nedeth namoore to speken of it," seith he,
 "But if me list, of myn humylitee."
 "Yif me thanne of thy gold, to make oure cloystre,"
2100 Quod he, "for many a muscle and many an oystre,
 Whan othere men han ben ful wel at eyse,
 Hath been oure foode, our cloystre for to reyse.
 And yet, God woot, unnethe the fundement
 Parfourned is, ne of our pavement
 Nys nat a tyle yet withinne oure wones.
 By God, we owen fourty pound for stones.
 "Now help, Thomas, for hym that harwed helle!
 For elles moste we oure bookes selle.
 And if yow lakke oure predicacioun,
2110 Thanne goth the world al to destruccioun.
 For whoso wolde us fro this world bireve,
 So God me save, Thomas, by youre leve,
 He wolde bireve out of this world the sonne.
 For who kan teche and werchen as we konne?
 And that is nat of litel tyme," quod he,
 "But syn Elye was, or Elise,
 Han freres been -- that fynde I of record --
 In charitee, ythanked be oure Lord!
 Now Thomas, help, for seinte charitee!"
2120 And doun anon he sette hym on his knee.
 This sike man wax wel ny wood for ire;
 He wolde that the frere had been on-fire
 With his false dissymulacioun.
 "Swich thyng as is in my possessioun,"
 Quod he, "that may I yeve, and noon oother.
 Ye sey me thus, how that I am youre brother?"
 "Ye, certes," quod the frere, "trusteth weel.
 I took oure dame oure lettre with oure seel."
 "Now wel," quod he, "and somwhat shal I yive
2130 Unto youre hooly covent whil I lyve;
 And in thyn hand thou shalt it have anon,
 On this condicion, and oother noon,
 That thou departe it so, my deere brother,
 That every frere have also muche as oother.
 This shaltou swere on thy professioun,
 Withouten fraude or cavillacioun."
 "I swere it," quod this frere, "by my feith!"
 And therwithal his hand in his he leith,
 "Lo, heer my feith; in me shal be no lak."
2140 "Now thanne, put in thyn hand doun by my bak,"
 Seyde this man, "and grope wel bihynde.
 Bynethe my buttok there shaltow fynde
 A thyng that I have hyd in pryvetee."
 "A!" thoghte this frere, "That shal go with me!"
 And doun his hand he launcheth to the clifte
 In hope for to fynde there a yifte.
 And whan this sike man felte this frere
 Aboute his tuwel grope there and heere,
 Amydde his hand he leet the frere a fart;
2150 Ther nys no capul, drawynge in a cart,
 That myghte have lete a fart of swich a soun.
 The frere up stirte as dooth a wood leoun --
 "A, false cherl," quod he, "for Goddes bones!
 This hastow for despit doon for the nones.
 Thou shalt abye this fart, if that I may!"
 His meynee, whiche that herden this affray,
 Cam lepynge in and chaced out the frere;
 And forth he gooth, with a ful angry cheere,
 And fette his felawe, ther as lay his stoor.
2160 He looked as it were a wilde boor;
 He grynte with his teeth, so was he wrooth.
 A sturdy paas doun to the court he gooth,
 Wher as ther woned a man of greet honour,
 To whom that he was alwey confessour.
 This worthy man was lord of that village.
 This frere cam as he were in a rage,
 Where as this lord sat etyng at his bord;
 Unnethes myghte the frere speke a word,
 Til atte laste he seyde, "God yow see!"
2170 This lord gan looke, and seide, "Benedicitee!
 What, frere John, what maner world is this?
 I se wel that som thyng ther is amys;
 Ye looken as the wode were ful of thevys.
 Sit doun anon, and tel me what youre grief is,
 And it shal been amended, if I may."
 "I have," quod he, "had a despit this day,
 God yelde yow, adoun in youre village,
 That in this world is noon so povre a page
 That he nolde have abhomynacioun
2180 Of that I have receyved in youre toun.
 And yet ne greveth me nothyng so soore,
 As that this olde cherl with lokkes hoore
 Blasphemed hath oure hooly covent eke."
 "Now, maister," quod this lord, "I yow biseke --"
 "No maister, sire," quod he, "but servitour,
 Thogh I have had in scole that honour.
 God liketh nat that `Raby' men us calle,
 Neither in market ne in youre large halle."
 "No fors," quod he, "but tel me al youre grief."
2190 "Sire," quod this frere, "an odious meschief
 This day bityd is to myn ordre and me,
 And so, per consequens, to ech degree
 Of hooly chirche -- God amende it soone!"
 "Sire," quod the lord, "ye woot what is to doone.
 Distempre yow noght; ye be my confessour;
 Ye been the salt of the erthe and the savour.
 For Goddes love, youre pacience ye holde!
 Tel me youre grief." And he anon hym tolde,
 As ye han herd biforn -- ye woot wel what.
2200 The lady of the hous ay stille sat
 Til she had herd what the frere sayde.
 "Ey, Goddes mooder," quod she, "Blisful mayde!
 Is ther oght elles? Telle me feithfully."
 "Madame," quod he, "how thynke ye herby?"
 "How that me thynketh?" quod she. "So God me speede,
 I seye a cherl hath doon a cherles dede.
 What shold I seye? God lat hym nevere thee!
 His sike heed is ful of vanytee;
 I holde hym in a manere frenesye."
2210 "Madame," quod he, "by God, I shal nat lye,
 But I on oother wyse may be wreke,
 I shal disclaundre hym over al ther I speke,
 This false blasphemour that charged me
 To parte that wol nat departed be
 To every man yliche, with meschaunce!"
 The lord sat stille as he were in a traunce,
 And in his herte he rolled up and doun,
 "How hadde this cherl ymaginacioun
 To shewe swich a probleme to the frere?
2220 Nevere erst er now herde I of swich mateere.
 I trowe the devel putte it in his mynde.
 In ars-metrike shal ther no man fynde,
 Biforn this day, of swich a question.
 Who sholde make a demonstracion
 That every man sholde have yliche his part
 As of the soun or savour of a fart?
 O nyce, proude cherl, I shrewe his face!
 Lo, sires," quod the lord, "with harde grace!
 Who evere herde of swich a thyng er now?
2230 To every man ylike? Tel me how.
 It is an inpossible; it may nat be.
 Ey, nyce cherl, God lete him nevere thee!
 The rumblynge of a fart, and every soun,
 Nis but of eir reverberacioun,
 And evere it wasteth litel and litel awey.
 Ther is no man kan deemen, by my fey,
 If that it were departed equally.
 What, lo, my cherl, lo, yet how shrewedly
 Unto my confessour to-day he spak!
2240 I holde hym certeyn a demonyak!
 Now ete youre mete, and lat the cherl go pleye;
 Lat hym go honge hymself a devel weye!"
 Now stood the lordes squier at the bord,
 That karf his mete, and herde word by word
 Of alle thynges whiche I have yow sayd.
 "My lord," quod he, "be ye nat yvele apayd,
 I koude telle, for a gowne-clooth,
 To yow, sire frere, so ye be nat wrooth,
 How that this fart sholde evene deled be
2250 Among youre covent, if it lyked me."
 "Tel," quod the lord, "and thou shalt have anon
 A gowne-clooth, by God and by Seint John!"
 "My lord," quod he, "whan that the weder is fair,
 Withouten wynd or perturbynge of air,
 Lat brynge a cartwheel heere into this halle;
 But looke that it have his spokes alle --
 Twelve spokes hath a cartwheel comunly.
 And bryng me thanne twelve freres. Woot ye why?
 For thrittene is a covent, as I gesse.
2260 Youre confessour heere, for his worthynesse,
 Shal parfourne up the nombre of his covent.
 Thanne shal they knele doun, by oon assent,
 And to every spokes ende, in this manere,
 Ful sadly leye his nose shal a frere.
 Youre noble confessour -- there God hym save! --
 Shal holde his nose upright under the nave.
 Thanne shal this cherl, with bely stif and toght
 As any tabour, hyder been ybroght;
 And sette hym on the wheel right of this cart,
2270 Upon the nave, and make hym lete a fart.
 And ye shul seen, up peril of my lyf,
 By preeve which that is demonstratif,
 That equally the soun of it wol wende,
 And eke the stynk, unto the spokes ende,
 Save that this worthy man, youre confessour,
 By cause he is a man of greet honour,
 Shal have the firste fruyt, as resoun is.
 The noble usage of freres yet is this,
 The worthy men of hem shul first be served;
2280 And certeinly he hath it weel disserved.
 He hath to-day taught us so muche good
 With prechyng in the pulpit ther he stood,
 That I may vouche sauf, I sey for me,
 He hadde the firste smel of fartes thre;
 And so wolde al his covent hardily,
 He bereth hym so faire and hoolily."
 The lord, the lady, and ech man, save the frere,
 Seyde that Jankyn spak, in this matere,
 As wel as Euclide [dide] or Ptholomee.
2290 Touchynge the cherl, they seyde, subtiltee
 And heigh wit made hym speken as he spak;
 He nys no fool, ne no demonyak.
 And Jankyn hath ywonne a newe gowne --
 My tale is doon; we been almoost at towne.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Clerk's Prologue

 "Sire Clerk of Oxenford," oure Hooste sayde,
 "Ye ryde as coy and stille as dooth a mayde
 Were newe spoused, sittynge at the bord;
 This day ne herde I of youre tonge a word.
 I trowe ye studie aboute som sophyme;
 But Salomon seith `every thyng hath tyme.'
 "For Goddes sake, as beth of bettre cheere!
 It is no tyme for to studien heere.
 Telle us som myrie tale, by youre fey!
10 For what man that is entred in a pley,
 He nedes moot unto the pley assente.
 But precheth nat, as freres doon in Lente,
 To make us for oure olde synnes wepe,
 Ne that thy tale make us nat to slepe.
 "Telle us som murie thyng of aventures.
 Youre termes, youre colours, and youre figures,
 Keepe hem in stoor til so be ye endite
 Heigh style, as whan that men to kynges write.
 Speketh so pleyn at this tyme, we yow preye,
20 That we may understonde what ye seye."
 This worthy clerk benignely answerde:
 "Hooste," quod he, "I am under youre yerde;
 Ye han of us as now the governance,
 And therfore wol I do yow obeisance,
 As fer as resoun axeth, hardily.
 I wol yow telle a tale which that I
 Lerned at Padowe of a worthy clerk,
 As preved by his wordes and his werk.
 He is now deed and nayled in his cheste;
30 I prey to God so yeve his soule reste!
 "Fraunceys Petrak, the lauriat poete,
 Highte this clerk, whos rethorike sweete
 Enlumyned al Ytaille of poetrie,
 As Lynyan dide of philosophie,
 Or lawe, or oother art particuler;
 But Deeth, that wol nat suffre us dwellen heer,
 But as it were a twynklyng of an ye,
 Hem bothe hath slayn, and alle shul we dye.
 "But forth to tellen of this worthy man
40 That taughte me this tale, as I bigan,
 I seye that first with heigh stile he enditeth,
 Er he the body of his tale writeth,
 A prohemye, in the which discryveth he
 Pemond and of Saluces the contree,
 And speketh of Apennyn, the hilles hye,
 That been the boundes of West Lumbardye,
 And of Mount Vesulus in special,
 Where as the Poo out of a welle smal
 Taketh his firste spryngyng and his sours,
50 That estward ay encresseth in his cours
 To Emele-ward, to Ferrare, and Venyse,
 The which a long thyng were to devyse.
 And trewely, as to my juggement,
 Me thynketh it a thyng impertinent,
 Save that he wole conveyen his mateere;
 But this his tale, which that ye may heere."

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Clerk's Tale

 Ther is, at the west syde of Ytaille,
 Doun at the roote of Vesulus the colde,
 A lusty playn, habundant of vitaille,
60 Where many a tour and toun thou mayst biholde,
 That founded were in tyme of fadres olde,
 And many another delitable sighte,
 And Saluces this noble contree highte.
 A markys whilom lord was of that lond,
 As were his worthy eldres hym bifore;
 And obeisant, ay redy to his hond,
 Were alle his liges, bothe lasse and moore.
 Thus in delit he lyveth, and hath doon yoore,
 Biloved and drad, thurgh favour of Fortune,
70 Bothe of his lordes and of his commune.
 Therwith he was, to speke as of lynage,
 The gentilleste yborn of Lumbardye,
 A fair persone, and strong, and yong of age,
 And ful of honour and of curteisye;
 Discreet ynogh his contree for to gye,
 Save in somme thynges that he was to blame;
 And Walter was this yonge lordes name.
 I blame hym thus: that he considered noght
 In tyme comynge what myghte hym bityde,
80 But on his lust present was al his thoght,
 As for to hauke and hunte on every syde.
 Wel ny alle othere cures leet he slyde,
 And eek he nolde -- and that was worst of alle --
 Wedde no wyf, for noght that may bifalle.
 Oonly that point his peple bar so soore
 That flokmeele on a day they to hym wente,
 And oon of hem, that wisest was of loore --
 Or elles that the lord best wolde assente
 That he sholde telle hym what his peple mente,
90 Or elles koude he shewe wel swich mateere --
 He to the markys seyde as ye shul heere:
 "O noble markys, youre humanitee
 Asseureth us and yeveth us hardinesse,
 As ofte as tyme is of necessitee,
 That we to yow mowe telle oure hevynesse.
 Accepteth, lord, now of youre gentillesse
 That we with pitous herte unto yow pleyne,
 And lat youre eres nat my voys desdeyne.
 "Al have I noght to doone in this mateere
100 Moore than another man hath in this place,
 Yet for as muche as ye, my lord so deere,
 Han alwey shewed me favour and grace
 I dar the bettre aske of yow a space
 Of audience to shewen oure requeste,
 And ye, my lord, to doon right as yow leste.
 "For certes, lord, so wel us liketh yow
 And al youre werk, and evere han doon, that we
 Ne koude nat us self devysen how
 We myghte lyven in moore felicitee,
110 Save o thyng, lord, if it youre wille be,
 That for to been a wedded man yow leste;
 Thanne were youre peple in sovereyn hertes reste.
 "Boweth youre nekke under that blisful yok
 Of soveraynetee, noght of servyse,
 Which that men clepe spousaille or wedlok;
 And thenketh, lord, among youre thoghtes wyse
 How that oure dayes passe in sondry wyse,
 For thogh we slepe, or wake, or rome, or ryde,
 Ay fleeth the tyme; it nyl no man abyde.
120 "And thogh youre grene youthe floure as yit,
 In crepeth age alwey, as stille as stoon,
 And deeth manaceth every age, and smyt
 In ech estaat, for ther escapeth noon;
 And al so certein as we knowe echoon
 That we shul deye, as uncerteyn we alle
 Been of that day whan deeth shal on us falle.
 "Accepteth thanne of us the trewe entente,
 That nevere yet refuseden youre heeste,
 And we wol, lord, if that ye wole assente,
130 Chese yow a wyf, in short tyme atte leeste,
 Born of the gentilleste and of the meeste
 Of al this land, so that it oghte seme
 Honour to God and yow, as we kan deeme.
 "Delivere us out of al this bisy drede,
 And taak a wyf, for hye Goddes sake!
 For if it so bifelle, as God forbede,
 That thurgh youre deeth youre lyne sholde slake,
 And that a straunge successour sholde take
 Youre heritage, O wo were us alyve!
140 Wherfore we pray you hastily to wyve."
 Hir meeke preyere and hir pitous cheere
 Made the markys herte han pitee.
 "Ye wol," quod he, "myn owene peple deere,
 To that I nevere erst thoughte streyne me.
 I me rejoysed of my liberte,
 That seelde tyme is founde in mariage;
 Ther I was free, I moot been in servage.
 "But nathelees I se youre trewe entente,
 And truste upon youre wit, and have doon ay;
150 Wherfore of my free wyl I wole assente
 To wedde me, as soone as evere I may.
 But ther as ye han profred me to-day
 To chese me a wyf, I yow relesse
 That choys and prey yow of that profre cesse.
 "For God it woot, that children ofte been
 Unlyk hir worthy eldres hem bifore;
 Bountee comth al of God, nat of the streen
 Of which they been engendred and ybore.
 I truste in Goddes bountee, and therfore
160 My mariage and myn estaat and reste
 I hym bitake; he may doon as hym leste.
 "Lat me allone in chesynge of my wyf --
 That charge upon my bak I wole endure.
 But I yow preye, and charge upon youre lyf,
 What wyf that I take, ye me assure
 To worshipe hire, whil that hir lyf may dure,
 In word and werk, bothe heere and everywheere,
 As she an emperoures doghter weere.
 "And forthermoore, this shal ye swere: that ye
170 Agayn my choys shul neither grucche ne stryve;
 For sith I shal forgoon my libertee
 At youre requeste, as evere moot I thryve,
 Ther as myn herte is set, ther wol I wyve;
 And but ye wole assente in swich manere,
 I prey yow, speketh namoore of this matere."
 With hertely wyl they sworen and assenten
 To al this thyng -- ther seyde no wight nay --
 Bisekynge hym of grace, er that they wenten,
 That he wolde graunten hem a certein day
180 Of his spousaille, as soone as evere he may;
 For yet alwey the peple somwhat dredde,
 Lest that the markys no wyf wolde wedde.
 He graunted hem a day, swich as hym leste,
 On which he wolde be wedded sikerly,
 And seyde he dide al this at hir requeste.
 And they, with humble entente, buxomly,
 Knelynge upon hir knees ful reverently,
 Hym thonken alle; and thus they han an ende
 Of hire entente, and hoom agayn they wende.
190 And heerupon he to his officeres
 Comaundeth for the feste to purveye,
 And to his privee knyghtes and squieres
 Swich charge yaf as hym liste on hem leye;
 And they to his comandement obeye,
 And ech of hem dooth al his diligence
 To doon unto the feeste reverence.
 Noght fer fro thilke paleys honurable,
 Wher as this markys shoop his mariage,
 There stood a throop, of site delitable,
200 In which that povre folk of that village
 Hadden hir beestes and hir herbergage,
 And of hire labour tooke hir sustenance,
 After that the erthe yaf hem habundance.
 Amonges thise povre folk ther dwelte a man
 Which that was holden povrest of hem alle;
 But hye God somtyme senden kan
 His grace into a litel oxes stalle;
 Janicula men of that throop hym calle.
 A doghter hadde he, fair ynogh to sighte,
210 And Grisildis this yonge mayden highte.
 But for to speke of vertuous beautee,
 Thanne was she oon the faireste under sonne;
 For povreliche yfostred up was she,
 No likerous lust was thurgh hire herte yronne.
 Wel ofter of the welle than of the tonne
 She drank, and for she wolde vertu plese,
 She knew wel labour but noon ydel ese.
 But thogh this mayde tendre were of age,
 Yet in the brest of hire virginitee
220 Ther was enclosed rype and sad corage;
 And in greet reverence and charitee
 Hir olde povre fader fostred shee.
 A fewe sheep, spynnynge, on feeld she kepte;
 She wolde noght been ydel til she slepte.
 And whan she homward cam, she wolde brynge
 Wortes or othere herbes tymes ofte,
 The whiche she shredde and seeth for hir lyvynge,
 And made hir bed ful hard and nothyng softe;
 And ay she kepte hir fadres lyf on-lofte
230 With everich obeisaunce and diligence
 That child may doon to fadres reverence.
 Upon Grisilde, this povre creature,
 Ful ofte sithe this markys sette his ye
 As he on huntyng rood paraventure;
 And whan it fil that he myghte hire espye,
 He noght with wantown lookyng of folye
 His eyen caste on hire, but in sad wyse
 Upon hir chiere he wolde hym ofte avyse,
 Commendynge in his herte hir wommanhede,
240 And eek hir vertu, passynge any wight
 Of so yong age, as wel in chiere as dede.
 For thogh the peple have no greet insight
 In vertu, he considered ful right
 Hir bountee, and disposed that he wolde
 Wedde hire oonly, if evere he wedde sholde.
 The day of weddyng cam, but no wight kan
 Telle what womman that it sholde be;
 For which merveille wondred many a man,
 And seyden, whan they were in privetee,
250 "Wol nat oure lord yet leve his vanytee?
 Wol he nat wedde? Allas! Allas, the while!
 Why wole he thus hymself and us bigile?"
 But nathelees this markys hath doon make
 Of gemmes, set in gold and in asure,
 Brooches and rynges, for Grisildis sake;
 And of hir clothyng took he the mesure
 By a mayde lyk to hire stature,
 And eek of othere aornementes alle
 That unto swich a weddyng sholde falle.
260 The time of undren of the same day
 Approcheth, that this weddyng sholde be,
 And al the paleys put was in array,
 Bothe halle and chambres, ech in his degree;
 Houses of office stuffed with plentee
 Ther maystow seen, of deyntevous vitaille
 That may be founde as fer as last Ytaille.
 This roial markys, richely arrayed,
 Lordes and ladyes in his compaignye,
 The whiche that to the feeste weren yprayed,
270 And of his retenue the bachelrye,
 With many a soun of sondry melodye,
 Unto the village of the which I tolde
 In this array the righte wey han holde.
 Grisilde of this, God woot, ful innocent,
 That for hire shapen was al this array,
 To fecchen water at a welle is went,
 And cometh hoom as soone as ever she may;
 For wel she hadde herd seyd that thilke day
 The markys sholde wedde, and if she myghte,
280 She wolde fayn han seyn som of that sighte.
 She thoghte, "I wole with othere maydens stonde,
 That been my felawes, in oure dore and se
 The markysesse, and therfore wol I fonde
 To doon at hoom, as soone as it may be,
 The labour which that longeth unto me,
 And thanne I may at leyser hire biholde,
 If she this wey unto the castel holde."
 And as she wolde over hir thresshfold gon,
 The markys cam and gan hire for to calle;
290 And she set doun hir water pot anon,
 Biside the thresshfold, in an oxes stalle,
 And doun upon hir knes she gan to falle,
 And with sad contenance kneleth stille,
 Til she had herd what was the lordes wille.
 This thoghtful markys spak unto this mayde
 Ful sobrely, and seyde in this manere:
 "Where is youre fader, O Grisildis?" he sayde.
 And she with reverence, in humble cheere,
 Answerde, "Lord, he is al redy heere."
300 And in she gooth withouten lenger lette,
 And to the markys she hir fader fette.
 He by the hand thanne took this olde man,
 And seyde thus, whan he hym hadde asyde:
 "Janicula, I neither may ne kan
 Lenger the plesance of myn herte hyde.
 If that thou vouche sauf, what so bityde,
 Thy doghter wol I take, er that I wende,
 As for my wyf, unto hir lyves ende.
 "Thou lovest me, I woot it wel certeyn,
310 And art my feithful lige man ybore,
 And al that liketh me, I dar wel seyn
 It liketh thee, and specially therfore
 Tel me that poynt that I have seyd bifore,
 If that thou wolt unto that purpos drawe,
 To take me as for thy sone-in-lawe."
 This sodeyn cas this man astonyed so
 That reed he wax; abayst and al quakynge
 He stood; unnethes seyde he wordes mo,
 But oonly thus: "Lord," quod he, "my willynge
320 Is as ye wole, ne ayeynes youre likynge
 I wol no thyng, ye be my lord so deere;
 Right as yow lust, governeth this mateere."
 "Yet wol I," quod this markys softely,
 "That in thy chambre I and thou and she
 Have a collacioun, and wostow why?
 For I wol axe if it hire wille be
 To be my wyf and reule hire after me.
 And al this shal be doon in thy presence;
 I wol noght speke out of thyn audience."
330 And in the chambre, whil they were aboute
 Hir tretys, which as ye shal after heere,
 The peple cam unto the hous withoute,
 And wondred hem in how honest manere
 And tentifly she kepte hir fader deere.
 But outrely Grisildis wondre myghte,
 For nevere erst ne saugh she swich a sighte.
 No wonder is thogh that she were astoned
 To seen so greet a gest come in that place;
 She nevere was to swiche gestes woned,
340 For which she looked with ful pale face.
 But shortly forth this matere for to chace,
 Thise arn the wordes that the markys sayde
 To this benigne, verray, feithful mayde:
 "Grisilde," he seyde, "ye shal wel understonde
 It liketh to youre fader and to me
 That I yow wedde, and eek it may so stonde,
 As I suppose, ye wol that it so be.
 But thise demandes axe I first," quod he,
 "That, sith it shal be doon in hastif wyse,
350 Wol ye assente, or elles yow avyse?
 "I seye this: be ye redy with good herte
 To al my lust, and that I frely may,
 As me best thynketh, do yow laughe or smerte,
 And nevere ye to grucche it, nyght ne day?
 And eek whan I sey `ye,' ne sey nat `nay,'
 Neither by word ne frownyng contenance?
 Swere this, and heere I swere oure alliance."
 Wondrynge upon this word, quakynge for drede,
 She seyde, "Lord, undigne and unworthy
360 Am I to thilke honour that ye me beede,
 But as ye wole youreself, right so wol I.
 And heere I swere that nevere willyngly,
 In werk ne thoght, I nyl yow disobeye,
 For to be deed, though me were looth to deye."
 "This is ynogh, Grisilde myn," quod he.
 And forth he gooth with a ful sobre cheere
 Out at the dore, and after that cam she,
 And to the peple he seyde in this manere:
 "This is my wyf," quod he, "that standeth heere.
370 Honoureth hire and loveth hire, I preye,
 Whoso me loveth; ther is namoore to seye."
 And for that no thyng of hir olde geere
 She sholde brynge into his hous, he bad
 That wommen sholde dispoillen hire right theere;
 Of which thise ladyes were nat right glad
 To handle hir clothes, wherinne she was clad.
 But nathelees, this mayde bright of hewe
 Fro foot to heed they clothed han al newe.
 Hir heris han they kembd, that lay untressed
380 Ful rudely, and with hir fyngres smale
 A corone on hire heed they han ydressed,
 And sette hire ful of nowches grete and smale.
 Of hire array what sholde I make a tale?
 Unnethe the peple hir knew for hire fairnesse
 Whan she translated was in swich richesse.
 This markys hath hire spoused with a ryng
 Broght for the same cause, and thanne hire sette
 Upon an hors, snow-whit and wel amblyng,
 And to his paleys, er he lenger lette,
390 With joyful peple that hire ladde and mette,
 Conveyed hire; and thus the day they spende
 In revel, til the sonne gan descende.
 And shortly forth this tale for to chace,
 I seye that to this newe markysesse
 God hath swich favour sent hire of his grace
 That it ne semed nat by liklynesse
 That she was born and fed in rudenesse,
 As in a cote or in an oxe-stalle,
 But norissed in an emperoures halle.
400 To every wight she woxen is so deere
 And worshipful that folk ther she was bore,
 And from hire birthe knewe hire yeer by yeere,
 Unnethe trowed they -- but dorste han swore --
 That to Janicle, of which I spak bifore,
 She doghter were, for, as by conjecture,
 Hem thoughte she was another creature.
 For though that evere vertuous was she,
 She was encressed in swich excellence
 Of thewes goode, yset in heigh bountee,
410 And so discreet and fair of eloquence,
 So benigne and so digne of reverence,
 And koude so the peples herte embrace,
 That ech hire lovede that looked on hir face.
 Noght oonly of Saluces in the toun
 Publiced was the bountee of hir name,
 But eek biside in many a regioun,
 If oon seide wel, another seyde the same;
 So spradde of hire heighe bountee the fame
 That men and wommen, as wel yonge as olde,
420 Goon to Saluce upon hire to biholde.
 Thus Walter lowely -- nay, but roially --
 Wedded with fortunat honestetee,
 In Goddes pees lyveth ful esily
 At hoom, and outward grace ynogh had he;
 And for he saugh that under low degree
 Was ofte vertu hid, the peple hym heelde
 A prudent man, and that is seyn ful seelde.
 Nat oonly this Grisildis thurgh hir wit
 Koude al the feet of wyfly hoomlinesse,
430 But eek, whan that the cas required it,
 The commune profit koude she redresse.
 Ther nas discord, rancour, ne hevynesse
 In al that land that she ne koude apese,
 And wisely brynge hem alle in reste and ese.
 Though that hire housbonde absent were anon,
 If gentil men or othere of hire contree
 Were wrothe, she wolde bryngen hem aton;
 So wise and rype wordes hadde she,
 And juggementz of so greet equitee,
440 That she from hevene sent was, as men wende,
 Peple to save and every wrong t' amende.
 Nat longe tyme after that this Grisild
 Was wedded, she a doghter hath ybore,
 Al had hire levere have born a knave child;
 Glad was this markys and the folk therfore,
 For though a mayde child coome al bifore,
 She may unto a knave child atteyne
 By liklihede, syn she nys nat bareyne.
 Ther fil, as it bifalleth tymes mo,
450 Whan that this child had souked but a throwe,
 This markys in his herte longeth so
 To tempte his wyf, hir sadnesse for to knowe,
 That he ne myghte out of his herte throwe
 This merveillous desir his wyf t' assaye;
 Nedelees, God woot, he thoghte hire for t' affraye.
 He hadde assayed hire ynogh bifore,
 And foond hire evere good; what neded it
 Hire for to tempte, and alwey moore and moore,
 Though som men preise it for a subtil wit?
460 But as for me, I seye that yvele it sit
 To assaye a wyf whan that it is no nede,
 And putten hire in angwyssh and in drede.
 For which this markys wroghte in this manere:
 He cam allone a-nyght, ther as she lay,
 With stierne face and with ful trouble cheere,
 And seyde thus: "Grisilde," quod he, "that day
 That I yow took out of youre povere array,
 And putte yow in estaat of heigh noblesse --
 Ye have nat that forgeten, as I gesse?
470 "I seye, Grisilde, this present dignitee,
 In which that I have put yow, as I trowe,
 Maketh yow nat foryetful for to be
 That I yow took in povre estaat ful lowe,
 For any wele ye moot youreselven knowe.
 Taak heede of every word that y yow seye;
 Ther is no wight that hereth it but we tweye.
 "Ye woot youreself wel how that ye cam heere
 Into this hous, it is nat longe ago;
 And though to me that ye be lief and deere,
480 Unto my gentils ye be no thyng so.
 They seyn, to hem it is greet shame and wo
 For to be subgetz and been in servage
 To thee, that born art of a smal village.
 "And namely sith thy doghter was ybore
 Thise wordes han they spoken, doutelees.
 But I desire, as I have doon bifore,
 To lyve my lyf with hem in reste and pees.
 I may nat in this caas be recchelees;
 I moot doon with thy doghter for the beste,
490 Nat as I wolde, but as my peple leste.
 "And yet, God woot, this is ful looth to me;
 But nathelees withoute youre wityng
 I wol nat doon; but this wol I," quod he,
 "That ye to me assente as in this thyng.
 Shewe now youre pacience in youre werkyng,
 That ye me highte and swore in youre village
 That day that maked was oure mariage."
 Whan she had herd al this, she noght ameved
 Neither in word, or chiere, or contenaunce,
500 For, as it semed, she was nat agreved.
 She seyde, "Lord, al lyth in youre plesaunce.
 My child and I, with hertely obeisaunce,
 Been youres al, and ye mowe save or spille
 Youre owene thyng; werketh after youre wille.
 "Ther may no thyng, God so my soule save,
 Liken to yow that may displese me;
 Ne I desire no thyng for to have,
 Ne drede for to leese, save oonly yee.
 This wyl is in myn herte, and ay shal be;
510 No lengthe of tyme or deeth may this deface,
 Ne chaunge my corage to another place."
 Glad was this markys of hire answeryng,
 But yet he feyned as he were nat so;
 Al drery was his cheere and his lookyng,
 Whan that he sholde out of the chambre go.
 Soone after this, a furlong wey or two,
 He prively hath toold al his entente
 Unto a man, and to his wyf hym sente.
 A maner sergeant was this privee man,
520 The which that feithful ofte he founden hadde
 In thynges grete, and eek swich folk wel kan
 Doon execucioun in thynges badde.
 The lord knew wel that he hym loved and dradde;
 And whan this sergeant wiste his lordes wille,
 Into the chambre he stalked hym ful stille.
 "Madame," he seyde, "ye moote foryeve it me,
 Though I do thyng to which I am constreyned.
 Ye been so wys that ful wel knowe ye
 That lordes heestes mowe nat been yfeyned;
530 They mowe wel been biwailled or compleyned,
 But men moote nede unto hire lust obeye,
 And so wol I; ther is namoore to seye.
 "This child I am comanded for to take" --
 And spak namoore, but out the child he hente
 Despitously, and gan a cheere make
 As though he wolde han slayn it er he wente.
 Grisildis moot al suffre and al consente,
 And as a lamb she sitteth meke and stille,
 And leet this crueel sergeant doon his wille.
540 Suspecious was the diffame of this man,
 Suspect his face, suspect his word also;
 Suspect the tyme in which he this bigan.
 Allas! Hir doghter that she loved so,
 She wende he wolde han slawen it right tho.
 But nathelees she neither weep ne syked,
 Conformynge hire to that the markys lyked.
 But atte laste to speken she bigan,
 And mekely she to the sergeant preyde,
 So as he was a worthy gentil man,
550 That she moste kisse hire child er that it deyde.
 And in hir barm this litel child she leyde
 With ful sad face, and gan the child to blisse,
 And lulled it, and after gan it kisse.
 And thus she seyde in hire benigne voys,
 "Fareweel my child! I shal thee nevere see.
 But sith I thee have marked with the croys
 Of thilke Fader -- blessed moote he be! --
 That for us deyde upon a croys of tree,
 Thy soule, litel child, I hym bitake,
560 For this nyght shaltow dyen for my sake."
 I trowe that to a norice in this cas
 It had been hard this reuthe for to se;
 Wel myghte a mooder thanne han cryd "allas!"
 But nathelees so sad stidefast was she
 That she endured al adversitee,
 And to the sergeant mekely she sayde,
 "Have heer agayn youre litel yonge mayde.
 "Gooth now," quod she, "and dooth my lordes heeste;
 But o thyng wol I prey yow of youre grace,
570 That, but my lord forbad yow, atte leeste
 Burieth this litel body in som place
 That beestes ne no briddes it torace."
 But he no word wol to that purpos seye,
 But took the child and wente upon his weye.
 This sergeant cam unto his lord ageyn,
 And of Grisildis wordes and hire cheere
 He tolde hym point for point, in short and pleyn,
 And hym presenteth with his doghter deere.
 Somwhat this lord hadde routhe in his manere,
580 But nathelees his purpos heeld he stille,
 As lordes doon, whan they wol han hir wille;
 And bad this sergeant that he pryvely
 Sholde this child softe wynde and wrappe,
 With alle circumstances tendrely,
 And carie it in a cofre or in a lappe;
 But, upon peyne his heed of for to swappe,
 That no man sholde knowe of his entente,
 Ne whenne he cam, ne whider that he wente;
 But at Boloigne to his suster deere,
590 That thilke tyme of Panik was countesse,
 He sholde it take and shewe hire this mateere,
 Bisekynge hire to doon hire bisynesse
 This child to fostre in alle gentillesse;
 And whos child that it was he bad hire hyde
 From every wight, for oght that may bityde.
 The sergeant gooth, and hath fulfild this thyng;
 But to this markys now retourne we.
 For now gooth he ful faste ymaginyng
 If by his wyves cheere he myghte se,
600 Or by hire word aperceyve, that she
 Were chaunged; but he nevere hire koude fynde
 But evere in oon ylike sad and kynde.
 As glad, as humble, as bisy in servyse,
 And eek in love, as she was wont to be,
 Was she to hym in every maner wyse;
 Ne of hir doghter noght a word spak she.
 Noon accident, for noon adversitee,
 Was seyn in hire, ne nevere hir doghter name
 Ne nempned she, in ernest nor in game.
610 In this estaat ther passed been foure yeer
 Er she with childe was, but, as God wolde,
 A knave child she bar by this Walter,
 Ful gracious and fair for to biholde.
 And whan that folk it to his fader tolde,
 Nat oonly he but al his contree merye
 Was for this child, and God they thanke and herye.
 Whan it was two yeer old, and fro the brest
 Departed of his norice, on a day
 This markys caughte yet another lest
620 To tempte his wyf yet ofter, if he may.
 O nedelees was she tempted in assay!
 But wedded men ne knowe no mesure,
 Whan that they fynde a pacient creature.
 "Wyf," quod this markys, "ye han herd er this
 My peple sikly berth oure mariage;
 And namely sith my sone yboren is,
 Now is it worse than evere in al oure age.
 The murmur sleeth myn herte and my corage,
 For to myne eres comth the voys so smerte
630 That it wel ny destroyed hath myn herte.
 "Now sey they thus: `Whan Walter is agon,
 Thanne shal the blood of Janicle succede
 And been oure lord, for oother have we noon.'
 Swiche wordes seith my peple, out of drede.
 Wel oughte I of swich murmur taken heede,
 For certeinly I drede swich sentence,
 Though they nat pleyn speke in myn audience.
 "I wolde lyve in pees, if that I myghte;
 Wherfore I am disposed outrely,
640 As I his suster servede by nyghte,
 Right so thenke I to serve hym pryvely.
 This warne I yow, that ye nat sodeynly
 Out of youreself for no wo sholde outreye;
 Beth pacient, and therof I yow preye."
 "I have," quod she, "seyd thus, and evere shal:
 I wol no thyng, ne nyl no thyng, certayn,
 But as yow list. Naught greveth me at al,
 Though that my doughter and my sone be slayn --
 At youre comandement, this is to sayn.
650 I have noght had no part of children tweyne
 But first siknesse, and after, wo and peyne.
 "Ye been oure lord; dooth with youre owene thyng
 Right as yow list; axeth no reed at me.
 For as I lefte at hoom al my clothyng,
 Whan I first cam to yow, right so," quod she,
 "Lefte I my wyl and al my libertee,
 And took youre clothyng; wherfore I yow preye,
 Dooth youre plesaunce; I wol youre lust obeye.
 "And certes, if I hadde prescience
660 Youre wyl to knowe, er ye youre lust me tolde,
 I wolde it doon withouten necligence;
 But now I woot youre lust, and what ye wolde,
 Al youre plesance ferme and stable I holde;
 For wiste I that my deeth wolde do yow ese,
 Right gladly wolde I dyen, yow to plese.
 "Deth may noght make no comparisoun
 Unto youre love." And whan this markys say
 The constance of his wyf, he caste adoun
 His eyen two, and wondreth that she may
670 In pacience suffre al this array;
 And forth he goth with drery contenance,
 But to his herte it was ful greet plesance.
 This ugly sergeant, in the same wyse
 That he hire doghter caughte, right so he --
 Or worse, if men worse kan devyse --
 Hath hent hire sone, that ful was of beautee.
 And evere in oon so pacient was she
 That she no chiere maade of hevynesse,
 But kiste hir sone, and after gan it blesse;
680 Save this, she preyede hym that, if he myghte,
 Hir litel sone he wolde in erthe grave
 His tendre lymes, delicaat to sighte,
 Fro foweles and fro beestes for to save.
 But she noon answere of hym myghte have.
 He wente his wey, as hym no thyng ne roghte,
 But to Boloigne he tendrely it broghte.
 This markys wondred, evere lenger the moore,
 Upon hir pacience, and if that he
 Ne hadde soothly knowen therbifoore
690 That parfitly hir children loved she,
 He wolde have wend that of som subtiltee,
 And of malice, or for crueel corage,
 That she hadde suffred this with sad visage.
 But wel he knew that next hymself, certayn,
 She loved hir children best in every wyse.
 But now of wommen wolde I axen fayn
 If thise assayes myghte nat suffise?
 What koude a sturdy housbonde moore devyse
 To preeve hir wyfhod and hir stedefastnesse,
700 And he continuynge evere in sturdinesse?
 But ther been folk of swich condicion
 That whan they have a certein purpos take,
 They kan nat stynte of hire entencion,
 But, right as they were bounden to that stake,
 They wol nat of that firste purpos slake.
 Right so this markys fulliche hath purposed
 To tempte his wyf as he was first disposed.
 He waiteth if by word or contenance
 That she to hym was changed of corage,
710 But nevere koude he fynde variance.
 She was ay oon in herte and in visage,
 And ay the forther that she was in age,
 The moore trewe, if that it were possible,
 She was to hym in love, and moore penyble.
 For which it semed thus: that of hem two
 Ther nas but o wyl, for as Walter leste,
 The same lust was hire plesance also.
 And, God be thanked, al fil for the beste.
 She shewed wel, for no worldly unreste
720 A wyf, as of hirself, nothing ne sholde
 Wille in effect, but as hir housbonde wolde.
 The sclaundre of Walter ofte and wyde spradde,
 That of a crueel herte he wikkedly,
 For he a povre womman wedded hadde,
 Hath mordred bothe his children prively.
 Swich murmur was among hem comunly.
 No wonder is, for to the peples ere
 Ther cam no word but that they mordred were.
 For which, where as his peple therbifore
730 Hadde loved hym wel, the sclaundre of his diffame
 Made hem that they hym hatede therfore.
 To been a mordrere is an hateful name;
 But nathelees, for ernest ne for game,
 He of his crueel purpos nolde stente;
 To tempte his wyf was set al his entente.
 Whan that his doghter twelve yeer was of age,
 He to the court of Rome, in subtil wyse
 Enformed of his wyl, sente his message,
 Comaundynge hem swiche bulles to devyse
740 As to his crueel purpos may suffyse --
 How that the pope, as for his peples reste,
 Bad hym to wedde another, if hym leste.
 I seye, he bad they sholde countrefete
 The popes bulles, makynge mencion
 That he hath leve his firste wyf to lete,
 As by the popes dispensacion,
 To stynte rancour and dissencion
 Bitwixe his peple and hym; thus seyde the bulle,
 The which they han publiced atte fulle.
750 The rude peple, as it no wonder is,
 Wenden ful wel that it hadde be right so;
 But whan thise tidynges came to Grisildis,
 I deeme that hire herte was ful wo.
 But she, ylike sad for everemo,
 Disposed was, this humble creature,
 The adversitee of Fortune al t' endure,
 Abidynge evere his lust and his plesance,
 To whom that she was yeven herte and al,
 As to hire verray worldly suffisance.
760 But shortly if this storie I tellen shal,
 This markys writen hath in special
 A lettre, in which he sheweth his entente,
 And secreely he to Boloigne it sente.
 To the Erl of Panyk, which that hadde tho
 Wedded his suster, preyde he specially
 To bryngen hoom agayn his children two
 In honurable estaat al openly.
 But o thyng he hym preyede outrely,
 That he to no wight, though men wolde enquere,
770 Sholde nat telle whos children that they were,
 But seye the mayden sholde ywedded be
 Unto the Markys of Saluce anon.
 And as this erl was preyed, so dide he;
 For at day set he on his wey is goon
 Toward Saluce, and lordes many oon
 In riche array, this mayden for to gyde,
 Hir yonge brother ridynge hire bisyde.
 Arrayed was toward hir mariage
 This fresshe mayde, ful of gemmes cleere;
780 Hir brother, which that seven yeer was of age,
 Arrayed eek ful fressh in his manere.
 And thus in greet noblesse and with glad cheere,
 Toward Saluces shapynge hir journey,
 Fro day to day they ryden in hir wey.
 Among al this, after his wikke usage,
 This markys, yet his wyf to tempte moore
 To the outtreste preeve of hir corage,
 Fully to han experience and loore
 If that she were as stidefast as bifoore,
790 He on a day in open audience
 Ful boistously hath seyd hire this sentence:
 "Certes, Grisilde, I hadde ynogh plesance
 To han yow to my wyf for youre goodnesse,
 As for youre trouthe and for youre obeisance,
 Noght for youre lynage, ne for youre richesse;
 But now knowe I in verray soothfastnesse
 That in greet lordshipe, if I wel avyse,
 Ther is greet servitute in sondry wyse.
 "I may nat doon as every plowman may.
800 My peple me constreyneth for to take
 Another wyf, and crien day by day;
 And eek the pope, rancour for to slake,
 Consenteth it -- that dar I undertake --
 And trewely thus muche I wol yow seye:
 My newe wyf is comynge by the weye.
 "Be strong of herte, and voyde anon hir place;
 And thilke dowere that ye broghten me,
 Taak it agayn; I graunte it of my grace.
 Retourneth to youre fadres hous," quod he;
810 "No man may alwey han prosperitee.
 With evene herte I rede yow t' endure
 The strook of Fortune or of aventure."
 And she agayn answerde in pacience:
 "My lord," quod she, "I woot, and wiste alway,
 How that bitwixen youre magnificence
 And my poverte no wight kan ne may
 Maken comparison; it is no nay.
 I ne heeld me nevere digne in no manere
 To be youre wyf, no, ne youre chamberere.
820 "And in this hous, ther ye me lady maade --
 The heighe God take I for my witnesse,
 And also wysly he my soule glaade --
 I nevere heeld me lady ne mistresse,
 But humble servant to youre worthynesse,
 And evere shal, whil that my lyf may dure,
 Aboven every worldly creature.
 "That ye so longe of youre benignitee
 Han holden me in honour and nobleye,
 Where as I was noght worthy for to bee,
830 That thonke I God and yow, to whom I preye
 Foryelde it yow; ther is namoore to seye.
 Unto my fader gladly wol I wende,
 And with hym dwelle unto my lyves ende.
 "Ther I was fostred of a child ful smal,
 Til I be deed my lyf ther wol I lede,
 A wydwe clene in body, herte, and al.
 For sith I yaf to yow my maydenhede,
 And am youre trewe wyf, it is no drede,
 God shilde swich a lordes wyf to take
840 Another man to housbonde or to make!
 "And of youre newe wyf God of his grace
 So graunte yow wele and prosperitee!
 For I wol gladly yelden hire my place,
 In which that I was blisful wont to bee.
 For sith it liketh yow, my lord," quod shee,
 "That whilom weren al myn hertes reste,
 That I shal goon, I wol goon whan yow leste.
 "But ther as ye me profre swich dowaire
 As I first broghte, it is wel in my mynde
850 It were my wrecched clothes, nothyng faire,
 The whiche to me were hard now for to fynde.
 O goode God! How gentil and how kynde
 Ye semed by youre speche and youre visage
 The day that maked was oure mariage!
 "But sooth is seyd -- algate I fynde it trewe,
 For in effect it preeved is on me --
 Love is noght oold as whan that it is newe.
 But certes, lord, for noon adversitee,
 To dyen in the cas, it shal nat bee
860 That evere in word or werk I shal repente
 That I yow yaf myn herte in hool entente.
 "My lord, ye woot that in my fadres place
 Ye dide me streepe out of my povre weede,
 And richely me cladden, of youre grace.
 To yow broghte I noght elles, out of drede,
 But feith, and nakednesse, and maydenhede;
 And heere agayn your clothyng I restoore,
 And eek your weddyng ryng, for everemore.
 "The remenant of youre jueles redy be
870 Inwith youre chambre, dar I saufly sayn.
 Naked out of my fadres hous," quod she,
 "I cam, and naked moot I turne agayn.
 Al youre plesance wol I folwen fayn;
 But yet I hope it be nat youre entente
 That I smoklees out of youre paleys wente.
 "Ye koude nat doon so dishonest a thyng,
 That thilke wombe in which youre children leye
 Sholde biforn the peple, in my walkyng,
 Be seyn al bare; wherfore I yow preye,
880 Lat me nat lyk a worm go by the weye.
 Remembre yow, myn owene lord so deere,
 I was youre wyf, though I unworthy weere.
 "Wherfore, in gerdon of my maydenhede,
 Which that I broghte, and noght agayn I bere,
 As voucheth sauf to yeve me, to my meede,
 But swich a smok as I was wont to were,
 That I therwith may wrye the wombe of here
 That was youre wyf. And heer take I my leeve
 Of yow, myn owene lord, lest I yow greve."
890 "The smok," quod he, "that thou hast on thy bak,
 Lat it be stille, and bere it forth with thee."
 But wel unnethes thilke word he spak,
 But wente his wey, for routhe and for pitee.
 Biforn the folk hirselven strepeth she,
 And in hir smok, with heed and foot al bare,
 Toward hir fadre hous forth is she fare.
 The folk hire folwe, wepynge in hir weye,
 And Fortune ay they cursen as they goon;
 But she fro wepyng kepte hire eyen dreye,
900 Ne in this tyme word ne spak she noon.
 Hir fader, that this tidynge herde anoon,
 Curseth the day and tyme that Nature
 Shoop hym to been a lyves creature.
 For out of doute this olde poure man
 Was evere in suspect of hir mariage;
 For evere he demed, sith that it bigan,
 That whan the lord fulfild hadde his corage,
 Hym wolde thynke it were a disparage
 To his estaat so lowe for t' alighte,
910 And voyden hire as soone as ever he myghte.
 Agayns his doghter hastily goth he,
 For he by noyse of folk knew hire comynge,
 And with hire olde coote, as it myghte be
 He covered hire, ful sorwefully wepynge.
 But on hire body myghte he it nat brynge,
 For rude was the clooth, and moore of age
 By dayes fele than at hire mariage.
 Thus with hire fader for a certeyn space
 Dwelleth this flour of wyfly pacience,
920 That neither by hire wordes ne hire face,
 Biforn the folk, ne eek in hire absence,
 Ne shewed she that hire was doon offence;
 Ne of hire heighe estaat no remembraunce
 Ne hadde she, as by hire contenaunce.
 No wonder is, for in hire grete estaat
 Hire goost was evere in pleyn humylitee;
 No tendre mouth, noon herte delicaat,
 No pompe, no semblant of roialtee,
 But ful of pacient benyngnytee,
930 Discreet and pridelees, ay honurable,
 And to hire housbonde evere meke and stable.
 Men speke of Job, and moost for his humblesse,
 As clerkes, whan hem list, konne wel endite,
 Namely of men, but as in soothfastnesse,
 Though clerkes preise wommen but a lite,
 Ther kan no man in humblesse hym acquite
 As womman kan, ne kan been half so trewe
 As wommen been, but it be falle of newe.
 Fro Boloigne is this Erl of Panyk come,
940 Of which the fame up sprang to moore and lesse,
 And to the peples eres, alle and some,
 Was kouth eek that a newe markysesse
 He with hym broghte, in swich pompe and richesse
 That nevere was ther seyn with mannes ye
 So noble array in al West Lumbardye.
 The markys, which that shoop and knew al this,
 Er that this erl was come, sente his message
 For thilke sely povre Grisildis;
 And she with humble herte and glad visage,
950 Nat with no swollen thoght in hire corage,
 Cam at his heste, and on hire knees hire sette,
 And reverently and wisely she hym grette.
 "Grisilde," quod he, "my wyl is outrely
 This mayden, that shal wedded been to me,
 Received be to-morwe as roially
 As it possible is in myn hous to be,
 And eek that every wight in his degree
 Have his estaat, in sittyng and servyse
 And heigh plesaunce, as I kan best devyse.
960 "I have no wommen suffisaunt, certayn,
 The chambres for t' arraye in ordinaunce
 After my lust, and therfore wolde I fayn
 That thyn were al swich manere governaunce.
 Thou knowest eek of old al my plesaunce;
 Thogh thyn array be badde and yvel biseye,
 Do thou thy devoir at the leeste weye."
 "Nat oonly, lord, that I am glad," quod she,
 "To doon youre lust, but I desire also
 Yow for to serve and plese in my degree
970 Withouten feyntyng, and shal everemo;
 Ne nevere, for no wele ne no wo,
 Ne shal the goost withinne myn herte stente
 To love yow best with al my trewe entente."
 And with that word she gan the hous to dighte,
 And tables for to sette, and beddes make;
 And peyned hire to doon al that she myghte,
 Preyynge the chambereres, for Goddes sake,
 To hasten hem, and faste swepe and shake;
 And she, the mooste servysable of alle,
980 Hath every chambre arrayed and his halle.
 Abouten undren gan this erl alighte,
 That with hym broghte thise noble children tweye,
 For which the peple ran to seen the sighte
 Of hire array, so richely biseye;
 And thanne at erst amonges hem they seye
 That Walter was no fool, thogh that hym leste
 To chaunge his wyf, for it was for the beste.
 For she is fairer, as they deemen alle,
 Than is Grisilde, and moore tendre of age,
990 And fairer fruyt bitwene hem sholde falle,
 And moore plesant, for hire heigh lynage.
 Hir brother eek so fair was of visage
 That hem to seen the peple hath caught plesaunce,
 Commendynge now the markys governaunce.
 "O stormy peple! Unsad and evere untrewe!
 Ay undiscreet and chaungynge as a fane!
 Delitynge evere in rumbul that is newe,
 For lyk the moone ay wexe ye and wane!
 Ay ful of clappyng, deere ynogh a jane!
1000 Youre doom is fals, youre constance yvele preeveth;
 A ful greet fool is he that on yow leeveth."
 Thus seyden sadde folk in that citee,
 Whan that the peple gazed up and doun,
 For they were glad, right for the noveltee,
 To han a newe lady of hir toun.
 Namoore of this make I now mencioun,
 But to Grisilde agayn wol I me dresse,
 And telle hir constance and hir bisynesse.
 Ful bisy was Grisilde in every thyng
1010 That to the feeste was apertinent.
 Right noght was she abayst of hire clothyng,
 Thogh it were rude and somdeel eek torent;
 But with glad cheere to the yate is went
 With oother folk to greete the markysesse,
 And after that dooth forth hire bisynesse.
 With so glad chiere his gestes she receyveth,
 And so konnyngly, everich in his degree,
 That no defaute no man aperceyveth,
 But ay they wondren what she myghte bee
1020 That in so povre array was for to see,
 And koude swich honour and reverence,
 And worthily they preisen hire prudence.
 In al this meene while she ne stente
 This mayde and eek hir brother to commende
 With al hir herte, in ful benyngne entente,
 So wel that no man koude hir pris amende.
 But atte laste, whan that thise lordes wende
 To sitten doun to mete, he gan to calle
 Grisilde, as she was bisy in his halle.
1030 "Grisilde," quod he, as it were in his pley,
 "How liketh thee my wyf and hire beautee?"
 "Right wel," quod she, "my lord; for, in good fey,
 A fairer saugh I nevere noon than she.
 I prey to God yeve hire prosperitee;
 And so hope I that he wol to yow sende
 Plesance ynogh unto youre lyves ende.
 "O thyng biseke I yow, and warne also,
 That ye ne prikke with no tormentynge
 This tendre mayden, as ye han doon mo;
1040 For she is fostred in hire norissynge
 Moore tendrely, and, to my supposynge,
 She koude nat adversitee endure
 As koude a povre fostred creature."
 And whan this Walter saugh hire pacience,
 Hir glade chiere, and no malice at al,
 And he so ofte had doon to hire offence,
 And she ay sad and constant as a wal,
 Continuynge evere hire innocence overal,
 This sturdy markys gan his herte dresse
1050 To rewen upon hire wyfly stedfastnesse.
 "This is ynogh, Grisilde myn," quod he;
 "Be now namoore agast ne yvele apayed.
 I have thy feith and thy benyngnytee,
 As wel as evere womman was, assayed,
 In greet estaat and povreliche arrayed.
 Now knowe I, dere wyf, thy stedfastnesse" --
 And hire in armes took and gan hire kesse.
 And she for wonder took of it no keep;
 She herde nat what thyng he to hire seyde;
1060 She ferde as she had stert out of a sleep,
 Til she out of hire mazednesse abreyde.
 "Grisilde," quod he, "by God, that for us deyde,
 Thou art my wyf, ne noon oother I have,
 Ne nevere hadde, as God my soule save!
 "This is thy doghter, which thou hast supposed
 To be my wyf; that oother feithfully
 Shal be myn heir, as I have ay disposed;
 Thou bare hym in thy body trewely.
 At Boloigne have I kept hem prively;
1070 Taak hem agayn, for now maystow nat seye
 That thou hast lorn noon of thy children tweye.
 "And folk that ootherweys han seyd of me,
 I warne hem wel that I have doon this deede
 For no malice, ne for no crueltee,
 But for t' assaye in thee thy wommanheede,
 And nat to sleen my children -- God forbeede! --
 But for to kepe hem pryvely and stille,
 Til I thy purpos knewe and al thy wille."
 Whan she this herde, aswowne doun she falleth
1080 For pitous joye, and after hire swownynge
 She bothe hire yonge children to hire calleth,
 And in hire armes, pitously wepynge,
 Embraceth hem, and tendrely kissynge
 Ful lyk a mooder, with hire salte teeres
 She bathed bothe hire visage and hire heeres.
 O which a pitous thyng it was to se
 Hir swownyng, and hire humble voys to heere!
 "Grauntmercy, lord, God thanke it yow," quod she,
 "That ye han saved me my children deere!
1090 Now rekke I nevere to been deed right heere;
 Sith I stonde in youre love and in youre grace,
 No fors of deeth, ne whan my spirit pace!
 "O tendre, o deere, o yonge children myne!
 Youre woful mooder wende stedfastly
 That crueel houndes or som foul vermyne
 Hadde eten yow; but God of his mercy
 And youre benyngne fader tendrely
 Hath doon yow kept" -- and in that same stounde
 Al sodeynly she swapte adoun to grounde.
1100 And in hire swough so sadly holdeth she
 Hire children two, whan she gan hem t' embrace,
 That with greet sleighte and greet difficultee
 The children from hire arm they gonne arace.
 O many a teere on many a pitous face
 Doun ran of hem that stooden hire bisyde;
 Unnethe abouten hire myghte they abyde.
 Walter hire gladeth and hire sorwe slaketh;
 She riseth up, abaysed, from hire traunce,
 And every wight hire joye and feeste maketh
1110 Til she hath caught agayn hire contenaunce.
 Walter hire dooth so feithfully plesaunce
 That it was deyntee for to seen the cheere
 Bitwixe hem two, now they been met yfeere.
 Thise ladyes, whan that they hir tyme say,
 Han taken hire and into chambre gon,
 And strepen hire out of hire rude array,
 And in a clooth of gold that brighte shoon,
 With a coroune of many a riche stoon
 Upon hire heed, they into halle hire broghte,
1120 And ther she was honured as hire oghte.
 Thus hath this pitous day a blisful ende,
 For every man and womman dooth his myght
 This day in murthe and revel to dispende
 Til on the welkne shoon the sterres lyght.
 For moore solempne in every mannes syght
 This feste was, and gretter of costage,
 Than was the revel of hire mariage.
 Ful many a yeer in heigh prosperitee
 Lyven thise two in concord and in reste,
1130 And richely his doghter maryed he
 Unto a lord, oon of the worthieste
 Of al Ytaille; and thanne in pees and reste
 His wyves fader in his court he kepeth,
 Til that the soule out of his body crepeth.
 His sone succedeth in his heritage
 In reste and pees, after his fader day,
 And fortunat was eek in mariage,
 Al putte he nat his wyf in greet assay.
 This world is nat so strong, it is no nay,
1140 As it hath been in olde tymes yoore,
 And herkneth what this auctour seith therfoore.
 This storie is seyd nat for that wyves sholde
 Folwen Grisilde as in humylitee,
 For it were inportable, though they wolde,
 But for that every wight, in his degree,
 Sholde be constant in adversitee
 As was Grisilde; therfore Petrak writeth
 This storie, which with heigh stile he enditeth.
 For sith a womman was so pacient
1150 Unto a mortal man, wel moore us oghte
 Receyven al in gree that God us sent;
 For greet skile is he preeve that he wroghte.
 But he ne tempteth no man that he boghte,
 As seith Seint Jame, if ye his pistel rede;
 He preeveth folk al day, it is no drede,
 And suffreth us, as for oure excercise,
 With sharpe scourges of adversitee
 Ful ofte to be bete in sondry wise;
 Nat for to knowe oure wyl, for certes he,
1160 Er we were born, knew al oure freletee;
 And for oure beste is al his governaunce.
 Lat us thanne lyve in vertuous suffraunce.
 But o word, lordynges, herkneth er I go:
 It were ful hard to fynde now-a-dayes
 In al a toun Grisildis thre or two;
 For if that they were put to swiche assayes,
 The gold of hem hath now so badde alayes
 With bras, that thogh the coyne be fair at ye,
 It wolde rather breste a-two than plye.
1170 For which heere, for the Wyves love of Bathe --
 Whos lyf and al hire secte God mayntene
 In heigh maistrie, and elles were it scathe --
 I wol with lusty herte, fressh and grene,
 Seyn yow a song to glade yow, I wene;
 And lat us stynte of ernestful matere.
 Herkneth my song that seith in this manere:
 Grisilde is deed, and eek hire pacience,
 And bothe atones buryed in Ytaille;
 For which I crie in open audience
1180 No wedded man so hardy be t' assaille
 His wyves pacience in trust to fynde
 Grisildis, for in certein he shal faille.
 O noble wyves, ful of heigh prudence,
 Lat noon humylitee youre tonge naille,
 Ne lat no clerk have cause or diligence
 To write of yow a storie of swich mervaille
 As of Grisildis pacient and kynde,
 Lest Chichevache yow swelwe in hire entraille!
 Folweth Ekko, that holdeth no silence,
1190 But evere answereth at the countretaille.
 Beth nat bidaffed for youre innocence,
 But sharply taak on yow the governaille.
 Emprenteth wel this lessoun in youre mynde,
 For commune profit sith it may availle.
 Ye archewyves, stondeth at defense,
 Syn ye be strong as is a greet camaille;
 Ne suffreth nat that men yow doon offense.
 And sklendre wyves, fieble as in bataille,
 Beth egre as is a tygre yond in Ynde;
1200 Ay clappeth as a mille, I yow consaille.
 Ne dreed hem nat; doth hem no reverence,
 For though thyn housbonde armed be in maille,
 The arwes of thy crabbed eloquence
 Shal perce his brest and eek his aventaille.
 In jalousie I rede eek thou hym bynde,
 And thou shalt make hym couche as doth a quaille.
 If thou be fair, ther folk been in presence,
 Shewe thou thy visage and thyn apparaille;
 If thou be foul, be fre of thy dispence;
1210 To gete thee freendes ay do thy travaille;
 Be ay of chiere as light as leef on lynde,
 And lat hym care, and wepe, and wrynge, and waille!
 [This worthy Clerk, whan ended was his tale,
 Oure Hooste seyde, and swoor, "By Goddes bones,
 Me were levere than a barel ale
 My wyf at hoom had herd this legende ones!
 This is a gentil tale for the nones,
 As to my purpos, wiste ye my wille;
 But thyng that wol nat be, lat it be stille."]

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Merchant's Prologue

 "Wepyng and waylyng, care and oother sorwe
 I knowe ynogh, on even and a-morwe,"
 Quod the Marchant, "and so doon other mo
 That wedded been. I trowe that it be so,
 For wel I woot it fareth so with me.
 I have a wyf, the worste that may be;
 For thogh the feend to hire ycoupled were,
1220 She wolde hym overmacche, I dar wel swere.
 What sholde I yow reherce in special
 Hir hye malice? She is a shrewe at al.
 Ther is a long and large difference
 Bitwix Grisildis grete pacience
 And of my wyf the passyng crueltee.
 Were I unbounden, also moot I thee,
 I wolde nevere eft comen in the snare.
 We wedded men lyven in sorwe and care.
 Assaye whoso wole, and he shal fynde
1230 That I seye sooth, by Seint Thomas of Ynde,
 As for the moore part -- I sey nat alle.
 God shilde that it sholde so bifalle!
 "A, goode sire Hoost, I have ywedded bee
 Thise monthes two, and moore nat, pardee;
 And yet, I trowe, he that al his lyve
 Wyflees hath been, though that men wolde him ryve
 Unto the herte, ne koude in no manere
 Tellen so muchel sorwe as I now heere
 Koude tellen of my wyves cursednesse!"
1240 "Now," quod oure Hoost, "Marchaunt, so God yow blesse,
 Syn ye so muchel knowen of that art
 Ful hertely I pray yow telle us part."
 "Gladly," quod he, "but of myn owene soore,
 For soory herte, I telle may namoore."

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Merchant's Tale

 Whilom ther was dwellynge in Lumbardye
 A worthy knyght, that born was of Pavye,
 In which he lyved in greet prosperitee;
 And sixty yeer a wyflees man was hee,
 And folwed ay his bodily delyt
1250 On wommen, ther as was his appetyt,
 As doon thise fooles that been seculeer.
 And whan that he was passed sixty yeer,
 Were it for hoolynesse or for dotage
 I kan nat seye, but swich a greet corage
 Hadde this knyght to been a wedded man
 That day and nyght he dooth al that he kan
 T' espien where he myghte wedded be,
 Preyinge oure Lord to graunten him that he
 Mighte ones knowe of thilke blisful lyf
1260 That is bitwixe an housbonde and his wyf,
 And for to lyve under that hooly boond
 With which that first God man and womman bond.
 "Noon oother lyf," seyde he, "is worth a bene,
 For wedlok is so esy and so clene,
 That in this world it is a paradys."
 Thus seyde this olde knyght, that was so wys.
 And certeinly, as sooth as God is kyng,
 To take a wyf it is a glorious thyng,
 And namely whan a man is oold and hoor;
1270 Thanne is a wyf the fruyt of his tresor.
 Thanne sholde he take a yong wyf and a feir,
 On which he myghte engendren hym an heir,
 And lede his lyf in joye and in solas,
 Where as thise bacheleris synge "allas,"
 Whan that they fynden any adversitee
 In love, which nys but childyssh vanytee.
 And trewely it sit wel to be so,
 That bacheleris have often peyne and wo;
 On brotel ground they buylde, and brotelnesse
1280 They fynde whan they wene sikernesse.
 They lyve but as a bryd or as a beest,
 In libertee and under noon arreest,
 Ther as a wedded man in his estaat
 Lyveth a lyf blisful and ordinaat
 Under this yok of mariage ybounde.
 Wel may his herte in joy and blisse habounde,
 For who kan be so buxom as a wyf?
 Who is so trewe, and eek so ententyf
 To kepe hym, syk and hool, as is his make?
1290 For wele or wo she wole hym nat forsake;
 She nys nat wery hym to love and serve,
 Though that he lye bedrede til he sterve.
 And yet somme clerkes seyn it nys nat so,
 Of whiche he Theofraste is oon of tho.
 What force though Theofraste liste lye?
 "Ne take no wyf," quod he, "for housbondrye,
 As for to spare in houshold thy dispence.
 A trewe servant dooth moore diligence
 Thy good to kepe than thyn owene wyf,
1300 For she wol clayme half part al hir lyf.
 And if thou be syk, so God me save,
 Thy verray freendes, or a trewe knave,
 Wol kepe thee bet than she that waiteth ay
 After thy good and hath doon many a day.
 And if thou take a wyf unto thyn hoold
 Ful lightly maystow been a cokewold."
 This sentence, and an hundred thynges worse,
 Writeth this man, ther God his bones corse!
 But take no kep of al swich vanytee;
1310 Deffie Theofraste, and herke me.
 A wyf is Goddes yifte verraily;
 Alle othere manere yiftes hardily,
 As londes, rentes, pasture, or commune,
 Or moebles -- alle been yiftes of Fortune
 That passen as a shadwe upon a wal.
 But drede nat, if pleynly speke I shal:
 A wyf wol laste, and in thyn hous endure,
 Wel lenger than thee list, paraventure.
 Mariage is a ful greet sacrement.
1320 He which that hath no wyf, I holde hym shent;
 He lyveth helplees and al desolat --
 I speke of folk in seculer estaat.
 And herke why -- I sey nat this for noght --
 That womman is for mannes helpe ywroght.
 The hye God, whan he hadde Adam maked,
 And saugh him al allone, bely-naked,
 God of his grete goodnesse seyde than,
 "Lat us now make an helpe unto this man
 Lyk to hymself"; and thanne he made him Eve.
1330 Heere may ye se, and heerby may ye preve,
 That wyf is mannes helpe and his confort,
 His paradys terrestre, and his disport.
 So buxom and so vertuous is she,
 They moste nedes lyve in unitee.
 O flessh they been, and o fleesh, as I gesse,
 Hath but oon herte, in wele and in distresse.
 A wyf! a, Seinte Marie, benedicite!
 How myghte a man han any adversitee
 That hath a wyf? Certes, I kan nat seye.
1340 The blisse which that is bitwixe hem tweye
 Ther may no tonge telle, or herte thynke.
 If he be povre, she helpeth hym to swynke;
 She kepeth his good, and wasteth never a deel;
 Al that hire housbonde lust, hire liketh weel;
 She seith nat ones "nay," whan he seith "ye."
 "Do this," seith he; "Al redy, sire," seith she.
 O blisful ordre of wedlok precious,
 Thou art so murye, and eek so vertuous,
 And so commended and appreved eek
1350 That every man that halt hym worth a leek
 Upon his bare knees oughte al his lyf
 Thanken his God that hym hath sent a wyf,
 Or elles preye to God hym for to sende
 A wyf to laste unto his lyves ende.
 For thanne his lyf is set in sikernesse;
 He may nat be deceyved, as I gesse,
 So that he werke after his wyves reed.
 Thanne may he boldely beren up his heed,
 They been so trewe and therwithal so wyse;
1360 For which, if thou wolt werken as the wyse,
 Do alwey so as wommen wol thee rede.
 Lo, how that Jacob, as thise clerkes rede,
 By good conseil of his mooder Rebekke,
 Boond the kydes skyn aboute his nekke,
 For which his fadres benyson he wan.
 Lo Judith, as the storie eek telle kan,
 By wys conseil she Goddes peple kepte,
 And slow hym Olofernus, whil he slepte.
 Lo Abigayl, by good conseil how she
1370 Saved hir housbonde Nabal whan that he
 Sholde han be slayn; and looke, Ester also
 By good conseil delyvered out of wo
 The peple of God, and made hym Mardochee
 Of Assuere enhaunced for to be.
 Ther nys no thyng in gree superlatyf,
 As seith Senek, above an humble wyf.
 Suffre thy wyves tonge, as Catoun bit;
 She shal comande, and thou shalt suffren it,
 And yet she wole obeye of curteisye.
1380 A wyf is kepere of thyn housbondrye;
 Wel may the sike man biwaille and wepe,
 Ther as ther nys no wyf the hous to kepe.
 I warne thee, if wisely thou wolt wirche,
 Love wel thy wyf, as Crist loved his chirche.
 If thou lovest thyself, thou lovest thy wyf;
 No man hateth his flessh, but in his lyf
 He fostreth it, and therfore bidde I thee
 Cherisse thy wyf, or thou shalt nevere thee.
 Housbonde and wyf, what so men jape or pleye,
1390 Of worldly folk holden the siker weye;
 They been so knyt ther may noon harm bityde,
 And namely upon the wyves syde.
 For which this Januarie, of whom I tolde,
 Considered hath, inwith his dayes olde,
 The lusty lyf, the vertuous quyete,
 That is in mariage hony-sweete,
 And for his freendes on a day he sente,
 To tellen hem th' effect of his entente.
 With face sad his tale he hath hem toold.
1400 He seyde, "Freendes, I am hoor and oold,
 And almoost, God woot, on my pittes brynke;
 Upon my soule somwhat moste I thynke.
 I have my body folily despended;
 Blessed be God that it shal been amended!
 For I wol be, certeyn, a wedded man,
 And that anoon in al the haste I kan.
 Unto som mayde fair and tendre of age,
 I prey yow, shapeth for my mariage
 Al sodeynly, for I wol nat abyde;
1410 And I wol fonde t' espien, on my syde,
 To whom I may be wedded hastily.
 But forasmuche as ye been mo than I,
 Ye shullen rather swich a thyng espyen
 Than I, and where me best were to allyen.
 "But o thyng warne I yow, my freendes deere,
 I wol noon oold wyf han in no manere.
 She shal nat passe twenty yeer, certayn;
 Oold fissh and yong flessh wolde I have fayn.
 Bet is," quod he, "a pyk than a pykerel,
1420 And bet than old boef is the tendre veel.
 I wol no womman thritty yeer of age;
 It is but bene-straw and greet forage.
 And eek thise olde wydwes, God it woot,
 They konne so muchel craft on Wades boot,
 So muchel broken harm, whan that hem leste,
 That with hem sholde I nevere lyve in reste.
 For sondry scoles maken sotile clerkis;
 Womman of manye scoles half a clerk is.
 But certeynly, a yong thyng may men gye,
1430 Right as men may warm wex with handes plye.
 Wherfore I sey yow pleynly, in a clause,
 I wol noon oold wyf han right for this cause.
 For if so were I hadde swich myschaunce
 That I in hire ne koude han no plesaunce,
 Thanne sholde I lede my lyf in avoutrye
 And go streight to the devel whan I dye.
 Ne children sholde I none upon hire geten;
 Yet were me levere houndes had me eten
 Than that myn heritage sholde falle
1440 In straunge hand, and this I telle yow alle.
 I dote nat; I woot the cause why
 Men sholde wedde, and forthermoore woot I
 Ther speketh many a man of mariage
 That woot namoore of it than woot my page
 For whiche causes man sholde take a wyf.
 If he ne may nat lyven chaast his lyf,
 Take hym a wyf with greet devocioun,
 By cause of leveful procreacioun
 Of children to th' onour of God above,
1450 And nat oonly for paramour or love;
 And for they sholde leccherye eschue,
 And yelde hir dette whan that it is due;
 Or for that ech of hem sholde helpen oother
 In meschief, as a suster shal the brother,
 And lyve in chastitee ful holily.
 But sires, by youre leve, that am nat I.
 For -- God be thanked! -- I dar make avaunt
 I feele my lymes stark and suffisaunt
 To do al that a man bilongeth to;
1460 I woot myselven best what I may do.
 Though I be hoor, I fare as dooth a tree
 That blosmeth er that fruyt ywoxen bee;
 And blosmy tree nys neither drye ne deed.
 I feele me nowhere hoor but on myn heed;
 Myn herte and alle my lymes been as grene
 As laurer thurgh the yeer is for to sene.
 And syn that ye han herd al myn entente,
 I prey yow to my wyl ye wole assente."
 Diverse men diversely hym tolde
1470 Of mariage manye ensamples olde.
 Somme blamed it, somme preysed it, certeyn,
 But atte laste, shortly for to seyn,
 As al day falleth altercacioun
 Bitwixen freendes in disputisoun,
 Ther fil a stryf bitwixe his bretheren two,
 Of whiche that oon was cleped Placebo;
 Justinus soothly called was that oother.
 Placebo seyde, "O Januarie, brother,
 Ful litel nede hadde ye, my lord so deere,
1480 Conseil to axe of any that is heere,
 But that ye been so ful of sapience
 That yow ne liketh, for youre heighe prudence,
 To weyven fro the word of Salomon.
 This word seyde he unto us everychon:
 `Wirk alle thyng by conseil,' thus seyde he,
 `And thanne shaltow nat repente thee.'
 But though that Salomon spak swich a word,
 Myn owene deere brother and my lord,
 So wysly God my soule brynge at reste,
1490 I holde youre owene conseil is the beste.
 For, brother myn, of me taak this motyf:
 I have now been a court-man al my lyf,
 And God it woot, though I unworthy be,
 I have stonden in ful greet degree
 Abouten lordes of ful heigh estaat;
 Yet hadde I nevere with noon of hem debaat.
 I nevere hem contraried, trewely;
 I woot wel that my lord kan moore than I.
 What that he seith, I holde it ferme and stable;
1500 I seye the same, or elles thyng semblable.
 A ful greet fool is any conseillour
 That serveth any lord of heigh honour,
 That dar presume, or elles thenken it,
 That his conseil sholde passe his lordes wit.
 Nay, lordes been no fooles, by my fay!
 Ye han youreselven shewed heer to-day
 So heigh sentence, so holily and weel,
 That I consente and conferme everydeel
 Youre wordes alle and youre opinioun.
1510 By God, ther nys no man in al this toun,
 Ne in Ytaille, that koude bet han sayd!
 Crist halt hym of this conseil ful wel apayd.
 And trewely, it is an heigh corage
 Of any man that stapen is in age
 To take a yong wyf; by my fader kyn,
 Youre herte hangeth on a joly pyn!
 Dooth now in this matiere right as yow leste,
 For finally I holde it for the beste."
 Justinus, that ay stille sat and herde,
1520 Right in this wise he to Placebo answerde:
 "Now, brother myn, be pacient, I preye,
 Syn ye han seyd, and herkneth what I seye.
 Senek, amonges othere wordes wyse,
 Seith that a man oghte hym right wel avyse
 To whom he yeveth his lond or his catel.
 And syn I oghte avyse me right wel
 To whom I yeve my good awey fro me,
 Wel muchel moore I oghte avysed be
 To whom I yeve my body for alwey.
1530 I warne yow wel, it is no childes pley
 To take a wyf withouten avysement.
 Men moste enquere -- this is myn assent --
 Wher she be wys, or sobre, or dronkelewe,
 Or proud, or elles ootherweys a shrewe,
 A chidestere, or wastour of thy good,
 Or riche, or poore, or elles mannyssh wood.
 Al be it so that no man fynden shal
 Noon in this world that trotteth hool in al,
 Ne man, ne beest, swich as men koude devyse;
1540 But nathelees it oghte ynough suffise
 With any wyf, if so were that she hadde
 Mo goode thewes than hire vices badde;
 And al this axeth leyser for t' enquere.
 For, God it woot, I have wept many a teere
 Ful pryvely, syn I have had a wyf.
 Preyse whoso wole a wedded mannes lyf,
 Certein I fynde in it but cost and care
 And observances, of alle blisses bare.
 And yet, God woot, my neighebores aboute,
1550 And namely of wommen many a route,
 Seyn that I have the mooste stedefast wyf,
 And eek the mekeste oon that bereth lyf;
 But I woot best where wryngeth me my sho.
 Ye mowe, for me, right as yow liketh do;
 Avyseth yow -- ye been a man of age --
 How that ye entren into mariage,
 And namely with a yong wyf and a fair.
 By hym that made water, erthe, and air,
 The yongeste man that is in al this route
1560 Is bisy ynough to bryngen it aboute
 To han his wyf allone. Trusteth me,
 Ye shul nat plesen hire fully yeres thre --
 This is to seyn, to doon hire ful plesaunce.
 A wyf axeth ful many an observaunce.
 I prey yow that ye be nat yvele apayd."
 "Wel," quod this Januarie, "and hastow ysayd?
 Straw for thy Senek, and for thy proverbes!
 I counte nat a panyer ful of herbes
 Of scole-termes. Wyser men than thow,
1570 As thou hast herd, assenteden right now
 To my purpos. Placebo, what sey ye?"
 "I seye it is a cursed man," quod he,
 "That letteth matrimoigne, sikerly."
 And with that word they rysen sodeynly,
 And been assented fully that he sholde
 Be wedded whanne hym liste and where he wolde.
 Heigh fantasye and curious bisynesse
 Fro day to day gan in the soule impresse
 Of Januarie aboute his mariage.
1580 Many fair shap and many a fair visage
 Ther passeth thurgh his herte nyght by nyght,
 As whoso tooke a mirour, polisshed bryght,
 And sette it in a commune market-place,
 Thanne sholde he se ful many a figure pace
 By his mirour; and in the same wyse
 Gan Januarie inwith his thoght devyse
 Of maydens whiche that dwelten hym bisyde.
 He wiste nat wher that he myghte abyde.
 For if that oon have beaute in hir face,
1590 Another stant so in the peples grace
 For hire sadnesse and hire benyngnytee
 That of the peple grettest voys hath she;
 And somme were riche and hadden badde name.
 But nathelees, bitwixe ernest and game,
 He atte laste apoynted hym on oon,
 And leet alle othere from his herte goon,
 And chees hire of his owene auctoritee;
 For love is blynd alday, and may nat see.
 And whan that he was in his bed ybroght,
1600 He purtreyed in his herte and in his thoght
 Hir fresshe beautee and hir age tendre,
 Hir myddel smal, hire armes longe and sklendre,
 Hir wise governaunce, hir gentillesse,
 Hir wommanly berynge, and hire sadnesse.
 And whan that he on hire was condescended,
 Hym thoughte his choys myghte nat ben amended.
 For whan that he hymself concluded hadde,
 Hym thoughte ech oother mannes wit so badde
 That inpossible it were to repplye
1610 Agayn his choys; this was his fantasye.
 His freendes sente he to, at his instaunce,
 And preyed hem to doon hym that plesaunce,
 That hastily they wolden to hym come;
 He wolde abregge hir labour, alle and some.
 Nedeth namoore for hym to go ne ryde;
 He was apoynted ther he wolde abyde.
 Placebo cam, and eek his freendes soone,
 And alderfirst he bad hem alle a boone,
 That noon of hem none argumentes make
1620 Agayn the purpos which that he hath take,
 Which purpos was plesant to God, seyde he,
 And verray ground of his prosperitee.
 He seyde ther was a mayden in the toun,
 Which that of beautee hadde greet renoun,
 Al were it so she were of smal degree;
 Suffiseth hym hir yowthe and hir beautee.
 Which mayde, he seyde, he wolde han to his wyf,
 To lede in ese and hoolynesse his lyf;
 And thanked God that he myghte han hire al,
1630 That no wight his blisse parten shal.
 And preyed hem to laboure in this nede,
 And shapen that he faille nat to spede;
 For thanne, he seyde, his spirit was at ese.
 "Thanne is," quod he, "no thyng may me displese,
 Save o thyng priketh in my conscience,
 The which I wol reherce in youre presence.
 "I have," quod he, "herd seyd, ful yoore ago,
 Ther may no man han parfite blisses two --
 This is to seye, in erthe and eek in hevene.
1640 For though he kepe hym fro the synnes sevene,
 And eek from every branche of thilke tree,
 Yet is ther so parfit felicitee
 And so greet ese and lust in mariage
 That evere I am agast now in myn age
 That I shal lede now so myrie a lyf,
 So delicat, withouten wo and stryf,
 That I shal have myn hevene in erthe heere.
 For sith that verray hevene is boght so deere
 With tribulacion and greet penaunce,
1650 How sholde I thanne, that lyve in swich plesaunce
 As alle wedded men doon with hire wyvys,
 Come to the blisse ther Crist eterne on lyve ys?
 This is my drede, and ye, my bretheren tweye,
 Assoilleth me this question, I preye."
 Justinus, which that hated his folye,
 Answerde anon right in his japerye;
 And for he wolde his longe tale abregge,
 He wolde noon auctoritee allegge,
 But seyde, "Sire, so ther be noon obstacle
1660 Oother than this, God of his hygh myracle
 And of his mercy may so for yow wirche
 That, er ye have youre right of hooly chirche,
 Ye may repente of wedded mannes lyf,
 In which ye seyn ther is no wo ne stryf.
 And elles, God forbede but he sente
 A wedded man hym grace to repente
 Wel ofte rather than a sengle man!
 And therfore, sire -- the beste reed I kan --
 Dispeire yow noght, but have in youre memorie,
1670 Paraunter she may be youre purgatorie!
 She may be Goddes meene and Goddes whippe;
 Thanne shal youre soule up to hevene skippe
 Swifter than dooth an arwe out of a bowe.
 I hope to God, herafter shul ye knowe
 That ther nys no so greet felicitee
 In mariage, ne nevere mo shal bee,
 That yow shal lette of youre savacion,
 So that ye use, as skile is and reson,
 The lustes of youre wyf attemprely,
1680 And that ye plese hire nat to amorously,
 And that ye kepe yow eek from oother synne.
 My tale is doon, for my wit is thynne.
 Beth nat agast herof, my brother deere,
 But lat us waden out of this mateere.
 The Wyf of Bathe, if ye han understonde,
 Of mariage, which we have on honde,
 Declared hath ful wel in litel space.
 Fareth now wel. God have yow in his grace."
 And with this word this Justyn and his brother
1690 Han take hir leve, and ech of hem of oother.
 For whan they saughe that it moste nedes be,
 They wroghten so, by sly and wys tretee,
 That she, this mayden which that Mayus highte,
 As hastily as evere that she myghte
 Shal wedded be unto this Januarie.
 I trowe it were to longe yow to tarie,
 If I yow tolde of every scrit and bond
 By which that she was feffed in his lond,
 Or for to herknen of hir riche array.
1700 But finally ycomen is the day
 That to the chirche bothe be they went
 For to receyve the hooly sacrement.
 Forth comth the preest, with stole aboute his nekke,
 And bad hire be lyk Sarra and Rebekke
 In wysdom and in trouthe of mariage;
 And seyde his orisons, as is usage,
 And croucheth hem, and bad God sholde hem blesse,
 And made al siker ynogh with hoolynesse.
 Thus been they wedded with solempnitee,
1710 And at the feeste sitteth he and she
 With othere worthy folk upon the deys.
 Al ful of joye and blisse is the paleys,
 And ful of instrumentz and of vitaille,
 The mooste deyntevous of al Ytaille.
 Biforn hem stoode instrumentz of swich soun
 That Orpheus, ne of Thebes Amphioun,
 Ne maden nevere swich a melodye.
 At every cours thanne cam loud mynstralcye
 That nevere tromped Joab for to heere,
1720 Nor he Theodomas, yet half so cleere
 At Thebes whan the citee was in doute.
 Bacus the wyn hem shynketh al aboute,
 And Venus laugheth upon every wight,
 For Januarie was bicome hir knyght
 And wolde bothe assayen his corage
 In libertee, and eek in mariage;
 And with hire fyrbrond in hire hand aboute
 Daunceth biforn the bryde and al the route.
 And certeinly, I dar right wel seyn this,
1730 Ymeneus, that god of weddyng is,
 Saugh nevere his lyf so myrie a wedded man.
 Hoold thou thy pees, thou poete Marcian,
 That writest us that ilke weddyng murie
 Of hire Philologie and hym Mercurie,
 And of the songes that the Muses songe!
 To smal is bothe thy penne, and eek thy tonge,
 For to descryven of this mariage.
 Whan tendre youthe hath wedded stoupyng age,
 Ther is swich myrthe that it may nat be writen.
1740 Assayeth it youreself; thanne may ye witen
 If that I lye or noon in this matiere.
 Mayus, that sit with so benyngne a chiere,
 Hire to biholde it semed fayerye.
 Queene Ester looked nevere with swich an ye
 On Assuer, so meke a look hath she.
 I may yow nat devyse al hir beautee.
 But thus muche of hire beautee telle I may,
 That she was lyk the brighte morwe of May,
 Fulfild of alle beautee and plesaunce.
1750 This Januarie is ravysshed in a traunce
 At every tyme he looked on hir face;
 But in his herte he gan hire to manace
 That he that nyght in armes wolde hire streyne
 Harder than evere Parys dide Eleyne.
 But nathelees yet hadde he greet pitee
 That thilke nyght offenden hire moste he,
 And thoughte, "Allas! O tendre creature,
 Now wolde God ye myghte wel endure
 Al my corage, it is so sharp and keene!
1760 I am agast ye shul it nat susteene.
 But God forbede that I dide al my myght!
 Now wolde God that it were woxen nyght,
 And that the nyght wolde lasten everemo.
 I wolde that al this peple were ago."
 And finally he dooth al his labour,
 As he best myghte, savynge his honour,
 To haste hem fro the mete in subtil wyse.
 The tyme cam that resoun was to ryse;
 And after that men daunce and drynken faste,
1770 And spices al aboute the hous they caste,
 And ful of joye and blisse is every man --
 Al but a squyer, highte Damyan,
 Which carf biforn the knyght ful many a day.
 He was so ravysshed on his lady May
 That for the verray peyne he was ny wood.
 Almoost he swelte and swowned ther he stood,
 So soore hath Venus hurt hym with hire brond,
 As that she bar it daunsynge in hire hond;
 And to his bed he wente hym hastily.
1780 Namoore of hym at this tyme speke I,
 But there I lete hym wepe ynogh and pleyne
 Til fresshe May wol rewen on his peyne.
 O perilous fyr, that in the bedstraw bredeth!
 O famulier foo, that his servyce bedeth!
 O servant traytour, false hoomly hewe,
 Lyk to the naddre in bosom sly untrewe,
 God shilde us alle from youre aqueyntaunce!
 O Januarie, dronken in plesaunce
 In mariage, se how thy Damyan,
1790 Thyn owene squier and thy borne man,
 Entendeth for to do thee vileynye.
 God graunte thee thyn hoomly fo t' espye!
 For in this world nys worse pestilence
 Than hoomly foo al day in thy presence.
 Parfourned hath the sonne his ark diurne;
 No lenger may the body of hym sojurne
 On th' orisonte, as in that latitude.
 Night with his mantel, that is derk and rude,
 Gan oversprede the hemysperie aboute;
1800 For which departed is this lusty route
 Fro Januarie, with thank on every syde.
 Hoom to hir houses lustily they ryde,
 Where as they doon hir thynges as hem leste,
 And whan they sye hir tyme, goon to reste.
 Soone after that, this hastif Januarie
 Wolde go to bedde; he wolde no lenger tarye.
 He drynketh ypocras, clarree, and vernage
 Of spices hoote t' encreessen his corage;
 And many a letuarie hath he ful fyn,
1810 Swiche as the cursed monk, daun Constantyn,
 Hath writen in his book De Coitu;
 To eten hem alle he nas no thyng eschu.
 And to his privee freendes thus seyde he:
 "For Goddes love, as soone as it may be,
 Lat voyden al this hous in curteys wyse."
 And they han doon right as he wol devyse.
 Men drynken and the travers drawe anon.
 The bryde was broght abedde as stille as stoon;
 And whan the bed was with the preest yblessed,
1820 Out of the chambre hath every wight hym dressed,
 And Januarie hath faste in armes take
 His fresshe May, his paradys, his make.
 He lulleth hire; he kisseth hire ful ofte;
 With thikke brustles of his berd unsofte,
 Lyk to the skyn of houndfyssh, sharp as brere --
 For he was shave al newe in his manere --
 He rubbeth hire aboute hir tendre face,
 And seyde thus, "Allas! I moot trespace
 To yow, my spouse, and yow greetly offende
1830 Er tyme come that I wil doun descende.
 But nathelees, considereth this," quod he,
 "Ther nys no werkman, whatsoevere he be,
 That may bothe werke wel and hastily;
 This wol be doon at leyser parfitly.
 It is no fors how longe that we pleye;
 In trewe wedlok coupled be we tweye,
 And blessed be the yok that we been inne,
 For in oure actes we mowe do no synne.
 A man may do no synne with his wyf,
1840 Ne hurte hymselven with his owene knyf,
 For we han leve to pleye us by the lawe."
 Thus laboureth he til that the day gan dawe;
 And thanne he taketh a sop in fyn clarree,
 And upright in his bed thanne sitteth he,
 And after that he sang ful loude and cleere,
 And kiste his wyf, and made wantown cheere.
 He was al coltissh, ful of ragerye,
 And ful of jargon as a flekked pye.
 The slakke skyn aboute his nekke shaketh
1850 Whil that he sang, so chaunteth he and craketh.
 But God woot what that May thoughte in hir herte,
 Whan she hym saugh up sittynge in his sherte,
 In his nyght-cappe, and with his nekke lene;
 She preyseth nat his pleyyng worth a bene.
 Thanne seide he thus, "My reste wol I take;
 Now day is come, I may no lenger wake."
 And doun he leyde his heed and sleep til pryme.
 And afterward, whan that he saugh his tyme,
 Up ryseth Januarie; but fresshe May
1860 Heeld hire chambre unto the fourthe day,
 As usage is of wyves for the beste.
 For every labour somtyme moot han reste,
 Or elles longe may he nat endure;
 This is to seyn, no lyves creature,
 Be it of fyssh, or bryd, or beest, or man.
 Now wol I speke of woful Damyan,
 That langwissheth for love, as ye shul heere;
 Therfore I speke to hym in this manere:
 I seye, "O sely Damyan, allas!
1870 Andswere to my demaunde, as in this cas.
 How shaltow to thy lady, fresshe May,
 Telle thy wo? She wole alwey seye nay.
 Eek if thou speke, she wol thy wo biwreye.
 God be thyn helpe! I kan no bettre seye."
 This sike Damyan in Venus fyr
 So brenneth that he dyeth for desyr,
 For which he putte his lyf in aventure.
 No lenger myghte he in this wise endure,
 But prively a penner gan he borwe,
1880 And in a lettre wroot he al his sorwe,
 In manere of a compleynt or a lay,
 Unto his faire, fresshe lady May;
 And in a purs of sylk heng on his sherte
 He hath it put, and leyde it at his herte.
 The moone, that at noon was thilke day
 That Januarie hath wedded fresshe May
 In two of Tawr, was into Cancre glyden;
 So longe hath Mayus in hir chambre abyden,
 As custume is unto thise nobles alle.
1890 A bryde shal nat eten in the halle
 Til dayes foure, or thre dayes atte leeste,
 Ypassed been; thanne lat hire go to feeste.
 The fourthe day compleet fro noon to noon,
 Whan that the heighe masse was ydoon,
 In halle sit this Januarie and May,
 As fressh as is the brighte someres day.
 And so bifel how that this goode man
 Remembred hym upon this Damyan,
 And seyde, "Seynte Marie! how may this be,
1900 That Damyan entendeth nat to me?
 Is he ay syk, or how may this bityde?"
 His squieres, whiche that stooden ther bisyde,
 Excused hym by cause of his siknesse,
 Which letted hym to doon his bisynesse;
 Noon oother cause myghte make hym tarye.
 "That me forthynketh," quod this Januarie,
 "He is a gentil squier, by my trouthe!
 If that he deyde, it were harm and routhe.
 He is as wys, discreet, and as secree
1910 As any man I woot of his degree,
 And therto manly, and eek servysable,
 And for to been a thrifty man right able.
 But after mete, as soone as evere I may,
 I wol myself visite hym, and eek May,
 To doon hym al the confort that I kan."
 And for that word hym blessed every man,
 That of his bountee and his gentillesse
 He wolde so conforten in siknesse
 His squier, for it was a gentil dede.
1920 "Dame," quod this Januarie, "taak good hede,
 At after-mete ye with youre wommen alle,
 Whan ye han been in chambre out of this halle,
 That alle ye go se this Damyan.
 Dooth hym disport -- he is a gentil man;
 And telleth hym that I wol hym visite,
 Have I no thyng but rested me a lite;
 And spede yow faste, for I wole abyde
 Til that ye slepe faste by my syde."
 And with that word he gan to hym to calle
1930 A squier, that was marchal of his halle,
 And tolde hym certeyn thynges, what he wolde.
 This fresshe May hath streight hir wey yholde
 With alle hir wommen unto Damyan.
 Doun by his beddes syde sit she than,
 Confortynge hym as goodly as she may.
 This Damyan, whan that his tyme he say,
 In secree wise his purs and eek his bille,
 In which that he ywriten hadde his wille,
 Hath put into hire hand, withouten moore,
1940 Save that he siketh wonder depe and soore,
 And softely to hire right thus seyde he:
 "Mercy! And that ye nat discovere me,
 For I am deed if that this thyng be kyd."
 This purs hath she inwith hir bosom hyd
 And wente hire wey; ye gete namoore of me.
 But unto Januarie ycomen is she,
 That on his beddes syde sit ful softe.
 He taketh hire, and kisseth hire ful ofte,
 And leyde hym doun to slepe, and that anon.
1950 She feyned hire as that she moste gon
 Ther as ye woot that every wight moot neede;
 And whan she of this bille hath taken heede,
 She rente it al to cloutes atte laste,
 And in the pryvee softely it caste.
 Who studieth now but faire fresshe May?
 Adoun by olde Januarie she lay,
 That sleep til that the coughe hath hym awaked.
 Anon he preyde hire strepen hire al naked;
 He wolde of hire, he seyde, han som plesaunce;
1960 He seyde hir clothes dide hym encombraunce,
 And she obeyeth, be hire lief or looth.
 But lest that precious folk be with me wrooth,
 How that he wroghte, I dar nat to yow telle,
 Or wheither hire thoughte it paradys or helle.
 But heere I lete hem werken in hir wyse
 Til evensong rong and that they moste aryse.
 Were it by destynee or by aventure,
 Were it by influence or by nature,
 Or constellacion, that in swich estaat
1970 The hevene stood that tyme fortunaat
 Was for to putte a bille of Venus werkes --
 For alle thyng hath tyme, as seyn thise clerkes --
 To any womman for to gete hire love,
 I kan nat seye; but grete God above,
 That knoweth that noon act is causelees,
 He deme of al, for I wole holde my pees.
 But sooth is this, how that this fresshe May
 Hath take swich impression that day
 Of pitee of this sike Damyan
1980 That from hire herte she ne dryve kan
 The remembrance for to doon hym ese.
 "Certeyn," thoghte she, "whom that this thyng displese
 I rekke noght, for heere I hym assure
 To love hym best of any creature,
 Though he namoore hadde than his sherte."
 Lo, pitee renneth soone in gentil herte!
 Heere may ye se how excellent franchise
 In wommen is, whan they hem narwe avyse.
 Som tyrant is, as ther be many oon
1990 That hath an herte as hard as any stoon,
 Which wolde han lat hym sterven in the place
 Wel rather than han graunted hym hire grace,
 And hem rejoysen in hire crueel pryde,
 And rekke nat to been an homycide.
 This gentil May, fulfilled of pitee,
 Right of hire hand a lettre made she,
 In which she graunteth hym hire verray grace.
 Ther lakketh noght oonly but day and place
 Wher that she myghte unto his lust suffise,
2000 For it shal be right as he wole devyse.
 And whan she saugh hir tyme, upon a day
 To visite this Damyan gooth May,
 And sotilly this lettre doun she threste
 Under his pilwe; rede it if hym leste.
 She taketh hym by the hand and harde hym twiste
 So secrely that no wight of it wiste,
 And bad hym been al hool, and forth she wente
 To Januarie, whan that he for hire sente.
 Up riseth Damyan the nexte morwe;
2010 Al passed was his siknesse and his sorwe.
 He kembeth hym, he preyneth hym and pyketh,
 He dooth al that his lady lust and lyketh,
 And eek to Januarie he gooth as lowe
 As evere dide a dogge for the bowe.
 He is so plesant unto every man
 (For craft is al, whoso that do it kan)
 That every wight is fayn to speke hym good,
 And fully in his lady grace he stood.
 Thus lete I Damyan aboute his nede,
2020 And in my tale forth I wol procede.
 Somme clerkes holden that felicitee
 Stant in delit, and therfore certeyn he,
 This noble Januarie, with al his myght,
 In honest wyse, as longeth to a knyght,
 Shoop hym to lyve ful deliciously.
 His housynge, his array, as honestly
 To his degree was maked as a kynges.
 Amonges othere of his honeste thynges,
 He made a gardyn, walled al with stoon;
2030 So fair a gardyn woot I nowher noon.
 For, out of doute, I verraily suppose
 That he that wroot the Romance of the Rose
 Ne koude of it the beautee wel devyse;
 Ne Priapus ne myghte nat suffise,
 Though he be god of gardyns, for to telle
 The beautee of the gardyn and the welle
 That stood under a laurer alwey grene.
 Ful ofte tyme he Pluto and his queene,
 Proserpina, and al hire fayerye,
2040 Disporten hem and maken melodye
 Aboute that welle, and daunced, as men tolde.
 This noble knyght, this Januarie the olde,
 Swich deyntee hath in it to walke and pleye,
 That he wol no wight suffren bere the keye
 Save he hymself; for of the smale wyket
 He baar alwey of silver a clyket,
 With which, whan that hym leste, he it unshette.
 And whan he wolde paye his wyf hir dette
 In somer seson, thider wolde he go,
2050 And May his wyf, and no wight but they two;
 And thynges whiche that were nat doon abedde,
 He in the gardyn parfourned hem and spedde.
 And in this wyse, many a murye day,
 Lyved this Januarie and fresshe May.
 But worldly joye may nat alwey dure
 To Januarie, ne to no creature.
 O sodeyn hap! O thou Fortune unstable!
 Lyk to the scorpion so deceyvable,
 That flaterest with thyn heed whan thou wolt stynge;
2060 Thy tayl is deeth, thurgh thyn envenymynge.
 O brotil joye! O sweete venym queynte!
 O monstre, that so subtilly kanst peynte
 Thy yiftes under hewe of stidefastnesse,
 That thou deceyvest bothe moore and lesse!
 Why hastow Januarie thus deceyved,
 That haddest hym for thy fulle freend receyved?
 And now thou hast biraft hym bothe his yen,
 For sorwe of which desireth he to dyen.
 Allas, this noble Januarie free,
2070 Amydde his lust and his prosperitee,
 Is woxen blynd, and that al sodeynly.
 He wepeth and he wayleth pitously;
 And therwithal the fyr of jalousie,
 Lest that his wyf sholde falle in som folye,
 So brente his herte that he wolde fayn
 That som man bothe hire and hym had slayn.
 For neither after his deeth nor in his lyf
 Ne wolde he that she were love ne wyf,
 But evere lyve as wydwe in clothes blake,
2080 Soul as the turtle that lost hath hire make.
 But atte laste, after a month or tweye,
 His sorwe gan aswage, sooth to seye;
 For whan he wiste it may noon oother be,
 He paciently took his adversitee,
 Save, out of doute, he may nat forgoon
 That he nas jalous everemoore in oon;
 Which jalousye it was so outrageous
 That neither in halle, n' yn noon oother hous,
 Ne in noon oother place, neverthemo,
2090 He nolde suffre hire for to ryde or go,
 But if that he had hond on hire alway;
 For which ful ofte wepeth fresshe May,
 That loveth Damyan so benyngnely
 That she moot outher dyen sodeynly
 Or elles she moot han hym as hir leste.
 She wayteth whan hir herte wolde breste.
 Upon that oother syde Damyan
 Bicomen is the sorwefulleste man
 That evere was, for neither nyght ne day
2100 Ne myghte he speke a word to fresshe May,
 As to his purpos, of no swich mateere,
 But if that Januarie moste it heere,
 That hadde an hand upon hire everemo.
 But nathelees, by writyng to and fro
 And privee signes wiste he what she mente,
 And she knew eek the fyn of his entente.
 O Januarie, what myghte it thee availle,
 Thogh thou myghtest se as fer as shippes saille?
 For as good is blynd deceyved be
2110 As to be deceyved whan a man may se.
 Lo, Argus, which that hadde an hondred yen,
 For al that evere he koude poure or pryen,
 Yet was he blent, and, God woot, so been mo
 That wenen wisly that it be nat so.
 Passe over is an ese, I sey namoore.
 This fresshe May, that I spak of so yoore,
 In warm wex hath emprented the clyket
 That Januarie bar of the smale wyket,
 By which into his gardyn ofte he wente;
2120 And Damyan, that knew al hire entente,
 The cliket countrefeted pryvely.
 Ther nys namoore to seye, but hastily
 Som wonder by this clyket shal bityde,
 Which ye shul heeren, if ye wole abyde.
 O noble Ovyde, ful sooth seystou, God woot,
 What sleighte is it, thogh it be long and hoot,
 That Love nyl fynde it out in som manere?
 By Piramus and Tesbee may men leere;
 Thogh they were kept ful longe streite overal,
2130 They been accorded, rownynge thurgh a wal,
 Ther no wight koude han founde out swich a sleighte.
 But now to purpos: er that dayes eighte
 Were passed [of] the month of [Juyn], bifil
 That Januarie hath caught so greet a wil,
 Thurgh eggyng of his wyf, hym for to pleye
 In his gardyn, and no wight but they tweye,
 That in a morwe unto his May seith he:
 "Rys up, my wyf, my love, my lady free!
 The turtles voys is herd, my dowve sweete;
2140 The wynter is goon with alle his reynes weete.
 Com forth now, with thyne eyen columbyn!
 How fairer been thy brestes than is wyn!
 The gardyn is enclosed al aboute;
 Com forth, my white spouse! Out of doute
 Thou hast me wounded in myn herte, O wyf!
 No spot of thee ne knew I al my lyf.
 Com forth, and lat us taken oure disport;
 I chees thee for my wyf and my confort."
 Swiche olde lewed wordes used he.
2150 On Damyan a signe made she,
 That he sholde go biforn with his cliket.
 This Damyan thanne hath opened the wyket,
 And in he stirte, and that in swich manere
 That no wight myghte it se neither yheere,
 And stille he sit under a bussh anon.
 This Januarie, as blynd as is a stoon,
 With Mayus in his hand, and no wight mo,
 Into his fresshe gardyn is ago,
 And clapte to the wyket sodeynly.
2160 "Now wyf," quod he, "heere nys but thou and I,
 That art the creature that I best love.
 For by that Lord that sit in hevene above,
 Levere ich hadde to dyen on a knyf
 Than thee offende, trewe deere wyf!
 For Goddes sake, thenk how I thee chees,
 Noght for no coveitise, doutelees,
 But oonly for the love I had to thee.
 And though that I be oold and may nat see,
 Beth to me trewe, and I wol telle yow why.
2170 Thre thynges, certes, shal ye wynne therby:
 First, love of Crist, and to youreself honour,
 And al myn heritage, toun and tour;
 I yeve it yow, maketh chartres as yow leste;
 This shal be doon to-morwe er sonne reste,
 So wisly God my soule brynge in blisse.
 I prey yow first, in covenant ye me kisse;
 And though that I be jalous, wyte me noght.
 Ye been so depe enprented in my thoght
 That, whan that I considere youre beautee
2180 And therwithal the unlikly elde of me,
 I may nat, certes, though I sholde dye,
 Forbere to been out of youre compaignye
 For verray love; this is withouten doute.
 Now kys me, wyf, and lat us rome aboute."
 This fresshe May, whan she thise wordes herde,
 Benyngnely to Januarie answerde,
 But first and forward she bigan to wepe.
 "I have," quod she, "a soule for to kepe
 As wel as ye, and also myn honour,
2190 And of my wyfhod thilke tendre flour,
 Which that I have assured in youre hond,
 Whan that the preest to yow my body bond;
 Wherfore I wole answere in this manere,
 By the leve of yow, my lord so deere:
 I prey to God that nevere dawe the day
 That I ne sterve, as foule as womman may,
 If evere I do unto my kyn that shame,
 Or elles I empeyre so my name,
 That I be fals; and if I do that lak,
2200 Do strepe me and put me in a sak,
 And in the nexte ryver do me drenche.
 I am a gentil womman and no wenche.
 Why speke ye thus? But men been evere untrewe,
 And wommen have repreve of yow ay newe.
 Ye han noon oother contenance, I leeve,
 But speke to us of untrust and repreeve."
 And with that word she saugh wher Damyan
 Sat in the bussh, and coughen she bigan,
 And with hir fynger signes made she
2210 That Damyan sholde clymbe upon a tree
 That charged was with fruyt, and up he wente.
 For verraily he knew al hire entente,
 And every signe that she koude make,
 Wel bet than Januarie, hir owene make,
 For in a lettre she hadde toold hym al
 Of this matere, how he werchen shal.
 And thus I lete hym sitte upon the pyrie,
 And Januarie and May romynge myrie.
 Bright was the day, and blew the firmament;
2220 Phebus hath of gold his stremes doun ysent
 To gladen every flour with his warmnesse.
 He was that tyme in Geminis, as I gesse,
 But litel fro his declynacion
 Of Cancer, Jovis exaltacion.
 And so bifel, that brighte morwe-tyde
 That in that gardyn, in the ferther syde,
 Pluto, that is kyng of Fayerye,
 And many a lady in his compaignye,
 Folwynge his wyf, the queene Proserpyna,
2230 Which that he ravysshed out of [Ethna]
 Whil that she gadered floures in the mede --
 In Claudyan ye may the stories rede,
 How in his grisely carte he hire fette --
 This kyng of Fairye thanne adoun hym sette
 Upon a bench of turves, fressh and grene,
 And right anon thus seyde he to his queene:
 "My wyf," quod he, "ther may no wight seye nay;
 Th' experience so preveth every day
 The tresons whiche that wommen doon to man.
2240 Ten hondred thousand [tales] tellen I kan
 Notable of youre untrouthe and brotilnesse.
 O Salomon, wys, and richest of richesse,
 Fulfild of sapience and of worldly glorie,
 Ful worthy been thy wordes to memorie
 To every wight that wit and reson kan.
 Thus preiseth he yet the bountee of man:
 `Amonges a thousand men yet foond I oon,
 But of wommen alle foond I noon.'
 "Thus seith the kyng that knoweth youre wikkednesse.
2250 And Jhesus, filius Syrak, as I gesse,
 Ne speketh of yow but seelde reverence.
 A wylde fyr and corrupt pestilence
 So falle upon youre bodyes yet to-nyght!
 Ne se ye nat this honurable knyght,
 By cause, allas, that he is blynd and old,
 His owene man shal make hym cokewold.
 Lo, where he sit, the lechour, in the tree!
 Now wol I graunten, of my magestee,
 Unto this olde, blynde, worthy knyght
2260 That he shal have ayen his eyen syght,
 Whan that his wyf wold doon hym vileynye.
 Thanne shal he knowen al hire harlotrye,
 Bothe in repreve of hire and othere mo."
 "Ye shal?" quod Proserpyne, "wol ye so?
 Now by my moodres sires soule I swere
 That I shal yeven hire suffisant answere,
 And alle wommen after, for hir sake,
 That, though they be in any gilt ytake,
 With face boold they shulle hemself excuse,
2270 And bere hem doun that wolden hem accuse.
 For lak of answere noon of hem shal dyen.
 Al hadde man seyn a thyng with bothe his yen,
 Yit shul we wommen visage it hardily,
 And wepe, and swere, and chyde subtilly,
 So that ye men shul been as lewed as gees.
 "What rekketh me of youre auctoritees?
 I woot wel that this Jew, this Salomon,
 Foond of us wommen fooles many oon.
 But though that he ne foond no good womman,
2280 Yet hath ther founde many another man
 Wommen ful trewe, ful goode, and vertuous.
 Witnesse on hem that dwelle in Cristes hous;
 With martirdom they preved hire constance.
 The Romayn geestes eek make remembrance
 Of many a verray, trewe wyf also.
 But, sire, ne be nat wrooth, al be it so,
 Though that he seyde he foond no good womman,
 I prey yow take the sentence of the man;
 He mente thus, that in sovereyn bontee
2290 Nis noon but God, but neither he ne she.
 "Ey! for verray God that nys but oon,
 What make ye so muche of Salomon?
 What though he made a temple, Goddes hous?
 What though he were riche and glorious?
 So made he eek a temple of false goddis.
 How myghte he do a thyng that moore forbode is?
 Pardee, as faire as ye his name emplastre,
 He was a lecchour and an ydolastre,
 And in his elde he verray God forsook;
2300 And if God ne hadde, as seith the book,
 Yspared him for his fadres sake, he sholde
 Have lost his regne rather than he wolde.
 I sette right noght, of al the vileynye
 That ye of wommen write, a boterflye!
 I am a womman, nedes moot I speke,
 Or elles swelle til myn herte breke.
 For sithen he seyde that we been jangleresses,
 As evere hool I moote brouke my tresses,
 I shal nat spare, for no curteisye,
2310 To speke hym harm that wolde us vileynye."
 "Dame," quod this Pluto, "be no lenger wrooth;
 I yeve it up! But sith I swoor myn ooth
 That I wolde graunten hym his sighte ageyn,
 My word shal stonde, I warne yow certeyn.
 I am a kyng; it sit me noght to lye."
 "And I," quod she, "a queene of Fayerye!
 Hir answere shal she have, I undertake.
 Lat us namoore wordes heerof make;
 For sothe, I wol no lenger yow contrarie."
2320 Now lat us turne agayn to Januarie,
 That in the gardyn with his faire May
 Syngeth ful murier than the papejay,
 "Yow love I best, and shal, and oother noon."
 So longe aboute the aleyes is he goon,
 Til he was come agaynes thilke pyrie
 Where as this Damyan sitteth ful myrie
 An heigh among the fresshe leves grene.
 This fresshe May, that is so bright and sheene,
 Gan for to syke, and seyde, "Allas, my syde!
2330 Now sire," quod she, "for aught that may bityde,
 I moste han of the peres that I see,
 Or I moot dye, so soore longeth me
 To eten of the smale peres grene.
 Help, for hir love that is of hevene queene!
 I telle yow wel, a womman in my plit
 May han to fruyt so greet an appetit
 That she may dyen but she of it have."
 "Allas," quod he, "that I ne had heer a knave
 That koude clymbe! Allas, allas," quod he,
2340 "For I am blynd!" "Ye, sire, no fors," quod she;
 "But wolde ye vouche sauf, for Goddes sake,
 The pyrie inwith youre armes for to take,
 For wel I woot that ye mystruste me,
 Thanne sholde I clymbe wel ynogh," quod she,
 "So I my foot myghte sette upon youre bak."
 "Certes," quod he, "theron shal be no lak,
 Mighte I yow helpen with myn herte blood."
 He stoupeth doun, and on his bak she stood,
 And caughte hire by a twiste, and up she gooth --
2350 Ladyes, I prey yow that ye be nat wrooth;
 I kan nat glose, I am a rude man --
 And sodeynly anon this Damyan
 Gan pullen up the smok, and in he throng.
 And whan that Pluto saugh this grete wrong,
 To Januarie he gaf agayn his sighte,
 And made hym se as wel as evere he myghte.
 And whan that he hadde caught his sighte agayn,
 Ne was ther nevere man of thyng so fayn,
 But on his wyf his thoght was everemo.
2360 Up to the tree he caste his eyen two,
 And saugh that Damyan his wyf had dressed
 In swich manere it may nat been expressed,
 But if I wolde speke uncurteisly;
 And up he yaf a roryng and a cry,
 As dooth the mooder whan the child shal dye:
 "Out! Help! Allas! Harrow!" he gan to crye,
 "O stronge lady stoore, what dostow?"
 And she answerde, "Sire, what eyleth yow?
 Have pacience and resoun in youre mynde.
2370 I have yow holpe on bothe youre eyen blynde.
 Up peril of my soule, I shal nat lyen,
 As me was taught, to heele with youre eyen,
 Was no thyng bet, to make yow to see,
 Than strugle with a man upon a tree.
 God woot, I dide it in ful good entente."
 "Strugle?" quod he, "Ye, algate in it wente!
 God yeve yow bothe on shames deth to dyen!
 He swyved thee; I saugh it with myne yen,
 And elles be I hanged by the hals!"
2380 "Thanne is," quod she, "my medicyne fals;
 For certeinly, if that ye myghte se,
 Ye wolde nat seyn thise wordes unto me.
 Ye han som glymsyng, and no parfit sighte."
 "I se," quod he, "as wel as evere I myghte,
 Thonked be God! With bothe myne eyen two,
 And by my trouthe, me thoughte he dide thee so."
 "Ye maze, maze, goode sire," quod she;
 "This thank have I for I have maad yow see.
 Allas," quod she, "that evere I was so kynde!"
2390 "Now, dame," quod he, "lat al passe out of mynde.
 Com doun, my lief, and if I have myssayd,
 God helpe me so, as I am yvele apayd.
 But, by my fader soule, I wende han seyn
 How that this Damyan hadde by thee leyn,
 And that thy smok hadde leyn upon his brest."
 "Ye, sire," quod she, "ye may wene as yow lest.
 But, sire, a man that waketh out of his sleep,
 He may nat sodeynly wel taken keep
 Upon a thyng, ne seen it parfitly,
2400 Til that he be adawed verraily.
 Right so a man that longe hath blynd ybe,
 Ne may nat sodeynly so wel yse,
 First whan his sighte is newe come ageyn,
 As he that hath a day or two yseyn.
 Til that youre sighte ysatled be a while
 Ther may ful many a sighte yow bigile.
 Beth war, I prey yow, for by hevene kyng,
 Ful many a man weneth to seen a thyng,
 And it is al another than it semeth.
2410 He that mysconceyveth, he mysdemeth."
 And with that word she leep doun fro the tree.
 This Januarie, who is glad but he?
 He kisseth hire and clippeth hire ful ofte,
 And on hire wombe he stroketh hire ful softe,
 And to his palays hoom he hath hire lad.
 Now, goode men, I pray yow to be glad.
 Thus endeth heere my tale of Januarie;
 God blesse us, and his mooder Seinte Marie!

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Merchant's Epilogue

 "Ey! Goddes mercy!" seyde oure Hooste tho,
2420 "Now swich a wyf I pray God kepe me fro!
 Lo, whiche sleightes and subtilitees
 In wommen been! For ay as bisy as bees
 Been they, us sely men for to deceyve,
 And from the soothe evere wol they weyve;
 By this Marchauntes tale it preveth weel.
 But doutelees, as trewe as any steel
 I have a wyf, though that she povre be,
 But of hir tonge, a labbyng shrewe is she,
 And yet she hath an heep of vices mo;
2430 Therof no fors! Lat alle swiche thynges go.
 But wyte ye what? In conseil be it seyd,
 Me reweth soore I am unto hire teyd.
 For and I sholde rekenen every vice
 Which that she hath, ywis I were to nyce.
 And cause why? It sholde reported be
 And toold to hire of somme of this meynee --
 Of whom, it nedeth nat for to declare,
 Syn wommen konnen outen swich chaffare;
 And eek my wit suffiseth nat therto
2440 To tellen al; wherfore my tale is do."

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Squire's Introduction

 "Squier, com neer, if it youre wille be,
 And sey somwhat of love, for certes ye
 Konnen theron as muche as any man."
 "Nay, sire," quod he, "but I wol seye as I kan
 With hertly wyl, for I wol nat rebelle
 Agayn youre lust; a tale wol I telle.
 Have me excused if I speke amys;
 My wyl is good, and lo, my tale is this."

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Squire's Tale

 At Sarray, in the land of Tartarye,
10 Ther dwelte a kyng that werreyed Russye,
 Thurgh which ther dyde many a doughty man.
 This noble kyng was cleped Cambyuskan,
 Which in his tyme was of so greet renoun
 That ther was nowher in no regioun
 So excellent a lord in alle thyng:
 Hym lakked noght that longeth to a kyng.
 As of the secte of which that he was born
 He kepte his lay, to which that he was sworn;
 And therto he was hardy, wys, and riche,
20 And pitous and just, alwey yliche;
 Sooth of his word, benigne, and honurable;
 Of his corage as any centre stable;
 Yong, fressh, and strong, in armes desirous
 As any bacheler of al his hous.
 A fair persone he was and fortunat,
 And kept alwey so wel roial estat
 That ther was nowher swich another man.
 This noble kyng, this Tartre Cambyuskan,
 Hadde two sones on Elpheta his wyf,
30 Of whiche the eldeste highte Algarsyf;
 That oother sone was cleped Cambalo.
 A doghter hadde this worthy kyng also,
 That yongest was, and highte Canacee.
 But for to telle yow al hir beautee,
 It lyth nat in my tonge, n' yn my konnyng;
 I dar nat undertake so heigh a thyng.
 Myn Englissh eek is insufficient.
 It moste been a rethor excellent
 That koude his colours longynge for that art,
40 If he sholde hire discryven every part.
 I am noon swich, I moot speke as I kan.
 And so bifel that whan this Cambyuskan
 Hath twenty wynter born his diademe,
 As he was wont fro yeer to yeer, I deme,
 He leet the feeste of his nativitee
 Doon cryen thurghout Sarray his citee,
 The laste Idus of March, after the yeer.
 Phebus the sonne ful joly was and cleer,
 For he was neigh his exaltacioun
50 In Martes face and in his mansioun
 In Aries, the colerik hoote signe.
 Ful lusty was the weder and benigne,
 For which the foweles, agayn the sonne sheene,
 What for the sesoun and the yonge grene,
 Ful loude songen hire affecciouns.
 Hem semed han geten hem protecciouns
 Agayn the swerd of wynter, keene and coold.
 This Cambyuskan, of which I have yow toold,
 In roial vestiment sit on his deys,
60 With diademe, ful heighe in his paleys,
 And halt his feeste so solempne and so ryche
 That in this world ne was ther noon it lyche;
 Of which if I shal tellen al th' array,
 Thanne wolde it occupie a someres day,
 And eek it nedeth nat for to devyse
 At every cours the ordre of hire servyse.
 I wol nat tellen of hir strange sewes,
 Ne of hir swannes, ne of hire heronsewes.
 Eek in that lond, as tellen knyghtes olde,
70 Ther is som mete that is ful deynte holde
 That in this lond men recche of it but smal;
 Ther nys no man that may reporten al.
 I wol nat taryen yow, for it is pryme
 And for it is no fruyt but los of tyme;
 Unto my firste I wole have my recours.
 And so bifel that after the thridde cours,
 Whil that this kyng sit thus in his nobleye,
 Herknynge his mynstralles hir thynges pleye
 Biforn hym at the bord deliciously,
80 In at the halle dore al sodeynly
 Ther cam a knyght upon a steede of bras,
 And in his hand a brood mirour of glas.
 Upon his thombe he hadde of gold a ryng,
 And by his syde a naked swerd hangyng;
 And up he rideth to the heighe bord.
 In al the halle ne was ther spoken a word
 For merveille of this knyght; hym to biholde
 Ful bisily they wayten, yonge and olde.
 This strange knyght, that cam thus sodeynly,
90 Al armed, save his heed, ful richely,
 Saleweth kyng and queene and lordes alle,
 By ordre, as they seten in the halle,
 With so heigh reverence and obeisaunce,
 As wel in speche as in contenaunce,
 That Gawayn, with his olde curteisye,
 Though he were comen ayeyn out of Fairye,
 Ne koude hym nat amende with a word.
 And after this, biforn the heighe bord,
 He with a manly voys seide his message,
100 After the forme used in his langage,
 Withouten vice of silable or of lettre;
 And for his tale sholde seme the bettre,
 Accordant to his wordes was his cheere,
 As techeth art of speche hem that it leere.
 Al be that I kan nat sowne his stile,
 Ne kan nat clymben over so heigh a style,
 Yet seye I this, as to commune entente:
 Thus muche amounteth al that evere he mente,
 If it so be that I have it in mynde.
110 He seyde, "The kyng of Arabe and of Inde,
 My lige lord, on this solempne day
 Saleweth yow, as he best kan and may,
 And sendeth yow, in honour of youre feeste,
 By me, that am al redy at youre heeste,
 This steede of bras, that esily and weel
 Kan in the space of o day natureel --
 This is to seyn, in foure and twenty houres --
 Wher-so yow lyst, in droghte or elles shoures,
 Beren youre body into every place
120 To which youre herte wilneth for to pace,
 Withouten wem of yow, thurgh foul or fair;
 Or, if yow lyst to fleen as hye in the air
 As dooth an egle whan hym list to soore,
 This same steede shal bere yow evere moore,
 Withouten harm, til ye be ther yow leste,
 Though that ye slepen on his bak or reste,
 And turne ayeyn with writhyng of a pyn.
 He that it wroghte koude ful many a gyn.
 He wayted many a constellacion
130 Er he had doon this operacion,
 And knew ful many a seel and many a bond.
 "This mirour eek, that I have in myn hond,
 Hath swich a myght that men may in it see
 Whan ther shal fallen any adversitee
 Unto youre regne or to youreself also,
 And openly who is youre freend or foo.
 "And over al this, if any lady bright
 Hath set hire herte on any maner wight,
 If he be fals, she shal his tresoun see,
140 His newe love, and al his subtiltee,
 So openly that ther shal no thyng hyde.
 Wherfore, ageyn this lusty someres tyde,
 This mirour and this ryng, that ye may see,
 He hath sent to my lady Canacee,
 Youre excellente doghter that is heere.
 "The vertu of the ryng, if ye wol heere,
 Is this: that if hire lust it for to were
 Upon hir thombe or in hir purs it bere,
 Ther is no fowel that fleeth under the hevene
150 That she ne shal wel understonde his stevene,
 And knowe his menyng openly and pleyn,
 And answere hym in his langage ageyn;
 And every gras that groweth upon roote
 She shal eek knowe, and whom it wol do boote,
 Al be his woundes never so depe and wyde.
 "This naked swerd, that hangeth by my syde,
 Swich vertu hath that what man so ye smyte
 Thurghout his armure it wole kerve and byte,
 Were it as thikke as is a branched ook;
160 And what man that is wounded with the strook
 Shal never be hool til that yow list, of grace,
 To stroke hym with the plat in thilke place
 Ther he is hurt; this is as muche to seyn,
 Ye moote with the platte swerd ageyn
 Stroke hym in the wounde, and it wol close.
 This is a verray sooth, withouten glose;
 It failleth nat whils it is in youre hoold."
 And whan this knyght hath thus his tale toold,
 He rideth out of halle and doun he lighte.
170 His steede, which that shoon as sonne brighte,
 Stant in the court, stille as any stoon.
 This knyght is to his chambre lad anoon,
 And is unarmed, and to mete yset.
 The presentes been ful roially yfet --
 This is to seyn, the swerd and the mirour --
 And born anon into the heighe tour
 With certeine officers ordeyned therfore;
 And unto Canacee this ryng is bore
 Solempnely, ther she sit at the table.
180 But sikerly, withouten any fable,
 The hors of bras, that may nat be remewed,
 It stant as it were to the ground yglewed.
 Ther may no man out of the place it dryve
 For noon engyn of wyndas or polyve;
 And cause why? For they kan nat the craft.
 And therfore in the place they han it laft
 Til that the knyght hath taught hem the manere
 To voyden hym, as ye shal after heere.
 Greet was the prees that swarmeth to and fro
190 To gauren on this hors that stondeth so,
 For it so heigh was, and so brood and long,
 So wel proporcioned for to been strong,
 Right as it were a steede of Lumbardye;
 Therwith so horsly, and so quyk of ye,
 As it a gentil Poilleys courser were.
 For certes, fro his tayl unto his ere
 Nature ne art ne koude hym nat amende
 In no degree, as al the people wende.
 But everemoore hir mooste wonder was
200 How that it koude gon, and was of bras;
 It was a fairye, as the peple semed.
 Diverse folk diversely they demed;
 As many heddes, as manye wittes ther been.
 They murmureden as dooth a swarm of been,
 And maden skiles after hir fantasies,
 Rehersynge of thise olde poetries,
 And seyden it was lyk the Pegasee,
 The hors that hadde wynges for to flee;
 Or elles it was the Grekes hors Synon,
210 That broghte Troie to destruccion,
 As men in thise olde geestes rede.
 "Myn herte," quod oon, "is everemoore in drede;
 I trowe som men of armes been therinne,
 That shapen hem this citee for to wynne.
 It were right good that al swich thyng were knowe."
 Another rowned to his felawe lowe,
 And seyde, "He lyeth, for it is rather lyk
 An apparence ymaad by som magyk,
 As jogelours pleyen at thise feestes grete."
220 Of sondry doutes thus they jangle and trete,
 As lewed peple demeth comunly
 Of thynges that been maad moore subtilly
 Than they kan in hir lewednesse comprehende;
 They demen gladly to the badder ende.
 And somme of hem wondred on the mirour,
 That born was up into the maister-tour,
 Hou men myghte in it swiche thynges se.
 Another answerde and seyde it myghte wel be
 Naturelly, by composiciouns
230 Of anglis and of slye reflexiouns,
 And seyde that in Rome was swich oon.
 They speken of Alocen, and Vitulon,
 And Aristotle, that writen in hir lyves
 Of queynte mirours and of perspectives,
 As knowen they that han hir bookes herd.
 And oother folk han wondred on the swerd
 That wolde percen thurghout every thyng,
 And fille in speche of Thelophus the kyng,
 And of Achilles with his queynte spere,
240 For he koude with it bothe heele and dere,
 Right in swich wise as men may with the swerd
 Of which right now ye han youreselven herd.
 They speken of sondry hardyng of metal,
 And speke of medicynes therwithal,
 And how and whanne it sholde yharded be,
 Which is unknowe, algates unto me.
 Tho speeke they of Canacees ryng,
 And seyden alle that swich a wonder thyng
 Of craft of rynges herde they nevere noon,
250 Save that he Moyses and kyng Salomon
 Hadde a name of konnyng in swich art.
 Thus seyn the peple and drawen hem apart.
 But nathelees somme seiden that it was
 Wonder to maken of fern-asshen glas,
 And yet nys glas nat lyk asshen of fern;
 But, for they han yknowen it so fern,
 Therfore cesseth hir janglyng and hir wonder.
 As soore wondren somme on cause of thonder,
 On ebbe, on flood, on gossomer, and on myst,
260 And alle thyng, til that the cause is wyst.
 Thus jangle they, and demen, and devyse
 Til that the kyng gan fro the bord aryse.
 Phebus hath laft the angle meridional,
 And yet ascendynge was the beest roial,
 The gentil Leon, with his Aldiran,
 Whan that this Tartre kyng, Cambyuskan,
 Roos fro his bord, ther as he sat ful hye.
 Toforn hym gooth the loude mynstralcye
 Til he cam to his chambre of parementz,
270 Ther as they sownen diverse instrumentz
 That it is lyk an hevene for to heere.
 Now dauncen lusty Venus children deere,
 For in the Fyssh hir lady sat ful hye,
 And looketh on hem with a freendly ye.
 This noble kyng is set upon his trone.
 This strange knyght is fet to hym ful soone,
 And on the daunce he gooth with Canacee.
 Heere is the revel and the jolitee
 That is nat able a dul man to devyse.
280 He moste han knowen love and his servyse
 And been a feestlych man as fressh as May,
 That sholde yow devysen swich array.
 Who koude telle yow the forme of daunces
 So unkouthe, and swiche fresshe contenaunces,
 Swich subtil lookyng and dissymulynges
 For drede of jalouse mennes aperceyvynges?
 No man but Launcelot, and he is deed.
 Therfore I passe of al this lustiheed;
 I sey namoore, but in this jolynesse
290 I lete hem til men to the soper dresse.
 The styward bit the spices for to hye,
 And eek the wyn, in al this melodye.
 The usshers and the squiers been ygoon,
 The spices and the wyn is come anoon.
 They ete and drynke, and whan this hadde an ende,
 Unto the temple, as reson was, they wende.
 The service doon, they soupen al by day.
 What nedeth yow rehercen hire array?
 Ech man woot wel that a kynges feeste
300 Hath plentee to the meeste and to the leeste,
 And deyntees mo than been in my knowyng.
 At after-soper gooth this noble kyng
 To seen this hors of bras, with al a route
 Of lordes and of ladyes hym aboute.
 Swich wondryng was ther on this hors of bras
 That syn the grete sege of Troie was,
 Theras men wondreden on an hors also,
 Ne was ther swich a wondryng as was tho.
 But fynally the kyng axeth this knyght
310 The vertu of this courser and the myght,
 And preyde hym to telle his governaunce.
 This hors anoon bigan to trippe and daunce,
 Whan that this knyght leyde hand upon his reyne,
 And seyde, "Sire, ther is namoore to seyne,
 But, whan yow list to ryden anywhere,
 Ye mooten trille a pyn, stant in his ere,
 Which I shal yow telle bitwix us two.
 Ye moote nempne hym to what place also,
 Or to what contree, that yow list to ryde.
320 And whan ye come ther as yow list abyde,
 Bidde hym descende, and trille another pyn,
 For therin lith th' effect of al the gyn,
 And he wol doun descende and doon youre wille,
 And in that place he wol abyde stille.
 Though al the world the contrarie hadde yswore,
 He shal nat thennes been ydrawe ne ybore.
 Or, if yow liste bidde hym thennes goon,
 Trille this pyn, and he wol vanysshe anoon
 Out of the sighte of every maner wight,
330 And come agayn, be it by day or nyght,
 Whan that yow list to clepen hym ageyn
 In swich a gyse as I shal to yow seyn
 Bitwixe yow and me, and that ful soone.
 Ride whan yow list; ther is namoore to doone."
 Enformed whan the kyng was of that knyght,
 And hath conceyved in his wit aright
 The manere and the forme of al this thyng,
 Ful glad and blithe, this noble doughty kyng
 Repeireth to his revel as biforn.
340 The brydel is unto the tour yborn
 And kept among his jueles leeve and deere.
 The hors vanysshed, I noot in what manere,
 Out of hir sighte; ye gete namoore of me.
 But thus I lete in lust and jolitee
 This Cambyuskan his lordes festeiynge
 Til wel ny the day bigan to sprynge.
 The norice of digestioun, the sleep,
 Gan on hem wynke and bad hem taken keep
 That muchel drynke and labour wolde han reste;
350 And with a galpyng mouth hem alle he keste,
 And seyde that it was tyme to lye adoun,
 For blood was in his domynacioun.
 "Cherisseth blood, natures freend," quod he.
 They thanken hym galpynge, by two, by thre,
 And every wight gan drawe hym to his reste,
 As sleep hem bad; they tooke it for the beste.
 Hire dremes shul nat now been toold for me;
 Ful were hire heddes of fumositee,
 That causeth dreem of which ther nys no charge.
360 They slepen til that it was pryme large,
 The mooste part, but it were Canacee.
 She was ful mesurable, as wommen be;
 For of hir fader hadde she take leve
 To goon to reste soone after it was eve.
 Hir liste nat appalled for to be,
 Ne on the morwe unfeestlich for to se,
 And slepte hire firste sleep, and thanne awook.
 For swich a joye she in hir herte took
 Bothe of hir queynte ryng and hire mirour,
370 That twenty tyme she changed hir colour;
 And in hire sleep, right for impressioun
 Of hire mirour, she hadde a visioun.
 Wherfore, er that the sonne gan up glyde,
 She cleped on hir maistresse hire bisyde,
 And seyde that hire liste for to ryse.
 Thise olde wommen that been gladly wyse,
 As is hire maistresse, answerde hire anon,
 And seyde, "Madame, whider wil ye goon
 Thus erly, for the folk been alle on reste?"
380 "I wol," quod she, "arise, for me leste
 Ne lenger for to slepe, and walke aboute."
 Hire maistresse clepeth wommen a greet route,
 And up they rysen, wel a ten or twelve;
 Up riseth fresshe Canacee hireselve,
 As rody and bright as dooth the yonge sonne,
 That in the Ram is foure degrees up ronne --
 Noon hyer was he whan she redy was --
 And forth she walketh esily a pas,
 Arrayed after the lusty seson soote
390 Lightly, for to pleye and walke on foote,
 Nat but with fyve or sixe of hir meynee;
 And in a trench forth in the park gooth she.
 The vapour which that fro the erthe glood
 Made the sonne to seme rody and brood;
 But nathelees it was so fair a sighte
 That it made alle hire hertes for to lighte,
 What for the seson and the morwenynge,
 And for the foweles that she herde synge.
 For right anon she wiste what they mente
400 Right by hir song, and knew al hire entente.
 The knotte why that every tale is toold,
 If it be taried til that lust be coold
 Of hem that han it after herkned yoore,
 The savour passeth ever lenger the moore,
 For fulsomnesse of his prolixitee;
 And by the same resoun, thynketh me,
 I sholde to the knotte condescende,
 And maken of hir walkyng soone an ende.
 Amydde a tree, for drye as whit as chalk,
410 As Canacee was pleyyng in hir walk,
 Ther sat a faucon over hire heed ful hye,
 That with a pitous voys so gan to crye
 That all the wode resouned of hire cry.
 Ybeten hadde she hirself so pitously
 With bothe hir wynges til the rede blood
 Ran endelong the tree ther-as she stood.
 And evere in oon she cryde alwey and shrighte,
 And with hir beek hirselven so she prighte
 That ther nys tygre, ne noon so crueel beest
420 That dwelleth outher in wode or in forest,
 That nolde han wept, if that he wepe koude,
 For sorwe of hire, she shrighte alwey so loude.
 For ther nas nevere yet no man on lyve,
 If that I koude a faucon wel discryve,
 That herde of swich another of fairnesse,
 As wel of plumage as of gentillesse
 Of shap, of al that myghte yrekened be.
 A faucon peregryn thanne semed she
 Of fremde land; and everemoore, as she stood,
430 She swowneth now and now for lak of blood,
 Til wel neigh is she fallen fro the tree.
 This faire kynges doghter, Canacee,
 That on hir fynger baar the queynte ryng,
 Thurgh which she understood wel every thyng
 That any fowel may in his leden seyn,
 And koude answeren hym in his ledene ageyn,
 Hath understonde what this faucon seyde,
 And wel neigh for the routhe almoost she deyde.
 And to the tree she gooth ful hastily,
440 And on this faukon looketh pitously,
 And heeld hir lappe abrood, for wel she wiste
 The faukon moste fallen fro the twiste,
 Whan that it swowned next, for lak of blood.
 A longe whil to wayten hire she stood
 Til atte laste she spak in this manere
 Unto the hauk, as ye shal after heere:
 "What is the cause, if it be for to telle,
 That ye be in this furial pyne of helle?"
 Quod Canacee unto this hauk above.
450 "Is this for sorwe of deeth or los of love?
 For, as I trowe, thise been causes two
 That causen moost a gentil herte wo;
 Of oother harm it nedeth nat to speke.
 For ye youreself upon yourself yow wreke,
 Which proveth wel that outher ire or drede
 Moot been enchesoun of youre cruel dede,
 Syn that I see noon oother wight yow chace.
 For love of God, as dooth youreselven grace,
 Or what may been youre help? For west nor est
460 Ne saugh I nevere er now no bryd ne beest
 That ferde with hymself so pitously.
 Ye sle me with youre sorwe verraily,
 I have of yow so greet compassioun.
 For Goddes love, com fro the tree adoun;
 And as I am a kynges doghter trewe,
 If that I verraily the cause knewe
 Of youre disese, if it lay in my myght,
 I wolde amenden it er that it were nyght,
 As wisly helpe me grete God of kynde!
470 And herbes shal I right ynowe yfynde
 To heel with youre hurtes hastily."
 Tho shrighte this faucon yet moore pitously
 Than ever she dide, and fil to grounde anon,
 And lith aswowne, deed and lyk a stoon,
 Til Canacee hath in hire lappe hire take
 Unto the tyme she gan of swough awake.
 And after that she of hir swough gan breyde,
 Right in hir haukes ledene thus she seyde:
 "That pitee renneth soone in gentil herte,
480 Feelynge his similitude in peynes smerte,
 Is preved alday, as men may it see,
 As wel by werk as by auctoritee;
 For gentil herte kitheth gentillesse.
 I se wel that ye han of my distresse
 Compassion, my faire Canacee,
 Of verray wommanly benignytee
 That Nature in youre principles hath set.
 But for noon hope for to fare the bet,
 But for to obeye unto youre herte free,
490 And for to maken othere be war by me,
 As by the whelp chasted is the leon,
 Right for that cause and that conclusion,
 Whil that I have a leyser and a space,
 Myn harm I wol confessen er I pace."
 And evere, whil that oon hir sorwe tolde,
 That oother weep as she to water wolde
 Til that the faucon bad hire to be stille,
 And, with a syk, right thus she seyde hir wille:
 "Ther I was bred -- allas, that ilke day! --
500 And fostred in a roche of marbul gray
 So tendrely that no thyng eyled me,
 I nyste nat what was adversitee
 Til I koude flee ful hye under the sky.
 Tho dwelte a tercelet me faste by,
 That semed welle of alle gentillesse;
 Al were he ful of treson and falsnesse,
 It was so wrapped under humble cheere,
 And under hewe of trouthe in swich manere,
 Under plesance, and under bisy peyne,
510 That no wight koude han wend he koude feyne,
 So depe in greyn he dyed his coloures.
 Right as a serpent hit hym under floures
 Til he may seen his tyme for to byte,
 Right so this god of loves ypocryte
 Dooth so his cerymonyes and obeisaunces,
 And kepeth in semblaunt alle his observaunces
 That sownen into gentillesse of love.
 As in a toumbe is al the faire above,
 And under is the corps, swich as ye woot,
520 Swich was this ypocrite, bothe coold and hoot.
 And in this wise he served his entente
 That, save the feend, noon wiste what he mente,
 Til he so longe hadde wopen and compleyned,
 And many a yeer his service to me feyned,
 Til that myn herte, to pitous and to nyce,
 Al innocent of his crouned malice,
 Forfered of his deeth, as thoughte me,
 Upon his othes and his seuretee,
 Graunted hym love, upon this condicioun,
530 That everemoore myn honour and renoun
 Were saved, bothe privee and apert;
 This is to seyn, that after his desert,
 I yaf hym al myn herte and al my thoght --
 God woot and he, that ootherwise noght --
 And took his herte in chaunge of myn for ay.
 But sooth is seyd, goon sithen many a day,
 `A trewe wight and a theef thenken nat oon.'
 And whan he saugh the thyng so fer ygoon
 That I hadde graunted hym fully my love
540 In swich a gyse as I have seyd above,
 And yeven hym my trewe herte as free
 As he swoor he yaf his herte to me,
 Anon this tigre, ful of doublenesse,
 Fil on his knees with so devout humblesse,
 With so heigh reverence, and, as by his cheere,
 So lyk a gentil lovere of manere,
 So ravysshed, as it semed, for the joye
 That nevere Jason ne Parys of Troye --
 Jason? certes, ne noon oother man
550 Syn Lameth was, that alderfirst bigan
 To loven two, as writen folk biforn --
 Ne nevere, syn the firste man was born,
 Ne koude man, by twenty thousand part,
 Countrefete the sophymes of his art,
 Ne were worthy unbokelen his galoche,
 Ther doublenesse or feynyng sholde approche,
 Ne so koude thonke a wight as he dide me!
 His manere was an hevene for to see
 Til any womman, were she never so wys,
560 So peynted he and kembde at point-devys
 As wel his wordes as his contenaunce.
 And I so loved hym for his obeisaunce,
 And for the trouthe I demed in his herte,
 That if so were that any thyng hym smerte,
 Al were it never so lite, and I it wiste,
 Me thoughte I felte deeth myn herte twiste.
 And shortly, so ferforth this thyng is went
 That my wyl was his willes instrument;
 This is to seyn, my wyl obeyed his wyl
570 In alle thyng, as fer as reson fil,
 Kepynge the boundes of my worshipe evere.
 Ne nevere hadde I thyng so lief, ne levere,
 As hym, God woot, ne nevere shal namo.
 "This laste lenger than a yeer or two,
 That I supposed of hym noght but good.
 But finally, thus atte laste it stood,
 That Fortune wolde that he moste twynne
 Out of that place which that I was inne.
 Wher me was wo, that is no questioun;
580 I kan nat make of it discripsioun.
 For o thyng dar I tellen boldely:
 I knowe what is the peyne of deeth therby;
 Swich harm I felte for he ne myghte bileve.
 So on a day of me he took his leve,
 So sorwefully eek that I wende verraily
 That he had felt as muche harm as I,
 Whan that I herde hym speke and saugh his hewe.
 But nathelees, I thoughte he was so trewe,
 And eek that he repaire sholde ageyn
590 Withinne a litel while, sooth to seyn;
 And resoun wolde eek that he moste go
 For his honour, as ofte it happeth so,
 That I made vertu of necessitee,
 And took it wel, syn that it moste be.
 As I best myghte, I hidde fro hym my sorwe,
 And took hym by the hond, Seint John to borwe,
 And seyde hym thus: `Lo, I am youres al;
 Beth swich as I to yow have been and shal.'
 What he answerde, it nedeth noght reherce;
600 Who kan sey bet than he, who kan do werse?
 Whan he hath al wel seyd, thanne hath he doon.
 `Therfore bihoveth hire a ful long spoon
 That shal ete with a feend,' thus herde I seye.
 So atte laste he moste forth his weye,
 And forth he fleeth til he cam ther hym leste.
 Whan it cam hym to purpos for to reste,
 I trowe he hadde thilke text in mynde,
 That `alle thyng, repeirynge to his kynde,
 Gladeth hymself;' thus seyn men, as I gesse.
610 Men loven of propre kynde newefangelnesse,
 As briddes doon that men in cages fede.
 For though thou nyght and day take of hem hede,
 And strawe hir cage faire and softe as silk,
 And yeve hem sugre, hony, breed and milk,
 Yet right anon as that his dore is uppe
 He with his feet wol spurne adoun his cuppe,
 And to the wode he wole and wormes ete;
 So newefangel been they of hire mete,
 And loven novelries of propre kynde,
620 No gentillesse of blood ne may hem bynde.
 "So ferde this tercelet, allas the day!
 Though he were gentil born, and fressh and gay,
 And goodlich for to seen, and humble and free,
 He saugh upon a tyme a kyte flee,
 And sodeynly he loved this kyte so
 That al his love is clene fro me ago,
 And hath his trouthe falsed in this wyse.
 Thus hath the kyte my love in hire servyse,
 And I am lorn withouten remedie!"
630 And with that word this faucon gan to crie
 And swowned eft in Canacees barm.
 Greet was the sorwe for the haukes harm
 That Canacee and alle hir wommen made;
 They nyste hou they myghte the faucon glade.
 But Canacee hom bereth hire in hir lappe,
 And softely in plastres gan hire wrappe,
 Ther as she with hire beek hadde hurt hirselve.
 Now kan nat Canacee but herbes delve
 Out of the ground, and make salves newe
640 Of herbes preciouse and fyne of hewe
 To heelen with this hauk. Fro day to nyght
 She dooth hire bisynesse and al hire myght,
 And by hire beddes heed she made a mewe
 And covered it with veluettes blewe,
 In signe of trouthe that is in wommen sene.
 And al withoute, the mewe is peynted grene,
 In which were peynted alle thise false fowles,
 As ben thise tidyves, tercelettes, and owles;
 Right for despit were peynted hem bisyde,
650 Pyes, on hem for to crie and chyde.
 Thus lete I Canacee hir hauk kepyng;
 I wol namoore as now speke of hir ryng
 Til it come eft to purpos for to seyn
 How that this faucon gat hire love ageyn
 Repentant, as the storie telleth us,
 By mediacion of Cambalus,
 The kynges sone, of which I yow tolde.
 But hennesforth I wol my proces holde
 To speken of aventures and of batailles
660 That nevere yet was herd so grete mervailles.
 First wol I telle yow of Cambyuskan,
 That in his tyme many a citee wan;
 And after wol I speke of Algarsif,
 How that he wan Theodora to his wif,
 For whom ful ofte in greet peril he was,
 Ne hadde he ben holpen by the steede of bras;
 And after wol I speke of Cambalo,
 That faught in lystes with the bretheren two
 For Canacee er that he myghte hire wynne.
670 And ther I lefte I wol ayeyn bigynne.
 Appollo whirleth up his chaar so hye
 Til that the god Mercurius hous, the slye --
 "In feith, Squier, thow hast thee wel yquit
 And gentilly. I preise wel thy wit,"
 Quod the Frankeleyn, "considerynge thy yowthe,
 So feelyngly thou spekest, sire, I allow the!
 As to my doom, ther is noon that is heere
 Of eloquence that shal be thy peere,
 If that thou lyve; God yeve thee good chaunce,
680 And in vertu sende thee continuaunce,
 For of thy speche I have greet deyntee.
 I have a sone, and by the Trinitee,
 I hadde levere than twenty pound worth lond,
 Though it right now were fallen in myn hond,
 He were a man of swich discrecioun
 As that ye been! Fy on possessioun,
 But if a man be vertuous withal!
 I have my sone snybbed, and yet shal,
 For he to vertu listeth nat entende;
690 But for to pleye at dees, and to despende
 And lese al that he hath is his usage.
 And he hath levere talken with a page
 Than to comune with any gentil wight
 Where he myghte lerne gentillesse aright."
 "Straw for youre gentillesse!" quod oure Hoost.
 "What, Frankeleyn! Pardee, sire, wel thou woost
 That ech of yow moot tellen atte leste
 A tale or two, or breken his biheste."
 "That knowe I wel, sire," quod the Frankeleyn.
700 "I prey yow, haveth me nat in desdeyn,
 Though to this man I speke a word or two."
 "Telle on thy tale withouten wordes mo."
 "Gladly, sire Hoost," quod he, "I wole obeye
 Unto your wyl; now herkneth what I seye.
 I wol yow nat contrarien in no wyse
 As fer as that my wittes wol suffyse.
 I prey to God that it may plesen yow;
 Thanne woot I wel that it is good ynow."

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Franklin's Prologue

 Thise olde gentil Britouns in hir dayes
710 Of diverse aventures maden layes,
 Rymeyed in hir firste Briton tonge,
 Whiche layes with hir instrumentz they songe
 Or elles redden hem for hir plesaunce;
 And oon of hem have I in remembraunce,
 Which I shal seyn with good wyl as I kan.
 But, sires, by cause I am a burel man,
 At my bigynnyng first I yow biseche,
 Have me excused of my rude speche.
 I lerned nevere rethorik, certeyn;
720 Thyng that I speke, it moot be bare and pleyn.
 I sleep nevere on the Mount of Pernaso,
 Ne lerned Marcus Tullius Scithero.
 Colours ne knowe I none, withouten drede,
 But swiche colours as growen in the mede,
 Or elles swiche as men dye or peynte.
 Colours of rethoryk been to me queynte;
 My spirit feeleth noght of swich mateere.
 But if yow list, my tale shul ye heere.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Franklin's Tale

 In Armorik, that called is Britayne,
730 Ther was a knyght that loved and dide his payne
 To serve a lady in his beste wise;
 And many a labour, many a greet emprise,
 He for his lady wroghte er she were wonne.
 For she was oon the faireste under sonne,
 And eek therto comen of so heigh kynrede
 That wel unnethes dorste this knyght, for drede,
 Telle hire his wo, his peyne, and his distresse.
 But atte laste she, for his worthynesse,
 And namely for his meke obeysaunce,
740 Hath swich a pitee caught of his penaunce
 That pryvely she fil of his accord
 To take hym for hir housbonde and hir lord,
 Of swich lordshipe as men han over hir wyves.
 And for to lede the moore in blisse hir lyves,
 Of his free wyl he swoor hire as a knyght
 That nevere in al his lyf he, day ne nyght,
 Ne sholde upon hym take no maistrie
 Agayn hir wyl, ne kithe hire jalousie,
 But hire obeye, and folwe hir wyl in al,
750 As any lovere to his lady shal,
 Save that the name of soveraynetee,
 That wolde he have for shame of his degree.
 She thanked hym, and with ful greet humblesse
 She seyde, "Sire, sith of youre gentillesse
 Ye profre me to have so large a reyne,
 Ne wolde nevere God bitwixe us tweyne,
 As in my gilt, were outher werre or stryf.
 Sire, I wol be youre humble trewe wyf --
 Have heer my trouthe -- til that myn herte breste."
760 Thus been they bothe in quiete and in reste.
 For o thyng, sires, saufly dar I seye,
 That freendes everych oother moot obeye,
 If they wol longe holden compaignye.
 Love wol nat been constreyned by maistrye.
 Whan maistrie comth, the God of Love anon
 Beteth his wynges, and farewel, he is gon!
 Love is a thyng as any spirit free.
 Wommen, of kynde, desiren libertee,
 And nat to been constreyned as a thral;
770 And so doon men, if I sooth seyen shal.
 Looke who that is moost pacient in love,
 He is at his avantage al above.
 Pacience is an heigh vertu, certeyn,
 For it venquysseth, as thise clerkes seyn,
 Thynges that rigour sholde nevere atteyne.
 For every word men may nat chide or pleyne.
 Lerneth to suffre, or elles, so moot I goon,
 Ye shul it lerne, wher so ye wole or noon;
 For in this world, certein, ther no wight is
780 That he ne dooth or seith somtyme amys.
 Ire, siknesse, or constellacioun,
 Wyn, wo, or chaungynge of complexioun
 Causeth ful ofte to doon amys or speken.
 On every wrong a man may nat be wreken.
 After the tyme moste be temperaunce
 To every wight that kan on governaunce.
 And therfore hath this wise, worthy knyght,
 To lyve in ese, suffrance hire bihight,
 And she to hym ful wisly gan to swere
790 That nevere sholde ther be defaute in here.
 Heere may men seen an humble, wys accord;
 Thus hath she take hir servant and hir lord --
 Servant in love, and lord in mariage.
 Thanne was he bothe in lordshipe and servage.
 Servage? Nay, but in lordshipe above,
 Sith he hath bothe his lady and his love;
 His lady, certes, and his wyf also,
 The which that lawe of love acordeth to.
 And whan he was in this prosperitee,
800 Hoom with his wyf he gooth to his contree,
 Nat fer fro Pedmark, ther his dwellyng was,
 Where as he lyveth in blisse and in solas.
 Who koude telle, but he hadde wedded be,
 The joye, the ese, and the prosperitee
 That is bitwixe an housbonde and his wyf?
 A yeer and moore lasted this blisful lyf,
 Til that the knyght of which I speke of thus,
 That of Kayrrud was cleped Arveragus,
 Shoop hym to goon and dwelle a yeer or tweyne
810 In Engelond, that cleped was eek Briteyne,
 To seke in armes worshipe and honour --
 For al his lust he sette in swich labour --
 And dwelled there two yeer; the book seith thus.
 Now wol I stynten of this Arveragus,
 And speken I wole of Dorigen his wyf,
 That loveth hire housbonde as hire hertes lyf.
 For his absence wepeth she and siketh,
 As doon thise noble wyves whan hem liketh.
 She moorneth, waketh, wayleth, fasteth, pleyneth;
820 Desir of his presence hire so destreyneth
 That al this wyde world she sette at noght.
 Hire freendes, whiche that knewe hir hevy thoght,
 Conforten hire in al that ever they may.
 They prechen hire, they telle hire nyght and day
 That causelees she sleeth hirself, allas!
 And every confort possible in this cas
 They doon to hire with al hire bisynesse,
 Al for to make hire leve hire hevynesse.
 By proces, as ye knowen everichoon,
830 Men may so longe graven in a stoon
 Til som figure therinne emprented be.
 So longe han they conforted hire til she
 Receyved hath, by hope and by resoun,
 The emprentyng of hire consolacioun,
 Thurgh which hir grete sorwe gan aswage;
 She may nat alwey duren in swich rage.
 And eek Arveragus, in al this care,
 Hath sent hire lettres hoom of his welfare,
 And that he wol come hastily agayn;
840 Or elles hadde this sorwe hir herte slayn.
 Hire freendes sawe hir sorwe gan to slake
 And preyde hire on knees, for Goddes sake,
 To come and romen hire in compaignye,
 Awey to dryve hire derke fantasye.
 And finally she graunted that requeste,
 For wel she saugh that it was for the beste.
 Now stood hire castel faste by the see,
 And often with hire freendes walketh shee
 Hire to disporte upon the bank an heigh,
850 Where as she many a ship and barge seigh
 Seillynge hir cours, where as hem liste go.
 But thanne was that a parcel of hire wo,
 For to hirself ful ofte, "Allas!" seith she,
 "Is ther no ship, of so manye as I se,
 Wol bryngen hom my lord? Thanne were myn herte
 Al warisshed of his bittre peynes smerte."
 Another tyme ther wolde she sitte and thynke,
 And caste hir eyen dounward fro the brynke.
 But whan she saugh the grisly rokkes blake,
860 For verray feere so wolde hir herte quake
 That on hire feet she myghte hire noght sustene.
 Thanne wolde she sitte adoun upon the grene,
 And pitously into the see biholde,
 And seyn right thus, with sorweful sikes colde:
 "Eterne God, that thurgh thy purveiaunce
 Ledest the world by certein governaunce,
 In ydel, as men seyn, ye no thyng make.
 But, Lord, thise grisly feendly rokkes blake,
 That semen rather a foul confusion
870 Of werk than any fair creacion
 Of swich a parfit wys God and a stable,
 Why han ye wroght this werk unresonable?
 For by this werk, south, north, ne west, ne eest,
 Ther nys yfostred man, ne bryd, ne beest;
 It dooth no good, to my wit, but anoyeth.
 Se ye nat, Lord, how mankynde it destroyeth?
 An hundred thousand bodyes of mankynde
 Han rokkes slayn, al be they nat in mynde,
 Which mankynde is so fair part of thy werk
880 That thou it madest lyk to thyn owene merk.
 Thanne semed it ye hadde a greet chiertee
 Toward mankynde; but how thanne may it bee
 That ye swiche meenes make it to destroyen,
 Whiche meenes do no good, but evere anoyen?
 I woot wel clerkes wol seyn as hem leste,
 By argumentz, that al is for the beste,
 Though I ne kan the causes nat yknowe.
 But thilke God that made wynd to blowe
 As kepe my lord! This my conclusion.
890 To clerkes lete I al disputison.
 But wolde God that alle thise rokkes blake
 Were sonken into helle for his sake!
 Thise rokkes sleen myn herte for the feere."
 Thus wolde she seyn, with many a pitous teere.
 Hire freendes sawe that it was no disport
 To romen by the see, but disconfort,
 And shopen for to pleyen somwher elles.
 They leden hire by ryveres and by welles,
 And eek in othere places delitables;
900 They dauncen and they pleyen at ches and tables.
 So on a day, right in the morwe-tyde,
 Unto a gardyn that was ther bisyde,
 In which that they hadde maad hir ordinaunce
 Of vitaille and of oother purveiaunce,
 They goon and pleye hem al the longe day.
 And this was on the sixte morwe of May,
 Which May hadde peynted with his softe shoures
 This gardyn ful of leves and of floures;
 And craft of mannes hand so curiously
910 Arrayed hadde this gardyn, trewely,
 That nevere was ther gardyn of swich prys
 But if it were the verray paradys.
 The odour of floures and the fresshe sighte
 Wolde han maked any herte lighte
 That evere was born, but if to greet siknesse
 Or to greet sorwe helde it in distresse,
 So ful it was of beautee with plesaunce.
 At after-dyner gonne they to daunce,
 And synge also, save Dorigen allone,
920 Which made alwey hir compleint and hir moone,
 For she ne saugh hym on the daunce go
 That was hir housbonde and hir love also.
 But nathelees she moste a tyme abyde
 And with good hope lete hir sorwe slyde.
 Upon this daunce, amonges othere men,
 Daunced a squier biforn Dorigen,
 That fressher was and jolyer of array,
 As to my doom, than is the month of May.
 He syngeth, daunceth, passynge any man
930 That is, or was, sith that the world bigan.
 Therwith he was, if men sholde hym discryve,
 Oon of the beste farynge man on lyve;
 Yong, strong, right vertuous, and riche, and wys,
 And wel biloved, and holden in greet prys.
 And shortly, if the sothe I tellen shal,
 Unwityng of this Dorigen at al,
 This lusty squier, servant to Venus,
 Which that ycleped was Aurelius,
 Hadde loved hire best of any creature
940 Two yeer and moore, as was his aventure,
 But nevere dorste he tellen hire his grevaunce.
 Withouten coppe he drank al his penaunce.
 He was despeyred; no thyng dorste he seye,
 Save in his songes somwhat wolde he wreye
 His wo, as in a general compleynyng;
 He seyde he lovede and was biloved no thyng.
 Of swich matere made he manye layes,
 Songes, compleintes, roundels, virelayes,
 How that he dorste nat his sorwe telle,
950 But langwissheth as a furye dooth in helle;
 And dye he moste, he seyde, as dide Ekko
 For Narcisus, that dorste nat telle hir wo.
 In oother manere than ye heere me seye,
 Ne dorste he nat to hire his wo biwreye,
 Save that, paraventure, somtyme at daunces,
 Ther yonge folk kepen hir observaunces,
 It may wel be he looked on hir face
 In swich a wise as man that asketh grace;
 But nothyng wiste she of his entente.
960 Nathelees it happed, er they thennes wente,
 By cause that he was hire neighebour,
 And was a man of worshipe and honour,
 And hadde yknowen hym of tyme yoore,
 They fille in speche; and forth, moore and moore,
 Unto his purpos drough Aurelius,
 And whan he saugh his tyme, he seyde thus:
 "Madame," quod he, "by God that this world made,
 So that I wiste it myghte youre herte glade,
 I wolde that day that youre Arveragus
970 Wente over the see, that I, Aurelius,
 Hadde went ther nevere I sholde have come agayn.
 For wel I woot my servyce is in vayn;
 My gerdon is but brestyng of myn herte.
 Madame, reweth upon my peynes smerte;
 For with a word ye may me sleen or save.
 Heere at youre feet God wolde that I were grave!
 I ne have as now no leyser moore to seye;
 Have mercy, sweete, or ye wol do me deye!"
 She gan to looke upon Aurelius;
980 "Is this youre wyl," quod she, "and sey ye thus?
 Nevere erst," quod she, "ne wiste I what ye mente.
 But now, Aurelie, I knowe youre entente,
 By thilke God that yaf me soule and lyf,
 Ne shal I nevere been untrewe wyf
 In word ne werk, as fer as I have wit;
 I wol been his to whom that I am knyt.
 Taak this for fynal answere as of me."
 But after that in pley thus seyde she:
 "Aurelie," quod she, "by heighe God above,
990 Yet wolde I graunte yow to been youre love,
 Syn I yow se so pitously complayne.
 Looke what day that endelong Britayne
 Ye remoeve alle the rokkes, stoon by stoon,
 That they ne lette ship ne boot to goon --
 I seye, whan ye han maad the coost so clene
 Of rokkes that ther nys no stoon ysene,
 Thanne wol I love yow best of any man;
 Have heer my trouthe, in al that evere I kan."
 "Is ther noon oother grace in yow?" quod he.
1000 "No, by that Lord," quod she, "that maked me!
 For wel I woot that it shal never bityde.
 Lat swiche folies out of youre herte slyde.
 What deyntee sholde a man han in his lyf
 For to go love another mannes wyf,
 That hath hir body whan so that hym liketh?"
 Aurelius ful ofte soore siketh;
 Wo was Aurelie whan that he this herde,
 And with a sorweful herte he thus answerde:
 "Madame," quod he, "this were an inpossible!
1010 Thanne moot I dye of sodeyn deth horrible."
 And with that word he turned hym anon.
 Tho coome hir othere freendes many oon,
 And in the aleyes romeden up and doun,
 And nothyng wiste of this conclusioun,
 But sodeynly bigonne revel newe
 Til that the brighte sonne loste his hewe;
 For th' orisonte hath reft the sonne his lyght --
 This is as muche to seye as it was nyght --
 And hoom they goon in joye and in solas,
1020 Save oonly wrecche Aurelius, allas!
 He to his hous is goon with sorweful herte.
 He seeth he may nat fro his deeth asterte;
 Hym semed that he felte his herte colde.
 Up to the hevene his handes he gan holde,
 And on his knowes bare he sette hym doun,
 And in his ravyng seyde his orisoun.
 For verray wo out of his wit he breyde.
 He nyste what he spak, but thus he seyde;
 With pitous herte his pleynt hath he bigonne
1030 Unto the goddes, and first unto the sonne:
 He seyde, "Appollo, god and governour
 Of every plaunte, herbe, tree, and flour,
 That yevest, after thy declinacion,
 To ech of hem his tyme and his seson,
 As thyn herberwe chaungeth lowe or heighe,
 Lord Phebus, cast thy merciable eighe
 On wrecche Aurelie, which that am but lorn.
 Lo, lord! My lady hath my deeth ysworn
 Withoute gilt, but thy benignytee
1040 Upon my dedly herte have som pitee.
 For wel I woot, lord Phebus, if yow lest,
 Ye may me helpen, save my lady, best.
 Now voucheth sauf that I may yow devyse
 How that I may been holpen and in what wyse.
 "Youre blisful suster, Lucina the sheene,
 That of the see is chief goddesse and queene
 (Though Neptunus have deitee in the see,
 Yet emperisse aboven hym is she),
 Ye knowen wel, lord, that right as hir desir
1050 Is to be quyked and lighted of youre fir,
 For which she folweth yow ful bisily,
 Right so the see desireth naturelly
 To folwen hire, as she that is goddesse
 Bothe in the see and ryveres moore and lesse.
 Wherfore, lord Phebus, this is my requeste --
 Do this miracle, or do myn herte breste --
 That now next at this opposicion
 Which in the signe shal be of the Leon,
 As preieth hire so greet a flood to brynge
1060 That fyve fadme at the leeste it oversprynge
 The hyeste rokke in Armorik Briteyne;
 And lat this flood endure yeres tweyne.
 Thanne certes to my lady may I seye,
 `Holdeth youre heste, the rokkes been aweye.'
 "Lord Phebus, dooth this miracle for me.
 Preye hire she go no faster cours than ye;
 I seye, preyeth your suster that she go
 No faster cours than ye thise yeres two.
 Thanne shal she been evene atte fulle alway,
1070 And spryng flood laste bothe nyght and day.
 And but she vouche sauf in swich manere
 To graunte me my sovereyn lady deere,
 Prey hire to synken every rok adoun
 Into hir owene dirke regioun
 Under the ground, ther Pluto dwelleth inne,
 Or nevere mo shal I my lady wynne.
 Thy temple in Delphos wol I barefoot seke.
 Lord Phebus, se the teeris on my cheke,
 And of my peyne have som compassioun."
1080 And with that word in swowne he fil adoun,
 And longe tyme he lay forth in a traunce.
 His brother, which that knew of his penaunce,
 Up caughte hym and to bedde he hath hym broght.
 Dispeyred in this torment and this thoght
 Lete I this woful creature lye;
 Chese he, for me, wheither he wol lyve or dye.
 Arveragus, with heele and greet honour,
 As he that was of chivalrie the flour,
 Is comen hoom, and othere worthy men.
1090 O blisful artow now, thou Dorigen,
 That hast thy lusty housbonde in thyne armes,
 The fresshe knyght, the worthy man of armes,
 That loveth thee as his owene hertes lyf.
 No thyng list hym to been ymaginatyf,
 If any wight hadde spoke, whil he was oute,
 To hire of love; he hadde of it no doute.
 He noght entendeth to no swich mateere,
 But daunceth, justeth, maketh hire good cheere;
 And thus in joye and blisse I lete hem dwelle,
1100 And of the sike Aurelius wol I telle.
 In langour and in torment furyus
 Two yeer and moore lay wrecche Aurelyus,
 Er any foot he myghte on erthe gon;
 Ne confort in this tyme hadde he noon,
 Save of his brother, which that was a clerk.
 He knew of al this wo and al this werk,
 For to noon oother creature, certeyn,
 Of this matere he dorste no word seyn.
 Under his brest he baar it moore secree
1110 Than evere dide Pamphilus for Galathee.
 His brest was hool, withoute for to sene,
 But in his herte ay was the arwe kene.
 And wel ye knowe that of a sursanure
 In surgerye is perilous the cure,
 But men myghte touche the arwe or come therby.
 His brother weep and wayled pryvely,
 Til atte laste hym fil in remembraunce,
 That whiles he was at Orliens in Fraunce --
 As yonge clerkes that been lykerous
1120 To reden artes that been curious
 Seken in every halke and every herne
 Particuler sciences for to lerne --
 He hym remembred that, upon a day,
 At Orliens in studie a book he say
 Of magyk natureel, which his felawe,
 That was that tyme a bacheler of lawe,
 Al were he ther to lerne another craft,
 Hadde prively upon his desk ylaft;
 Which book spak muchel of the operaciouns
1130 Touchynge the eighte and twenty mansiouns
 That longen to the moone, and swich folye
 As in oure dayes is nat worth a flye --
 For hooly chirches feith in oure bileve
 Ne suffreth noon illusioun us to greve.
 And whan this book was in his remembraunce,
 Anon for joye his herte gan to daunce,
 And to hymself he seyde pryvely:
 "My brother shal be warisshed hastily;
 For I am siker that ther be sciences
1140 By whiche men make diverse apparences,
 Swiche as thise subtile tregetoures pleye.
 For ofte at feestes have I wel herd seye
 That tregetours withinne an halle large
 Have maad come in a water and a barge,
 And in the halle rowen up and doun.
 Somtyme hath semed come a grym leoun;
 And somtyme floures sprynge as in a mede;
 Somtyme a vyne, and grapes white and rede;
 Somtyme a castel, al of lym and stoon;
1150 And whan hem lyked, voyded it anon.
 Thus semed it to every mannes sighte.
 "Now thanne conclude I thus: that if I myghte
 At Orliens som oold felawe yfynde
 That hadde thise moones mansions in mynde,
 Or oother magyk natureel above,
 He sholde wel make my brother han his love.
 For with an apparence a clerk may make,
 To mannes sighte, that alle the rokkes blake
 Of Britaigne weren yvoyded everichon,
1160 And shippes by the brynke comen and gon,
 And in swich forme enduren a wowke or two.
 Thanne were my brother warisshed of his wo;
 Thanne moste she nedes holden hire biheste,
 Or elles he shal shame hire atte leeste."
 What sholde I make a lenger tale of this?
 Unto his brotheres bed he comen is,
 And swich confort he yaf hym for to gon
 To Orliens that he up stirte anon,
 And on his wey forthward thanne is he fare
1170 In hope for to been lissed of his care.
 Whan they were come almoost to that citee,
 But if it were a two furlong or thre,
 A yong clerk romynge by hymself they mette,
 Which that in Latyn thriftily hem grette,
 And after that he seyde a wonder thyng:
 "I knowe," quod he, "the cause of youre comyng."
 And er they ferther any foote wente,
 He tolde hem al that was in hire entente.
 This Briton clerk hym asked of felawes
1180 The whiche that he had knowe in olde dawes,
 And he answerde hym that they dede were,
 For which he weep ful ofte many a teere.
 Doun of his hors Aurelius lighte anon,
 And with this magicien forth is he gon
 Hoom to his hous, and maden hem wel at ese.
 Hem lakked no vitaille that myghte hem plese.
 So wel arrayed hous as ther was oon
 Aurelius in his lyf saugh nevere noon.
 He shewed hym, er he wente to sopeer,
1190 Forestes, parkes ful of wilde deer;
 Ther saugh he hertes with hir hornes hye,
 The gretteste that evere were seyn with ye.
 He saugh of hem an hondred slayn with houndes,
 And somme with arwes blede of bittre woundes.
 He saugh, whan voyded were thise wilde deer,
 Thise fauconers upon a fair ryver,
 That with hir haukes han the heron slayn.
 Tho saugh he knyghtes justyng in a playn;
 And after this he dide hym swich plesaunce
1200 That he hym shewed his lady on a daunce,
 On which hymself he daunced, as hym thoughte.
 And whan this maister that this magyk wroughte
 Saugh it was tyme, he clapte his handes two,
 And farewel! Al oure revel was ago.
 And yet remoeved they nevere out of the hous,
 Whil they saugh al this sighte merveillous,
 But in his studie, ther as his bookes be,
 They seten stille, and no wight but they thre.
 To hym this maister called his squier,
1210 And seyde hym thus: "Is redy oure soper?
 Almoost an houre it is, I undertake,
 Sith I yow bad oure soper for to make,
 Whan that thise worthy men wenten with me
 Into my studie, ther as my bookes be."
 "Sire," quod this squier, "whan it liketh yow,
 It is al redy, though ye wol right now."
 "Go we thanne soupe," quod he, "as for the beste.
 Thise amorous folk somtyme moote han hir reste."
 At after-soper fille they in tretee
1220 What somme sholde this maistres gerdon be
 To remoeven alle the rokkes of Britayne,
 And eek from Gerounde to the mouth of Sayne.
 He made it straunge, and swoor, so God hym save,
 Lasse than a thousand pound he wolde nat have,
 Ne gladly for that somme he wolde nat goon.
 Aurelius, with blisful herte anoon,
 Answerde thus: "Fy on a thousand pound!
 This wyde world, which that men seye is round,
 I wolde it yeve, if I were lord of it.
1230 This bargayn is ful dryve, for we been knyt.
 Ye shal be payed trewely, by my trouthe!
 But looketh now, for no necligence or slouthe
 Ye tarie us heere no lenger than to-morwe."
 "Nay," quod this clerk, "have heer my feith to borwe."
 To bedde is goon Aurelius whan hym leste,
 And wel ny al that nyght he hadde his reste.
 What for his labour and his hope of blisse,
 His woful herte of penaunce hadde a lisse.
 Upon the morwe, whan that it was day,
1240 To Britaigne tooke they the righte way,
 Aurelius and this magicien bisyde,
 And been descended ther they wolde abyde.
 And this was, as thise bookes me remembre,
 The colde, frosty seson of Decembre.
 Phebus wax old, and hewed lyk laton,
 That in his hoote declynacion
 Shoon as the burned gold with stremes brighte;
 But now in Capricorn adoun he lighte,
 Where as he shoon ful pale, I dar wel seyn.
1250 The bittre frostes, with the sleet and reyn,
 Destroyed hath the grene in every yerd.
 Janus sit by the fyr, with double berd,
 And drynketh of his bugle horn the wyn;
 Biforn hym stant brawen of the tusked swyn,
 And "Nowel" crieth every lusty man.
 Aurelius in al that evere he kan
 Dooth to this maister chiere and reverence,
 And preyeth hym to doon his diligence
 To bryngen hym out of his peynes smerte,
1260 Or with a swerd that he wolde slitte his herte.
 This subtil clerk swich routhe had of this man
 That nyght and day he spedde hym that he kan
 To wayten a tyme of his conclusioun;
 This is to seye, to maken illusioun,
 By swich an apparence or jogelrye --
 I ne kan no termes of astrologye --
 That she and every wight sholde wene and seye
 That of Britaigne the rokkes were aweye,
 Or ellis they were sonken under grounde.
1270 So atte laste he hath his tyme yfounde
 To maken his japes and his wrecchednesse
 Of swich a supersticious cursednesse.
 His tables Tolletanes forth he brought,
 Ful wel corrected, ne ther lakked nought,
 Neither his collect ne his expans yeeris,
 Ne his rootes, ne his othere geeris,
 As been his centris and his argumentz
 And his proporcioneles convenientz
 For his equacions in every thyng.
1280 And by his eighte speere in his wirkyng
 He knew ful wel how fer Alnath was shove
 Fro the heed of thilke fixe Aries above,
 That in the ninthe speere considered is;
 Ful subtilly he kalkuled al this.
 Whan he hadde founde his firste mansioun,
 He knew the remenaunt by proporcioun,
 And knew the arisyng of his moone weel,
 And in whos face, and terme, and everydeel;
 And knew ful weel the moones mansioun
1290 Acordaunt to his operacioun,
 And knew also his othere observaunces
 For swiche illusiouns and swiche meschaunces
 As hethen folk useden in thilke dayes.
 For which no lenger maked he delayes,
 But thurgh his magik, for a wyke or tweye,
 It semed that alle the rokkes were aweye.
 Aurelius, which that yet despeired is
 Wher he shal han his love or fare amys,
 Awaiteth nyght and day on this myracle;
1300 And whan he knew that ther was noon obstacle,
 That voyded were thise rokkes everychon,
 Doun to his maistres feet he fil anon,
 And seyde, "I woful wrecche, Aurelius,
 Thanke yow, lord, and lady myn Venus,
 That me han holpen fro my cares colde."
 And to the temple his wey forth hath he holde,
 Where as he knew he sholde his lady see.
 And whan he saugh his tyme, anon-right hee,
 With dredful herte and with ful humble cheere,
1310 Salewed hath his sovereyn lady deere:
 "My righte lady," quod this woful man,
 "Whom I moost drede and love as I best kan,
 And lothest were of al this world displese,
 Nere it that I for yow have swich disese
 That I moste dyen heere at youre foot anon,
 Noght wolde I telle how me is wo bigon.
 But certes outher moste I dye or pleyne;
 Ye sle me giltelees for verray peyne.
 But of my deeth thogh that ye have no routhe,
1320 Avyseth yow er that ye breke youre trouthe.
 Repenteth yow, for thilke God above,
 Er ye me sleen by cause that I yow love.
 For, madame, wel ye woot what ye han hight --
 Nat that I chalange any thyng of right
 Of yow, my sovereyn lady, but youre grace --
 But in a gardyn yond, at swich a place,
 Ye woot right wel what ye bihighten me;
 And in myn hand youre trouthe plighten ye
 To love me best -- God woot, ye seyde so,
1330 Al be that I unworthy am therto.
 Madame, I speke it for the honour of yow
 Moore than to save myn hertes lyf right now --
 I have do so as ye comanded me;
 And if ye vouche sauf, ye may go see.
 Dooth as yow list; have youre biheste in mynde,
 For, quyk or deed, right there ye shal me fynde.
 In yow lith al to do me lyve or deye --
 But wel I woot the rokkes been aweye."
 He taketh his leve, and she astoned stood;
1340 In al hir face nas a drope of blood.
 She wende nevere han come in swich a trappe.
 "Allas," quod she, "that evere this sholde happe!
 For wende I nevere by possibilitee
 That swich a monstre or merveille myghte be!
 It is agayns the proces of nature."
 And hoom she goth a sorweful creature;
 For verray feere unnethe may she go.
 She wepeth, wailleth, al a day or two,
 And swowneth, that it routhe was to see.
1350 But why it was to no wight tolde shee,
 For out of towne was goon Arveragus.
 But to hirself she spak, and seyde thus,
 With face pale and with ful sorweful cheere,
 In hire compleynt, as ye shal after heere:
 "Allas," quod she, "on thee, Fortune, I pleyne,
 That unwar wrapped hast me in thy cheyne,
 Fro which t' escape woot I no socour,
 Save oonly deeth or elles dishonour;
 Oon of thise two bihoveth me to chese.
1360 But nathelees, yet have I levere to lese
 My lif than of my body to have a shame,
 Or knowe myselven fals, or lese my name;
 And with my deth I may be quyt, ywis.
 Hath ther nat many a noble wyf er this,
 And many a mayde, yslayn hirself, allas,
 Rather than with hir body doon trespas?
 "Yis, certes, lo, thise stories beren witnesse:
 Whan thritty tirauntz, ful of cursednesse,
 Hadde slayn Phidon in Atthenes atte feste,
1370 They comanded his doghtres for t' areste
 And bryngen hem biforn hem in despit,
 Al naked, to fulfille hir foul delit,
 And in hir fadres blood they made hem daunce
 Upon the pavement, God yeve hem meschaunce!
 For which thise woful maydens, ful of drede,
 Rather than they wolde lese hir maydenhede,
 They prively been stirt into a welle
 And dreynte hemselven, as the bookes telle.
 "They of Mecene leete enquere and seke
1380 Of Lacedomye fifty maydens eke,
 On whiche they wolden doon hir lecherye.
 But was ther noon of al that compaignye
 That she nas slayn, and with a good entente
 Chees rather for to dye than assente
 To been oppressed of hir maydenhede.
 Why sholde I thanne to dye been in drede?
 Lo, eek, the tiraunt Aristoclides,
 That loved a mayden, heet Stymphalides,
 Whan that hir fader slayn was on a nyght,
1390 Unto Dianes temple goth she right,
 And hente the ymage in hir handes two,
 Fro which ymage wolde she nevere go.
 No wight ne myghte hir handes of it arace
 Til she was slayn, right in the selve place.
 "Now sith that maydens hadden swich despit
 To been defouled with mannes foul delit,
 Wel oghte a wyf rather hirselven slee
 Than be defouled, as it thynketh me.
 What shal I seyn of Hasdrubales wyf,
1400 That at Cartage birafte hirself hir lyf?
 For whan she saugh that Romayns wan the toun,
 She took hir children alle, and skipte adoun
 Into the fyr, and chees rather to dye
 Than any Romayn dide hire vileynye.
 Hath nat Lucresse yslayn hirself, allas,
 At Rome, whan that she oppressed was
 Of Tarquyn, for hire thoughte it was a shame
 To lyven whan she hadde lost hir name?
 The sevene maydens of Milesie also
1410 Han slayn hemself, for verrey drede and wo,
 Rather than folk of Gawle hem sholde oppresse.
 Mo than a thousand stories, as I gesse,
 Koude I now telle as touchynge this mateere.
 Whan Habradate was slayn, his wyf so deere
 Hirselven slow, and leet hir blood to glyde
 In Habradates woundes depe and wyde,
 And seyde, `My body, at the leeste way,
 Ther shal no wight defoulen, if I may."
 "What sholde I mo ensamples heerof sayn,
1420 Sith that so manye han hemselven slayn
 Wel rather than they wolde defouled be?
 I wol conclude that it is bet for me
 To sleen myself than been defouled thus.
 I wol be trewe unto Arveragus,
 Or rather sleen myself in som manere,
 As dide Demociones doghter deere
 By cause that she wolde nat defouled be.
 O Cedasus, it is ful greet pitee
 To reden how thy doghtren deyde, allas,
1430 That slowe hemself for swich manere cas.
 As greet a pitee was it, or wel moore,
 The Theban mayden that for Nichanore
 Hirselven slow, right for swich manere wo.
 Another Theban mayden dide right so;
 For oon of Macidonye hadde hire oppressed,
 She with hire deeth hir maydenhede redressed.
 What shal I seye of Nicerates wyf,
 That for swich cas birafte hirself hir lyf?
 How trewe eek was to Alcebiades
1440 His love, that rather for to dyen chees
 Than for to suffre his body unburyed be.
 Lo, which a wyf was Alceste," quod she.
 "What seith Omer of goode Penalopee?
 Al Grece knoweth of hire chastitee.
 Pardee, of Laodomya is writen thus,
 That whan at Troie was slayn Protheselaus,
 Ne lenger wolde she lyve after his day.
 The same of noble Porcia telle I may;
 Withoute Brutus koude she nat lyve,
1450 To whom she hadde al hool hir herte yive.
 The parfit wyfhod of Arthemesie
 Honured is thurgh al the Barbarie.
 O Teuta, queene, thy wyfly chastitee
 To alle wyves may a mirour bee.
 The same thyng I seye of Bilyea,
 Of Rodogone, and eek Valeria."
 Thus pleyned Dorigen a day or tweye,
 Purposynge evere that she wolde deye.
 But nathelees, upon the thridde nyght,
1460 Hoom cam Arveragus, this worthy knyght,
 And asked hire why that she weep so soore;
 And she gan wepen ever lenger the moore.
 "Allas," quod she, "that evere was I born!
 Thus have I seyd," quod she, "thus have I sworn" --
 And toold hym al as ye han herd bifore;
 It nedeth nat reherce it yow namoore.
 This housbonde, with glad chiere, in freendly wyse
 Answerde and seyde as I shal yow devyse:
 "Is ther oght elles, Dorigen, but this?"
1470 "Nay, nay," quod she, "God helpe me so as wys!
 This is to muche, and it were Goddes wille."
 "Ye, wyf," quod he, "lat slepen that is stille.
 It may be wel, paraventure, yet to day.
 Ye shul youre trouthe holden, by my fay!
 For God so wisly have mercy upon me,
 I hadde wel levere ystiked for to be
 For verray love which that I to yow have,
 But if ye sholde youre trouthe kepe and save.
 Trouthe is the hyeste thyng that man may kepe" --
1480 But with that word he brast anon to wepe,
 And seyde, "I yow forbede, up peyne of deeth,
 That nevere, whil thee lasteth lyf ne breeth,
 To no wight telle thou of this aventure --
 As I may best, I wol my wo endure --
 Ne make no contenance of hevynesse,
 That folk of yow may demen harm or gesse."
 And forth he cleped a squier and a mayde:
 "Gooth forth anon with Dorigen," he sayde,
 "And bryngeth hire to swich a place anon."
1490 They take hir leve, and on hir wey they gon,
 But they ne wiste why she thider wente.
 He nolde no wight tellen his entente.
 Paraventure an heep of yow, ywis,
 Wol holden hym a lewed man in this
 That he wol putte his wyf in jupartie.
 Herkneth the tale er ye upon hire crie.
 She may have bettre fortune than yow semeth;
 And whan that ye han herd the tale, demeth.
 This squier, which that highte Aurelius,
1500 On Dorigen that was so amorus,
 Of aventure happed hire to meete
 Amydde the toun, right in the quykkest strete,
 As she was bown to goon the wey forth right
 Toward the gardyn ther as she had hight.
 And he was to the gardyn-ward also;
 For wel he spyed whan she wolde go
 Out of hir hous to any maner place.
 But thus they mette, of aventure or grace,
 And he saleweth hire with glad entente,
1510 And asked of hire whiderward she wente;
 And she answerde, half as she were mad,
 "Unto the gardyn, as myn housbonde bad,
 My trouthe for to holde -- allas, allas!"
 Aurelius gan wondren on this cas,
 And in his herte hadde greet compassioun
 Of hire and of hire lamentacioun,
 And of Arveragus, the worthy knyght,
 That bad hire holden al that she had hight,
 So looth hym was his wyf sholde breke hir trouthe;
1520 And in his herte he caughte of this greet routhe,
 Considerynge the beste on every syde,
 That fro his lust yet were hym levere abyde
 Than doon so heigh a cherlyssh wrecchednesse
 Agayns franchise and alle gentillesse;
 For which in fewe wordes seyde he thus:
 "Madame, seyth to youre lord Arveragus
 That sith I se his grete gentillesse
 To yow, and eek I se wel youre distresse,
 That him were levere han shame (and that were routhe)
1530 Than ye to me sholde breke thus youre trouthe,
 I have wel levere evere to suffre wo
 Than I departe the love bitwix yow two.
 I yow relesse, madame, into youre hond
 Quyt every serement and every bond
 That ye han maad to me as heerbiforn,
 Sith thilke tyme which that ye were born.
 My trouthe I plighte, I shal yow never repreve
 Of no biheste, and heere I take my leve,
 As of the treweste and the beste wyf
1540 That evere yet I knew in al my lyf.
 But every wyf be war of hire biheeste!
 On Dorigen remembreth, atte leeste.
 Thus kan a squier doon a gentil dede
 As wel as kan a knyght, withouten drede."
 She thonketh hym upon hir knees al bare,
 And hoom unto hir housbonde is she fare,
 And tolde hym al, as ye han herd me sayd;
 And be ye siker, he was so weel apayd
 That it were impossible me to wryte.
1550 What sholde I lenger of this cas endyte?
 Arveragus and Dorigen his wyf
 In sovereyn blisse leden forth hir lyf.
 Nevere eft ne was ther angre hem bitwene.
 He cherisseth hire as though she were a queene,
 And she was to hym trewe for everemoore.
 Of thise two folk ye gete of me namoore.
 Aurelius, that his cost hath al forlorn,
 Curseth the tyme that evere he was born:
 "Allas!" quod he. "Allas, that I bihighte
1560 Of pured gold a thousand pound of wighte
 Unto this philosophre! How shal I do?
 I se namoore but that I am fordo.
 Myn heritage moot I nedes selle,
 And been a beggere; heere may I nat dwelle
 And shamen al my kynrede in this place,
 But I of hym may gete bettre grace.
 But nathelees, I wole of hym assaye,
 At certeyn dayes, yeer by yeer, to paye,
 And thanke hym of his grete curteisye.
1570 My trouthe wol I kepe, I wol nat lye."
 With herte soor he gooth unto his cofre,
 And broghte gold unto this philosophre,
 The value of fyve hundred pound, I gesse,
 And hym bisecheth, of his gentillesse,
 To graunte hym dayes of the remenaunt;
 And seyde, "Maister, I dar wel make avaunt,
 I failled nevere of my trouthe as yit.
 For sikerly my dette shal be quyt
 Towardes yow, howevere that I fare
1580 To goon a-begged in my kirtle bare.
 But wolde ye vouche sauf, upon seuretee,
 Two yeer or thre for to respiten me,
 Thanne were I wel; for elles moot I selle
 Myn heritage; ther is namoore to telle."
 This philosophre sobrely answerde,
 And seyde thus, whan he thise wordes herde:
 "Have I nat holden covenant unto thee?"
 "Yes, certes, wel and trewely," quod he.
 "Hastow nat had thy lady as thee liketh?"
1590 "No, no," quod he, and sorwefully he siketh.
 "What was the cause? Tel me if thou kan."
 Aurelius his tale anon bigan,
 And tolde hym al, as ye han herd bifoore;
 It nedeth nat to yow reherce it moore.
 He seide, "Arveragus, of gentillesse,
 Hadde levere dye in sorwe and in distresse
 Than that his wyf were of hir trouthe fals."
 The sorwe of Dorigen he tolde hym als;
 How looth hire was to been a wikked wyf,
1600 And that she levere had lost that day hir lyf,
 And that hir trouthe she swoor thurgh innocence,
 She nevere erst hadde herde speke of apparence.
 "That made me han of hire so greet pitee;
 And right as frely as he sente hire me,
 As frely sente I hire to hym ageyn.
 This al and som; ther is namoore to seyn."
 This philosophre answerde, "Leeve brother,
 Everich of yow dide gentilly til oother.
 Thou art a squier, and he is a knyght;
1610 But God forbede, for his blisful myght,
 But if a clerk koude doon a gentil dede
 As wel as any of yow, it is no drede!
 Sire, I releesse thee thy thousand pound,
 As thou right now were cropen out of the ground,
 Ne nevere er now ne haddest knowen me.
 For, sire, I wol nat taken a peny of thee
 For al my craft, ne noght for my travaille.
 Thou hast ypayed wel for my vitaille.
 It is ynogh, and farewel, have good day!"
1620 And took his hors, and forth he goth his way.
 Lordynges, this question, thanne, wol I aske now,
 Which was the mooste fre, as thynketh yow?
 Now telleth me, er that ye ferther wende.
 I kan namoore; my tale is at an ende.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Physician's Tale

 Ther was, as telleth Titus Livius,
 A knyght that called was Virginius,
 Fulfild of honour and of worthynesse,
 And strong of freendes, and of greet richesse.
 This knyght a doghter hadde by his wyf;
 No children hadde he mo in al his lyf.
 Fair was this mayde in excellent beautee
 Aboven every wight that man may see;
 For Nature hath with sovereyn diligence
10 Yformed hire in so greet excellence,
 As though she wolde seyn, "Lo! I, Nature,
 Thus kan I forme and peynte a creature,
 Whan that me list; who kan me countrefete?
 Pigmalion noght, though he ay forge and bete,
 Or grave, or peynte; for I dar wel seyn
 Apelles, Zanzis, sholde werche in veyn
 Outher to grave, or peynte, or forge, or bete,
 If they presumed me to countrefete.
 For He that is the formere principal
20 Hath maked me his vicaire general,
 To forme and peynten erthely creaturis
 Right as me list, and ech thyng in my cure is
 Under the moone, that may wane and waxe,
 And for my werk right no thyng wol I axe;
 My lord and I been ful of oon accord.
 I made hire to the worshipe of my lord;
 So do I alle myne othere creatures,
 What colour that they han or what figures."
 Thus semeth me that Nature wolde seye.
30 This mayde of age twelve yeer was and tweye,
 In which that Nature hadde swich delit.
 For right as she kan peynte a lilie whit,
 And reed a rose, right with swich peynture
 She peynted hath this noble creature,
 Er she were born, upon hir lymes fre,
 Where as by right swiche colours sholde be;
 And Phebus dyed hath hire tresses grete
 Lyk to the stremes of his burned heete.
 And if that excellent was hire beautee,
40 A thousand foold moore vertuous was she.
 In hire ne lakked no condicioun
 That is to preyse, as by discrecioun.
 As wel in goost as body chast was she,
 For which she floured in virginitee
 With alle humylitee and abstinence,
 With alle attemperaunce and pacience,
 With mesure eek of beryng and array.
 Discreet she was in answeryng alway;
 Though she were wis as Pallas, dar I seyn,
50 Hir facound eek ful wommanly and pleyn,
 No countrefeted termes hadde she
 To seme wys, but after hir degree
 She spak, and alle hire wordes, moore and lesse,
 Sownynge in vertu and in gentillesse.
 Shamefast she was in maydens shamefastnesse,
 Constant in herte, and evere in bisynesse
 To dryve hire out of ydel slogardye.
 Bacus hadde of hir mouth right no maistrie;
 For wyn and youthe dooth Venus encresse,
60 As men in fyr wol casten oille or greesse.
 And of hir owene vertu, unconstreyned,
 She hath ful ofte tyme syk hire feyned,
 For that she wolde fleen the compaignye
 Where likly was to treten of folye,
 As is at feestes, revels, and at daunces,
 That been occasions of daliaunces.
 Swich thynges maken children for to be
 To soone rype and boold, as men may se,
 Which is ful perilous and hath been yoore.
70 For al to soone may she lerne loore
 Of booldnesse, whan she woxen is a wyf.
 And ye maistresses, in youre olde lyf,
 That lordes doghtres han in governaunce,
 Ne taketh of my wordes no displesaunce.
 Thenketh that ye been set in governynges
 Of lordes doghtres oonly for two thynges:
 Outher for ye han kept youre honestee,
 Or elles ye han falle in freletee,
 And knowen wel ynough the olde daunce,
80 And han forsaken fully swich meschaunce
 For everemo; therfore, for Cristes sake,
 To teche hem vertu looke that ye ne slake.
 A theef of venysoun, that hath forlaft
 His likerousnesse and al his olde craft,
 Kan kepe a forest best of any man.
 Now kepeth wel, for if ye wole, ye kan.
 Looke wel that ye unto no vice assente,
 Lest ye be dampned for youre wikke entente;
 For whoso dooth, a traitour is, certeyn.
90 And taketh kep of that that I shal seyn:
 Of alle tresons sovereyn pestilence
 Is whan a wight bitrayseth innocence.
 Ye fadres and ye moodres eek also,
 Though ye han children, be it oon or mo,
 Youre is the charge of al hir surveiaunce,
 Whil that they been under youre governaunce.
 Beth war, if by ensample of youre lyvynge,
 Or by youre necligence in chastisynge,
 That they ne perisse; for I dar wel seye
100 If that they doon, ye shul it deere abeye.
 Under a shepherde softe and necligent
 The wolf hath many a sheep and lamb torent.
 Suffiseth oon ensample now as heere,
 For I moot turne agayn to my matere.
 This mayde, of which I wol this tale expresse,
 So kepte hirself hir neded no maistresse,
 For in hir lyvyng maydens myghten rede,
 As in a book, every good word or dede
 That longeth to a mayden vertuous,
110 She was so prudent and so bountevous.
 For which the fame out sprong on every syde,
 Bothe of hir beautee and hir bountee wyde,
 That thurgh that land they preised hire echone
 That loved vertu, save Envye allone,
 That sory is of oother mennes wele
 And glad is of his sorwe and his unheele.
 (The Doctour maketh this descripcioun.)
 This mayde upon a day wente in the toun
 Toward a temple, with hire mooder deere,
120 As is of yonge maydens the manere.
 Now was ther thanne a justice in that toun,
 That governour was of that regioun.
 And so bifel this juge his eyen caste
 Upon this mayde, avysynge hym ful faste,
 As she cam forby ther as this juge stood.
 Anon his herte chaunged and his mood,
 So was he caught with beautee of this mayde,
 And to hymself ful pryvely he sayde,
 "This mayde shal be myn, for any man!"
130 Anon the feend into his herte ran,
 And taughte hym sodeynly that he by slyghte
 The mayden to his purpos wynne myghte.
 For certes, by no force ne by no meede,
 Hym thoughte, he was nat able for to speede;
 For she was strong of freendes, and eek she
 Confermed was in swich soverayn bountee
 That wel he wiste he myghte hire nevere wynne
 As for to make hire with hir body synne.
 For which, by greet deliberacioun,
140 He sente after a cherl, was in the toun,
 Which that he knew for subtil and for boold.
 This juge unto this cherl his tale hath toold
 In secree wise, and made hym to ensure
 He sholde telle it to no creature,
 And if he dide, he sholde lese his heed.
 Whan that assented was this cursed reed,
 Glad was this juge, and maked him greet cheere,
 And yaf hym yiftes preciouse and deere.
 Whan shapen was al hire conspiracie
150 Fro point to point, how that his lecherie
 Parfourned sholde been ful subtilly,
 As ye shul heere it after openly,
 Hoom gooth the cherl, that highte Claudius.
 This false juge, that highte Apius,
 (So was his name, for this is no fable,
 But knowen for historial thyng notable;
 The sentence of it sooth is, out of doute),
 This false juge gooth now faste aboute
 To hasten his delit al that he may.
160 And so bifel soone after, on a day,
 This false juge, as telleth us the storie,
 As he was wont, sat in his consistorie,
 And yaf his doomes upon sondry cas.
 This false cherl cam forth a ful greet pas,
 And seyde, "Lord, if that it be youre wille,
 As dooth me right upon this pitous bille,
 In which I pleyne upon Virginius;
 And if that he wol seyn it is nat thus,
 I wol it preeve, and fynde good witnesse,
170 That sooth is that my bille wol expresse."
 The juge answerde, "Of this, in his absence,
 I may nat yeve diffynytyf sentence.
 Lat do hym calle, and I wol gladly heere;
 Thou shalt have al right, and no wrong heere."
 Virginius cam to wite the juges wille,
 And right anon was rad this cursed bille;
 The sentence of it was as ye shul heere:
 "To yow, my lord, sire Apius so deere,
 Sheweth youre povre servant Claudius
180 How that a knyght, called Virginius,
 Agayns the lawe, agayn al equitee,
 Holdeth, expres agayn the wyl of me,
 My servant, which that is my thral by right,
 Which fro myn hous was stole upon a nyght,
 Whil that she was ful yong; this wol I preeve
 By witnesse, lord, so that it nat yow greeve.
 She nys his doghter nat, what so he seye.
 Wherfore to yow, my lord the juge, I preye,
 Yeld me my thral, if that it be youre wille."
190 Lo, this was al the sentence of his bille.
 Virginius gan upon the cherl biholde,
 But hastily, er he his tale tolde,
 And wolde have preeved it as sholde a knyght,
 And eek by witnessyng of many a wight,
 That al was fals that seyde his adversarie,
 This cursed juge wolde no thyng tarie,
 Ne heere a word moore of Virginius,
 But yaf his juggement, and seyde thus:
 "I deeme anon this cherl his servant have;
200 Thou shalt no lenger in thyn hous hir save.
 Go bryng hire forth, and put hire in oure warde.
 The cherl shal have his thral, this I awarde."
 And whan this worthy knyght Virginius
 Thurgh sentence of this justice Apius
 Moste by force his deere doghter yiven
 Unto the juge, in lecherie to lyven,
 He gooth hym hoom, and sette him in his halle,
 And leet anon his deere doghter calle,
 And with a face deed as asshen colde
210 Upon hir humble face he gan biholde,
 With fadres pitee stikynge thurgh his herte,
 Al wolde he from his purpos nat converte.
 "Doghter," quod he, "Virginia, by thy name,
 Ther been two weyes, outher deeth or shame,
 That thou most suffre; allas, that I was bore!
 For nevere thou deservedest wherfore
 To dyen with a swerd or with a knyf.
 O deere doghter, endere of my lyf,
 Which I have fostred up with swich plesaunce
220 That thou were nevere out of my remembraunce!
 O doghter, which that art my laste wo,
 And in my lyf my laste joye also,
 O gemme of chastitee, in pacience
 Take thou thy deeth, for this is my sentence.
 For love, and nat for hate, thou most be deed;
 My pitous hand moot smyten of thyn heed.
 Allas, that evere Apius the say!
 Thus hath he falsly jugged the to-day" --
 And tolde hire al the cas, as ye bifore
230 Han herd; nat nedeth for to telle it moore.
 "O mercy, deere fader!" quod this mayde,
 And with that word she bothe hir armes layde
 Aboute his nekke, as she was wont to do.
 The teeris bruste out of hir eyen two,
 And seyde, "Goode fader, shal I dye?
 Is ther no grace, is ther no remedye?"
 "No, certes, deere doghter myn," quod he.
 "Thanne yif me leyser, fader myn," quod she,
 "My deeth for to compleyne a litel space;
240 For, pardee, Jepte yaf his doghter grace
 For to compleyne, er he hir slow, allas!
 And, God it woot, no thyng was hir trespas,
 But for she ran hir fader first to see,
 To welcome hym with greet solempnitee."
 And with that word she fil aswowne anon,
 And after, whan hir swownyng is agon,
 She riseth up, and to hir fader sayde,
 "Blissed be God that I shal dye a mayde!
 Yif me my deeth, er that I have a shame;
250 Dooth with youre child youre wyl, a Goddes name!"
 And with that word she preyed hym ful ofte
 That with his swerd he wolde smyte softe;
 And with that word aswowne doun she fil.
 Hir fader, with ful sorweful herte and wil,
 Hir heed of smoot, and by the top it hente,
 And to the juge he gan it to presente,
 As he sat yet in doom in consistorie.
 And whan the juge it saugh, as seith the storie,
 He bad to take hym and anhange hym faste;
260 But right anon a thousand peple in thraste,
 To save the knyght, for routhe and for pitee,
 For knowen was the false iniquitee.
 The peple anon had suspect in this thyng,
 By manere of the cherles chalangyng,
 That it was by the assent of Apius;
 They wisten wel that he was lecherus.
 For which unto this Apius they gon
 And caste hym in a prisoun right anon,
 Ther as he slow hymself; and Claudius,
270 That servant was unto this Apius,
 Was demed for to hange upon a tree,
 But that Virginius, of his pitee,
 So preyde for hym that he was exiled;
 And elles, certes, he had been bigyled.
 The remenant were anhanged, moore and lesse,
 That were consentant of this cursednesse.
 Heere may men seen how synne hath his merite.
 Beth war, for no man woot whom God wol smyte
 In no degree, ne in which manere wyse;
280 The worm of conscience may agryse
 Of wikked lyf, though it so pryvee be
 That no man woot therof but God and he.
 For be he lewed man, or ellis lered,
 He noot how soone that he shal been afered.
 Therfore I rede yow this conseil take:
 Forsaketh synne, er synne yow forsake.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Pardoner's Introduction and Prologue

 Oure Hooste gan to swere as he were wood;
 "Harrow!" quod he, "by nayles and by blood!
 This was a fals cherl and a fals justise.
290 As shameful deeth as herte may devyse
 Come to thise juges and hire advocatz!
 Algate this sely mayde is slayn, allas!
 Allas, to deere boughte she beautee!
 Wherfore I seye al day that men may see
 That yiftes of Fortune and of Nature
 Been cause of deeth to many a creature.
 Hire beautee was hire deth, I dar wel sayn.
 Allas, so pitously as she was slayn!
 Of bothe yiftes that I speke of now
300 Men han ful ofte moore for harm than prow.
 But trewely, myn owene maister deere,
 This is a pitous tale for to heere.
 But nathelees, passe over; is no fors.
 I pray to God so save thy gentil cors,
 And eek thyne urynals and thy jurdones,
 Thyn ypocras, and eek thy galiones,
 And every boyste ful of thy letuarie;
 God blesse hem, and oure lady Seinte Marie!
 So moot I theen, thou art a propre man,
310 And lyk a prelat, by Seint Ronyan!
 Seyde I nat wel? I kan nat speke in terme;
 But wel I woot thou doost myn herte to erme,
 That I almoost have caught a cardynacle.
 By corpus bones! but I have triacle,
 Or elles a draughte of moyste and corny ale,
 Or but I heere anon a myrie tale,
 Myn herte is lost for pitee of this mayde.
 Thou beel amy, thou Pardoner," he sayde,
 "Telle us som myrthe or japes right anon."
320 "It shal be doon," quod he, "by Seint Ronyon!
 But first," quod he, "heere at this alestake
 I wol bothe drynke and eten of a cake."
 But right anon thise gentils gonne to crye,
 "Nay, lat hym telle us of no ribaudye!
 Telle us som moral thyng, that we may leere
 Som wit, and thanne wol we gladly heere."
 "I graunte, ywis," quod he, "but I moot thynke
 Upon som honest thyng while that I drynke."
 "Lordynges," quod he, "in chirches whan I preche,
330 I peyne me to han an hauteyn speche,
 And rynge it out as round as gooth a belle,
 For I kan al by rote that I telle.
 My theme is alwey oon, and evere was --
 Radix malorum est Cupiditas.
 "First I pronounce whennes that I come,
 And thanne my bulles shewe I, alle and some.
 Oure lige lordes seel on my patente,
 That shewe I first, my body to warente,
 That no man be so boold, ne preest ne clerk,
340 Me to destourbe of Cristes hooly werk.
 And after that thanne telle I forth my tales;
 Bulles of popes and of cardynales,
 Of patriarkes and bishopes I shewe,
 And in Latyn I speke a wordes fewe,
 To saffron with my predicacioun,
 And for to stire hem to devocioun.
 Thanne shewe I forth my longe cristal stones,
 Ycrammed ful of cloutes and of bones --
 Relikes been they, as wenen they echoon.
350 Thanne have I in latoun a sholder-boon
 Which that was of an hooly Jewes sheep.
 `Goode men,' I seye, `taak of my wordes keep;
 If that this boon be wasshe in any welle,
 If cow, or calf, or sheep, or oxe swelle
 That any worm hath ete, or worm ystonge,
 Taak water of that welle and wassh his tonge,
 And it is hool anon; and forthermoore,
 Of pokkes and of scabbe, and every soore
 Shal every sheep be hool that of this welle
360 Drynketh a draughte. Taak kep eek what I telle:
 If that the good-man that the beestes oweth
 Wol every wyke, er that the cok hym croweth,
 Fastynge, drynken of this welle a draughte,
 As thilke hooly Jew oure eldres taughte,
 His beestes and his stoor shal multiplie.
 `And, sires, also it heeleth jalousie;
 For though a man be falle in jalous rage,
 Lat maken with this water his potage,
 And nevere shal he moore his wyf mystriste,
370 Though he the soothe of hir defaute wiste,
 Al had she taken prestes two or thre.
 `Heere is a miteyn eek, that ye may se.
 He that his hand wol putte in this mitayn,
 He shal have multipliyng of his grayn,
 Whan he hath sowen, be it whete or otes,
 So that he offre pens, or elles grotes.
 `Goode men and wommen, o thyng warne I yow:
 If any wight be in this chirche now
 That hath doon synne horrible, that he
380 Dar nat, for shame, of it yshryven be,
 Or any womman, be she yong or old,
 That hath ymaked hir housbonde cokewold,
 Swich folk shal have no power ne no grace
 To offren to my relikes in this place.
 And whoso fyndeth hym out of swich blame,
 He wol come up and offre a Goddes name,
 And I assoille him by the auctoritee
 Which that by bulle ygraunted was to me.'
 "By this gaude have I wonne, yeer by yeer,
390 An hundred mark sith I was pardoner.
 I stonde lyk a clerk in my pulpet,
 And whan the lewed peple is doun yset,
 I preche so as ye han herd bifoore
 And telle an hundred false japes moore.
 Thanne peyne I me to strecche forth the nekke,
 And est and west upon the peple I bekke,
 As dooth a dowve sittynge on a berne.
 Myne handes and my tonge goon so yerne
 That it is joye to se my bisynesse.
400 Of avarice and of swich cursednesse
 Is al my prechyng, for to make hem free
 To yeven hir pens, and namely unto me.
 For myn entente is nat but for to wynne,
 And nothyng for correccioun of synne.
 I rekke nevere, whan that they been beryed,
 Though that hir soules goon a-blakeberyed!
 For certes, many a predicacioun
 Comth ofte tyme of yvel entencioun;
 Som for plesance of folk and flaterye,
410 To been avaunced by ypocrisye,
 And som for veyne glorie, and som for hate.
 For whan I dar noon oother weyes debate,
 Thanne wol I stynge hym with my tonge smerte
 In prechyng, so that he shal nat asterte
 To been defamed falsly, if that he
 Hath trespased to my bretheren or to me.
 For though I telle noght his propre name,
 Men shal wel knowe that it is the same,
 By signes, and by othere circumstances.
420 Thus quyte I folk that doon us displesances;
 Thus spitte I out my venym under hewe
 Of hoolynesse, to semen hooly and trewe.
 "But shortly myn entente I wol devyse:
 I preche of no thyng but for coveityse.
 Therfore my theme is yet, and evere was,
 Radix malorum est Cupiditas.
 Thus kan I preche agayn that same vice
 Which that I use, and that is avarice.
 But though myself be gilty in that synne,
430 Yet kan I maken oother folk to twynne
 From avarice and soore to repente.
 But that is nat my principal entente;
 I preche nothyng but for coveitise.
 Of this mateere it oghte ynogh suffise.
 "Thanne telle I hem ensamples many oon
 Of olde stories longe tyme agoon.
 For lewed peple loven tales olde;
 Swiche thynges kan they wel reporte and holde.
 What, trowe ye, that whiles I may preche,
440 And wynne gold and silver for I teche,
 That I wol lyve in poverte wilfully?
 Nay, nay, I thoghte it nevere, trewely!
 For I wol preche and begge in sondry landes;
 I wol nat do no labour with myne handes,
 Ne make baskettes and lyve therby,
 By cause I wol nat beggen ydelly.
 I wol noon of the apostles countrefete;
 I wol have moneie, wolle, chese, and whete,
 Al were it yeven of the povereste page,
450 Or of the povereste wydwe in a village,
 Al sholde hir children sterve for famyne.
 Nay, I wol drynke licour of the vyne
 And have a joly wenche in every toun.
 But herkneth, lordynges, in conclusioun:
 Youre likyng is that I shal telle a tale.
 Now have I dronke a draughte of corny ale,
 By God, I hope I shal yow telle a thyng
 That shal by reson been at youre likyng.
 For though myself be a ful vicious man,
460 A moral tale yet I yow telle kan,
 Which I am wont to preche for to wynne.
 Now hoold youre pees! My tale I wol bigynne."

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Pardoner's Tale

 In Flaundres whilom was a compaignye
 Of yonge folk that haunteden folye,
 As riot, hasard, stywes, and tavernes,
 Where as with harpes, lutes, and gyternes,
 They daunce and pleyen at dees bothe day and nyght,
 And eten also and drynken over hir myght,
 Thurgh which they doon the devel sacrifise
470 Withinne that develes temple in cursed wise
 By superfluytee abhomynable.
 Hir othes been so grete and so dampnable
 That it is grisly for to heere hem swere.
 Oure blissed Lordes body they totere --
 Hem thoughte that Jewes rente hym noght ynough --
 And ech of hem at otheres synne lough.
 And right anon thanne comen tombesteres
 Fetys and smale, and yonge frutesteres,
 Syngeres with harpes, baudes, wafereres,
480 Whiche been the verray develes officeres
 To kyndle and blowe the fyr of lecherye,
 That is annexed unto glotonye.
 The hooly writ take I to my witnesse
 That luxurie is in wyn and dronkenesse.
 Lo, how that dronken Looth, unkyndely,
 Lay by his doghtres two, unwityngly;
 So dronke he was, he nyste what he wroghte.
 Herodes, whoso wel the stories soghte,
 Whan he of wyn was repleet at his feeste,
490 Right at his owene table he yaf his heeste
 To sleen the Baptist John, ful giltelees.
 Senec seith a good word doutelees;
 He seith he kan no difference fynde
 Bitwix a man that is out of his mynde
 And a man which that is dronkelewe,
 But that woodnesse, yfallen in a shrewe,
 Persevereth lenger than doth dronkenesse.
 O glotonye, ful of cursednesse!
 O cause first of oure confusioun!
500 O original of oure dampnacioun,
 Til Crist hadde boght us with his blood agayn!
 Lo, how deere, shortly for to sayn,
 Aboght was thilke cursed vileynye!
 Corrupt was al this world for glotonye.
 Adam oure fader, and his wyf also,
 Fro Paradys to labour and to wo
 Were dryven for that vice, it is no drede.
 For whil that Adam fasted, as I rede,
 He was in Paradys; and whan that he
510 Eet of the fruyt deffended on the tree,
 Anon he was out cast to wo and peyne.
 O glotonye, on thee wel oghte us pleyne!
 O, wiste a man how manye maladyes
 Folwen of excesse and of glotonyes,
 He wolde been the moore mesurable
 Of his diete, sittynge at his table.
 Allas, the shorte throte, the tendre mouth,
 Maketh that est and west and north and south,
 In erthe, in eir, in water, men to swynke
520 To gete a glotoun deyntee mete and drynke!
 Of this matiere, O Paul, wel kanstow trete:
 "Mete unto wombe, and wombe eek unto mete,
 Shal God destroyen bothe," as Paulus seith.
 Allas, a foul thyng is it, by my feith,
 To seye this word, and fouler is the dede,
 Whan man so drynketh of the white and rede
 That of his throte he maketh his pryvee
 Thurgh thilke cursed superfluitee.
 The apostel wepyng seith ful pitously,
530 "Ther walken manye of whiche yow toold have I --
 I seye it now wepyng, with pitous voys --
 They been enemys of Cristes croys,
 Of whiche the ende is deeth; wombe is hir god!"
 O wombe! O bely! O stynkyng cod,
 Fulfilled of dong and of corrupcioun!
 At either ende of thee foul is the soun.
 How greet labour and cost is thee to fynde!
 Thise cookes, how they stampe, and streyne, and grynde,
 And turnen substaunce into accident
540 To fulfille al thy likerous talent!
 Out of the harde bones knokke they
 The mary, for they caste noght awey
 That may go thurgh the golet softe and swoote.
 Of spicerie of leef, and bark, and roote
 Shal been his sauce ymaked by delit,
 To make hym yet a newer appetit.
 But, certes, he that haunteth swiche delices
 Is deed, whil that he lyveth in tho vices.
 A lecherous thyng is wyn, and dronkenesse
550 Is ful of stryvyng and of wrecchednesse.
 O dronke man, disfigured is thy face,
 Sour is thy breeth, foul artow to embrace,
 And thurgh thy dronke nose semeth the soun
 As though thou seydest ay "Sampsoun, Sampsoun!"
 And yet, God woot, Sampsoun drank nevere no wyn.
 Thou fallest as it were a styked swyn;
 Thy tonge is lost, and al thyn honeste cure,
 For dronkenesse is verray sepulture
 Of mannes wit and his discrecioun.
560 In whom that drynke hath dominacioun
 He kan no conseil kepe; it is no drede.
 Now kepe yow fro the white and fro the rede,
 And namely fro the white wyn of Lepe
 That is to selle in Fysshstrete or in Chepe.
 This wyn of Spaigne crepeth subtilly
 In othere wynes, growynge faste by,
 Of which ther ryseth swich fumositee
 That whan a man hath dronken draughtes thre,
 And weneth that he be at hoom in Chepe,
570 He is in Spaigne, right at the toune of Lepe --
 Nat at the Rochele, ne at Burdeux toun --
 And thanne wol he seye "Sampsoun, Sampsoun!"
 But herkneth, lordynges, o word, I yow preye,
 That alle the sovereyn actes, dar I seye,
 Of victories in the Olde Testament,
 Thurgh verray God, that is omnipotent,
 Were doon in abstinence and in preyere.
 Looketh the Bible, and ther ye may it leere.
 Looke, Attilla, the grete conquerour,
580 Deyde in his sleep, with shame and dishonour,
 Bledynge ay at his nose in dronkenesse.
 A capitayn sholde lyve in sobrenesse.
 And over al this, avyseth yow right wel
 What was comaunded unto Lamuel --
 Nat Samuel, but Lamuel, seye I;
 Redeth the Bible, and fynde it expresly
 Of wyn-yevyng to hem that han justise.
 Namoore of this, for it may wel suffise.
 And now that I have spoken of glotonye,
590 Now wol I yow deffenden hasardrye.
 Hasard is verray mooder of lesynges,
 And of deceite, and cursed forswerynges,
 Blaspheme of Crist, manslaughtre, and wast also
 Of catel and of tyme; and forthermo,
 It is repreeve and contrarie of honour
 For to ben holde a commune hasardour.
 And ever the hyer he is of estaat,
 The moore is he yholden desolaat.
 If that a prynce useth hasardrye,
600 In alle governaunce and policye
 He is, as by commune opinioun,
 Yholde the lasse in reputacioun.
 Stilboun, that was a wys embassadour,
 Was sent to Corynthe in ful greet honour
 Fro Lacidomye to make hire alliaunce.
 And whan he cam, hym happede, par chaunce,
 That alle the gretteste that were of that lond,
 Pleyynge atte hasard he hem fond.
 For which, as soone as it myghte be,
610 He stal hym hoom agayn to his contree,
 And seyde, "Ther wol I nat lese my name,
 Ne I wol nat take on me so greet defame,
 Yow for to allie unto none hasardours.
 Sendeth othere wise embassadours;
 For, by my trouthe, me were levere dye
 Than I yow sholde to hasardours allye.
 For ye, that been so glorious in honours,
 Shul nat allyen yow with hasardours
 As by my wyl, ne as by my tretee."
620 This wise philosophre, thus seyde hee.
 Looke eek that to the kyng Demetrius
 The kyng of Parthes, as the book seith us,
 Sente him a paire of dees of gold in scorn,
 For he hadde used hasard ther-biforn;
 For which he heeld his glorie or his renoun
 At no value or reputacioun.
 Lordes may fynden oother maner pley
 Honest ynough to dryve the day awey.
 Now wol I speke of othes false and grete
630 A word or two, as olde bookes trete.
 Gret sweryng is a thyng abhominable,
 And fals sweryng is yet moore reprevable.
 The heighe God forbad sweryng at al,
 Witnesse on Mathew; but in special
 Of sweryng seith the hooly Jeremye,
 "Thou shalt swere sooth thyne othes, and nat lye,
 And swere in doom and eek in rightwisnesse";
 But ydel sweryng is a cursednesse.
 Bihoold and se that in the firste table
640 Of heighe Goddes heestes honurable,
 Hou that the seconde heeste of hym is this:
 "Take nat my name in ydel or amys."
 Lo, rather he forbedeth swich sweryng
 Than homycide or many a cursed thyng;
 I seye that, as by ordre, thus it stondeth;
 This knoweth, that his heestes understondeth,
 How that the seconde heeste of God is that.
 And forther over, I wol thee telle al plat
 That vengeance shal nat parten from his hous
650 That of his othes is to outrageous.
 "By Goddes precious herte," and "By his nayles,"
 And "By the blood of Crist that is in Hayles,
 Sevene is my chaunce, and thyn is cynk and treye!"
 "By Goddes armes, if thou falsly pleye,
 This daggere shal thurghout thyn herte go!" --
 This fruyt cometh of the bicched bones two,
 Forsweryng, ire, falsnesse, homycide.
 Now, for the love of Crist, that for us dyde,
 Lete youre othes, bothe grete and smale.
660 But, sires, now wol I telle forth my tale.
 Thise riotoures thre of whiche I telle,
 Longe erst er prime rong of any belle,
 Were set hem in a taverne to drynke,
 And as they sat, they herde a belle clynke
 Biforn a cors, was caried to his grave.
 That oon of hem gan callen to his knave:
 "Go bet," quod he, "and axe redily
 What cors is this that passeth heer forby;
 And looke that thou reporte his name weel."
670 "Sire," quod this boy, "it nedeth never-a-deel;
 It was me toold er ye cam heer two houres.
 He was, pardee, an old felawe of youres,
 And sodeynly he was yslayn to-nyght,
 Fordronke, as he sat on his bench upright.
 Ther cam a privee theef men clepeth Deeth,
 That in this contree al the peple sleeth,
 And with his spere he smoot his herte atwo,
 And wente his wey withouten wordes mo.
 He hath a thousand slayn this pestilence.
680 And, maister, er ye come in his presence,
 Me thynketh that it were necessarie
 For to be war of swich an adversarie.
 Beth redy for to meete hym everemoore;
 Thus taughte me my dame; I sey namoore."
 "By Seinte Marie!" seyde this taverner,
 "The child seith sooth, for he hath slayn this yeer,
 Henne over a mile, withinne a greet village,
 Bothe man and womman, child, and hyne, and page;
 I trowe his habitacioun be there.
690 To been avysed greet wysdom it were,
 Er that he dide a man a dishonour."
 "Ye, Goddes armes!" quod this riotour,
 "Is it swich peril with hym for to meete?
 I shal hym seke by wey and eek by strete,
 I make avow to Goddes digne bones!
 Herkneth, felawes, we thre been al ones;
 Lat ech of us holde up his hand til oother,
 And ech of us bicomen otheres brother,
 And we wol sleen this false traytour Deeth.
700 He shal be slayn, he that so manye sleeth,
 By Goddes dignitee, er it be nyght!"
 Togidres han thise thre hir trouthes plight
 To lyve and dyen ech of hem for oother,
 As though he were his owene ybore brother.
 And up they stirte, al dronken in this rage,
 And forth they goon towardes that village
 Of which the taverner hadde spoke biforn.
 And many a grisly ooth thanne han they sworn,
 And Cristes blessed body they torente --
710 Deeth shal be deed, if that they may hym hente!
 Whan they han goon nat fully half a mile,
 Right as they wolde han troden over a stile,
 An oold man and a povre with hem mette.
 This olde man ful mekely hem grette,
 And seyde thus, "Now, lordes, God yow see!"
 The proudeste of thise riotoures three
 Answerde agayn, "What, carl, with sory grace!
 Why artow al forwrapped save thy face?
 Why lyvestow so longe in so greet age?"
720 This olde man gan looke in his visage,
 And seyde thus: "For I ne kan nat fynde
 A man, though that I walked into Ynde,
 Neither in citee ne in no village,
 That wolde chaunge his youthe for myn age;
 And therfore moot I han myn age stille,
 As longe tyme as it is Goddes wille.
 Ne Deeth, allas, ne wol nat han my lyf.
 Thus walke I, lyk a restelees kaityf,
 And on the ground, which is my moodres gate,
730 I knokke with my staf, bothe erly and late,
 And seye `Leeve mooder, leet me in!
 Lo how I vanysshe, flessh, and blood, and skyn!
 Allas, whan shul my bones been at reste?
 Mooder, with yow wolde I chaunge my cheste
 That in my chambre longe tyme hath be,
 Ye, for an heyre clowt to wrappe me!'
 But yet to me she wol nat do that grace,
 For which ful pale and welked is my face.
 "But, sires, to yow it is no curteisye
740 To speken to an old man vileynye,
 But he trespasse in word or elles in dede.
 In Hooly Writ ye may yourself wel rede:
 `Agayns an oold man, hoor upon his heed,
 Ye sholde arise;' wherfore I yeve yow reed,
 Ne dooth unto an oold man noon harm now,
 Namoore than that ye wolde men did to yow
 In age, if that ye so longe abyde.
 And God be with yow, where ye go or ryde!
 I moot go thider as I have to go."
750 "Nay, olde cherl, by God, thou shalt nat so,"
 Seyde this oother hasardour anon;
 "Thou partest nat so lightly, by Seint John!
 Thou spak right now of thilke traytour Deeth.
 That in this contree alle oure freendes sleeth.
 Have heer my trouthe, as thou art his espye,
 Telle where he is or thou shalt it abye,
 By God and by the hooly sacrement!
 For soothly thou art oon of his assent
 To sleen us yonge folk, thou false theef!"
760 "Now, sires," quod he, "if that yow be so leef
 To fynde Deeth, turne up this croked wey,
 For in that grove I lafte hym, by my fey,
 Under a tree, and there he wole abyde;
 Noght for youre boost he wole him no thyng hyde.
 Se ye that ook? Right there ye shal hym fynde.
 God save yow, that boghte agayn mankynde,
 And yow amende!" Thus seyde this olde man;
 And everich of thise riotoures ran
 Til he cam to that tree, and ther they founde
770 Of floryns fyne of gold ycoyned rounde
 Wel ny an eighte busshels, as hem thoughte.
 No lenger thanne after Deeth they soughte,
 But ech of hem so glad was of that sighte,
 For that the floryns been so faire and brighte,
 That doun they sette hem by this precious hoord.
 The worste of hem, he spak the firste word.
 "Bretheren," quod he, "taak kep what that I seye;
 My wit is greet, though that I bourde and pleye.
 This tresor hath Fortune unto us yiven
780 In myrthe and joliftee oure lyf to lyven,
 And lightly as it comth, so wol we spende.
 Ey, Goddes precious dignitee! Who wende
 To-day that we sholde han so fair a grace?
 But myghte this gold be caried fro this place
 Hoom to myn hous, or elles unto youres --
 For wel ye woot that al this gold is oures --
 Thanne were we in heigh felicitee.
 But trewely, by daye it may nat bee.
 Men wolde seyn that we were theves stronge,
790 And for oure owene tresor doon us honge.
 This tresor moste ycaried be by nyghte
 As wisely and as slyly as it myghte.
 Wherfore I rede that cut among us alle
 Be drawe, and lat se wher the cut wol falle;
 And he that hath the cut with herte blithe
 Shal renne to the town, and that ful swithe,
 And brynge us breed and wyn ful prively.
 And two of us shul kepen subtilly
 This tresor wel; and if he wol nat tarie,
800 Whan it is nyght, we wol this tresor carie,
 By oon assent, where as us thynketh best."
 That oon of hem the cut broghte in his fest,
 And bad hem drawe and looke where it wol falle;
 And it fil on the yongeste of hem alle,
 And forth toward the toun he wente anon.
 And also soone as that he was gon,
 That oon of hem spak thus unto that oother:
 "Thow knowest wel thou art my sworen brother;
 Thy profit wol I telle thee anon.
810 Thou woost wel that oure felawe is agon.
 And heere is gold, and that ful greet plentee,
 That shal departed been among us thre.
 But nathelees, if I kan shape it so
 That it departed were among us two,
 Hadde I nat doon a freendes torn to thee?"
 That oother answerde, "I noot hou that may be.
 He woot that the gold is with us tweye;
 What shal we doon? What shal we to hym seye?"
 "Shal it be conseil?" seyde the firste shrewe,
820 "And I shal tellen in a wordes fewe
 What we shal doon, and brynge it wel aboute."
 "I graunte," quod that oother, "out of doute,
 That, by my trouthe, I wol thee nat biwreye."
 "Now," quod the firste, "thou woost wel we be tweye,
 And two of us shul strenger be than oon.
 Looke whan that he is set, that right anoon
 Arys as though thou woldest with hym pleye,
 And I shal ryve hym thurgh the sydes tweye
 Whil that thou strogelest with hym as in game,
830 And with thy daggere looke thou do the same;
 And thanne shal al this gold departed be,
 My deere freend, bitwixen me and thee.
 Thanne may we bothe oure lustes all fulfille,
 And pleye at dees right at oure owene wille."
 And thus acorded been thise shrewes tweye
 To sleen the thridde, as ye han herd me seye.
 This yongeste, which that wente to the toun,
 Ful ofte in herte he rolleth up and doun
 The beautee of thise floryns newe and brighte.
840 "O Lord!" quod he, "if so were that I myghte
 Have al this tresor to myself allone,
 Ther is no man that lyveth under the trone
 Of God that sholde lyve so murye as I!"
 And atte laste the feend, oure enemy,
 Putte in his thought that he sholde poyson beye,
 With which he myghte sleen his felawes tweye;
 For-why the feend foond hym in swich lyvynge
 That he hadde leve him to sorwe brynge.
 For this was outrely his fulle entente,
850 To sleen hem bothe and nevere to repente.
 And forth he gooth, no lenger wolde he tarie,
 Into the toun, unto a pothecarie,
 And preyde hym that he hym wolde selle
 Som poyson, that he myghte his rattes quelle;
 And eek ther was a polcat in his hawe,
 That, as he seyde, his capouns hadde yslawe,
 And fayn he wolde wreke hym, if he myghte,
 On vermyn that destroyed hym by nyghte.
 The pothecarie answerde, "And thou shalt have
860 A thyng that, also God my soule save,
 In al this world ther is no creature
 That eten or dronken hath of this confiture
 Noght but the montance of a corn of whete,
 That he ne shal his lif anon forlete;
 Ye, sterve he shal, and that in lasse while
 Than thou wolt goon a paas nat but a mile,
 This poysoun is so strong and violent."
 This cursed man hath in his hond yhent
 This poysoun in a box, and sith he ran
870 Into the nexte strete unto a man,
 And borwed [of] hym large botelles thre,
 And in the two his poyson poured he;
 The thridde he kepte clene for his drynke.
 For al the nyght he shoop hym for to swynke
 In cariynge of the gold out of that place.
 And whan this riotour, with sory grace,
 Hadde filled with wyn his grete botels thre,
 To his felawes agayn repaireth he.
 What nedeth it to sermone of it moore?
880 For right as they hadde cast his deeth bifoore,
 Right so they han hym slayn, and that anon.
 And whan that this was doon, thus spak that oon:
 "Now lat us sitte and drynke, and make us merie,
 And afterward we wol his body berie."
 And with that word it happed hym, par cas,
 To take the botel ther the poyson was,
 And drank, and yaf his felawe drynke also,
 For which anon they storven bothe two.
 But certes, I suppose that Avycen
890 Wroot nevere in no canon, ne in no fen,
 Mo wonder signes of empoisonyng
 Than hadde thise wrecches two, er hir endyng.
 Thus ended been thise homycides two,
 And eek the false empoysonere also.
 O cursed synne of alle cursednesse!
 O traytours homycide, O wikkednesse!
 O glotonye, luxurie, and hasardrye!
 Thou blasphemour of Crist with vileynye
 And othes grete, of usage and of pride!
900 Allas, mankynde, how may it bitide
 That to thy creatour, which that the wroghte
 And with his precious herte-blood thee boghte,
 Thou art so fals and so unkynde, allas?
 Now, goode men, God foryeve yow youre trespas,
 And ware yow fro the synne of avarice!
 Myn hooly pardoun may yow alle warice,
 So that ye offre nobles or sterlynges,
 Or elles silver broches, spoones, rynges.
 Boweth youre heed under this hooly bulle!
910 Cometh up, ye wyves, offreth of youre wolle!
 Youre names I entre heer in my rolle anon;
 Into the blisse of hevene shul ye gon.
 I yow assoille, by myn heigh power,
 Yow that wol offre, as clene and eek as cleer
 As ye were born. -- And lo, sires, thus I preche.
 And Jhesu Crist, that is oure soules leche,
 So graunte yow his pardoun to receyve,
 For that is best; I wol yow nat deceyve.
 But, sires, o word forgat I in my tale:
920 I have relikes and pardoun in my male,
 As faire as any man in Engelond,
 Whiche were me yeven by the popes hond.
 If any of yow wole, of devocion,
 Offren and han myn absolucion,
 Com forth anon, and kneleth heere adoun,
 And mekely receyveth my pardoun;
 Or elles taketh pardoun as ye wende,
 Al newe and fressh at every miles ende,
 So that ye offren, alwey newe and newe,
930 Nobles or pens, whiche that be goode and trewe.
 It is an honour to everich that is heer
 That ye mowe have a suffisant pardoneer
 T' assoille yow in contree as ye ryde,
 For aventures whiche that may bityde.
 Paraventure ther may fallen oon or two
 Doun of his hors and breke his nekke atwo.
 Looke which a seuretee is it to yow alle
 That I am in youre felaweshipe yfalle,
 That may assoille yow, bothe moore and lasse,
940 Whan that the soule shal fro the body passe.
 I rede that oure Hoost heere shal bigynne,
 For he is moost envoluped in synne.
 Com forth, sire Hoost, and offre first anon,
 And thou shalt kisse the relikes everychon,
 Ye, for a grote! Unbokele anon thy purs."
 "Nay, nay!" quod he, "thanne have I Cristes curs!
 Lat be," quod he, "it shal nat be, so theech!
 Thou woldest make me kisse thyn olde breech,
 And swere it were a relyk of a seint,
950 Though it were with thy fundement depeint!
 But, by the croys which that Seint Eleyne fond,
 I wolde I hadde thy coillons in myn hond
 In stide of relikes or of seintuarie.
 Lat kutte hem of, I wol thee helpe hem carie;
 They shul be shryned in an hogges toord!"
 This Pardoner answerde nat a word;
 So wrooth he was, no word ne wolde he seye.
 "Now," quod oure Hoost, "I wol no lenger pleye
 With thee, ne with noon oother angry man."
960 But right anon the worthy Knyght bigan,
 Whan that he saugh that al the peple lough,
 "Namoore of this, for it is right ynough!
 Sire Pardoner, be glad and myrie of cheere;
 And ye, sire Hoost, that been to me so deere,
 I prey yow that ye kisse the Pardoner.
 And Pardoner, I prey thee, drawe thee neer,
 And, as we diden, lat us laughe and pleye."
 Anon they kiste, and ryden forth hir weye.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Shipman's Tale

 A marchant whilom dwelled at Seint-Denys,
 That riche was, for which men helde hym wys.
 A wyf he hadde of excellent beautee;
 And compaignable and revelous was she,
 Which is a thyng that causeth more dispence
 Than worth is al the chiere and reverence
 That men hem doon at festes and at daunces.
 Swiche salutaciouns and contenaunces
 Passen as dooth a shadwe upon the wal;
10 But wo is hym that payen moot for al!
 The sely housbonde, algate he moot paye,
 He moot us clothe, and he moot us arraye,
 Al for his owene worshipe richely,
 In which array we daunce jolily.
 And if that he noght may, par aventure,
 Or ellis list no swich dispence endure,
 But thynketh it is wasted and ylost,
 Thanne moot another payen for oure cost,
 Or lene us gold, and that is perilous.
20 This noble marchaunt heeld a worthy hous,
 For which he hadde alday so greet repair
 For his largesse, and for his wyf was fair,
 That wonder is; but herkneth to my tale.
 Amonges alle his gestes, grete and smale,
 Ther was a monk, a fair man and a boold --
 I trowe a thritty wynter he was oold --
 That evere in oon was drawynge to that place.
 This yonge monk, that was so fair of face,
 Aqueynted was so with the goode man,
30 Sith that hir firste knoweliche bigan,
 That in his hous as famulier was he
 As it is possible any freend to be.
 And for as muchel as this goode man,
 And eek this monk of which that I bigan,
 Were bothe two yborn in o village,
 The monk hym claymeth as for cosynage,
 And he agayn; he seith nat ones nay,
 But was as glad therof as fowel of day,
 For to his herte it was a greet plesaunce.
40 Thus been they knyt with eterne alliaunce,
 And ech of hem gan oother for t' assure
 Of bretherhede whil that hir lyf may dure.
 Free was daun John, and manly of dispence,
 As in that hous, and ful of diligence
 To doon plesaunce, and also greet costage.
 He noght forgat to yeve the leeste page
 In al that hous; but after hir degree,
 He yaf the lord, and sitthe al his meynee,
 Whan that he cam, som manere honest thyng,
50 For which they were as glad of his comyng
 As fowel is fayn whan that the sonne up riseth.
 Na moore of this as now, for it suffiseth.
 But so bifel, this marchant on a day
 Shoop hym to make redy his array
 Toward the toun of Brugges for to fare,
 To byen there a porcioun of ware;
 For which he hath to Parys sent anon
 A messager, and preyed hath daun John
 That he sholde come to Seint-Denys to pleye
60 With hym and with his wyf a day or tweye,
 Er he to Brugges wente, in alle wise.
 This noble monk, of which I yow devyse,
 Hath of his abbot, as hym list, licence,
 By cause he was a man of heigh prudence
 And eek an officer, out for to ryde,
 To seen hir graunges and hire bernes wyde,
 And unto Seint-Denys he comth anon.
 Who was so welcome as my lord daun John,
 Oure deere cosyn, ful of curteisye?
70 With hym broghte he a jubbe of malvesye,
 And eek another ful of fyn vernage,
 And volatyl, as ay was his usage.
 And thus I lete hem ete and drynke and pleye,
 This marchant and this monk, a day or tweye.
 The thridde day, this marchant up ariseth,
 And on his nedes sadly hym avyseth,
 And up into his countour-hous gooth he
 To rekene with hymself, wel may be,
 Of thilke yeer how that it with hym stood,
80 And how that he despended hadde his good,
 And if that he encressed were or noon.
 His bookes and his bagges many oon
 He leith biforn hym on his countyng-bord.
 Ful riche was his tresor and his hord,
 For which ful faste his countour-dore he shette;
 And eek he nolde that no man sholde hym lette
 Of his acountes, for the meene tyme;
 And thus he sit til it was passed pryme.
 Daun John was rysen in the morwe also,
90 And in the gardyn walketh to and fro,
 And hath his thynges seyd ful curteisly.
 This goode wyf cam walkynge pryvely
 Into the gardyn, there he walketh softe,
 And hym saleweth, as she hath doon ofte.
 A mayde child cam in hire compaignye,
 Which as hir list she may governe and gye,
 For yet under the yerde was the mayde.
 "O deere cosyn myn, daun John," she sayde,
 "What eyleth yow so rathe for to ryse?"
100 "Nece," quod he, "it oghte ynough suffise
 Fyve houres for to slepe upon a nyght,
 But it were for an old appalled wight,
 As been thise wedded men, that lye and dare
 As in a fourme sit a wery hare,
 Were al forstraught with houndes grete and smale.
 But deere nece, why be ye so pale?
 I trowe, certes, that oure goode man
 Hath yow laboured sith the nyght bigan
 That yow were nede to resten hastily."
110 And with that word he lough ful murily,
 And of his owene thought he wax al reed.
 This faire wyf gan for to shake hir heed
 And seyde thus, "Ye, God woot al," quod she.
 "Nay, cosyn myn, it stant nat so with me;
 For, by that God that yaf me soule and lyf,
 In al the reawme of France is ther no wyf
 That lasse lust hath to that sory pley.
 For I may synge `allas and weylawey
 That I was born,' but to no wight," quod she,
120 "Dar I nat telle how that it stant with me.
 Wherfore I thynke out of this land to wende,
 Or elles of myself to make an ende,
 So ful am I of drede and eek of care."
 This monk bigan upon this wyf to stare,
 And seyde, "Allas, my nece, God forbede
 That ye, for any sorwe or any drede,
 Fordo youreself; but telleth me youre grief.
 Paraventure I may, in youre meschief,
 Conseille or helpe; and therfore telleth me
130 Al youre anoy, for it shal been secree.
 For on my portehors I make an ooth
 That nevere in my lyf, for lief ne looth,
 Ne shal I of no conseil yow biwreye."
 "The same agayn to yow," quod she, "I seye.
 By God and by this portehors I swere,
 Though men me wolde al into pieces tere,
 Ne shal I nevere, for to goon to helle,
 Biwreye a word of thyng that ye me telle,
 Nat for no cosynage ne alliance,
140 But verraily for love and affiance."
 Thus been they sworn, and heerupon they kiste,
 And ech of hem tolde oother what hem liste.
 "Cosyn," quod she, "if that I hadde a space,
 As I have noon, and namely in this place,
 Thanne wolde I telle a legende of my lyf,
 What I have suffred sith I was a wyf
 With myn housbonde, al be he youre cosyn."
 "Nay," quod this monk, "by God and Seint Martyn,
 He is na moore cosyn unto me
150 Than is this leef that hangeth on the tree!
 I clepe hym so, by Seint Denys of Fraunce,
 To have the moore cause of aqueyntaunce
 Of yow, which I have loved specially
 Aboven alle wommen, sikerly.
 This swere I yow on my professioun.
 Telleth youre grief, lest that he come adoun;
 And hasteth yow, and gooth youre wey anon."
 "My deere love," quod she, "O my daun John,
 Ful lief were me this conseil for to hyde,
160 But out it moot; I may namoore abyde.
 Myn housbonde is to me the worste man
 That evere was sith that the world bigan.
 But sith I am a wyf, it sit nat me
 To tellen no wight of oure privetee,
 Neither abedde ne in noon oother place;
 God shilde I sholde it tellen, for his grace!
 A wyf ne shal nat seyn of hir housbonde
 But al honour, as I kan understonde;
 Save unto yow thus muche I tellen shal:
170 As helpe me God, he is noght worth at al
 In no degree the value of a flye.
 But yet me greveth moost his nygardye.
 And wel ye woot that wommen naturelly
 Desiren thynges sixe as wel as I:
 They wolde that hir housbondes sholde be
 Hardy and wise, and riche, and therto free,
 And buxom unto his wyf and fressh abedde.
 But by that ilke Lord that for us bledde,
 For his honour, myself for to arraye,
180 A Sonday next I moste nedes paye
 An hundred frankes, or ellis I am lorn.
 Yet were me levere that I were unborn
 Than me were doon a sclaundre or vileynye;
 And if myn housbonde eek it myghte espye,
 I nere but lost; and therfore I yow preye,
 Lene me this somme, or ellis moot I deye.
 Daun John, I seye, lene me thise hundred frankes.
 Pardee, I wol nat faille yow my thankes,
 If that yow list to doon that I yow praye.
190 For at a certeyn day I wol yow paye,
 And doon to yow what plesance and service
 That I may doon, right as yow list devise.
 And but I do, God take on me vengeance
 As foul as evere hadde Genylon of France."
 This gentil monk answerde in this manere:
 "Now trewely, myn owene lady deere,
 I have," quod he, "on yow so greet a routhe
 That I yow swere, and plighte yow my trouthe,
 That whan youre housbonde is to Flaundres fare,
200 I wol delyvere yow out of this care;
 For I wol brynge yow an hundred frankes."
 And with that word he caughte hire by the flankes,
 And hire embraceth harde, and kiste hire ofte.
 "Gooth now youre wey," quod he, "al stille and softe,
 And lat us dyne as soone as that ye may;
 For by my chilyndre it is pryme of day.
 Gooth now, and beeth as trewe as I shal be."
 "Now elles God forbede, sire," quod she;
 And forth she gooth as jolif as a pye,
210 And bad the cookes that they sholde hem hye,
 So that men myghte dyne, and that anon.
 Up to hir housbonde is this wyf ygon,
 And knokketh at his countour boldely.
 "Quy la?" quod he. "Peter! it am I,"
 Quod she; "What, sire, how longe wol ye faste?
 How longe tyme wol ye rekene and caste
 Youre sommes, and youre bookes, and youre thynges?
 The devel have part on alle swiche rekenynges!
 Ye have ynough, pardee, of Goddes sonde;
220 Com doun to-day, and lat youre bagges stonde.
 Ne be ye nat ashamed that daun John
 Shal fasting al this day alenge goon?
 What, lat us heere a messe, and go we dyne."
 "Wyf," quod this man, "litel kanstow devyne
 The curious bisynesse that we have.
 For of us chapmen, also God me save,
 And by that lord that clepid is Seint Yve,
 Scarsly amonges twelve tweye shul thryve
 Continuelly, lastynge unto oure age.
230 We may wel make chiere and good visage,
 And dryve forth the world as it may be,
 And kepen oure estaat in pryvetee,
 Til we be deed, or elles that we pleye
 A pilgrymage, or goon out of the weye.
 And therfore have I greet necessitee
 Upon this queynte world t' avyse me,
 For everemoore we moote stonde in drede
 Of hap and fortune in oure chapmanhede.
 "To Flaundres wol I go to-morwe at day,
240 And come agayn, as soone as evere I may.
 For which, my deere wyf, I thee biseke,
 As be to every wight buxom and meke,
 And for to kepe oure good be curious,
 And honestly governe wel oure hous.
 Thou hast ynough, in every maner wise,
 That to a thrifty houshold may suffise.
 Thee lakketh noon array ne no vitaille;
 Of silver in thy purs shaltow nat faille."
 And with that word his countour-dore he shette,
250 And doun he gooth, no lenger wolde he lette.
 But hastily a messe was ther seyd,
 And spedily the tables were yleyd,
 And to the dyner faste they hem spedde,
 And richely this monk the chapman fedde.
 At after-dyner daun John sobrely
 This chapman took apart, and prively
 He seyde hym thus: "Cosyn, it standeth so,
 That wel I se to Brugges wol ye go.
 God and Seint Austyn spede yow and gyde!
260 I prey yow, cosyn, wisely that ye ryde.
 Governeth yow also of youre diete
 Atemprely, and namely in this hete.
 Bitwix us two nedeth no strange fare;
 Farewel, cosyn; God shilde yow fro care!
 And if that any thyng by day or nyght,
 If it lye in my power and my myght,
 That ye me wol comande in any wyse,
 It shal be doon right as ye wol devyse.
 "O thyng, er that ye goon, if it may be,
270 I wolde prey yow: for to lene me
 An hundred frankes, for a wyke or tweye,
 For certein beestes that I moste beye,
 To stoore with a place that is oures.
 God helpe me so, I wolde it were youres!
 I shal nat faille surely of my day,
 Nat for a thousand frankes, a mile way.
 But lat this thyng be secree, I yow preye,
 For yet to-nyght thise beestes moot I beye.
 And fare now wel, myn owene cosyn deere;
280 Graunt mercy of youre cost and of youre cheere."
 This noble marchant gentilly anon
 Answerde and seyde, "O cosyn myn, daun John,
 Now sikerly this is a smal requeste.
 My gold is youres, whan that it yow leste,
 And nat oonly my gold, but my chaffare.
 Take what yow list; God shilde that ye spare.
 "But o thyng is, ye knowe it wel ynogh
 Of chapmen, that hir moneie is hir plogh.
 We may creaunce whil we have a name,
290 But goldlees for to be, it is no game.
 Paye it agayn whan it lith in youre ese;
 After my myght ful fayn wolde I yow plese."
 Thise hundred frankes he fette forth anon,
 And prively he took hem to daun John.
 No wight in al this world wiste of this loone
 Savynge this marchant and daun John allone.
 They drynke, and speke, and rome a while and pleye,
 Til that daun John rideth to his abbeye.
 The morwe cam, and forth this marchant rideth
300 To Flaundres-ward; his prentys wel hym gydeth
 Til he came into Brugges murily.
 Now gooth this marchant faste and bisily
 Aboute his nede, and byeth and creaunceth.
 He neither pleyeth at the dees ne daunceth,
 But as a marchaunt, shortly for to telle,
 He let his lyf, and there I lete hym dwelle.
 The Sonday next the marchant was agon,
 To Seint-Denys ycomen is daun John,
 With crowne and berd al fressh and newe yshave.
310 In al the hous ther nas so litel a knave,
 Ne no wight elles, that he nas ful fayn
 That my lord daun John was come agayn.
 And shortly to the point right for to gon,
 This faire wyf acorded with daun John
 That for thise hundred frankes he sholde al nyght
 Have hire in his armes bolt upright;
 And this acord parfourned was in dede.
 In myrthe al nyght a bisy lyf they lede
 Til it was day, that daun John wente his way,
320 And bad the meynee "Farewel, have good day!"
 For noon of hem, ne no wight in the toun,
 Hath of daun John right no suspecioun.
 And forth he rydeth hoom to his abbeye,
 Or where hym list; namoore of hym I seye.
 This marchant, whan that ended was the faire,
 To Seint-Denys he gan for to repaire,
 And with his wyf he maketh feeste and cheere,
 And telleth hire that chaffare is so deere
 That nedes moste he make a chevyssaunce,
330 For he was bounden in a reconyssaunce
 To paye twenty thousand sheeld anon.
 For which this marchant is to Parys gon
 To borwe of certeine freendes that he hadde
 A certeyn frankes; and somme with him he ladde.
 And whan that he was come into the toun,
 For greet chiertee and greet affeccioun,
 Unto daun John he first gooth hym to pleye;
 Nat for to axe or borwe of hym moneye,
 But for to wite and seen of his welfare,
340 And for to tellen hym of his chaffare,
 As freendes doon whan they been met yfeere.
 Daun John hym maketh feeste and murye cheere,
 And he hym tolde agayn, ful specially,
 How he hadde wel yboght and graciously,
 Thanked be God, al hool his marchandise,
 Save that he moste, in alle maner wise,
 Maken a chevyssaunce, as for his beste,
 And thanne he sholde been in joye and reste.
 Daun John answerde, "Certes, I am fayn
350 That ye in heele ar comen hom agayn.
 And if that I were riche, as have I blisse,
 Of twenty thousand sheeld sholde ye nat mysse,
 For ye so kyndely this oother day
 Lente me gold; and as I kan and may,
 I thanke yow, by God and by Seint Jame!
 But nathelees, I took unto oure dame,
 Youre wyf, at hom, the same gold ageyn
 Upon youre bench; she woot it wel, certeyn,
 By certeyn tokenes that I kan hire telle.
360 Now, by youre leve, I may no lenger dwelle;
 Oure abbot wole out of this toun anon,
 And in his compaignye moot I goon.
 Grete wel oure dame, myn owene nece sweete,
 And fare wel, deere cosyn, til we meete!"
 This marchant, which that was ful war and wys,
 Creanced hath, and payd eek in Parys
 To certeyn Lumbardes, redy in hir hond,
 The somme of gold, and gat of hem his bond;
 And hoom he gooth, murie as a papejay,
370 For wel he knew he stood in swich array
 That nedes moste he wynne in that viage
 A thousand frankes aboven al his costage.
 His wyf ful redy mette hym atte gate,
 As she was wont of oold usage algate,
 And al that nyght in myrthe they bisette;
 For he was riche and cleerly out of dette.
 Whan it was day, this marchant gan embrace
 His wyf al newe, and kiste hire on hir face,
 And up he gooth and maketh it ful tough.
380 "Namoore," quod she, "by God, ye have ynough!"
 And wantownly agayn with hym she pleyde
 Til atte laste thus this marchant seyde:
 "By God," quod he, "I am a litel wrooth
 With yow, my wyf, although it be me looth.
 And woot ye why? By God, as that I gesse
 That ye han maad a manere straungenesse
 Bitwixen me and my cosyn daun John.
 Ye sholde han warned me, er I had gon,
 That he yow hadde an hundred frankes payed
390 By redy token; and heeld hym yvele apayed,
 For that I to hym spak of chevyssaunce;
 Me semed so, as by his contenaunce.
 But nathelees, by God, oure hevene kyng,
 I thoughte nat to axen hym no thyng.
 I prey thee, wyf, ne do namoore so;
 Telle me alwey, er that I fro thee go,
 If any dettour hath in myn absence
 Ypayed thee, lest thurgh thy necligence
 I myghte hym axe a thing that he hath payed."
400 This wyf was nat afered nor affrayed,
 But boldely she seyde, and that anon,
 "Marie, I deffie the false monk, daun John!
 I kepe nat of his tokenes never a deel;
 He took me certeyn gold, that woot I weel --
 What! Yvel thedam on his monkes snowte!
 For, God it woot, I wende, withouten doute,
 That he hadde yeve it me bycause of yow
 To doon therwith myn honour and my prow,
 For cosynage, and eek for beele cheere
410 That he hath had ful ofte tymes heere.
 But sith I se I stonde in this disjoynt,
 I wol answere yow shortly to the poynt.
 Ye han mo slakkere dettours than am I!
 For I wol paye yow wel and redily
 Fro day to day, and if so be I faille,
 I am youre wyf; score it upon my taille,
 And I shal paye as soone as ever I may.
 For by my trouthe, I have on myn array,
 And nat on wast, bistowed every deel;
420 And for I have bistowed it so weel
 For youre honour, for Goddes sake, I seye,
 As be nat wrooth, but lat us laughe and pleye.
 Ye shal my joly body have to wedde;
 By God, I wol nat paye yow but abedde!
 Forgyve it me, myn owene spouse deere;
 Turne hiderward, and maketh bettre cheere."
 This marchant saugh ther was no remedie,
 And for to chide it nere but folie,
 Sith that the thyng may nat amended be.
430 "Now wyf," he seyde, "and I foryeve it thee;
 But, by thy lyf, ne be namoore so large.
 Keep bet thy good, this yeve I thee in charge."
 Thus endeth my tale, and God us sende
 Taillynge ynough unto oure lyves ende. Amen
 "Wel seyd, by corpus dominus," quod oure Hoost,
 "Now longe moote thou saille by the cost,
 Sire gentil maister, gentil maryneer!
 God yeve the monk a thousand last quade yeer!
 A ha! Felawes, beth ware of swich a jape!
440 The monk putte in the mannes hood an ape,
 And in his wyves eek, by Seint Austyn!
 Draweth no monkes moore unto youre in.
 "But now passe over, and lat us seke aboute,
 Who shal now telle first of al this route
 Another tale;" and with that word he sayde,
 As curteisly as it had been a mayde,
 "My lady Prioresse, by youre leve,
 So that I wiste I sholde yow nat greve,
 I wolde demen that ye tellen sholde
450 A tale next, if so were that ye wolde.
 Now wol ye vouche sauf, my lady deere?"
 "Gladly," quod she, and seyde as ye shal heere.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Prioress' Prologue

 O Lord, oure Lord, thy name how merveillous
 Is in this large world ysprad -- quod she --
 For noght oonly thy laude precious
 Parfourned is by men of dignitee,
 But by the mouth of children thy bountee
 Parfourned is, for on the brest soukynge
 Somtyme shewen they thyn heriynge.
460 Wherfore in laude, as I best kan or may,
 Of thee and of the white lylye flour
 Which that the bar, and is a mayde alway,
 To telle a storie I wol do my labour;
 Nat that I may encressen hir honour,
 For she hirself is honour and the roote
 Of bountee, next hir Sone, and soules boote.
 O mooder Mayde, O mayde Mooder free!
 O bussh unbrent, brennynge in Moyses sighte,
 That ravyshedest doun fro the Deitee,
470 Thurgh thyn humblesse, the Goost that in th' alighte,
 Of whos vertu, whan he thyn herte lighte,
 Conceyved was the Fadres sapience,
 Help me to telle it in thy reverence!
 Lady, thy bountee, thy magnificence,
 Thy vertu and thy grete humylitee
 Ther may no tonge expresse in no science;
 For somtyme, Lady, er men praye to thee,
 Thou goost biforn of thy benyngnytee,
 And getest us the lyght, of thy preyere,
480 To gyden us unto thy Sone so deere.
 My konnyng is so wayk, O blisful Queene,
 For to declare thy grete worthynesse
 That I ne may the weighte nat susteene;
 But as a child of twelf month oold, or lesse,
 That kan unnethes any word expresse,
 Right so fare I, and therfore I yow preye,
 Gydeth my song that I shal of yow seye.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Prioress' Tale

 Ther was in Asye, in a greet citee,
 Amonges Cristene folk a Jewerye,
490 Sustened by a lord of that contree
 For foule usure and lucre of vileynye,
 Hateful to Crist and to his compaignye;
 And thurgh the strete men myghte ride or wende,
 For it was free and open at eyther ende.
 A litel scole of Cristen folk ther stood
 Doun at the ferther ende, in which ther were
 Children an heep, ycomen of Cristen blood,
 That lerned in that scole yeer by yere
 Swich manere doctrine as men used there,
500 This is to seyn, to syngen and to rede,
 As smale children doon in hire childhede.
 Among thise children was a wydwes sone,
 A litel clergeon, seven yeer of age,
 That day by day to scole was his wone,
 And eek also, where as he saugh th' ymage
 Of Cristes mooder, hadde he in usage,
 As hym was taught, to knele adoun and seye
 His Ave Marie, as he goth by the weye.
 Thus hath this wydwe hir litel sone ytaught
510 Oure blisful Lady, Cristes mooder deere,
 To worshipe ay, and he forgat it naught,
 For sely child wol alday soone leere.
 But ay, whan I remembre on this mateere,
 Seint Nicholas stant evere in my presence,
 For he so yong to Crist dide reverence.
 This litel child, his litel book lernynge,
 As he sat in the scole at his prymer,
 He Alma redemptoris herde synge,
 As children lerned hire antiphoner;
520 And as he dorste, he drough hym ner and ner,
 And herkned ay the wordes and the noote,
 Til he the firste vers koude al by rote.
 Noght wiste he what this Latyn was to seye,
 For he so yong and tendre was of age.
 But on a day his felawe gan he preye
 T' expounden hym this song in his langage,
 Or telle hym why this song was in usage;
 This preyde he hym to construe and declare
 Ful often tyme upon his knowes bare.
530 His felawe, which that elder was than he,
 Answerde hym thus: "This song, I have herd seye,
 Was maked of our blisful Lady free,
 Hire to salue, and eek hire for to preye
 To been oure help and socour whan we deye.
 I kan namoore expounde in this mateere.
 I lerne song; I kan but smal grammeere."
 "And is this song maked in reverence
 Of Cristes mooder?" seyde this innocent.
 "Now, certes, I wol do my diligence
540 To konne it al er Cristemasse be went.
 Though that I for my prymer shal be shent
 And shal be beten thries in an houre,
 I wol it konne Oure Lady for to honoure!"
 His felawe taughte hym homward prively,
 Fro day to day, til he koude it by rote,
 And thanne he song it wel and boldely,
 Fro word to word, acordynge with the note.
 Twies a day it passed thurgh his throte,
 To scoleward and homward whan he wente;
550 On Cristes mooder set was his entente.
 As I have seyd, thurghout the Juerie
 This litel child, as he cam to and fro,
 Ful murily than wolde he synge and crie
 O Alma redemptoris everemo.
 The swetnesse his herte perced so
 Of Cristes mooder that, to hire to preye,
 He kan nat stynte of syngyng by the weye.
 Oure firste foo, the serpent Sathanas,
 That hath in Jues herte his waspes nest,
560 Up swal, and seide, "O Hebrayk peple, allas!
 Is this to yow a thyng that is honest,
 That swich a boy shal walken as hym lest
 In youre despit, and synge of swich sentence,
 Which is agayn youre lawes reverence?"
 Fro thennes forth the Jues han conspired
 This innocent out of this world to chace.
 An homycide therto han they hyred,
 That in an aleye hadde a privee place;
 And as the child gan forby for to pace,
570 This cursed Jew hym hente, and heeld hym faste,
 And kitte his throte, and in a pit hym caste.
 I seye that in a wardrobe they hym threwe
 Where as thise Jewes purgen hire entraille.
 O cursed folk of Herodes al newe,
 What may youre yvel entente yow availle?
 Mordre wol out, certeyn, it wol nat faille,
 And namely ther th' onour of God shal sprede;
 The blood out crieth on youre cursed dede.
 O martir, sowded to virginitee,
580 Now maystow syngen, folwynge evere in oon
 The white Lamb celestial -- quod she --
 Of which the grete evaungelist, Seint John,
 In Pathmos wroot, which seith that they that goon
 Biforn this Lamb and synge a song al newe,
 That nevere, flesshly, wommen they ne knewe.
 This poure wydwe awaiteth al that nyght
 After hir litel child, but he cam noght;
 For which, as soone as it was dayes lyght,
 With face pale of drede and bisy thoght,
590 She hath at scole and elleswhere hym soght,
 Til finally she gan so fer espie
 That he last seyn was in the Juerie.
 With moodres pitee in hir brest enclosed,
 She gooth, as she were half out of hir mynde,
 To every place where she hath supposed
 By liklihede hir litel child to fynde;
 And evere on Cristes mooder meeke and kynde
 She cride, and atte laste thus she wroghte:
 Among the cursed Jues she hym soghte.
600 She frayneth and she preyeth pitously
 To every Jew that dwelte in thilke place,
 To telle hire if hir child wente oght forby.
 They seyde "nay"; but Jhesu of his grace
 Yaf in hir thoght inwith a litel space
 That in that place after hir sone she cryde,
 Where he was casten in a pit bisyde.
 O grete God, that parfournest thy laude
 By mouth of innocentz, lo, heere thy myght!
 This gemme of chastite, this emeraude,
610 And eek of martirdom the ruby bright,
 Ther he with throte ykorven lay upright,
 He Alma redemptoris gan to synge
 So loude that al the place gan to rynge.
 The Cristene folk that thurgh the strete wente
 In coomen for to wondre upon this thyng,
 And hastily they for the provost sente;
 He cam anon withouten tariyng,
 And herieth Crist that is of hevene kyng,
 And eek his mooder, honour of mankynde,
620 And after that the Jewes leet he bynde.
 This child with pitous lamentacioun
 Up taken was, syngynge his song alway,
 And with honour of greet processioun
 They carien hym unto the nexte abbay.
 His mooder swownynge by his beere lay;
 Unnethe myghte the peple that was theere
 This newe Rachel brynge fro his beere.
 With torment and with shameful deeth echon,
 This provost dooth thise Jewes for to sterve
630 That of this mordre wiste, and that anon.
 He nolde no swich cursednesse observe.
 "Yvele shal have that yvele wol deserve";
 Therfore with wilde hors he dide hem drawe,
 And after that he heng hem by the lawe.
 Upon this beere ay lith this innocent
 Biforn the chief auter, whil the masse laste;
 And after that, the abbot with his covent
 Han sped hem for to burien hym ful faste;
 And whan they hooly water on hym caste,
640 Yet spak this child, whan spreynd was hooly water,
 And song O Alma redemptoris mater!
 This abbot, which that was an hooly man,
 As monkes been -- or elles oghte be --
 This yonge child to conjure he bigan,
 And seyde, "O deere child, I halse thee,
 In vertu of the hooly Trinitee,
 Tel me what is thy cause for to synge,
 Sith that thy throte is kut to my semynge?"
 "My throte is kut unto my nekke boon,"
650 Seyde this child, "and as by wey of kynde
 I sholde have dyed, ye, longe tyme agon.
 But Jesu Crist, as ye in bookes fynde,
 Wil that his glorie laste and be in mynde,
 And for the worship of his Mooder deere
 Yet may I synge O Alma loude and cleere.
 "This welle of mercy, Cristes mooder sweete,
 I loved alwey, as after my konnynge;
 And whan that I my lyf sholde forlete,
 To me she cam, and bad me for to synge
660 This anthem verraily in my deyynge,
 As ye han herd, and whan that I hadde songe,
 Me thoughte she leyde a greyn upon my tonge.
 "Wherfore I synge, and synge moot certeyn,
 In honour of that blisful Mayden free
 Til fro my tonge of taken is the greyn;
 And after that thus seyde she to me:
 `My litel child, now wol I fecche thee,
 Whan that the greyn is fro thy tonge ytake.
 Be nat agast; I wol thee nat forsake.'"
670 This hooly monk, this abbot, hym meene I,
 His tonge out caughte, and took awey the greyn,
 And he yaf up the goost ful softely.
 And whan this abbot hadde this wonder seyn,
 His salte teeris trikled doun as reyn,
 And gruf he fil al plat upon the grounde,
 And stille he lay as he had ben ybounde.
 The covent eek lay on the pavement
 Wepynge, and herying Cristes mooder deere,
 And after that they ryse, and forth been went,
680 And tooken awey this martir from his beere;
 And in a tombe of marbul stones cleere
 Enclosen they his litel body sweete.
 Ther he is now, God leve us for to meete!
 O yonge Hugh of Lyncoln, slayn also
 With cursed Jewes, as it is notable,
 For it is but a litel while ago,
 Preye eek for us, we synful folk unstable,
 That of his mercy God so merciable
 On us his grete mercy multiplie,
690 For reverence of his mooder Marie. Amen.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Prologue to the Tale of Sir Thopas

 Whan seyd was al this miracle, every man
 As sobre was that wonder was to se,
 Til that oure Hooste japen tho bigan,
 And thanne at erst he looked upon me,
 And seyde thus: "What man artow?" quod he;
 "Thou lookest as thou woldest fynde an hare,
 For evere upon the ground I se thee stare.
 "Approche neer, and looke up murily.
 Now war yow, sires, and lat this man have place!
700 He in the waast is shape as wel as I;
 This were a popet in an arm t' enbrace
 For any womman, smal and fair of face.
 He semeth elvyssh by his contenaunce,
 For unto no wight dooth he daliaunce.
 "Sey now somwhat, syn oother folk han sayd;
 Telle us a tale of myrthe, and that anon."
 "Hooste," quod I, "ne beth nat yvele apayd,
 For oother tale certes kan I noon,
 But of a rym I lerned longe agoon."
710 "Ye, that is good," quod he; "now shul we heere
 Som deyntee thyng, me thynketh by his cheere."

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Tale of Sir Thopas

 Listeth, lordes, in good entent,
 And I wol telle verrayment
 Of myrthe and of solas,
 Al of a knyght was fair and gent
 In bataille and in tourneyment;
 His name was sire Thopas.
 Yborn he was in fer contree,
 In Flaundres, al biyonde the see,
720 At Poperyng, in the place.
 His fader was a man ful free,
 And lord he was of that contree,
 As it was Goddes grace.
 Sire Thopas wax a doghty swayn;
 Whit was his face as payndemayn,
 His lippes rede as rose;
 His rode is lyk scarlet in grayn,
 And I yow telle in good certayn
 He hadde a semely nose.
730 His heer, his berd was lyk saffroun,
 That to his girdel raughte adoun;
 His shoon of cordewane.
 Of Brugges were his hosen broun,
 His robe was of syklatoun,
 That coste many a jane.
 He koude hunte at wilde deer,
 And ride an haukyng for river
 With grey goshauk on honde;
 Therto he was a good archeer;
740 Of wrastlyng was ther noon his peer,
 Ther any ram shal stonde.
 Ful many a mayde, bright in bour,
 They moorne for hym paramour,
 Whan hem were bet to slepe;
 But he was chaast and no lechour,
 And sweete as is the brembul flour
 That bereth the rede hepe.
 And so bifel upon a day,
 For sothe, as I yow telle may,
750 Sire Thopas wolde out ride.
 He worth upon his steede gray,
 And in his hand a launcegay,
 A long swerd by his side.
 He priketh thurgh a fair forest,
 Therinne is many a wilde best,
 Ye, bothe bukke and hare;
 And as he priketh north and est,
 I telle it yow, hym hadde almest
 Bitid a sory care.
760 Ther spryngen herbes grete and smale,
 The lycorys and the cetewale,
 And many a clowe-gylofre;
 And notemuge to putte in ale,
 Wheither it be moyste or stale,
 Or for to leye in cofre.
 The briddes synge, it is no nay,
 The sparhauk and the papejay,
 That joye it was to heere;
 The thrustelcok made eek hir lay,
770 The wodedowve upon the spray
 She sang ful loude and cleere.
 Sire Thopas fil in love-longynge,
 Al whan he herde the thrustel synge,
 And pryked as he were wood.
 His faire steede in his prikynge
 So swatte that men myghte him wrynge;
 His sydes were al blood.
 Sire Thopas eek so wery was
 For prikyng on the softe gras,
780 So fiers was his corage,
 That doun he leyde him in that plas
 To make his steede som solas,
 And yaf hym good forage.
 "O Seinte Marie, benedicite!
 What eyleth this love at me
 To bynde me so soore?
 Me dremed al this nyght, pardee,
 An elf-queene shal my lemman be
 And slepe under my goore.
790 "An elf-queene wol I love, ywis,
 For in this world no womman is
 Worthy to be my make
 In towne;
 Alle othere wommen I forsake,
 And to an elf-queene I me take
 By dale and eek by downe!"
 Into his sadel he clamb anon,
 And priketh over stile and stoon
 An elf-queene for t' espye,
800 Til he so longe hath riden and goon
 That he foond, in a pryve woon,
 The contree of Fairye
 So wilde;
 For in that contree was ther noon
 That to him durste ride or goon,
 Neither wyf ne childe;
 Til that ther cam a greet geaunt,
 His name was sire Olifaunt,
 A perilous man of dede.
810 He seyde, "Child, by Termagaunt,
 But if thou prike out of myn haunt,
 Anon I sle thy steede
 With mace.
 Heere is the queene of Fayerye,
 With harpe and pipe and symphonye,
 Dwellynge in this place."
 The child seyde, "Also moote I thee,
 Tomorwe wol I meete with thee,
 Whan I have myn armoure;
820 And yet I hope, par ma fay,
 That thou shalt with this launcegay
 Abyen it ful sowre.
 Thy mawe
 Shal I percen, if I may,
 Er it be fully pryme of day,
 For heere thow shalt be slawe."
 Sire Thopas drow abak ful faste;
 This geant at hym stones caste
 Out of a fel staf-slynge.
830 But faire escapeth child Thopas,
 And al it was thurgh Goddes gras,
 And thurgh his fair berynge.
 Yet listeth, lordes, to my tale
 Murier than the nightyngale,
 For now I wol yow rowne
 How sir Thopas, with sydes smale,
 Prikyng over hill and dale,
 Is comen agayn to towne.
 His myrie men comanded he
840 To make hym bothe game and glee,
 For nedes moste he fighte
 With a geaunt with hevedes three,
 For paramour and jolitee
 Of oon that shoon ful brighte.
 "Do come," he seyde, "my mynstrales,
 And geestours for to tellen tales,
 Anon in myn armynge,
 Of romances that been roiales,
 Of popes and of cardinales,
850 And eek of love-likynge."
 They fette hym first the sweete wyn,
 And mede eek in a mazelyn,
 And roial spicerye
 Of gyngebreed that was ful fyn,
 And lycorys, and eek comyn,
 With sugre that is trye.
 He dide next his white leere
 Of cloth of lake fyn and cleere,
 A breech and eek a sherte;
860 And next his sherte an aketoun,
 And over that an haubergeoun
 For percynge of his herte;
 And over that a fyn hawberk,
 Was al ywroght of Jewes werk,
 Ful strong it was of plate;
 And over that his cote-armour
 As whit as is a lilye flour,
 In which he wol debate.
 His sheeld was al of gold so reed,
870 And therinne was a bores heed,
 A charbocle bisyde;
 And there he swoor on ale and breed
 How that the geaunt shal be deed,
 Bityde what bityde!
 His jambeux were of quyrboilly,
 His swerdes shethe of yvory,
 His helm of latoun bright;
 His sadel was of rewel boon,
 His brydel as the sonne shoon,
880 Or as the moone light.
 His spere was of fyn ciprees,
 That bodeth werre, and nothyng pees,
 The heed ful sharpe ygrounde;
 His steede was al dappull gray,
 It gooth an ambil in the way
 Ful softely and rounde
 In londe.
 Loo, lordes myne, heere is a fit!
 If ye wol any moore of it,
890 To telle it wol I fonde.
 Now holde youre mouth, par charitee,
 Bothe knyght and lady free,
 And herkneth to my spelle;
 Of bataille and of chivalry,
 And of ladyes love-drury
 Anon I wol yow telle.
 Men speken of romances of prys,
 Of Horn child and of Ypotys,
 Of Beves and sir Gy,
900 Of sir Lybeux and Pleyndamour --
 But sir Thopas, he bereth the flour
 Of roial chivalry!
 His goode steede al he bistrood,
 And forth upon his wey he glood
 As sparcle out of the bronde;
 Upon his creest he bar a tour,
 And therinne stiked a lilie flour --
 God shilde his cors fro shonde!
 And for he was a knyght auntrous,
910 He nolde slepen in noon hous,
 But liggen in his hoode;
 His brighte helm was his wonger,
 And by hym baiteth his dextrer
 Of herbes fyne and goode.
 Hymself drank water of the well,
 As dide the knyght sire Percyvell
 So worly under wede,
 Til on a day --
 "Namoore of this, for Goddes dignitee,"
920 Quod oure Hooste, "for thou makest me
 So wery of thy verray lewednesse
 That, also wisly God my soule blesse,
 Myne eres aken of thy drasty speche.
 Now swich a rym the devel I biteche!
 This may wel be rym dogerel," quod he.
 "Why so?" quod I, "why wiltow lette me
 Moore of my tale than another man,
 Syn that it is the beste rym I kan?"
 "By God," quod he, "for pleynly, at a word,
930 Thy drasty rymyng is nat worth a toord!
 Thou doost noght elles but despendest tyme.
 Sire, at o word, thou shalt no lenger ryme.
 Lat se wher thou kanst tellen aught in geeste,
 Or telle in prose somwhat, at the leeste,
 In which ther be som murthe or som doctryne."
 "Gladly," quod I, "by Goddes sweete pyne!
 I wol yow telle a litel thyng in prose
 That oghte liken yow, as I suppose,
 Or elles, certes, ye been to daungerous.
940 It is a moral tale vertuous,
 Al be it told somtyme in sondry wyse
 Of sondry folk, as I shal yow devyse.
 "As thus: ye woot that every Evaungelist
 That telleth us the peyne of Jhesu Crist
 Ne seith nat alle thyng as his felawe dooth;
 But nathelees hir sentence is al sooth,
 And alle acorden as in hire sentence,
 Al be ther in hir tellyng difference.
 For somme of hem seyn moore, and somme seyn lesse,
950 Whan they his pitous passioun expresse --
 I meene of Mark, Mathew, Luc, and John --
 But doutelees hir sentence is al oon.
 Therfore, lordynges alle, I yow biseche,
 If that yow thynke I varie as in my speche,
 As thus, though that I telle somwhat moore
 Of proverbes than ye han herd bifoore
 Comprehended in this litel tretys heere,
 To enforce with th' effect of my mateere;
 And though I nat the same wordes seye
960 As ye han herd, yet to yow alle I preye
 Blameth me nat; for, as in my sentence,
 Shul ye nowher fynden difference
 Fro the sentence of this tretys lyte
 After the which this murye tale I write.
 And therfore herkneth what that I shal seye,
 And lat me tellen al my tale, I preye."

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The Canterbury Tales

The Tale of Melibee

 A yong man called Melibeus, myghty and riche, bigat upon his wyf, that called was Prudence,
 a doghter which that called was Sophie.
 Upon a day bifel that he for his desport is went into the feeldes hym to pleye.
 His wyf and eek his doghter hath he left inwith his hous, of which the dores weren faste yshette.
970 Thre of his olde foes han it espyed, and setten laddres to the walles of his hous,
970A and by wyndowes been entred,
 and betten his wyf, and wounded his doghter with fyve mortal woundes in fyve sondry places --
 this is to seyn, in hir feet, in hire handes, in hir erys, in hir nose,
 and in hire mouth -- and leften hire for deed, and wenten awey.
 Whan Melibeus retourned was into his hous, and saugh al this meschief, he,
 lyk a mad man rentynge his clothes, gan to wepe and crie.
 Prudence, his wyf, as ferforth as she dorste, bisoghte hym of his wepyng for to stynte,
 but nat forthy he gan to crie and wepen evere lenger the moore.
 This noble wyf Prudence remembred hire upon the sentence of Ovide, in his book
 that cleped is the Remedie of Love, where as he seith,
 "He is a fool that destourbeth the mooder to wepen in the deeth of hire child
 til she have wept hir fille as for a certein tyme,
 and thanne shal man doon his diligence with amyable wordes hire to reconforte,
 and preyen hire of hir wepyng for to stynte."
 For which resoun this noble wyf Prudence suffred hir housbonde
 for to wepe and crie as for a certein space,
980 and whan she saugh hir tyme, she seyde hym in this wise:
980A "Allas, my lord," quod she, "why make ye youreself for to be lyk a fool?
 For sothe it aperteneth nat to a wys man to maken swich a sorwe.
 Youre doghter, with the grace of God, shal warisshe and escape.
 And, al were it so that she right now were deed,
 ye ne oughte nat, as for hir deeth, youreself to destroye.
 Senek seith: `The wise man shal nat take to greet disconfort for the deeth of his children,
 but, certes, he sholde suffren it in pacience
 as wel as he abideth the deeth of his owene propre persone.'"
 This Melibeus answerde anon and seyde, "What man," quod he, "sholde of his wepyng stente
 that hath so greet a cause for to wepe?
 Jhesu Crist, oure Lord, hymself wepte for the deeth of Lazarus hys freend."
 Prudence answerde: "Certes, wel I woot attempree wepyng is no thyng deffended to hym that sorweful is,
 amonges folk in sorwe, but it is rather graunted hym to wepe.
 The Apostle Paul unto the Romayns writeth, `Man shal rejoyse
 with hem that maken joye and wepen with swich folk as wepen.'
990 But though attempree wepyng be ygraunted, outrageous wepyng certes is deffended.
 Mesure of wepyng sholde be considered after the loore that techeth us Senek:
 `Whan that thy frend is deed,' quod he, `lat nat thyne eyen to moyste been of teeris,
 ne to muche drye; although the teeris come to thyne eyen, lat hem nat falle;
 and whan thou hast forgoon thy freend, do diligence to gete another freend;
 and this is moore wysdom than for to wepe for thy freend
 which that thou hast lorn, for therinne is no boote.'
 And therfore, if ye governe yow by sapience, put awey sorwe out of youre herte.
 Remembre yow that Jhesus Syrak seith, `A man that is joyous and glad in herte,
 it hym conserveth florissynge in his age; but soothly sorweful herte maketh his bones drye.'
 He seith eek thus, that sorwe in herte sleeth ful many a man.
 Salomon seith that right as motthes in the shepes flees anoyeth to the clothes,
 and the smale wormes to the tree, right so anoyeth sorwe to the herte.
 Wherfore us oghte, as wel in the deeth of oure children
 as in the los of oure othere goodes temporels, have pacience.
 Remembre yow upon the pacient Job. Whan he hadde lost his children and his temporeel substance,
 and in his body endured and receyved ful many a grevous tribulacion, yet seyde he thus:
1000 `Oure Lord hath yeve it me; oure Lord hath biraft it me; right as oure Lord hath wold,
1000A right so it is doon; blessed be the name of oure Lord!'"
 To thise forseide thynges answerde Melibeus unto his wyf Prudence: "Alle thy wordes," quod he,
 "been sothe and therto profitable, but trewely myn herte is troubled with this sorwe
 so grevously that I noot what to doone."
 "Lat calle," quod Prudence, "thy trewe freendes alle and thy lynage whiche that been wise. Telleth youre cas,
 and herkneth what they seye in conseillyng, and yow governe after hire sentence.
 Salomon seith, `Werk alle thy thynges by conseil, and thou shalt never repente.'"
 Thanne, by the conseil of his wyf Prudence, this Melibeus leet callen a greet congregacion of folk,
 as surgiens, phisiciens, olde folk and yonge, and somme of his olde enemys reconsiled
 as by hir semblaunt to his love and into his grace;
 and therwithal ther coomen somme of his neighebores that diden hym reverence
 moore for drede than for love, as it happeth ofte.
 Ther coomen also ful many subtille flatereres and wise advocatz lerned in the lawe.
 And whan this folk togidre assembled weren, this Melibeus in sorweful wise shewed hem his cas.
 And by the manere of his speche it semed that in herte he baar a crueel ire,
 redy to doon vengeaunce upon his foes, and sodeynly desired that the werre sholde bigynne;
1010 but nathelees, yet axed he hire conseil upon this matiere.
 A surgien, by licence and assent of swiche as weren wise, up roos
 and to Melibeus seyde as ye may heere:
 "Sire," quod he, "as to us surgiens aperteneth that we do to every wight the beste that we kan,
 where as we been withholde, and to oure pacientz that we do no damage,
 wherfore it happeth many tyme and ofte that whan twey men han everich wounded oother,
 oon same surgien heeleth hem bothe;
 wherfore unto oure art it is nat pertinent to norice werre ne parties to supporte.
 But certes, as to the warisshynge of youre doghter, al be it so that she perilously be wounded,
 we shullen do so ententif bisynesse fro day to nyght that with the grace of God
 she shal be hool and sound as soone as is possible."
 Almoost right in the same wise the phisiciens answerden, save that they seyden a fewe woordes moore:
 that right as maladies been cured by hir contraries, right so shul men warisshe werre by vengeaunce.
 His neighebores ful of envye, his feyned freendes that semeden reconsiled, and his flatereres
 maden semblant of wepyng, and empeireden and agreggeden muchel of this matiere
 in preisynge greetly Melibee of myght, of power, of richesse, and of freendes, despisynge the power of his adversaries,
1020 and seiden outrely that he anon sholde wreken hym on his foes and bigynne werre.
 Up roos thanne an advocat that was wys,
 by leve and by conseil of othere that were wise, and seide:
 "Lordynges, the nede for which we been assembled in this place
 is a ful hevy thyng and an heigh matiere,
 by cause of the wrong and of the wikkednesse that hath be doon,
 and eek by resoun of the grete damages that in tyme comynge
 been possible to fallen for this same cause,
 and eek by resoun of the grete richesse and power of the parties bothe,
 for the whiche resouns it were a ful greet peril to erren in this matiere.
 Wherfore, Melibeus, this is oure sentence: we conseille yow aboven alle thyng that right anon thou do thy diligence
 in kepynge of thy propre persone in swich a wise
 that thou ne wante noon espie ne wacche thy persone for to save.
 And after that, we conseille that in thyn hous thou sette sufficeant garnisoun
 so that they may as wel thy body as thyn hous defende.
 But certes, for to moeve werre, ne sodeynly for to doon vengeaunce, we may nat demen
 in so litel tyme that it were profitable.
 Wherfore we axen leyser and espace to have deliberacion in this cas to deme.
1030 For the commune proverbe seith thus: `He that soone deemeth, soone shal repente.'
 And eek men seyn that thilke juge is wys that soone understondeth a matiere and juggeth by leyser;
 for al be it so that alle tariyng be anoyful,
 algates it is nat to repreve in yevynge of juggement ne in vengeance takyng,
 whan it is sufficeant and resonable.
 And that shewed oure Lord Jhesu Crist by ensample, for whan that the womman that was taken in avowtrie
 was broght in his presence to knowen what sholde be doon with hire persone, al be it so that he wiste wel hymself what
 that he wolde answere, yet ne wolde he nat answere sodeynly,
 but he wolde have deliberacion, and in the ground he wroot twies.
 And by thise causes we axen deliberacioun, and we shal thanne, by the grace of God, conseille thee
 thyng that shal be profitable."
 Up stirten thanne the yonge folk atones, and the mooste partie of that compaignye han scorned this olde wise
 man, and bigonnen to make noyse, and seyden that
 right so as whil that iren is hoot men sholden smyte,
 right so men sholde wreken hir wronges whil that they been fresshe and newe;
 and with loud voys they criden "Werre! Werre!"
 Up roos tho oon of thise olde wise, and with his hand made contenaunce that
 men sholde holden hem stille and yeven hym audience.
 "Lordynges," quod he, "ther is ful many a man that crieth `Werre, werre!'
 that woot ful litel what werre amounteth.
 Werre at his bigynnyng hath so greet an entryng and so large that every wight may entre
 whan hym liketh and lightly fynde werre;
1040 but certes what ende that shal therof bifalle, it is nat light to knowe.
 For soothly, whan that werre is ones bigonne, ther is ful many a child unborn of his mooder
 that shal sterve yong by cause of thilke werre, or elles lyve in sorwe and dye in wrecchednesse.
 And therfore, er that any werre bigynne, men moste have greet conseil and greet deliberacion."
 And whan this olde man wende to enforcen his tale by resons, wel ny alle atones bigonne they
 to rise for to breken his tale, and beden hym ful ofte his wordes for to abregge.
 For soothly, he that precheth to hem that listen nat heeren his wordes, his sermon hem anoieth.
 For Jhesus Syrak seith that "musik in wepynge is a noyous thyng"; this is to seyn:
 as muche availleth to speken bifore folk to which his speche anoyeth
 as it is to synge biforn hym that wepeth.
 And whan this wise man saugh that hym wanted audience, al shamefast he sette hym doun agayn.
 For Salomon seith: "Ther as thou ne mayst have noon audience, enforce thee nat to speke."
 "I see wel," quod this wise man, "that the commune proverbe is sooth, that
 `good conseil wanteth whan it is moost nede.'"
 Yet hadde this Melibeus in his conseil many folk that prively in his eere conseilled hym certeyn thyng,
 and conseilled hym the contrarie in general audience.
1050 Whan Melibeus hadde herd that the gretteste partie of his conseil weren accorded that he sholde maken werre,
1050A anoon he consented to hir conseillyng and fully affermed hire sentence.
 Thanne dame Prudence, whan that she saugh how that hir housbonde shoop hym for to wreken hym on his
 foes and to bigynne werre, she in ful humble wise, whan she saugh hir tyme, seide to hym thise wordes:
 "My lord," quod she, "I yow biseche, as hertely as I dar and kan,
 ne haste yow nat to faste and, for alle gerdons, as yeveth me audience.
 For Piers Alfonce seith, `Whoso that dooth to thee oother good or harm, haste thee nat to quiten it,
 for in this wise thy freend wole abyde and thyn enemy shal the lenger lyve in drede.'
 The proverbe seith, `He hasteth wel that wisely kan abyde,' and `in wikked haste is no profit.'"
 This Melibee answerde unto his wyf Prudence: "I purpose nat," quod he, "to werke by thy conseil,
 for many causes and resouns. For certes, every wight wolde holde me thanne a fool;
 this is to seyn, if I, for thy conseillyng, wolde chaungen
 thynges that been ordeyned and affermed by so manye wyse.
 Secoundely, I seye that alle wommen been wikke, and noon good of hem alle.
 For `of a thousand men,' seith Salomon, `I foond o good man, but certes,
 of alle wommen, good womman foond I nevere.'
 And also, certes, if I governed me by thy conseil,
 it sholde seme that I hadde yeve to thee over me the maistrie,
 and God forbede that it so weere!
 For Jhesus Syrak seith that `if the wyf have maistrie, she is contrarious to hir housbonde.'
1060 And Salomon seith: `Nevere in thy lyf to thy wyf, ne to thy child, ne to thy freend
1060A ne yeve no power over thyself, for bettre it were that thy children
1060B aske of thy persone thynges that hem nedeth than thou see thyself
1060C in the handes of thy children.'
 And also if I wolde werke by thy conseillyng, certes, my conseil moste som tyme be secree,
 til it were tyme that it moste be knowe, and this ne may noght be.
 Whanne dame Prudence, ful debonairly and with greet pacience, hadde herd al that hir housbonde liked for to seye,
 thanne axed she of hym licence for to speke, and seyde in this wise:
 "My lord," quod she, "as to youre firste resoun, certes it may lightly been answered. For I seye that
 it is no folie to chaunge conseil whan the thyng is chaunged,
 or elles whan the thyng semeth ootherweyes than it was biforn.
 And mooreover, I seye that though ye han sworn and bihight to perfourne youre emprise, and nathelees ye weyve
 to perfourne thilke same emprise by juste cause, men sholde nat seyn therfore that ye were a liere ne forsworn.
 For the book seith that `the wise man maketh no lesyng whan he turneth his corage to the bettre.'
 And al be it so that youre emprise be establissed and ordeyned by greet multitude of folk,
 yet thar ye nat accomplice thilke ordinaunce but yow like.
 For the trouthe of thynges and the profit been rather founden in fewe folk that been wise and
 ful of resoun than by greet multitude of folk ther every man crieth and clatereth what that hym liketh.
 Soothly swich multitude is nat honest.
1070 And as to the seconde resoun, where as ye seyn that alle wommen been wikke;
1070A save youre grace, certes ye despisen alle wommen in this wyse, and
1070B `he that al despiseth, al displeseth,' as seith the book.
 And Senec seith that `whoso wole have sapience shal no man dispreyse,
 but he shal gladly techen the science that he kan withouten presumpcion or pride;
 and swiche thynges as he noght ne kan, he shal nat been ashamed to lerne hem,
 and enquere of lasse folk than hymself.'
 And, sire, that ther hath been many a good womman may lightly be preved.
 For certes, sire, oure Lord Jhesu Crist wolde nevere have descended to be born of a womman,
 if alle wommen hadden been wikke.
 And after that, for the grete bountee that is in wommen,
 oure Lord Jhesu Crist, whan he was risen fro deeth to lyve,
 appeered rather to a womman than to his Apostles.
 And though that Salomon seith that he ne foond nevere womman good,
 it folweth nat therfore that alle wommen ben wikke.
 For though that he ne foond no good womman, certes,
 many another man hath founden many a womman ful good and trewe.
 Or elles, per aventure, the entente of Salomon was this:
 that, as in sovereyn bounte, he foond no womman --
 this is to seyn, that ther is no wight that hath sovereyn bountee save God allone,
 as he hymself recordeth in hys Evaungelie.
1080 For ther nys no creature so good that hym ne wanteth
1080A somwhat of the perfeccioun of God, that is his makere.
 Youre thridde reson is this: ye seyn that if ye governe yow by my conseil,
 it sholde seme that ye hadde yeve me the maistrie and the lordshipe over youre persone.
 Sire, save youre grace, it is nat so. For if it so were that no man sholde be conseilled
 but oonly of hem that hadden lordshipe and maistrie of his persone, men wolden nat be conseilled so ofte.
 For soothly thilke man that asketh conseil of a purpos, yet hath he free choys
 wheither he wole werke by that conseil or noon.
 And as to youre fourthe resoun, ther ye seyn that the janglerie of wommen kan hyde thynges that they
 wot noght, as who seith that a womman kan nat hyde that she woot;
 sire, thise wordes been understonde of wommen that been jangleresses and wikked;
 of whiche wommen men seyn that thre thynges dryven a man out of his hous --
 that is to seyn, smoke, droppyng of reyn, and wikked wyves;
 and of swiche wommen seith Salomon that
 `it were bettre dwelle in desert than with a womman that is riotous.'
 And sire, by youre leve, that am nat I,
 for ye han ful ofte assayed my grete silence and my grete pacience, and eek how wel that
 I kan hyde and hele thynges that men oghte secreely to hyde.
1090 And soothly, as to youre fifthe resoun, where as ye seyn that in wikked conseil wommen venquisshe men,
1090A God woot, thilke resoun stant heere in no stede.
 For understoond now, ye asken conseil to do wikkednesse;
 and if ye wole werken wikkednesse, and youre wif restreyneth thilke wikked purpos,
 and overcometh yow by reson and by good conseil,
 certes youre wyf oghte rather to be preised than yblamed.
 Thus sholde ye understonde the philosophre that seith, `In wikked conseil wommen venquisshen hir housbondes.'
 And ther as ye blamen alle wommen and hir resouns, I shal shewe yow by manye ensamples that
 many a womman hath ben ful good, and yet been, and hir conseils ful hoolsome and profitable.
 Eek som men han seyd that the conseillynge of wommen
 is outher to deere or elles to litel of pris.
 But al be it so that ful many a womman is badde and hir conseil vile and noght worth,
 yet han men founde ful many a good womman, and ful discret and wis in conseillynge.
 Loo, Jacob by good conseil of his mooder Rebekka wan the benysoun of Ysaak his fader
 and the lordshipe over alle his bretheren.
 Judith by hire good conseil delivered the citee of Bethulie, in which she dwelled,
 out of the handes of Olofernus, that hadde it biseged and wolde have al destroyed it.
1100 Abygail delivered Nabal hir housbonde fro David the kyng, that wolde have slayn hym,
1100A and apaysed the ire of the kyng by hir wit and by hir good conseillyng.
 Hester by hir good conseil enhaunced greetly the peple of God in the regne of Assuerus the kyng.
 And the same bountee in good conseillyng of many a good womman may men telle.
 And mooreover, whan oure Lord hadde creat Adam, oure forme fader, he seyde in this wise:
 `It is nat good to been a man alloone; make we to hym an helpe semblable to hymself.'
 Heere may ye se that if that wommen were nat goode, and hir conseils goode and profitable,
 oure Lord God of hevene wolde nevere han wroght hem,
 ne called hem help of man, but rather confusioun of man.
 And ther seyde oones a clerk in two vers, `What is bettre than gold? Jaspre.
 What is bettre than jaspre? Wisedoom.
 And what is better than wisedoom? Womman. And what is bettre than a good womman? Nothyng.'
 And, sire, by manye of othre resons may ye seen that
 manye wommen been goode, and hir conseils goode and profitable.
1110 And therfore, sire, if ye wol triste to my conseil, I shal restoore yow youre doghter hool and sound.
 And eek I wol do to yow so muche that ye shul have honour in this cause."
 Whan Melibee hadde herd the wordes of his wyf Prudence, he seyde thus:
 "I se wel that the word of Salomon is sooth.
 He seith that `wordes that been spoken discreetly by ordinaunce been honycombes,
 for they yeven swetnesse to the soule and hoolsomnesse to the body.'
 And, wyf, by cause of thy sweete wordes, and eek for I have assayed and preved thy grete sapience
 and thy grete trouthe, I wol governe me by thy conseil in alle thyng."
 "Now, sire," quod dame Prudence, "and syn ye vouche sauf to been governed by my conseil,
 I wol enforme yow how ye shul governe yourself in chesynge of youre conseillours.
 Ye shul first in alle youre werkes mekely biseken to the heighe God that he wol be youre conseillour;
 and shapeth yow to swich entente that he yeve yow conseil and confort, as taughte Thobie his sone:
 `At alle tymes thou shalt blesse God, and praye hym to dresse thy weyes,
 and looke that alle thy conseils been in hym for everemoore.'
 Seint Jame eek seith: `If any of yow have nede of sapience, axe it of God.'
1120 And afterward thanne shul ye taken conseil in youreself,
1120A and examyne wel youre thoghtes of swich thyng as yow thynketh that is best for youre profit.
 And thanne shul ye dryve fro youre herte thre thynges that been contrariouse to good conseil;
 that is to seyn, ire, coveitise, and hastifnesse.
 "First, he that axeth conseil of hymself, certes he moste been withouten ire, for manye causes.
 The firste is this: he that hath greet ire and wratthe in hymself, he weneth alwey that
 he may do thyng that he may nat do.
 And secoundely, he that is irous and wrooth, he ne may nat wel deme;
 and he that may nat wel deme, may nat wel conseille.
 The thridde is this, that he that is irous and wrooth, as seith Senec,
 ne may nat speke but blameful thynges,
 and with his viciouse wordes he stireth oother folk to angre and to ire.
 And eek, sire, ye moste dryve coveitise out of youre herte.
1130 For the Apostle seith that coveitise is roote of alle harmes.
 And trust wel that a coveitous man ne kan noght deme ne thynke,
 but oonly to fulfille the ende of his coveitise;
 and certes, that ne may nevere been accompliced,
 for evere the moore habundaunce that he hath of richesse, the moore he desireth.
 And, sire, ye moste also dryve out of youre herte hastifnesse; for certes,
 ye ne may nat deeme for the beste by a sodeyn thought that falleth in youre herte,
 but ye moste avyse yow on it ful ofte.
 For, as ye herde her biforn, the commune proverbe is this, that `he that soone deemeth, soone repenteth.'
 Sire, ye ne be nat alwey in lyk disposicioun;
 for certes, somthyng that somtyme semeth to yow that it is good for to do,
 another tyme it semeth to yow the contrarie.
 "Whan ye han taken conseil in youreself and han deemed by good deliberacion swich thyng as you semeth best,
 thanne rede I yow that ye kepe it secree.
1140 Biwrey nat youre conseil to no persone, but if so be that ye wenen sikerly that
1140A thurgh youre biwreyyng youre condicioun shal be to yow the moore profitable.
 For Jhesus Syrak seith, `Neither to thy foo ne to thy frend discovere nat thy secree ne thy folie,
 for they wol yeve yow audience and lookynge and supportacioun in thy presence and scorne thee in thyn absence.'
 Another clerk seith that `scarsly shaltou fynden any persone that may kepe conseil secrely.'
 The book seith, `Whil that thou kepest thy conseil in thyn herte, thou kepest it in thy prisoun,
 and whan thou biwreyest thy conseil to any wight, he holdeth thee in his snare.'
 And therfore yow is bettre to hyde youre conseil in youre herte than praye him
 to whom ye han biwreyed youre conseil that he wole kepen it cloos and stille.
 For Seneca seith: `If so be that thou ne mayst nat thyn owene conseil hyde,
 how darstou prayen any oother wight thy conseil secrely to kepe?'
 But nathelees, if thou wene sikerly that the biwreiyng of thy conseil to a persone wol make
 thy condicion to stonden in the bettre plyt, thanne shaltou tellen hym thy conseil in this wise.
 First thou shalt make no semblant wheither thee were levere pees or werre, or this or that,
 ne shewe hym nat thy wille and thyn entente.
1150 For trust wel that comunli thise conseillours been flatereres,
 namely the conseillours of grete lordes,
 for they enforcen hem alwey rather to speken plesante wordes, enclynynge to the lordes lust,
 than wordes that been trewe or profitable.
 And therfore men seyn that the riche man hath seeld good conseil, but if he have it of hymself.
 And after that thou shalt considere thy freendes and thyne enemys.
 And as touchynge thy freendes, thou shalt considere which of hem been
 moost feithful and moost wise and eldest and most approved in conseillyng;
 and of hem shalt thou aske thy conseil, as the caas requireth.
 I seye that first ye shul clepe to youre conseil youre freendes that been trewe.
 For Salomon seith that `right as the herte of a man deliteth in savour that is soote,
 right so the conseil of trewe freendes yeveth swetnesse to the soule.'
 He seith also, `Ther may no thyng be likned to the trewe freend,
1160 for certes gold ne silver ben nat so muche worth as the goode wyl of a trewe freend.'
 And eek he seith that `a trewe freend is a strong deffense; who so that it fyndeth,
 certes he fyndeth a greet tresour.'
 Thanne shul ye eek considere if that youre trewe freendes been discrete and wise.
 For the book seith, `Axe alwey thy conseil of hem that been wise.'
 And by this same resoun shul ye clepen to youre conseil of youre freendes that been of age,
 swiche as han seyn and been expert in manye thynges and been approved in conseillynges.
 For the book seith that `in olde men is the sapience, and in longe tyme the prudence.'
 And Tullius seith that `grete thynges ne been nat ay accompliced by strengthe, ne by delivernesse of body, but
 by good conseil, by auctoritee of persones, and by science; the whiche thre thynges ne been nat fieble by age,
 but certes they enforcen and encreescen day by day.'
 And thanne shul ye kepe this for a general reule: First shul ye clepen to youre conseil
 a fewe of youre freendes that been especiale;
 for Salomon seith, `Manye freendes have thou, but among a thousand chese thee oon to be thy conseillour.'
 For al be it so that thou first ne telle thy conseil but to a fewe,
 thou mayst afterward telle it to mo folk if it be nede.
 But looke alwey that thy conseillours have thilke thre condiciouns that I have seyd bifore --
 that is to seyn, that they be trewe, wise, and of oold experience.
1170 And werke nat alwey in every nede by oon counseillour allone;
1170A for somtyme bihooveth it to been conseilled by manye.
 For Salomon seith, `Salvacion of thynges is where as ther been manye conseillours.'
 "Now, sith that I have toold yow of which folk ye sholde been counseilled, now
 wol I teche yow which conseil ye oghte to eschewe.
 First, ye shul eschue the conseillyng of fooles; for Salomon seith, `Taak no conseil of a fool,
 for he ne kan noght conseille but after his owene lust and his affeccioun.'
 The book seith that `the propretee of a fool is this: he troweth lightly harm of every wight,
 and lightly troweth alle bountee in hymself.'
 Thou shalt eek eschue the conseillyng of alle flatereres, swiche as enforcen hem rather to preise youre persone
 by flaterye than for to telle yow the soothfastnesse of thynges.
 Wherfore Tullius seith, `Amonges alle the pestilences that been in freendshipe the gretteste is flaterie.'
 And therfore is it moore nede that thou eschue and drede flatereres than any oother peple.
 The book seith, `Thou shalt rather drede and flee fro the sweete wordes of flaterynge preiseres
 than fro the egre wordes of thy freend that seith thee thy sothes.'
 Salomon seith that `the wordes of a flaterere is a snare to cacche with innocentz.'
 He seith also that `he that speketh to his freend wordes of swetnesse and of plesaunce
 setteth a net biforn his feet to cacche hym.'
1180 And therfore seith Tullius, `Enclyne nat thyne eres to flatereres, ne taak no conseil of the wordes of flaterye.'
 And Caton seith, `Avyse thee wel, and eschue the wordes of swetnesse and of plesaunce.'
 And eek thou shalt eschue the conseillyng of thyne olde enemys that been reconsiled.
 The book seith that `no wight retourneth saufly into the grace of his olde enemy.'
 And Isope seith, `Ne trust nat to hem to whiche thou hast had som tyme werre or enemytee,
 ne telle hem nat thy conseil.'
 And Seneca telleth the cause why: `It may nat be,' seith he, `that where greet
 fyr hath longe tyme endured, that ther ne dwelleth som vapour of warmnesse.'
 And therfore seith Salomon, `In thyn olde foo trust nevere.'
 For sikerly, though thyn enemy be reconsiled, and maketh thee chiere of humylitee,
 and lowteth to thee with his heed, ne trust hym nevere.
 For certes he maketh thilke feyned humilitee moore for his profit than for any love of thy persone,
 by cause that he deemeth to have victorie over thy persone by swich feyned contenance,
 the which victorie he myghte nat have by strif or werre.
 And Peter Alfonce seith, `Make no felawshipe with thyne olde enemys, for if thou do hem bountee,
 they wol perverten it into wikkednesse.'
1190 And eek thou most eschue the conseillyng of hem that been thy servantz and beren thee greet reverence,
1190A for peraventure they seyn it moore for drede than for love.
 And therfore seith a philosophre in this wise:
 `Ther is no wight parfitly trewe to hym that he to soore dredeth.'
 And Tullius seith, `Ther nys no myght so greet of any emperour that longe may endure,
 but if he have moore love of the peple than drede.'
 Thou shalt also eschue the conseiling of folk that been dronkelewe, for they ne kan no conseil hyde.
 For Salomon seith, `Ther is no privetee ther as regneth dronkenesse.'
 Ye shul also han in suspect the conseillyng of swich folk as
 conseille yow o thyng prively and conseille yow the contrarie openly.
 For Cassidorie seith that `it is a manere sleighte to hyndre,
 whan he sheweth to doon o thyng openly and werketh prively the contrarie.'
 Thou shalt also have in suspect the conseillyng of wikked folk. For the book seith,
 `The conseillyng of wikked folk is alwey ful of fraude.'
 And David seith, `Blisful is that man that hath nat folwed the conseilyng of shrewes.'
 Thou shalt also eschue the conseillyng of yong folk, for hir conseil is nat rype.
1200 "Now, sire, sith I have shewed yow of which folk ye shul take youre conseil
1200A and of which folk ye shul folwe the conseil,
 now wol I teche yow how ye shal examyne youre conseil, after the doctrine of Tullius.
 In the examynynge thanne of youre conseillour ye shul considere manye thynges.
 Alderfirst thou shalt considere that in thilke thyng that thou purposest, and upon what thyng thou wolt have conseil,
 that verray trouthe be seyd and conserved; this is to seyn, telle trewely thy tale.
 For he that seith fals may nat wel be conseilled in that cas of which he lieth.
 And after this thou shalt considere the thynges that acorden to that thou purposest
 for to do by thy conseillours, if resoun accorde therto,
 and eek if thy myght may atteine therto, and if the moore part
 and the bettre part of thy conseillours acorde therto, or noon.
 Thanne shaltou considere what thyng shal folwe of that conseillyng,
 as hate, pees, werre, grace, profit, or damage, and manye othere thynges.
 And in alle thise thynges thou shalt chese the beste and weyve alle othere thynges.
 Thanne shaltow considere of what roote is engendred the matiere of thy conseil
 and what fruyt it may conceyve and engendre.
1210 Thou shalt eek considere alle thise causes, fro whennes they been sprongen.
 And whan ye han examyned youre conseil, as I have seyd, and which partie is the bettre
 and moore profitable, and han approved it by manye wise folk and olde,
 thanne shaltou considere if thou mayst parfourne it and maken of it a good ende.
 For certes resoun wol nat that any man sholde bigynne a thyng
 but if he myghte parfourne it as hym oghte;
 ne no wight sholde take upon hym so hevy a charge that he myghte nat bere it.
 For the proverbe seith, `He that to muche embraceth, distreyneth litel.'
 And Catoun seith, `Assay to do swich thyng as thou hast power to doon,
 lest that the charge oppresse thee so soore that
 thee bihoveth to weyve thyng that thou hast bigonne.'
 And if so be that thou be in doute wheither thou mayst parfourne a thing or noon,
 chese rather to suffre than bigynne.
 And Piers Alphonce seith, `If thou hast myght to doon a thyng of which thou most repente,
 it is bettre "nay" than "ye."'
 This is to seyn, that thee is bettre holde thy tonge stille than for to speke.
1220 Thanne may ye understonde by strenger resons that if thou hast power to parfourne a werk
1220A of which thou shalt repente, thanne is it bettre that thou suffre than bigynne.
 Wel seyn they that defenden every wight to assaye a thyng of which he is in doute
 wheither he may parfourne it or noon.
 And after, whan ye han examyned youre conseil, as I have seyd biforn, and knowen wel that
 ye may parfourne youre emprise, conferme it thanne sadly til it be at an ende.
 "Now is it resoun and tyme that I shewe yow whanne and wherfore that
 ye may chaunge youre counseil withouten youre repreve.
 Soothly, a man may chaungen his purpos and his conseil if the cause cesseth,
 or whan a newe caas bitydeth.
 For the lawe seith that `upon thynges that newely bityden bihoveth newe conseil.'
 And Senec seith, `If thy conseil is comen to the eeris of thyn enemy, chaunge thy conseil.'
 Thou mayst also chaunge thy conseil if so be that thou fynde that by errour,
 or by oother cause, harm or damage may bityde.
 Also if thy conseil be dishonest, or ellis cometh of dishonest cause, chaunge thy conseil.
 For the lawes seyn that `alle bihestes that been dishoneste been of no value';
1230 and eek if so be that it be inpossible, or may nat goodly be parfourned or kept.
 "And take this for a general reule, that every conseil that is affermed so strongly that it may nat
 be chaunged for no condicioun that may bityde, I seye that thilke conseil is wikked."
 This Melibeus, whanne he hadde herd the doctrine of his wyf dame Prudence, answerde in this wyse:
 "Dame," quod he, "as yet into this tyme ye han wel and covenably taught me as in general how
 I shal governe me in the chesynge and in the withholdynge of my conseillours.
 But now wolde I fayn that ye wolde condescende in especial
 and telle me how liketh yow, or what semeth yow, by oure conseillours
 that we han chosen in oure present nede."
 "My lord," quod she, "I biseke yow in al humblesse that ye wol nat wilfully replie agayn my resouns,
 ne distempre youre herte, thogh I speke thyng that yow displese.
 For God woot that, as in myn entente, I speke it for youre beste,
 for youre honour, and for youre profite eke.
 And soothly, I hope that youre benyngnytee wol taken it in pacience.
 Trusteth me wel," quod she, "that youre conseil as in this caas ne sholde nat, as to speke properly,
 be called a conseillyng, but a mocioun or a moevyng of folye,
1240 in which conseil ye han erred in many a sondry wise.
 "First and forward, ye han erred in th' assemblynge of youre conseillours.
 For ye sholde first have cleped a fewe folk to youre conseil, and after ye myghte han shewed it
 to mo folk, if it hadde been nede.
 But certes, ye han sodeynly cleped to youre conseil a greet multitude of peple,
 ful chargeant and ful anoyous for to heere.
 Also ye han erred, for theras ye sholden oonly have cleped to youre conseil
 youre trewe frendes olde and wise,
 ye han ycleped straunge folk, yonge folk, false flatereres, and enemys reconsiled,
 and folk that doon yow reverence withouten love.
 And eek also ye have erred, for ye han broght with yow to youre conseil ire, coveitise, and hastifnesse,
 the whiche thre thinges been contrariouse to every conseil honest and profitable;
 the whiche thre thinges ye han nat anientissed or destroyed hem,
 neither in youreself, ne in youre conseillours, as yow oghte.
 Ye han erred also, for ye han shewed to youre conseillours
 youre talent and youre affeccioun to make werre anon and for to do vengeance.
1250 They han espied by youre wordes to what thyng ye been enclyned;
 and therfore han they rather conseilled yow to youre talent than to youre profit.
 Ye han erred also, for it semeth that yow suffiseth
 to han been conseilled by thise conseillours oonly, and with litel avys,
 whereas in so greet and so heigh a nede it hadde been necessarie mo conseillours
 and moore deliberacion to parfourne youre emprise.
 Ye han erred also, for ye ne han nat examyned youre conseil in the forseyde manere,
 ne in due manere, as the caas requireth.
 Ye han erred also, for ye han maked no division bitwixe youre conseillours -- this is to seyn,
 bitwixen youre trewe freendes and youre feyned conseillours --
 ne ye han nat knowe the wil of youre trewe freendes olde and wise,
 but ye han cast alle hire wordes in an hochepot, and enclyned youre herte to the moore part
 and to the gretter nombre, and there been ye condescended.
 And sith ye woot wel that men shal alwey fynde a gretter nombre of fooles than of wise men,
 and therfore the conseils that been at congregaciouns and multitudes of folk, there as men take moore reward
 to the nombre than to the sapience of persones,
1260 ye se wel that in swiche conseillynges fooles han the maistrie."
 Melibeus answerde agayn, and seyde, "I graunte wel that I have erred;
 but there as thou hast toold me heerbiforn
 that he nys nat to blame that chaungeth his conseillours in certein caas and for certeine juste causes,
 I am al redy to chaunge my conseillours right as thow wolt devyse.
 The proverbe seith that `for to do synne is mannyssh,
 but certes for to persevere longe in synne is werk of the devel.'"
 To this sentence answered anon dame Prudence, and seyde,
 "Examineth," quod she, "youre conseil, and lat us see
 the whiche of hem han spoken most resonably and taught yow best conseil.
 And for as muche as that the examynacion is necessarie, lat us bigynne at the surgiens
 and at the phisiciens, that first speeken in this matiere.
 I sey yow that the surgiens and phisiciens han seyd yow in youre conseil discreetly, as hem oughte,
 and in hir speche seyden ful wisely that to the office of hem aperteneth to doon to every wight
 honour and profit, and no wight for to anoye,
1270 and after hir craft to doon greet diligence
1270A unto the cure of hem which that they han in hir governaunce.
 And, sire, right as they han answered wisely and discreetly,
 right so rede I that they been heighly and sovereynly gerdoned for hir noble speche,
 and eek for they sholde do the moore ententif bisynesse in the curacion of youre doghter deere.
 For al be it so that they been youre freendes, therfore shal ye nat suffren
 that they serve yow for noght,
 but ye oghte the rather gerdone hem and shewe hem youre largesse.
 And as touchynge the proposicioun which that the phisiciens encreesceden in this caas -- this is to seyn,
 that in maladies that oon contrarie is warisshed by another contrarie --
 I wolde fayn knowe hou ye understonde thilke text, and what is youre sentence."
 "Certes," quod Melibeus, "I understonde it in this wise:
1280 that right as they han doon me a contrarie, right so sholde I doon hem another.
 For right as they han venged hem on me and doon me wrong,
 right so shal I venge me upon hem and doon hem wrong;
 and thanne have I cured oon contrarie by another."
 "Lo, lo," quod dame Prudence, "how lightly is every man enclined to his owene desir
 and to his owene plesaunce!
 Certes," quod she, "the wordes of the phisiciens ne sholde nat han been understonden in thys wise.
 For certes, wikkednesse is nat contrarie to wikkednesse, ne vengeance to vengeaunce,
 ne wrong to wrong, but they been semblable.
 And therfore o vengeaunce is nat warisshed by another vengeaunce, ne o wroong by another wroong,
 but everich of hem encreesceth and aggreggeth oother.
 But certes, the wordes of the phisiciens sholde been understonden in this wise:
 for good and wikkednesse been two contraries, and pees and werre, vengeaunce
 and suffraunce, discord and accord, and manye othere thynges;
1290 but certes, wikkednesse shal be warisshed by goodnesse, discord by accord, werre by pees,
1290A and so forth of othere thynges.
 And heerto accordeth Seint Paul the Apostle in manye places.
 He seith, `Ne yeldeth nat harm for harm, ne wikked speche for wikked speche,
 but do wel to hym that dooth thee harm and blesse hym that seith to thee harm.'
 And in manye othere places he amonesteth pees and accord.
 But now wol I speke to yow of the conseil which that was yeven to yow
 by the men of lawe and the wise folk,
 that seyden alle by oon accord, as ye han herd bifore,
 that over alle thynges ye shal doon youre diligence to kepen youre persone and to warnestoore youre hous;
 and seyden also that in this caas yow oghten for to werken ful avysely and with greet deliberacioun.
 And, sire, as to the firste point, that toucheth to the kepyng of youre persone,
1300 ye shul understonde that he that hath werre shal everemoore mekely and devoutly preyen, biforn alle thynges,
 that Jhesus Crist of his mercy wol han hym in his proteccion
 and been his sovereyn helpyng at his nede.
 For certes, in this world ther is no wight that may be conseilled ne kept sufficeantly
 withouten the kepyng of oure Lord Jhesu Crist.
 To this sentence accordeth the prophete David, that seith,
 `If God ne kepe the citee, in ydel waketh he that it kepeth.'
 Now, sire, thanne shul ye committe the kepyng of youre persone
 to youre trewe freendes that been approved and yknowe,
 and of hem shul ye axen help youre persone for to kepe. For Catoun seith,
 `If thou hast nede of help, axe it of thy freendes,
 for ther nys noon so good a phisicien as thy trewe freend.'
 And after this thanne shul ye kepe yow fro alle straunge folk, and fro lyeres,
 and have alwey in suspect hire compaignye.
 For Piers Alfonce seith, `Ne taak no compaignye by the weye of a straunge man,
 but if so be that thou have knowe hym of a lenger tyme.
1310 And if so be that he falle into thy compaignye paraventure, withouten thyn assent,
 enquere thanne as subtilly as thou mayst of his conversacion, and of his lyf bifore, and feyne thy wey;
 seye that [thou] wolt thider as thou wolt nat go;
 and if he bereth a spere, hoold thee on the right syde,
 and if he bere a swerd, hoold thee on the lift syde.'
 And after this thanne shul ye kepe yow wisely from all swich manere peple as I have seyd bifore,
 and hem and hir conseil eschewe.
 And after this thanne shul ye kepe yow in swich manere
 that, for any presumpcion of youre strengthe, that ye ne dispise nat, ne accompte nat the myght
 of youre adversarie so litel that ye lete the kepyng of youre persone for youre presumpcioun,
 for every wys man dredeth his enemy.
 And Salomon seith, `Weleful is he that of alle hath drede,
 for certes, he that thurgh the hardynesse of his herte and thurgh the hardynesse of hymself hath
 to greet presumpcioun, hym shal yvel bityde.'
 Thanne shul ye everemoore contrewayte embusshementz and alle espiaille.
1320 For Senec seith that `the wise man that dredeth harmes, eschueth harmes,
 ne he ne falleth into perils that perils eschueth.'
 And al be it so that it seme that thou art in siker place,
 yet shaltow alwey do thy diligence in kepynge of thy persone;
 this is to seyn, ne be nat necligent to kepe thy persone
 nat oonly fro thy gretteste enemys but fro thy leeste enemy.
 Senek seith, `A man that is well avysed, he dredeth his leste enemy.'
 Ovyde seith that `the litel wesele wol slee the grete bole and the wilde hert.'
 And the book seith, `A litel thorn may prikke a kyng ful soore,
 and an hound wol holde the wilde boor.'
 But nathelees, I sey nat thou shalt be so coward that thou doute ther wher as is no drede.
 The book seith that `somme folk han greet lust to deceyve, but yet they dreden hem to be deceyved.'
 Yet shaltou drede to been empoisoned and kepe the from the compaignye of scorneres.
1330 For the book seith, `With scorneres make no compaignye, but flee hire wordes as venym.'
 "Now, as to the seconde point,
 where as youre wise conseillours conseilled yow to warnestoore youre hous with gret diligence,
 I wolde fayn knowe how that ye understonde thilke wordes and what is youre sentence."
 Melibeus answerde and seyde, "Certes, I understande it in this wise: That I shal warnestoore myn hous with toures,
 swiche as han castelles and othere manere edifices, and armure, and artelries,
 by whiche thynges I may my persone and myn hous so kepen and deffenden
 that myne enemys shul been in drede myn hous for to approche."
 To this sentence answerde anon Prudence: "Warnestooryng," quod she,
 "of heighe toures and of grete edifices apperteyneth somtyme to pryde.
 And eek men make heighe toures, [and grete edifices] with grete costages and with greet travaille,
 and whan that they been accompliced, yet be they nat worth a stree,
 but if they be defended by trewe freendes that been olde and wise.
 And understoond wel that the gretteste and strongeste garnysoun that a riche man may have,
 as wel to kepen his persone as his goodes, is
 that he be biloved with hys subgetz and with his neighebores.
 For thus seith Tullius, that `ther is a manere garnysoun
 that no man may venquysse ne disconfite, and that is
1340 a lord to be biloved of his citezeins and of his peple.'
 Now, sire, as to the thridde point, where as youre olde
 and wise conseillours seyden that yow ne oghte nat sodeynly ne hastily proceden in this nede,
 but that yow oghte purveyen and apparaillen yow in this caas with greet diligence and greet deliberacioun;
 trewely, I trowe that they seyden right wisely and right sooth.
 For Tullius seith, `In every nede, er thou bigynne it, apparaille thee with greet diligence.'
 Thanne seye I that in vengeance-takyng, in werre, in bataille, and in warnestooryng,
 er thow bigynne, I rede that thou apparaille thee therto, and do it with greet deliberacion.
 For Tullius seith that `longe apparaillyng biforn the bataille maketh short victorie.'
 And Cassidorus seith, `The garnysoun is stronger whan it is longe tyme avysed.'
 But now lat us speken of the conseil that was accorded by youre neighebores,
 swiche as doon yow reverence withouten love,
1350 youre olde enemys reconsiled, youre flatereres,
 that conseilled yow certeyne thynges prively, and openly conseilleden yow the contrarie;
 the yonge folk also, that conseilleden yow to venge yow and make werre anon.
 And certes, sire, as I have seyd biforn, ye han greetly erred
 to han cleped swich manere folk to youre conseil,
 which conseillours been ynogh repreved by the resouns aforeseyd.
 But nathelees, lat us now descende to the special. Ye shuln first procede after the doctrine of Tullius.
 Certes, the trouthe of this matiere, or of this conseil, nedeth nat diligently enquere,
 for it is wel wist whiche they been that han doon to yow this trespas and vileynye,
 and how manye trespassours, and in what manere
 they han to yow doon al this wrong and al this vileynye.
 And after this, thanne shul ye examyne the seconde condicion which that the same Tullius addeth in this matiere.
1360 For Tullius put a thyng which that he clepeth `consentynge'; this is to seyn,
 who been they, and whiche been they and how manye that consenten to thy conseil
 in thy wilfulnesse to doon hastif vengeance.
 And lat us considere also who been they, and how manye been they,
 and whiche been they that consenteden to youre adversaries.
 And certes, as to the firste poynt, it is wel knowen whiche folk been
 they that consenteden to youre hastif wilfulnesse,
 for trewely, alle tho that conseilleden yow to maken sodeyn werre ne been nat youre freendes.
 Lat us now considere whiche been they that ye holde so greetly youre freendes as to youre persone.
 For al be it so that ye be myghty and riche, certes ye ne been but allone,
 for certes ye ne han no child but a doghter,
 ne ye ne han bretheren, ne cosyns germayns, ne noon oother neigh kynrede,
 wherfore that youre enemys for drede sholde stinte to plede with yow or to destroye youre persone.
1370 Ye knowen also that youre richesses mooten been dispended in diverse parties,
 and whan that every wight hath his part, they ne wollen taken but litel reward to venge thy deeth.
 But thyne enemys been thre, and they han manie children, bretheren, cosyns, and oother ny kynrede.
 And though so were that thou haddest slayn of hem two or three, yet dwellen ther ynowe
 to wreken hir deeth and to sle thy persone.
 And though so be that youre kynrede be moore siker and stedefast than the kyn of youre adversarie,
 yet nathelees youre kynrede nys but a fer kynrede; they been but litel syb to yow,
 and the kyn of youre enemys been ny syb to hem.
 And certes, as in that, hir condicioun is bet than youres.
 Thanne lat us considere also if the conseillyng of hem that conseilleden yow to taken sodeyn vengeaunce,
 wheither it accorde to resoun.
 And certes, ye knowe wel `nay.'
 For, as by right and resoun, ther may no man taken vengeance on no wight
 but the juge that hath the jurisdiccioun of it,
1380 whan it is graunted hym to take thilke vengeance hastily or attemprely, as the lawe requireth.
 And yet mooreover of thilke word that Tullius clepeth `consentynge,'
 thou shalt considere if thy myght and thy power may consenten
 and suffise to thy wilfulnesse and to thy conseillours.
 And certes thou mayst wel seyn that `nay.'
 For sikerly, as for to speke proprely, we may do no thyng
 but oonly swich thyng as we may doon rightfully.
 And certes rightfully ne mowe ye take no vengeance, as of youre propre auctoritee.
 Thanne mowe ye seen that youre power ne consenteth nat, ne accordeth nat, with youre wilfulnesse.
 "Lat us now examyne the thridde point, that Tullius clepeth `consequent.'
 Thou shalt understonde that the vengeance that thou purposest for to take is the consequent;
 and therof folweth another vengeaunce, peril, and werre, and othere damages withoute nombre,
 of whiche we be nat war, as at this tyme.
1390 And as touchynge the fourthe point, that Tullius clepeth `engendrynge,'
 thou shalt considere that this wrong which that is doon to thee
 is engendred of the hate of thyne enemys,
 and of the vengeance-takynge upon that wolde engendre another vengeance,
 and muchel sorwe and wastynge of richesses, as I seyde.
 "Now, sire, as to the point that Tullius clepeth `causes,' which that is the laste point,
 thou shalt understonde that the wrong that thou hast receyved hath certeine causes,
 whiche that clerkes clepen Oriens and Efficiens, and Causa longinqua and Causa propinqua;
 this is to seyn, the fer cause and the ny cause.
 The fer cause is almyghty God, that is cause of alle thynges.
 The neer cause is thy thre enemys.
 The cause accidental was hate.
 The cause material been the fyve woundes of thy doghter.
1400 The cause formal is the manere of hir werkynge that broghten laddres and cloumben in at thy wyndowes.
 The cause final was for to sle thy doghter. It letted nat in as muche as in hem was.
 But for to speken of the fer cause, as to what ende they shul come, or what shal finally
 bityde of hem in this caas, ne kan I nat deeme but by conjectynge and by supposynge.
 For we shul suppose that they shul come to a wikked ende,
 by cause that the Book of Decrees seith, `Seelden, or with greet peyne, been causes ybroght to good ende
 whanne they been baddely bigonne.'
 "Now, sire, if men wolde axe me why that God suffred men to do yow this vileynye,
 certes, I kan nat wel answere, as for no soothfastnesse.
 For th' apostle seith that `the sciences and the juggementz of oure Lord God almyghty been ful depe;
 ther may no man comprehende ne serchen hem suffisantly.'
 Nathelees, by certeyne presumpciouns and conjectynges, I holde and bileeve
 that God, which that is ful of justice and of rightwisnesse, hath suffred this bityde by juste cause resonable.
1410 "Thy name is Melibee; this is to seyn, `a man that drynketh hony.'
 Thou hast ydronke so muchel hony of sweete temporeel richesses, and delices and honours of this world
 that thou art dronken and hast forgeten Jhesu Crist thy creatour.
 Thou ne hast nat doon to hym swich honour and reverence as thee oughte,
 ne thou ne hast nat wel ytaken kep to the wordes of Ovide, that seith,
 `Under the hony of the goodes of the body is hyd the venym that sleeth the soule.'
 And Salomon seith, `If thou hast founden hony, ete of it that suffiseth,
 for if thou ete of it out of mesure, thou shalt spewe' and be nedy and povre.
 And peraventure Crist hath thee in despit, and
 hath turned awey fro thee his face and his eeris of misericorde,
 and also he hath suffred that thou hast been punysshed in the manere that thow hast ytrespassed.
1420 Thou hast doon synne agayn oure Lord Crist,
 for certes, the three enemys of mankynde
 -- that is to seyn, the flessh, the feend, and the world --
 thou hast suffred hem entre in to thyn herte wilfully by the wyndowes of thy body,
 and hast nat defended thyself suffisantly agayns hire assautes and hire temptaciouns,
 so that they han wounded thy soule in fyve places;
 this is to seyn, the deedly synnes that been entred into thyn herte by thy fyve wittes.
 And in the same manere oure Lord Crist hath woold and suffred
 that thy three enemys been entred into thyn house by the wyndowes
 and han ywounded thy doghter in the forseyde manere."
 "Certes," quod Melibee, "I se wel that ye enforce yow muchel by wordes to overcome me in swich manere
 that I shal nat venge me of myne enemys,
 shewynge me the perils and the yveles that myghten falle of this vengeance.
 But whoso wolde considere in alle vengeances the perils and yveles that myghte sewe of vengeance-takynge,
1430 a man wolde nevere take vengeance, and that were harm;
 for by the vengeance-takynge been the wikked men dissevered fro the goode men,
 and they that han wyl to do wikkednesse restreyne hir wikked purpos,
 whan they seen the punyssynge and chastisynge of the trespassours."
 And yet seye I moore, that right as a singuler persone synneth in takynge vengeance of another man,
 right so synneth the juge if he do no vengeance of hem that it han disserved.
 For Senec seith thus: `That maister,' he seith, `is good that proveth shrewes.'
 And as Cassidore seith, `A man dredeth to do outrages whan he woot and knoweth
 that it displeseth to the juges and the sovereyns.'
 And another seith, `The juge that dredeth to do right maketh men shrewes.'
1440 And Seint Paul the Apostle seith in his Epistle, whan he writeth unto the Romayns, that
1440A `the juges beren nat the spere withouten cause,
 but they beren it to punysse the shrewes and mysdoers and for to defende the goode men.'
 If ye wol thanne take vengeance of youre enemys, ye shul retourne or have youre recours to the juge
 that hath the jurisdiccion upon hem,
 and he shal punysse hem as the lawe axeth and requireth."
 "A," quod Melibee, "this vengeance liketh me no thyng.
 I bithenke me now and take heede how Fortune hath norissed me fro my childhede
 and hath holpen me to passe many a stroong paas.
 Now wol I assayen hire, trowynge, with Goddes help, that she shal helpe me my shame for to venge."
 "Certes," quod Prudence, "if ye wol werke by my conseil, ye shul nat assaye Fortune by no wey,
 ne ye shul nat lene or bowe unto hire, after the word of Senec,
 for `thynges that been folily doon, and that been in hope of Fortune, shullen nevere come to good ende.'
1450 And, as the same Senec seith, `The moore cleer and the moore shynyng that Fortune is,
1450A the moore brotil and the sonner broken she is.'
 Trusteth nat in hire, for she nys nat stidefast ne stable,
 for whan thow trowest to be moost seur or siker of hire help,
 she wol faille thee and deceyve thee.
 And where as ye seyn that Fortune hath norissed yow fro youre childhede,
 I seye that in so muchel shul ye the lasse truste in hire and in hir wit.
 For Senec seith, `What man that is norissed by Fortune, she maketh hym a greet fool.'
 Now thanne, syn ye desire and axe vengeance, and the vengeance that is doon after the lawe
 and bifore the juge ne liketh yow nat,
 and the vengeance that is doon in hope of Fortune is perilous and uncertein,
 thanne have ye noon oother remedie but for to have youre recours
 unto the sovereyn Juge that vengeth alle vileynyes and wronges.
 And he shal venge yow after that hymself witnesseth, where as he seith,
1460 `Leveth the vengeance to me, and I shal do it.'"
 Melibee answerde, "If I ne venge me nat of the vileynye that men han doon to me,
 I sompne or warne hem that han doon to me that vileynye,
 and alle othere, to do me another vileynye.
 For it is writen, `If thou take no vengeance of an oold vileynye,
 thou sompnest thyne adversaries to do thee a newe vileynye.'
 And also for my suffrance men wolden do me so muchel vileynye that
 I myghte neither bere it ne susteene,
 and so sholde I been put and holden overlowe.
 For men seyn, `In muchel suffrynge shul manye thynges falle unto thee whiche thou shalt nat mowe suffre.'"
 "Certes," quod Prudence, "I graunte yow that over-muchel suffraunce is nat good.
 But yet ne folweth it nat therof that every persone to whom men doon vileynye take of it vengeance,
 for that aperteneth and longeth al oonly to the juges, for they shul venge the vileynyes and injuries.
1470 And therfore tho two auctoritees that ye han seyd above been oonly understonden in the juges,
 for whan they suffren over-muchel the wronges and the vileynyes to be doon withouten punysshynge,
 they sompne nat a man al oonly for to do newe wronges, but they comanden it.
 Also a wys man seith that `the juge that correcteth nat the synnere comandeth and biddeth hym do synne.'
 And the juges and sovereyns myghten in hir land so muchel suffre of the shrewes and mysdoeres
 that they sholden, by swich suffrance, by proces of tyme wexen of swich power and myght
 that they sholden putte out the juges and the sovereyns from hir places,
 and atte laste maken hem lesen hire lordshipes.
 "But lat us now putte that ye have leve to venge yow.
 I seye ye been nat of myght and power as now to venge yow,
 for if ye wole maken comparisoun unto the myght of youre adversaries, ye shul fynde in manye thynges that
 I have shewed yow er this that hire condicion is bettre than youres.
1480 And therfore seye I that it is good as now that ye suffre and be pacient.
 "Forthermoore, ye knowen wel that after the comune sawe, `it is a woodnesse a man to stryve
 with a strenger or a moore myghty man than he is hymself,
 and for to stryve with a man of evene strengthe -- that is to seyn,
 with as strong a man as he is -- it is peril,
 and for to stryve with a weyker man, it is folie.'
 And therfore sholde a man flee stryvynge as muchel as he myghte.
 For Salomon seith, `It is a greet worshipe to a man to kepen hym fro noyse and stryf.'
 And if it so bifalle or happe that a man of gretter myght and strengthe
 than thou art do thee grevaunce,
 studie and bisye thee rather to stille the same grevaunce than for to venge thee.
 For Senec seith that `he putteth hym in greet peril
 that stryveth with a gretter man than he is hymself.'
 And Catoun seith, `If a man of hyer estaat or degree, or moore myghty than thou,
 do thee anoy or grevaunce, suffre hym,
1490 for he that oones hath greved thee, may another tyme releeve thee and helpe.'
 Yet sette I caas ye have bothe myght and licence for to venge yow,
 I seye that ther be ful manye thynges that shul restreyne yow of vengeance-takynge
 and make yow for to enclyne to suffre, and for to han pacience
 in the wronges that han been doon to yow.
 First and foreward, if ye wole considere the defautes that been in youre owene persone,
 for whiche defautes God hath suffred yow have this tribulacioun, as I have seyd yow heer-biforn.
 For the poete seith that `we oghte paciently taken the tribulacions
 that comen to us, whan we thynken and consideren that we han disserved to have hem.'
 And Seint Gregorie seith that `whan a man considereth wel the nombre of his defautes and of his synnes,
 the peynes and the tribulaciouns that he suffreth semen the lesse unto hym;
 and in as muche as hym thynketh his synnes moore hevy and grevous,
1500 in so muche semeth his peyne the lighter and the esier unto hym.'
 Also ye owen to enclyne and bowe youre herte
 to take the pacience of oure Lord Jhesu Crist, as seith Seint Peter in his Epistles.
 `Jhesu Crist,' he seith, `hath suffred for us and yeven ensample to every man to folwe and sewe hym,
 for he dide nevere synne, ne nevere cam ther a vileyns word out of his mouth.
 Whan men cursed hym, he cursed hem noght, and whan men betten hym, he manaced hem noght.'
 Also the grete pacience which the seintes that been in Paradys han had in tribulaciouns
 that they han ysuffred, withouten hir desert or gilt,
 oghte muchel stiren yow to pacience.
 Forthermoore ye sholde enforce yow to have pacience,
 considerynge that the tribulaciouns of this world but litel while endure and soone passed been and goon,
 and the joye that a man seketh to have by pacience in tribulaciouns is perdurable,
 after that the Apostle seith in his epistle.
1510 `The joye of God,' he seith, `is perdurable' -- that is to seyn, everelastynge.
 Also troweth and bileveth stedefastly that he nys nat wel ynorissed, ne wel ytaught,
 that kan nat have pacience or wol nat receyve pacience.
 For Salomon seith that `the doctrine and the wit of a man is knowen by pacience.'
 And in another place he seith that `he that is pacient governeth hym by greet prudence.'
 And the same Salomon seith, `The angry and wrathful man maketh noyses,
 and the pacient man atempreth hem and stilleth.'
 He seith also, `It is moore worth to be pacient than for to be right strong;
 and he that may have the lordshipe of his owene herte is moore to preyse than he that
 by his force or strengthe taketh grete citees.'
 And therfore seith Seint Jame in his Epistle that `pacience is a greet vertu of perfeccioun.'"
 "Certes," quod Melibee, "I graunte yow, dame Prudence, that pacience is a greet vertu of perfeccioun;
 but every man may nat have the perfeccioun that ye seken;
1520 ne I nam nat of the nombre of right parfite men,
 for myn herte may nevere been in pees unto the tyme it be venged.
 And al be it so that it was greet peril to myne enemys
 to do me a vileynye in takynge vengeance upon me,
 yet tooken they noon heede of the peril, but fulfilleden hir wikked wyl and hir corage.
 And therfore me thynketh men oghten nat repreve me,
 though I putte me in a litel peril for to venge me,
 and though I do a greet excesse; that is to seyn, that I venge oon outrage by another."
 "A," quod dame Prudence, "ye seyn youre wyl and as yow liketh,
 but in no caas of the world a man sholde nat doon outrage ne excesse for to vengen hym.
 For Cassidore seith that `as yvele dooth he that vengeth hym by outrage as he that dooth the outrage.'
 And therfore ye shul venge yow after the ordre of right; that is to seyn, by the lawe
 and noght by excesse ne by outrage.
1530 And also, if ye wol venge yow of the outrage of youre adversaries
1530A in oother manere than right comandeth, ye synnen.
 And therfore seith Senec that `a man shal nevere vengen shrewednesse by shrewednesse.'
 And if ye seye that right axeth a man to defenden violence by violence and fightyng by fightyng,
 certes ye seye sooth, whan the defense is doon anon withouten intervalle or withouten tariyng or delay,
 for to deffenden hym and nat for to vengen hym.
 And it bihoveth that a man putte swich attemperance in his deffense
 that men have no cause ne matiere to repreven hym that deffendeth hym of excesse and outrage,
 for ellis were it agayn resoun.
 Pardee, ye knowen wel that ye maken no deffense
 as now for to deffende yow, but for to venge yow;
 and so seweth it that ye han no wyl to do youre dede attemprely.
 And therfore me thynketh that pacience is good. For Salomon seith that
 `he that is nat pacient shal have greet harm.'"
1540 "Certes," quod Melibee, "I graunte yow that whan a man is inpacient and wrooth of that
1540A that toucheth hym noght and that aperteneth nat unto hym, though it harme hym, it is no wonder.
 For the lawe seith that `he is coupable that entremetteth hym
 or medleth with swych thyng as aperteneth nat unto hym.'
 And Salomon seith that `he that entremetteth hym of the noyse or strif of another man
 is lyk to hym that taketh an hound by the eris.'
 For right as he that taketh a straunge hound by the eris is outherwhile biten with the hound,
 right in the same wise is it resoun that he have harm that by his inpacience medleth hym
 of the noyse of another man, wheras it aperteneth nat unto hym.
 But ye knowen wel that this dede -- that is to seyn,
 my grief and my disese -- toucheth me right ny.
 And therfore, though I be wrooth and inpacient, it is no merveille.
 And, savynge youre grace, I kan nat seen that it myghte greetly harme me though I tooke vengeaunce.
 For I am richer and moore myghty than myne enemys been;
 and wel knowen ye that by moneye and by havynge grete possessions
 been alle the thynges of this world governed.
1550 And Salomon seith that `alle thynges obeyen to moneye.'"
 Whan Prudence hadde herd hir housbonde avanten hym of his richesse
 and of his moneye, dispreisynge the power of his adversaries,
 she spak and seyde in this wise:
 "Certes, deere sire, I graunte yow that ye been riche and myghty
 and that the richesses been goode to hem that han wel ygeten hem and wel konne usen hem.
 For right as the body of a man may nat lyven withoute the soule,
 namoore may it lyve withouten temporeel goodes.
 And by richesses may a man gete hym grete freendes.
 And therfore seith Pamphilles: `If a net-herdes doghter,' seith he, `be riche,
 she may chesen of a thousand men which she wol take to hir housbonde,
 for, of a thousand men, oon wol nat forsaken hire ne refusen hire.'
 And this Pamphilles seith also, `If thow be right happy -- that is to seyn,
 if thou be right riche -- thou shalt fynde a greet nombre of felawes and freendes.
 And if thy fortune change that thou wexe povre, farewel freendshipe and felaweshipe,
1560 for thou shalt be alloone withouten any compaignye, but if it be the compaignye of povre folk.'
 And yet seith this Pamphilles moreover that `they that been thralle and bonde of lynage
 shullen been maad worthy and noble by the richesses.'
 And right so as by richesses ther comen manye goodes,
 right so by poverte come ther manye harmes and yveles,
 for greet poverte constreyneth a man to do manye yveles.
 And therfore clepeth Cassidore poverte the mooder of ruyne;
 that is to seyn, the mooder of overthrowynge or fallynge doun.
 And therfore seith Piers Alfonce, `Oon of the gretteste adversitees of this world is
 whan a free man by kynde or of burthe is constreyned by poverte
 to eten the almesse of his enemy,'
 and the same seith Innocent in oon of his bookes. He seith that
 `sorweful and myshappy is the condicioun of a povre beggere;
 for if he axe nat his mete, he dyeth for hunger;
1570 and if he axe, he dyeth for shame; and algates necessitee constreyneth hym to axe.'
 And seith Salomon that `bet it is to dye than for to have swich poverte.'
 And as the same Salomon seith, `Bettre it is to dye of bitter deeth
 than for to lyven in swich wise.'
 By thise resons that I have seid unto yow and by manye othere resons that I koude seye,
 I graunte yow that richesses been goode to hem that geten hem wel
 and to hem that wel usen tho richesses.
 And therfore wol I shewe yow hou ye shul have yow, and how ye shul bere yow
 in gaderynge of richesses, and in what manere ye shul usen hem.
 "First, ye shul geten hem withouten greet desir, by good leyser, sokyngly and nat over-hastily.
 For a man that is to desirynge to gete richesses abaundoneth hym
 first to thefte, and to alle othere yveles;
 and therfore seith Salomon, `He that hasteth hym to bisily to wexe riche shal be noon innocent.'
 He seith also that `the richesse that hastily cometh to a man soone
 and lightly gooth and passeth fro a man,
1580 but that richesse that cometh litel and litel wexeth alwey and multiplieth.'
 And, sire, ye shul geten richesses by youre wit and by youre travaille unto youre profit,
 and that withouten wrong or harm doynge to any oother persone.
 For the lawe seith that `ther maketh no man himselven riche, if he do harm to another wight.'
 This is to seyn, that nature deffendeth and forbedeth by right that
 no man make hymself riche unto the harm of another persone.
 And Tullius seith that `no sorwe, ne no drede of deeth, ne no thyng
 that may falle unto a man, is so muchel agayns
 nature as a man to encressen his owene profit to the harm of another man.
 And though the grete men and the myghty men geten richesses moore lightly than thou,
 yet shaltou nat been ydel ne slow to do thy profit, for thou shalt in alle wise flee ydelnesse.'
 For Salomon seith that `ydelnesse techeth a man to do manye yveles.'
1590 And the same Salomon seith that `he that travailleth and bisieth hym to tilien his land shal eten breed,
 but he that is ydel and casteth hym to no bisynesse
 ne occupacioun shal falle into poverte and dye for hunger.'
 And he that is ydel and slow kan nevere fynde covenable tyme for to doon his profit.
 For ther is a versifiour seith that `the ydel man excuseth hym in wynter by cause
 of the grete coold, and in somer by enchesoun of the greete heete.'
 For thise causes seith Caton, `Waketh and enclyneth nat yow over-muchel for to slepe,
 for over-muchel reste norisseth and causeth manye vices.'
 And therfore seith Seint Jerome, `Dooth somme goode dedes that the devel,
 which is oure enemy, ne fynde yow nat unocupied.'
 For the devel ne taketh nat lightly unto his werkynge swiche as he fyndeth occupied in goode werkes.
 "Thanne thus in getynge richesses ye mosten flee ydelnesse.
 And afterward, ye shul use the richesses which ye have geten by youre wit and by youre travaille
 in swich a manere that men holde yow nat to scars, ne to sparynge, ne to fool-large
 -- that is to seyen, over-large a spendere.
1600 For right as men blamen an avaricious man by cause of his scarsetee and chyncherie,
 in the same wise is he to blame that spendeth over-largely.
 And therfore seith Caton: `Use,' he seith, `thy richesses that thou hast geten
 in swich a manere that men have no matiere ne cause to calle thee neither wrecche ne chynche,
 for it is a greet shame to a man to have a povere herte and a riche purs.'
 He seith also, `The goodes that thou hast ygeten, use hem by mesure;'
 that is to seyn, spende hem mesurably,
 for they that folily wasten and despenden the goodes that they han,
 whan they han namoore propre of hir owene, they shapen hem to take the goodes of another man.
 I seye thanne that ye shul fleen avarice,
 usynge youre richesses in swich manere that men seye nat that youre richesses been yburyed
1610 but that ye have hem in youre myght and in youre weeldynge.
 For a wys man repreveth the avaricious man, and seith thus in two vers:
 `Wherto and why burieth a man his goodes by his grete avarice,
 and knoweth wel that nedes moste he dye?
 For deeth is the ende of every man as in this present lyf.'
 And for what cause or enchesoun joyneth he hym or knytteth he hym so faste unto his goodes
 that alle hise wittes mowen nat disseveren hym or departen hym from his goodes,
 and knoweth wel, or oghte knowe, that whan he is deed
 he shal no thyng bere with hym out of this world?
 And therfore seith Seint Austyn that `the avaricious man is likned unto helle,
 that the moore it swelweth the moore desir it hath to swelwe and devoure.'
 And as wel as ye wolde eschewe to be called an avaricious man or chynche,
1620 as wel sholde ye kepe yow and governe yow in swich a wise that men calle yow nat fool-large.
 Therfore seith Tullius: `The goodes,' he seith, `of thyn hous ne sholde nat been hyd ne kept so cloos,
 but that they myghte been opened by pitee and debonairetee'
 (that is to seyn, to yeven part to hem that han greet nede),
 `ne thy goodes shullen nat been so opene to been every mannes goodes.'
 Afterward, in getynge of youre richesses and in usynge hem ye shul alwey have thre thynges in youre herte
 (that is to seyn, oure Lord God, conscience, and good name).
 First, ye shul have God in youre herte,
 and for no richesse ye shullen do no thyng which may in any manere displese God,
 that is youre creatour and makere.
 For after the word of Salomon, `It is bettre to have a litel good with the love of God
 than to have muchel good and tresour and lese the love of his Lord God.'
1630 And the prophete seith that `bettre it is to been a good man and have litel good and tresour
 than to been holden a shrewe and have grete richesses.'
 And yet seye I ferthermoore, that ye sholde alwey doon youre bisynesse to gete yow richesses,
 so that ye gete hem with good conscience.
 And th' Apostle seith that `ther nys thyng in this world of which
 we sholden have so greet joye as whan oure conscience bereth us good witnesse.'
 And the wise man seith, `The substance of a man is ful good,
 whan synne is nat in mannes conscience.'
 Afterward, in getynge of youre richesses and in usynge of hem,
 yow moste have greet bisynesse and greet diligence that youre goode name be alwey kept and conserved.
 For Salomon seith that `bettre it is and moore it availleth a man to have a good name
 than for to have grete richesses.'
 And therfore he seith in another place, `Do greet diligence,' seith Salomon,
 `in kepyng of thy freend and of thy goode name;
1640 for it shal lenger abide with thee than any tresour, be it never so precious.'
 And certes he sholde nat be called a gentil man that after God and good conscience, alle thynges left,
 ne dooth his diligence and bisynesse to kepen his goode name.
 And Cassidore seith that `it is signe of a gentil herte
 whan a man loveth and desireth to han a good name.'
 And therfore seith Seint Austyn that `ther been two thynges that arn necessarie and nedefulle,
 and that is good conscience and good loos;
 that is to seyn, good conscience to thyn owene persone inward and good loos for thy neighebor outward.'
 And he that trusteth hym so muchel in his goode conscience
 that he displeseth, and setteth at noght his goode name or loos,
 and rekketh noght though he kepe nat his goode name, nys but a crueel cherl.
 "Sire, now have I shewed yow how ye shul do in getynge richesses, and how ye shullen usen hem,
 and I se wel that for the trust that ye han in youre richesses
 ye wole moeve werre and bataille.
1650 I conseille yow that ye bigynne no werre in trust of youre richesses,
1650A for they ne suffisen noght werres to mayntene.
 And therfore seith a philosophre, `That man that desireth and wole algates han werre, shal nevere have suffisaunce,
 for the richer that he is, the gretter despenses moste he make, if he wole have worshipe and victorie.'
 And Salomon seith that `the gretter richesses that a man hath, the mo despendours he hath.'
 And, deere sire, al be it so that for youre richesses ye mowe have muchel folk,
 yet bihoveth it nat, ne it is nat good, to bigynne werre whereas ye mowe
 in oother manere have pees unto youre worshipe and profit.
 For the victorie of batailles that been in this world lyth nat in greet nombre or multitude
 of the peple, ne in the vertu of man,
 but it lith in the wyl and in the hand of oure Lord God Almyghty.
 And therfore Judas Machabeus, which was Goddes knyght,
 whan he sholde fighte agayn his adversarie that hadde a gretter nombre
 and a gretter multitude of folk and strenger than was this peple of Machabee,
1660 yet he reconforted his litel compaignye, and seyde right in this wise:
 `Als lightly,' quod he, `may oure Lord God Almyghty yeve victorie to a fewe folk as to many folk,
 for the victorie of a bataile comth nat by the grete nombre of peple,
 but it cometh from oure Lord God of hevene.'
 And, deere sire, for as muchel as ther is no man certein if he be worthy that
 God yeve hym victorie . . . or naught, after that Salomon seith,
 therfore every man sholde greetly drede werres to bigynne.
 And by cause that in batailles fallen manye perils,
 and happeth outher while that as soone is the grete man slayn as the litel man;
 and as it is writen in the seconde Book of Kynges,
 `The dedes of batailles been aventurouse and nothyng certeyne,
 for as lightly is oon hurt with a spere as another';
1670 and for ther is gret peril in werre, therfore sholde a man flee and eschue werre,
1670A in as muchel as a man may goodly.
 For Salomon seith, `He that loveth peril shal falle in peril.'"
 After that Dame Prudence hadde spoken in this manere, Melibee answerde and seyde,
 "I see wel, dame Prudence, that by youre faire wordes and by youre resouns
 that ye han shewed me, that the werre liketh yow no thyng;
 but I have nat yet herd youre conseil, how I shal do in this nede."
 "Certes," quod she, "I conseille yow that ye accorde with youre adversaries and that ye have pees with hem.
 For Seint Jame seith in his Epistles that `by concord and pees the smale richesses wexen grete,
 and by debaat and discord the grete richesses fallen doun.'
 And ye knowen wel that oon of the gretteste and moost sovereyn thyng
 that is in this world is unytee and pees.
 And therfore seyde oure Lord Jhesu Crist to his apostles in this wise:
1680 `Wel happy and blessed been they that loven and purchacen pees, for they been called children of God.'"
 "A," quod Melibee, "now se I wel that ye loven nat myn honour ne my worshipe.
 Ye knowen wel that myne adversaries han bigonnen this debaat and bryge by hire outrage,
 and ye se wel that they ne requeren ne preyen me nat of pees,
 ne they asken nat to be reconsiled.
 Wol ye thanne that I go and meke me, and obeye me to hem, and crie hem mercy?
 For sothe, that were nat my worshipe.
 For right as men seyn that `over-greet hoomlynesse engendreth dispreisynge,' so fareth it by to greet humylitee or mekenesse."
 Thanne bigan dame Prudence to maken semblant of wratthe and seyde:
 "Certes, sire, sauf youre grace, I love youre honour and youre profit
 as I do myn owene, and evere have doon;
 ne ye, ne noon oother, seyn nevere the contrarie.
1690 And yit if I hadde seyd that ye sholde han purchaced the pees
1690A and the reconsiliacioun, I ne hadde nat muchel mystaken me ne seyd amys.
 For the wise man seith, `The dissensioun bigynneth by another man, and the reconsilyng bygynneth by thyself.'
 And the prophete seith, `Flee shrewednesse and do goodnesse;
 seke pees and folwe it, as muchel as in thee is.'
 Yet seye I nat that ye shul rather pursue to youre adversaries for pees than they shuln to yow.
 For I knowe wel that ye been so hard-herted that ye wol do no thyng for me.
 And Salomon seith, `He that hath over-hard an herte, atte laste he shal myshappe and mystyde.'"
 Whanne Melibee hadde herd dame Prudence maken semblant of wratthe, he seyde in this wise:
 "Dame, I prey yow that ye be nat displesed of thynges that I seye,
 for ye knowe wel that I am angry and wrooth, and that is no wonder;
1700 and they that been wrothe witen nat wel what they don ne what they seyn.
 Therfore the prophete seith that `troubled eyen han no cleer sighte.'
 But seyeth and conseileth me as yow liketh, for I am redy to do right as ye wol desire;
 and if ye repreve me of my folye,
 I am the moore holden to love yow and to preyse yow.
 For Salomon seith that `he that repreveth hym that dooth folye,
 he shal fynde gretter grace than he that deceyveth hym by sweete wordes.'"
 Thanne seide dame Prudence, "I make no semblant of wratthe ne anger, but for youre grete profit.
 For Salomon seith, `He is moore worth that repreveth or chideth a fool for his folye,
 shewynge hym semblant of wratthe,
 than he that supporteth hym and preyseth hym in his mysdoynge and laugheth at his folye.'
 And this same Salomon seith afterward that
 `by the sorweful visage of a man'
 (that is to seyn by the sory and hevy contenaunce of a man)
1710 `the fool correcteth and amendeth hymself.'"
 Thanne seyde Melibee, "I shal nat konne answere to
 so manye faire resouns as ye putten to me and shewen.
 Seyeth shortly youre wyl and youre conseil, and I am al redy to fulfille and parfourne it."
 Thanne dame Prudence discovered al hir wyl to hym and seyde,
 "I conseille yow," quod she, "aboven alle thynges, that ye make pees bitwene God and yow,
 and beth reconsiled unto hym and to his grace.
 For, as I have seyd yow heer biforn, God hath suffred yow
 to have this tribulacioun and disese for youre synnes.
 And if ye do as I sey yow, God wol sende youre adversaries unto yow
 and maken hem fallen at youre feet, redy to do youre wyl and youre comandementz.
 For Salomon seith, `Whan the condicioun of man is plesaunt and likynge to God,
1720 he chaungeth the hertes of the mannes adversaries and constreyneth hem to biseken hym of pees and of grace.'
 And I prey yow lat me speke with youre adversaries in privee place,
 for they shul nat knowe that it be of youre wyl or of youre assent.
 And thanne, whan I knowe hir wil and hire entente, I may conseille yow the moore seurely."
 "Dame," quod Melibee, "dooth youre wil and youre likynge;
 for I putte me hoolly in youre disposicioun and ordinaunce."
 Thanne dame Prudence, whan she saugh the goode wyl of hir housbonde, delibered and took avys in hirself,
 thinkinge how she myghte brynge this nede unto a good conclusioun and to a good ende.
 And whan she saugh hir tyme, she sente for thise adversaries to come unto hire into a pryvee place
 and shewed wisely unto hem the grete goodes that comen of pees
1730 and the grete harmes and perils that been in werre,
 and seyde to hem in a goodly manere hou that hem oughten have greet repentaunce
 of the injurie and wrong that they hadden doon to Melibee hir lord,
 and unto hire, and to hire doghter.
 And whan they herden the goodliche wordes of dame Prudence,
 they weren so supprised and ravysshed and hadden so greet joye of hire that wonder was to telle.
 "A, lady," quod they, "ye han shewed unto us the blessynge of swetnesse,
 after the sawe of David the prophete,
 for the reconsilynge which we been nat worthy to have in no manere,
 but we oghte requeren it with greet contricioun and humylitee,
 ye of youre grete goodnesse have presented unto us.
 Now se we wel that the science and the konnynge of Salomon is ful trewe.
1740 For he seith that `sweete wordes multiplien and encreescen freendes and maken shrewes to be debonaire and meeke.'
 "Certes," quod they, "we putten oure dede and al oure matere and cause al hoolly in youre goode wyl
 and been redy to obeye to the speche and comandement of my lord Melibee.
 And therfore, deere and benygne lady, we preien yow and biseke yow as mekely as we konne and mowen
 that it lyke unto youre grete goodnesse to fulfillen in dede youre goodliche wordes,
 for we consideren and knowelichen that we han offended and greved my lord Melibee out of mesure,
 so ferforth that we be nat of power to maken his amendes.
 And therfore we oblige and bynden us and oure freendes for to doon al his wyl and his comandementz.
 But peraventure he hath swich hevynesse and swich wratthe to us-ward by cause of oure offense
 that he wole enjoyne us swich a peyne as we mowe nat bere ne susteene.
1750 And therfore, noble lady, we biseke to youre wommanly pitee
 to taken swich avysement in this nede that
 we ne oure freendes be nat desherited ne destroyed thurgh oure folye."
 "Certes," quod Prudence, "it is an hard thyng and right perilous
 that a man putte hym al outrely in the arbitracioun and juggement,
 and in the myght and power of his enemys.
 For Salomon seith, `Leeveth me, and yeveth credence to that I shal seyn: I seye,' quod he,
 `ye peple, folk and governours of hooly chirche,
 to thy sone, to thy wyf, to thy freend, ne to thy broother
 ne yeve thou nevere myght ne maistrie of thy body whil thou lyvest.'
 Now sithen he deffendeth that man sholde nat yeven to his broother
 ne to his freend the myght of his body,
 by a strenger resoun he deffendeth and forbedeth a man to yeven hymself to his enemy.
 And nathelees I conseille you that ye mystruste nat my lord,
1760 for I woot wel and knowe verraily that he is debonaire and meeke, large, curteys,
 and nothyng desirous ne coveitous of good ne richesse.
 For ther nys nothyng in this world that he desireth, save oonly worshipe and honour.
 Forthermoore I knowe wel and am right seur that he shal nothyng doon in this nede withouten my conseil,
 and I shal so werken in this cause that by the grace of oure Lord God
 ye shul been reconsiled unto us."
 Thanne seyden they with o voys, "Worshipful lady, we putten us
 and oure goodes al fully in youre wil and disposicioun,
 and been redy to comen, what day that it like unto youre noblesse to lymyte us or assigne us,
 for to maken oure obligacioun and boond as strong as it liketh unto youre goodnesse,
 that we mowe fulfille the wille of yow and of my lord Melibee."
 Whan dame Prudence hadde herd the answeres of thise men, she bad hem goon agayn prively;
1770 and she retourned to hir lord Melibee, and tolde hym how she foond his adversaries ful repentant,
 knowelechynge ful lowely hir synnes and trespas, and how they were redy to suffren all peyne,
 requirynge and preiynge hym of mercy and pitee.
 Thanne seyde Melibee: "He is wel worthy to have pardoun
 and foryifnesse of his synne, that excuseth nat his synne
 but knowelecheth it and repenteth hym, axinge indulgence.
 For Senec seith, `Ther is the remissioun and foryifnesse, where as the confessioun is,'
 for confessioun is neighebor to innocence.
 And he seith in another place that `he that hath shame of his synne and knowlecheth
 [it is worthy remissioun].' And therfore I assente and conferme me to have pees;
 but it is good that we do it nat withouten the assent and wyl of oure freendes."
 Thanne was Prudence right glad and joyeful and seyde:
1780 "Certes, sire," quod she, "ye han wel and goodly answered,
 for right as by the conseil, assent, and help of youre freendes
 ye han been stired to venge yow and maken werre,
 right so withouten hire conseil shul ye nat accorden yow ne have pees with youre adversaries.
 For the lawe seith, `Ther nys no thyng so good by wey of kynde as a thyng
 to be unbounde by hym that it was ybounde.'"
 And thanne dame Prudence withouten delay or tariynge sente anon hire messages for hire kyn
 and for hire olde freendes which that were trewe and wyse,
 and tolde hem by ordre in the presence of Melibee al this mateere
 as it is aboven expressed and declared,
 and preyden hem that they wolde yeven hire avys and conseil what best were to doon in this nede.
 And whan Melibees freendes hadde taken hire avys and deliberacioun of the forseide mateere,
 and hadden examyned it by greet bisynesse and greet diligence,
 they yave ful conseil for to have pees and reste,
1790 and that Melibee sholde receyve with good herte his adversaries to foryifnesse and mercy.
 And whan dame Prudence hadde herd the assent of hir lord Melibee, and the conseil of his freendes
 accorde with hire wille and hire entencioun,
 she was wonderly glad in hire herte and seyde:
 "Ther is an old proverbe," quod she, "seith that `the goodnesse that thou mayst do this day, do it,
 and abide nat ne delaye it nat til tomorwe.'
 And therfore I conseille that ye sende youre messages, swiche as been discrete and wise,
 unto youre adversaries, tellynge hem on youre bihalve
 that if they wole trete of pees and of accord,
 that they shape hem withouten delay or tariyng to comen unto us."
1800 Which thyng parfourned was in dede.
 And whanne thise trespassours and repentynge folk of hire folies
 -- that is to seyn, the adversaries of Melibee --
 hadden herd what thise messagers seyden unto hem,
 they weren right glad and joyeful, and answereden ful mekely and benignely,
 yeldynge graces and thankynges to hir lord Melibee and to al his compaignye,
 and shopen hem withouten delay to go with the messagers and obeye to the comandement of hir lord Melibee.
 And right anon they tooken hire wey to the court of Melibee,
 and tooken with hem somme of hire trewe freendes
 to maken feith for hem and for to been hire borwes.
 And whan they were comen to the presence of Melibee, he seyde hem thise wordes:
 "It standeth thus," quod Melibee, "and sooth it is, that ye,
1810 causelees and withouten skile and resoun,
 han doon grete injuries and wronges to me and to my wyf Prudence and to my doghter also.
 For ye han entred into myn hous by violence,
 and have doon swich outrage that alle men knowen wel that ye have disserved the deeth.
 And therfore wol I knowe and wite of yow
 wheither ye wol putte the punyssement and the chastisynge and the vengeance of this outrage in the wyl
 of me and of my wyf Prudence, or ye wol nat?"
 Thanne the wiseste of hem thre answerde for hem alle and seyde,
 "Sire," quod he, "we knowen wel that we been unworthy to comen unto the court
 of so greet a lord and so worthy as ye been.
 For we han so greetly mystaken us, and han offended
 and agilt in swich a wise agayn youre heigh lordshipe
 that trewely we han disserved the deeth.
1820 But yet, for the grete goodnesse and debonairetee that al the world witnesseth of youre persone,
 we submytten us to the excellence and benignitee of youre gracious lordshipe,
 and been redy to obeie to alle youre comandementz,
 bisekynge yow that of youre merciable pitee ye wol considere oure grete repentaunce and lowe submyssioun
 and graunten us foryevenesse of oure outrageous trespas and offense.
 For wel we knowe that youre liberal grace and mercy
 strecchen hem ferther into goodnesse than doon oure outrageouse giltes and trespas into wikkednesse,
 al be it that cursedly and dampnablely we han agilt agayn youre heigh lordshipe."
 Thanne Melibee took hem up fro the ground ful benignely,
 and receyved hire obligaciouns and hir boondes by hire othes upon hire plegges and borwes,
 and assigned hem a certeyn day to retourne unto his court
1830 for to accepte and receyve the sentence and juggement that Melibee wolde comande
1830A to be doon on hem by the causes aforeseyd.
 Whiche thynges ordeyned, every man retourned to his hous.
 And whan that dame Prudence saugh hir tyme, she freyned and axed hir lord Melibee
 what vengeance he thoughte to taken of his adversaries.
 To which Melibee answerde and seyde, "Certes," quod he, "I thynke and purpose me fully
 to desherite hem of al that evere they han and for to putte hem in exil for evere."
 "Certes," quod dame Prudence, "this were a crueel sentence and muchel agayn resoun.
 For ye been riche ynough and han no nede of oother mennes good,
 and ye myghte lightly in this wise gete yow a coveitous name,
 which is a vicious thyng, and oghte been eschued of every good man.
1840 For after the sawe of the word of the Apostle, `Coveitise is roote of alle harmes.'
 And therfore it were bettre for yow to lese so muchel good of youre owene
 than for to taken of hir good in this manere,
 for bettre it is to lesen good with worshipe than it is to wynne good with vileynye and shame.
 And everi man oghte to doon his diligence and his bisynesse to geten hym a good name.
 And yet shal he nat oonly bisie hym in kepynge of his good name,
 but he shal also enforcen hym alwey to do somthyng by which he may renovelle his good name.
 For it is writen that `the olde good loos or good name of a man is soone goon
 and passed, whan it is nat newed ne renovelled.'
 And as touchynge that ye seyn ye wole exile youre adversaries,
 that thynketh me muchel agayn resoun and out of mesure,
 considered the power that they han yeve yow upon hemself.
1850 And it is writen that `he is worthy to lesen his privilege that mysuseth
1850A the myght and the power that is yeven hym.'
 And I sette cas ye myghte enjoyne hem that peyne by right and by lawe,
 which I trowe ye mowe nat do;
 I seye ye mighte nat putten it to execucioun peraventure,
 and thanne were it likly to retourne to the werre as it was biforn.
 And therfore, if ye wole that men do yow obeisance, ye moste deemen moore curteisly;
 this is to seyn, ye moste yeven moore esy sentences and juggementz.
 For it is writen that `he that moost curteisly comandeth, to hym men moost obeyen.'
 And therfore I prey yow that in this necessitee and in this nede
 ye caste yow to overcome youre herte.
 For Senec seith that `he that overcometh his herte overcometh twies.'
1860 And Tullius seith, `Ther is no thyng so comendable in a greet lord
 as whan he is debonaire and meeke, and appeseth him lightly.'
 And I prey yow that ye wole forbere now to do vengeance,
 in swich a manere that youre goode name may be kept and conserved,
 and that men mowe have cause and mateere to preyse yow of pitee and of mercy,
 and that ye have no cause to repente yow of thyng that ye doon.
 For Senec seith, `He overcometh in an yvel manere that repenteth hym of his victorie.'
 Wherfore I pray yow, lat mercy been in youre herte,
 to th' effect and entente that God Almighty have mercy on yow in his laste juggement.
 For Seint Jame seith in his Epistle: `Juggement withouten mercy shal be doon
 to hym that hath no mercy of another wight.'"
1870 Whanne Melibee hadde herd the grete skiles and resouns of dame Prudence, and hire wise informaciouns and techynges,
 his herte gan enclyne to the wil of his wif, considerynge hir trewe entente,
 and conformed hym anon and assented fully to werken after hir conseil,
 and thonked God, of whom procedeth al vertu and alle goodnesse,
 that hym sente a wyf of so greet discrecioun.
 And whan the day cam that his adversaries sholde appieren in his presence,
 he spak unto hem ful goodly, and seyde in this wyse:
 "Al be it so that of youre pride and heigh presumpcioun and folie, and of youre necligence and unkonnynge,
 ye have mysborn yow and trespassed unto me,
 yet for as muche as I see and biholde youre grete humylitee
 and that ye been sory and repentant of youre giltes,
1880 it constreyneth me to doon yow grace and mercy.
 Wherfore I receyve yow to my grace
 and foryeve yow outrely alle the offenses, injuries, and wronges that ye have doon agayn me and myne,
 to this effect and to this ende, that God of his endelees mercy
 wole at the tyme of oure diynge foryeven us oure giltes
 that we han trespassed to hym in this wrecched world.
 For doutelees, if we be sory and repentant of the synnes and giltes which we han trespassed
 in the sighte of oure Lord God,
 he is so free and so merciable
 that he wole foryeven us oure giltes
 and bryngen us to the blisse that nevere hath ende." Amen.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Monk's Prologue

 Whan ended was my tale of Melibee,
1890 And of Prudence and hire benignytee,
 Oure Hooste seyde, "As I am feithful man,
 And by that precious corpus Madrian,
 I hadde levere than a barel ale
 That Goodelief, my wyf, hadde herd this tale!
 For she nys no thyng of swich pacience
 As was this Melibeus wyf Prudence.
 By Goddes bones, whan I bete my knaves,
 She bryngeth me forth the grete clobbed staves,
 And crieth, `Slee the dogges everichoon,
1900 And brek hem, bothe bak and every boon!'
 "And if that any neighebor of myne
 Wol nat in chirche to my wyf enclyne,
 Or be so hardy to hire to trespace,
 Whan she comth hoom she rampeth in my face,
 And crieth, `False coward, wrek thy wyf!
 By corpus bones, I wol have thy knyf,
 And thou shalt have my distaf and go spynne!'
 Fro day to nyght right thus she wol bigynne.
 `Allas,' she seith, `that evere I was shape
1910 To wedden a milksop, or a coward ape,
 That wol been overlad with every wight!
 Thou darst nat stonden by thy wyves right!'
 "This is my lif, but if that I wol fighte;
 And out at dore anon I moot me dighte,
 Or elles I am but lost, but if that I
 Be lik a wilde leoun, fool-hardy.
 I woot wel she wol do me slee som day
 Som neighebor, and thanne go my way;
 For I am perilous with knyf in honde,
1920 Al be it that I dar nat hire withstonde,
 For she is byg in armes, by my feith:
 That shal he fynde that hire mysdooth or seith --
 But lat us passe awey fro this mateere.
 "My lord, the Monk," quod he, "be myrie of cheere,
 For ye shul telle a tale trewely.
 Loo, Rouchestre stant heer faste by!
 Ryde forth, myn owene lord, brek nat oure game.
 But, by my trouthe, I knowe nat youre name.
 Wher shal I calle yow my lord daun John,
1930 Or daun Thomas, or elles daun Albon?
 Of what hous be ye, by youre fader kyn?
 I vowe to God, thou hast a ful fair skyn;
 It is a gentil pasture ther thow goost.
 Thou art nat lyk a penant or a goost:
 Upon my feith, thou art som officer,
 Som worthy sexteyn, or som celerer,
 For by my fader soule, as to my doom,
 Thou art a maister whan thou art at hoom;
 No povre cloysterer, ne no novys,
1940 But a governour, wily and wys,
 And therwithal of brawnes and of bones
 A wel farynge persone for the nones.
 I pray to God, yeve hym confusioun
 That first thee broghte unto religioun!
 Thou woldest han been a tredefowel aright.
 Haddestow as greet a leeve as thou hast myght
 To parfourne al thy lust in engendrure,
 Thou haddest bigeten ful many a creature.
 Allas, why werestow so wyd a cope?
1950 God yeve me sorwe, but, and I were a pope,
 Nat oonly thou, but every myghty man,
 Though he were shorn ful hye upon his pan,
 Sholde have a wyf; for al the world is lorn!
 Religioun hath take up al the corn
 Of tredyng, and we borel men been shrympes.
 Of fieble trees ther comen wrecched ympes.
 This maketh that oure heires been so sklendre
 And feble that they may nat wel engendre.
 This maketh that oure wyves wole assaye
1960 Religious folk, for ye mowe bettre paye
 Of Venus paiementz than mowe we;
 God woot, no lussheburghes payen ye!
 But be nat wrooth, my lord, though that I pleye.
 Ful ofte in game a sooth I have herd seye!"
 This worthy Monk took al in pacience,
 And seyde, "I wol doon al my diligence,
 As fer as sowneth into honestee,
 To telle yow a tale, or two, or three.
 And if yow list to herkne hyderward,
1970 I wol yow seyn the lyf of Seint Edward;
 Or ellis, first, tragedies wol I telle,
 Of whiche I have an hundred in my celle.
 Tragedie is to seyn a certeyn storie,
 As olde bookes maken us memorie,
 Of hym that stood in greet prosperitee,
 And is yfallen out of heigh degree
 Into myserie, and endeth wrecchedly.
 And they ben versified communely
 Of six feet, which men clepen exametron.
1980 In prose eek been endited many oon,
 And eek in meetre in many a sondry wyse.
 Lo, this declaryng oghte ynogh suffise.
 "Now herkneth, if yow liketh for to heere.
 But first I yow biseeke in this mateere,
 Though I by ordre telle nat thise thynges,
 Be it of popes, emperours, or kynges,
 After hir ages, as men writen fynde,
 But tellen hem som bifore and som bihynde,
 As it now comth unto my remembraunce,
1990 Have me excused of myn ignoraunce."

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Monk's Tale

 I wol biwaille in manere of tragedie
 The harm of hem that stoode in heigh degree,
 And fillen so that ther nas no remedie
 To brynge hem out of hir adversitee.
 For certein, whan that Fortune list to flee,
 Ther may no man the cours of hire withholde.
 Lat no man truste on blynd prosperitee;
 Be war by thise ensamples trewe and olde.
 At Lucifer, though he an angel were
2000 And nat a man, at hym wol I bigynne.
 For though Fortune may noon angel dere,
 From heigh degree yet fel he for his synne
 Doun into helle, where he yet is inne.
 O Lucifer, brightest of angels alle,
 Now artow Sathanas, that mayst nat twynne
 Out of miserie, in which that thou art falle.
 Loo Adam, in the feeld of Damyssene
 With Goddes owene fynger wroght was he,
 And nat bigeten of mannes sperme unclene,
2010 And welte al paradys savynge o tree.
 Hadde nevere worldly man so heigh degree
 As Adam, til he for mysgovernaunce
 Was dryven out of hys hye prosperitee
 To labour, and to helle, and to meschaunce.
 Loo Sampsoun, which that was annunciat
 By th' angel longe er his nativitee,
 And was to God Almyghty consecrat,
 And stood in noblesse whil he myghte see.
 Was nevere swich another as was hee,
2020 To speke of strengthe, and therwith hardynesse;
 But to his wyves toolde he his secree,
 Thurgh which he slow hymself for wrecchednesse.
 Sampsoun, this noble almyghty champioun,
 Withouten wepen save his handes tweye,
 He slow and al torente the leoun,
 Toward his weddyng walkynge by the weye.
 His false wyf koude hym so plese and preye
 Til she his conseil knew; and she, untrewe,
 Unto his foos his conseil gan biwreye,
2030 And hym forsook, and took another newe.
 Thre hundred foxes took Sampson for ire,
 And alle hir tayles he togydre bond,
 And sette the foxes tayles alle on fire,
 For he on every tayl had knyt a brond;
 And they brende alle the cornes in that lond,
 And alle hire olyveres, and vynes eke.
 A thousand men he slow eek with his hond,
 And hadde no wepen but an asses cheke.
 Whan they were slayn, so thursted hym that he
2040 Was wel ny lorn, for which he gan to preye
 That God wolde on his peyne han some pitee
 And sende hym drynke, or elles moste he deye;
 And of this asses cheke, that was dreye,
 Out of a wang-tooth sprang anon a welle,
 Of which he drank ynogh, shortly to seye;
 Thus heelp hym God, as Judicum can telle.
 By verray force at Gazan on a nyght,
 Maugree Philistiens of that citee,
 The gates of the toun he hath up plyght,
2050 And on his bak ycaryed hem hath hee
 Hye on an hill whereas men myghte hem see.
 O noble, almyghty Sampsoun, lief and deere,
 Had thou nat toold to wommen thy secree,
 In al this world ne hadde been thy peere!
 This Sampson nevere ciser drank ne wyn,
 Ne on his heed cam rasour noon ne sheere,
 By precept of the messager divyn,
 For alle his strengthes in his heeres weere.
 And fully twenty wynter, yeer by yeere,
2060 He hadde of Israel the governaunce.
 But soone shal he wepe many a teere,
 For wommen shal hym bryngen to meschaunce!
 Unto his lemman Dalida he tolde
 That in his heeris al his strengthe lay,
 And falsly to his foomen she hym solde.
 And slepynge in hir barm upon a day,
 She made to clippe or shere his heres away,
 And made his foomen al his craft espyen;
 And whan that they hym foond in this array,
2070 They bounde hym faste and putten out his yen.
 But er his heer were clipped or yshave,
 Ther was no boond with which men myghte him bynde;
 But now is he in prison in a cave,
 Where-as they made hym at the queerne grynde.
 O noble Sampsoun, strongest of mankynde,
 O whilom juge, in glorie and in richesse!
 Now maystow wepen with thyne eyen blynde,
 Sith thou fro wele art falle in wrecchednesse.
 The ende of this caytyf was as I shal seye.
2080 His foomen made a feeste upon a day,
 And made hym as hire fool biforn hem pleye;
 And this was in a temple of greet array.
 But atte laste he made a foul affray,
 For he two pilers shook and made hem falle,
 And doun fil temple and al, and ther it lay --
 And slow hymself, and eek his foomen alle.
 This is to seyn, the prynces everichoon,
 And eek thre thousand bodyes, were ther slayn
 With fallynge of the grete temple of stoon.
2090 Of Sampson now wol I namoore sayn.
 Beth war by this ensample oold and playn
 That no men telle hir conseil til hir wyves
 Of swich thyng as they wolde han secree fayn,
 If that it touche hir lymes or hir lyves.
 Of Hercules, the sovereyn conquerour,
 Syngen his werkes laude and heigh renoun;
 For in his tyme of strengthe he was the flour.
 He slow and rafte the skyn of the leoun;
 He of Centauros leyde the boost adoun;
2100 He Arpies slow, the crueel bryddes felle;
 He golden apples rafte of the dragoun;
 He drow out Cerberus, the hound of helle;
 He slow the crueel tyrant Busirus
 And made his hors to frete hym, flessh and boon;
 He slow the firy serpent venymus;
 Of Acheloys two hornes he brak oon;
 And he slow Cacus in a cave of stoon;
 He slow the geant Antheus the stronge;
 He slow the grisly boor, and that anon;
2110 And bar the hevene on his nekke longe.
 Was nevere wight, sith that this world bigan,
 That slow so manye monstres as dide he.
 Thurghout this wyde world his name ran,
 What for his strengthe and for his heigh bountee,
 And every reawme wente he for to see.
 He was so stroong that no man myghte hym lette.
 At bothe the worldes endes, seith Trophee,
 In stide of boundes he a pileer sette.
 A lemman hadde this noble champioun,
2120 That highte Dianira, fressh as May;
 And as thise clerkes maken mencioun,
 She hath hym sent a sherte, fressh and gay.
 Allas, this sherte -- allas and weylaway! --
 Envenymed was so subtilly withalle
 That er that he had wered it half a day
 It made his flessh al from his bones falle.
 But nathelees somme clerkes hire excusen
 By oon that highte Nessus, that it maked.
 Be as be may, I wol hire noght accusen;
2130 But on his bak this sherte he wered al naked
 Til that his flessh was for the venym blaked.
 And whan he saugh noon oother remedye,
 In hoote coles he hath hymselven raked,
 For with no venym deigned hym to dye.
 Thus starf this worthy, myghty Hercules.
 Lo, who may truste on Fortune any throwe?
 For hym that folweth al this world of prees
 Er he be war is ofte yleyd ful lowe.
 Ful wys is he that kan hymselven knowe!
2140 Beth war, for whan that Fortune list to glose,
 Thanne wayteth she her man to overthrowe
 By swich a wey as he wolde leest suppose.
 The myghty trone, the precious tresor,
 The glorious ceptre, and roial magestee
 That hadde the kyng Nabugodonosor
 With tonge unnethe may discryved bee.
 He twyes wan Jerusalem the citee;
 The vessel of the temple he with hym ladde.
 At Babiloigne was his sovereyn see,
2150 In which his glorie and his delit he hadde.
 The faireste children of the blood roial
 Of Israel he leet do gelde anoon,
 And maked ech of hem to been his thral.
 Amonges othere Daniel was oon,
 That was the wiseste child of everychon,
 For he the dremes of the kyng expowned,
 Whereas in Chaldeye clerk ne was ther noon
 That wiste to what fyn his dremes sowned.
 This proude kyng leet maken a statue of gold,
2160 Sixty cubites long and sevene in brede,
 To which ymage bothe yong and oold
 Comanded he to loute, and have in drede,
 Or in a fourneys, ful of flambes rede,
 He shal be brent that wolde noght obeye.
 But nevere wolde assente to that dede
 Daniel ne his yonge felawes tweye.
 This kyng of kynges proud was and elaat;
 He wende that God, that sit in magestee,
 Ne myghte hym nat bireve of his estaat.
2170 But sodeynly he loste his dignytee,
 And lyk a beest hym semed for to bee,
 And eet hey as an oxe, and lay theroute
 In reyn; with wilde beestes walked hee
 Til certein tyme was ycome aboute.
 And lik an egles fetheres wax his heres;
 His nayles lyk a briddes clawes weere;
 Til God relessed hym a certeyn yeres,
 And yaf hym wit, and thanne with many a teere
 He thanked God, and evere his lyf in feere
2180 Was he to doon amys or moore trespace;
 And til that tyme he leyd was on his beere
 He knew that God was ful of myght and grace.
 His sone, which that highte Balthasar,
 That heeld the regne after his fader day,
 He by his fader koude noght be war,
 For proud he was of herte and of array,
 And eek an ydolastre was he ay.
 His hye estaat assured hym in pryde;
 But Fortune caste hym doun, and ther he lay,
2190 And sodeynly his regne gan divide.
 A feeste he made unto his lordes alle
 Upon a tyme and bad hem blithe bee;
 And thanne his officeres gan he calle:
 "Gooth, bryngeth forth the vesseles," quod he,
 "Whiche that my fader in his prosperitee
 Out of the temple of Jerusalem birafte;
 And to oure hye goddes thanke we
 Of honour that oure eldres with us lafte."
 Hys wyf, his lordes, and his concubynes
2200 Ay dronken, whil hire appetites laste,
 Out of thise noble vessels sondry wynes.
 And on a wal this kyng his eyen caste
 And saugh an hand, armlees, that wroot ful faste,
 For feere of which he quook and siked soore.
 This hand that Balthasar so soore agaste
 Wroot Mane, techel, phares, and namoore.
 In all that land magicien was noon
 That koude expoune what this lettre mente;
 But Daniel expowned it anoon,
2210 And seyde, "Kyng, God to thy fader lente
 Glorie and honour, regne, tresour, rente;
 And he was proud and nothyng God ne dradde,
 And therfore God greet wreche upon hym sente,
 And hym birafte the regne that he hadde.
 "He was out cast of mannes compaignye;
 With asses was his habitacioun,
 And eet hey as a beest in weet and drye
 Til that he knew, by grace and by resoun,
 That God of hevene hath domynacioun
2220 Over every regne and every creature;
 And thanne hadde God of hym compassioun,
 And hym restored his regne and his figure.
 "Eek thou, that art his sone, art proud also,
 And knowest alle thise thynges verraily,
 And art rebel to God, and art his foo.
 Thou drank eek of his vessels boldely;
 Thy wyf eek, and thy wenches, synfully
 Dronke of the same vessels sondry wynys;
 And heryest false goddes cursedly;
2230 Therefore to thee yshapen ful greet pyne ys.
 "This hand was sent from God that on the wal
 Wroot Mane, techel, phares, truste me;
 Thy regne is doon; thou weyest noght at al.
 Dyvyded is thy regne, and it shal be
 To Medes and to Perses yeven," quod he.
 And thilke same nyght this kyng was slawe,
 And Darius occupieth his degree,
 Thogh he therto hadde neither right ne lawe.
 Lordynges, ensample heerby may ye take
2240 How that in lordshipe is no sikernesse,
 For whan Fortune wole a man forsake,
 She bereth awey his regne and his richesse,
 And eek his freendes, bothe moore and lesse.
 For what man that hath freendes thurgh Fortune,
 Mishap wol maken hem enemys, I gesse;
 This proverbe is ful sooth and ful commune.
 Cenobia, of Palymerie queene,
 As writen Persiens of hir noblesse,
 So worthy was in armes and so keene
2250 That no wight passed hire in hardynesse,
 Ne in lynage, ne in oother gentillesse.
 Of kynges blood of Perce is she descended.
 I seye nat that she hadde moost fairnesse,
 But of hir shap she myghte nat been amended.
 From hire childhede I fynde that she fledde
 Office of wommen, and to wode she wente,
 And many a wilde hertes blood she shedde
 With arwes brode that she to hem sente.
 She was so swift that she anon hem hente;
2260 And whan that she was elder, she wolde kille
 Leouns, leopardes, and beres al torente,
 And in hir armes weelde hem at hir wille.
 She dorste wilde beestes dennes seke,
 And rennen in the montaignes al the nyght,
 And slepen under a bussh, and she koude eke
 Wrastlen, by verray force and verray myght,
 With any yong man, were he never so wight.
 Ther myghte no thyng in hir armes stonde.
 She kepte hir maydenhod from every wight;
2270 To no man deigned hire for to be bonde.
 But atte laste hir freendes han hire maried
 To Odenake, a prynce of that contree,
 Al were it so that she hem longe taried.
 And ye shul understonde how that he
 Hadde swiche fantasies as hadde she.
 But natheless, whan they were knyt in-feere,
 They lyved in joye and in felicitee,
 For ech of hem hadde oother lief and deere,
 Save o thyng: that she wolde nevere assente,
2280 By no wey, that he sholde by hire lye
 But ones, for it was hir pleyn entente
 To have a child, the world to multiplye;
 And also soone as that she myghte espye
 That she was nat with childe with that dede,
 Thanne wolde she suffre hym doon his fantasye
 Eft-soone, and nat but oones, out of drede.
 And if she were with childe at thilke cast,
 Namoore sholde he pleyen thilke game
 Til fully fourty [wikes] weren past;
2290 Thanne wolde she ones suffre hym do the same.
 Al were this Odenake wilde or tame,
 He gat namoore of hire, for thus she seyde:
 It was to wyves lecherie and shame,
 In oother caas, if that men with hem pleyde.
 Two sones by this Odenake hadde she,
 The whiche she kepte in vertu and lettrure.
 But now unto oure tale turne we.
 I seye, so worshipful a creature,
 And wys therwith, and large with mesure,
2300 So penyble in the werre, and curteis eke,
 Ne moore labour myghte in werre endure,
 Was noon, though al this world men sholde seke.
 Hir riche array ne myghte nat be told,
 As wel in vessel as in hire clothyng.
 She was al clad in perree and in gold,
 And eek she lafte noght, for noon huntyng,
 To have of sondry tonges ful knowyng,
 Whan that she leyser hadde; and for to entende
 To lerne bookes was al hire likyng,
2310 How she in vertu myghte hir lyf dispende.
 And shortly of this storie for to trete,
 So doghty was hir housbonde and eek she,
 That they conquered manye regnes grete
 In the orient, with many a fair citee
 Apertenaunt unto the magestee
 Of Rome, and with strong hond held hem ful faste,
 Ne nevere myghte hir foomen doon hem flee,
 Ay whil that Odenakes dayes laste.
 Hir batailles, whoso list hem for to rede,
2320 Agayn Sapor the kyng and othere mo,
 And how that al this proces fil in dede,
 Why she conquered and what title had therto,
 And after, of hir meschief and hire wo,
 How that she was biseged and ytake --
 Lat hym unto my maister Petrak go,
 That writ ynough of this, I undertake.
 Whan Odenake was deed, she myghtily
 The regnes heeld, and with hire propre hond
 Agayn hir foos she faught so cruelly
2330 That ther nas kyng ne prynce in al that lond
 That he nas glad, if he that grace fond,
 That she ne wolde upon his lond werreye.
 With hire they maden alliance by bond
 To been in pees, and lete hire ride and pleye.
 The Emperour of Rome, Claudius
 Ne hym bifore, the Romayn Galien,
 Ne dorste nevere been so corageus,
 Ne noon Ermyn, ne noon Egipcien,
 Ne Surrien, ne noon Arabyen,
2340 Withinne the feeld that dorste with hire fighte,
 Lest that she wolde hem with hir handes slen,
 Or with hir meignee putten hem to flighte.
 In kynges habit wente hir sones two,
 As heires of hir fadres regnes alle,
 And Hermanno and Thymalao
 Hir names were, as Persiens hem calle.
 But ay Fortune hath in hire hony galle;
 This myghty queene may no while endure.
 Fortune out of hir regne made hire falle
2350 To wrecchednesse and to mysaventure.
 Aurelian, whan that the governaunce
 Of Rome cam into his handes tweye,
 He shoop upon this queene to doon vengeaunce.
 And with his legions he took his weye
 Toward Cenobie, and shortly for to seye,
 He made hire flee, and atte laste hire hente,
 And fettred hire, and eek hire children tweye,
 And wan the land, and hoom to Rome he wente.
 Amonges othere thynges that he wan,
2360 Hir chaar, that was with gold wroght and perree,
 This grete Romayn, this Aurelian,
 Hath with hym lad, for that men sholde it see.
 Biforen his triumphe walketh shee,
 With gilte cheynes on hire nekke hangynge.
 Coroned was she, as after hir degree,
 And ful of perree charged hire clothynge.
 Allas, Fortune! She that whilom was
 Dredeful to kynges and to emperoures,
 Now gaureth al the peple on hire, allas!
2370 And she that helmed was in starke stoures
 And wan by force townes stronge and toures,
 Shal on hir heed now were a vitremyte;
 And she that bar the ceptre ful of floures
 Shal bere a distaf, hire cost for to quyte.
 O noble, O worthy Petro, glorie of Spayne,
 Whom Fortune heeld so hye in magestee,
 Wel oghten men thy pitous deeth complayne!
 Out of thy land thy brother made thee flee,
 And after, at a seege, by subtiltee,
2380 Thou were bitraysed and lad unto his tente,
 Where as he with his owene hand slow thee,
 Succedynge in thy regne and in thy rente.
 The feeld of snow, with th' egle of blak therinne,
 Caught with the lymrod coloured as the gleede,
 He brew this cursednesse and al this synne.
 The wikked nest was werker of this nede.
 Noght Charles Olyver, that took ay heede
 Of trouthe and honour, but of Armorike
 Genylon-Olyver, corrupt for meede,
2390 Broghte this worthy kyng in swich a brike.
 O worthy Petro, kyng of Cipre, also,
 That Alisandre wan by heigh maistrie,
 Ful many an hethen wroghtestow ful wo,
 Of which thyne owene liges hadde envie,
 And for no thyng but for thy chivalrie
 They in thy bed han slayn thee by the morwe.
 Thus kan Fortune hir wheel governe and gye,
 And out of joye brynge men to sorwe.
 Off Melan grete Barnabo Viscounte,
2400 God of delit and scourge of Lumbardye,
 Why sholde I nat thyn infortune acounte,
 Sith in estaat thow cloumbe were so hye?
 Thy brother sone, that was thy double allye,
 For he thy nevew was and sone-in-lawe,
 Withinne his prisoun made thee to dye --
 But why ne how noot I that thou were slawe.
 Off the Erl Hugelyn of Pyze the langour
 Ther may no tonge telle for pitee.
 But litel out of Pize stant a tour,
2410 In which tour in prisoun put was he,
 And with hym been his litel children thre;
 The eldest scarsly fyf yeer was of age.
 Allas, Fortune, it was greet crueltee
 Swiche briddes for to putte in swich a cage!
 Dampned was he to dyen in that prisoun,
 For Roger, which that bisshop was of Pize,
 Hadde on hym maad a fals suggestioun,
 Thurgh which the peple gan upon hym rise
 And putten hym to prisoun in swich wise
2420 As ye han herd, and mete and drynke he hadde
 So smal that wel unnethe it may suffise,
 And therwithal it was ful povre and badde.
 And on a day bifil that in that hour
 Whan that his mete wont was to be broght,
 The gayler shette the dores of the tour.
 He herde it wel, but he spak right noght,
 And in his herte anon ther fil a thoght
 That they for hunger wolde doon hym dyen.
 "Allas!" quod he, "Allas, that I was wroght!"
2430 Therwith the teeris fillen from his yen.
 His yonge sone, that thre yeer was of age,
 Unto hym seyde, "Fader, why do ye wepe?
 Whanne wol the gayler bryngen oure potage?
 Is ther no morsel breed that ye do kepe?
 I am so hungry that I may nat slepe.
 Now wolde God that I myghte slepen evere!
 Thanne sholde nat hunger in my wombe crepe;
 Ther is no thyng, but breed, that me were levere."
 Thus day by day this child bigan to crye,
2440 Til in his fadres barm adoun it lay,
 And seyde, "Farewel, fader, I moot dye!"
 And kiste his fader, and dyde the same day.
 And whan the woful fader deed it say,
 For wo his armes two he gan to byte,
 And seyde, "Allas, Fortune, and weylaway!
 Thy false wheel my wo al may I wyte."
 His children wende that it for hunger was
 That he his armes gnow, and nat for wo,
 And seyde, "Fader, do nat so, allas!
2450 But rather ete the flessh upon us two.
 Oure flessh thou yaf us, take oure flessh us fro,
 And ete ynogh" -- right thus they to hym seyde,
 And after that, withinne a day or two,
 They leyde hem in his lappe adoun and deyde.
 Hymself, despeired, eek for hunger starf;
 Thus ended is this myghty Erl of Pize.
 From heigh estaat Fortune awey hym carf.
 Of this tragedie it oghte ynough suffise;
 Whoso wol here it in a lenger wise,
2460 Redeth the grete poete of Ytaille
 That highte Dant, for he kan al devyse
 Fro point to point; nat o word wol he faille.
 Although that Nero were as vicius
 As any feend that lith ful lowe adoun,
 Yet he, as telleth us Swetonius,
 This wyde world hadde in subjeccioun,
 Bothe est and west, [south], and septemtrioun.
 Of rubies, saphires, and of peerles white
 Were alle his clothes brouded up and doun,
2470 For he in gemmes greetly gan delite.
 Moore delicaat, moore pompous of array,
 Moore proud was nevere emperour than he;
 That ilke clooth that he hadde wered o day,
 After that tyme he nolde it nevere see.
 Nettes of gold threed hadde he greet plentee
 To fisshe in Tybre, whan hym liste pleye.
 His lustes were al lawe in his decree,
 For Fortune as his freend hym wolde obeye.
 He Rome brende for his delicasie;
2480 The senatours he slow upon a day
 To heere how that men wolde wepe and crie;
 And slow his brother, and by his suster lay.
 His mooder made he in pitous array,
 For he hire wombe slitte to biholde
 Where he conceyved was -- so weilaway
 That he so litel of his mooder tolde!
 No teere out of his eyen for that sighte
 Ne cam, but seyde, "A fair womman was she!"
 Greet wonder is how that he koude or myghte
2490 Be domesman of hire dede beautee.
 The wyn to bryngen hym comanded he,
 And drank anon -- noon oother wo he made.
 Whan myght is joyned unto crueltee,
 Allas, to depe wol the venym wade!
 In yowthe a maister hadde this emperour
 To teche hym letterure and curteisye,
 For of moralitee he was the flour,
 As in his tyme, but if bookes lye;
 And whil this maister hadde of hym maistrye,
2500 He maked hym so konnyng and so sowple
 That longe tyme it was er tirannye
 Or any vice dorste on hym uncowple.
 This Seneca, of which that I devyse,
 By cause Nero hadde of hym swich drede,
 For he fro vices wolde hym ay chastise
 Discreetly, as by word and nat by dede --
 "Sire," wolde he seyn, "an emperour moot nede
 Be vertuous and hate tirannye --"
 For which he in a bath made hym to blede
2510 On bothe his armes, til he moste dye.
 This Nero hadde eek of acustumaunce
 In youthe agayns his maister for to ryse,
 Which afterward hym thoughte a greet grevaunce;
 Therefore he made hym dyen in this wise.
 But natheless this Seneca the wise
 Chees in a bath to dye in this manere
 Rather than han another tormentise;
 And thus hath Nero slayn his maister deere.
 Now fil it so that Fortune liste no lenger
2520 The hye pryde of Nero to cherice,
 For though that he were strong, yet was she strenger.
 She thoughte thus: "By God! I am to nyce
 To sette a man that is fulfild of vice
 In heigh degree, and emperour hym calle.
 By God, out of his sete I wol hym trice;
 Whan he leest weneth, sonnest shal he falle."
 The peple roos upon hym on a nyght
 For his defaute, and whan he it espied,
 Out of his dores anon he hath hym dight
2530 Allone, and ther he wende han been allied
 He knokked faste, and ay the moore he cried
 The fastere shette they the dores alle.
 Tho wiste he wel, he hadde himself mysgyed,
 And wente his wey; no lenger dorste he calle.
 The peple cried and rombled up and doun,
 That with his erys herde he how they seyde,
 "Where is this false tiraunt, this Neroun?"
 For fere almoost out of his wit he breyde,
 And to his goddes pitously he preyde
2540 For socour, but it myghte nat bityde.
 For drede of this hym thoughte that he deyde,
 And ran into a gardyn hym to hyde.
 And in this gardyn foond he cherles tweye
 That seten by a fyr, greet and reed.
 And to thise cherles two he gan to preye
 To sleen hym and to girden of his heed,
 That to his body, whan that he were deed,
 Were no despit ydoon for his defame.
 Hymself he slow, he koude no bettre reed,
2550 Of which Fortune lough, and hadde a game.
 Was nevere capitayn under a kyng
 That regnes mo putte in subjeccioun,
 Ne strenger was in feeld of alle thyng,
 As in his tyme, ne gretter of renoun,
 Ne moore pompous in heigh presumpcioun
 Than Oloferne, which Fortune ay kiste
 So likerously, and ladde hym up and doun
 Til that his heed was of, er that he wiste.
 Nat oonly that this world hadde hym in awe
2560 For lesynge of richesse or libertee,
 But he made every man reneyen his lawe.
 "Nabugodonosor was god," seyde hee;
 "Noon oother god sholde adoured bee."
 Agayns his heeste no wight dorst trespace,
 Save in Bethulia, a strong citee,
 Where Eliachim a preest was of that place.
 But taak kep of the deth of Oloferne:
 Amydde his hoost he dronke lay a-nyght,
 Withinne his tente, large as is a berne,
2570 And yet, for al his pompe and al his myght,
 Judith, a womman, as he lay upright
 Slepynge, his heed of smoot, and from his tente
 Ful pryvely she stal from every wight,
 And with his heed unto hir toun she wente.
 What nedeth it of kyng Anthiochus
 To telle his hye roial magestee,
 His hye pride, his werkes venymus?
 For swich another was ther noon as he.
 Rede which that he was in Machabee,
2580 And rede the proude wordes that he seyde,
 And why he fil fro heigh prosperitee,
 And in an hill how wrecchedly he deyde.
 Fortune hym hadde enhaunced so in pride
 That verraily he wende he myghte attayne
 Unto the sterres upon every syde,
 And in balance weyen ech montayne,
 And alle the floodes of the see restrayne.
 And Goddes peple hadde he moost in hate;
 Hem wolde he sleen in torment and in payne,
2590 Wenynge that God ne myghte his pride abate.
 And for that Nichanore and Thymothee
 Of Jewes weren venquysshed myghtily,
 Unto the Jewes swich an hate hadde he
 That he bad greithen his chaar ful hastily,
 And swoor, and seyde ful despitously
 Unto Jerusalem he wolde eftsoone
 To wreken his ire on it ful cruelly;
 But of his purpos he was let ful soone.
 God for his manace hym so soore smoot
2600 With invisible wounde, ay incurable,
 That in his guttes carf it so and boot
 That his peynes weren importable.
 And certeinly the wreche was resonable,
 For many a mannes guttes dide he peyne.
 But from his purpos cursed and dampnable,
 For al his smert, he wolde hym nat restreyne,
 But bad anon apparaillen his hoost;
 And sodeynly, er he was of it war,
 God daunted al his pride and al his boost.
2610 For he so soore fil out of his char
 That it his limes and his skyn totar,
 So that he neyther myghte go ne ryde,
 But in a chayer men aboute hym bar,
 Al forbrused, bothe bak and syde.
 The wreche of God hym smoot so cruelly
 That thurgh his body wikked wormes crepte,
 And therwithal he stank so horribly
 That noon of al his meynee that hym kepte,
 Wheither so he wook or ellis slepte,
2620 Ne myghte noght the stynk of hym endure.
 In this meschief he wayled and eek wepte,
 And knew God lord of every creature.
 To al his hoost and to hymself also
 Ful wlatsom was the stynk of his careyne;
 No man ne myghte hym bere to ne fro.
 And in this stynk and this horrible peyne,
 He starf ful wrecchedly in a monteyne.
 Thus hath this robbour and this homycide,
 That many a man made to wepe and pleyne,
2630 Swich gerdoun as bilongeth unto pryde.
 The storie of Alisaundre is so commune
 That every wight that hath discrecioun
 Hath herd somwhat or al of his fortune.
 This wyde world, as in conclusioun,
 He wan by strengthe, or for his hye renoun
 They weren glad for pees unto hym sende.
 The pride of man and beest he leyde adoun,
 Wherso he cam, unto the worldes ende.
 Comparisoun myghte nevere yet been maked
2640 Bitwixe hym and another conquerour;
 For al this world for drede of hym hath quaked.
 He was of knyghthod and of fredom flour;
 Fortune hym made the heir of hire honour.
 Save wyn and wommen, no thing myghte aswage
 His hye entente in armes and labour,
 So was he ful of leonyn corage.
 What pris were it to hym, though I yow tolde
 Of Darius, and an hundred thousand mo
 Of kynges, princes, dukes, erles bolde
2650 Whiche he conquered, and broghte hem into wo?
 I seye, as fer as man may ryde or go,
 The world was his -- what sholde I moore devyse?
 For though I write or tolde yow everemo
 Of his knyghthod, it myghte nat suffise.
 Twelf yeer he regned, as seith Machabee.
 Philippes sone of Macidoyne he was,
 That first was kyng in Grece the contree.
 O worthy, gentil Alisandre, allas,
 That evere sholde fallen swich a cas!
2660 Empoysoned of thyn owene folk thou weere;
 Thy sys Fortune hath turned into aas,
 And for thee ne weep she never a teere.
 Who shal me yeven teeris to compleyne
 The deeth of gentillesse and of franchise,
 That al the world weelded in his demeyne,
 And yet hym thoughte it myghte nat suffise?
 So ful was his corage of heigh emprise.
 Allas, who shal me helpe to endite
 False Fortune, and poyson to despise,
2670 The whiche two of al this wo I wyte?
 By wisedom, manhede, and by greet labour,
 From humble bed to roial magestee
 Up roos he Julius, the conquerour,
 That wan al th' occident by land and see,
 By strengthe of hand, or elles by tretee,
 And unto Rome made hem tributarie;
 And sitthe of Rome the emperour was he
 Til that Fortune weex his adversarie.
 O myghty Cesar, that in Thessalie
2680 Agayn Pompeus, fader thyn in lawe,
 That of the orient hadde al the chivalrie
 As fer as that the day bigynneth dawe,
 Thou thurgh thy knyghthod hast hem take and slawe,
 Save fewe folk that with Pompeus fledde,
 Thurgh which thou puttest al th' orient in awe.
 Thanke Fortune, that so wel thee spedde!
 But now a litel while I wol biwaille
 This Pompeus, this noble governour
 Of Rome, which that fleigh at this bataille.
2690 I seye, oon of his men, a fals traitour,
 His heed of smoot, to wynnen hym favour
 Of Julius, and hym the heed he broghte.
 Allas, Pompeye, of th' orient conquerour,
 That Fortune unto swich a fyn thee broghte!
 To Rome agayn repaireth Julius
 With his triumphe, lauriat ful hye;
 But on a tyme Brutus Cassius,
 That evere hadde of his hye estaat envye,
 Ful prively hath maad conspiracye
2700 Agayns this Julius in subtil wise,
 And caste the place in which he sholde dye
 With boydekyns, as I shal yow devyse.
 This Julius to the Capitolie wente
 Upon a day, as he was wont to goon,
 And in the Capitolie anon hym hente
 This false Brutus and his othere foon,
 And stiked hym with boydekyns anoon
 With many a wounde, and thus they lete hym lye;
 But nevere gronte he at no strook but oon,
2710 Or elles at two, but if his storie lye.
 So manly was this Julius of herte,
 And so wel lovede estaatly honestee,
 That though his deedly woundes soore smerte,
 His mantel over his hypes caste he,
 For no man sholde seen his privetee;
 And as he lay of diyng in a traunce,
 And wiste verraily that deed was hee,
 Of honestee yet hadde he remembraunce.
 Lucan, to thee this storie I recomende,
2720 And to Swetoun, and to Valerius also,
 That of this storie writen word and ende,
 How that to thise grete conqueroures two
 Fortune was first freend, and sitthe foo.
 No man ne truste upon hire favour longe,
 But have hire in awayt for everemoo;
 Witnesse on alle thise conqueroures stronge.
 This riche Cresus, whilom kyng of Lyde,
 Of which Cresus Cirus soore hym dradde,
 Yet was he caught amyddes al his pryde,
2730 And to be brent men to the fyr hym ladde.
 But swich a reyn doun fro the welkne shadde
 That slow the fyr, and made hym to escape;
 But to be war no grace yet he hadde,
 Til Fortune on the galwes made hym gape.
 Whanne he escaped was, he kan nat stente
 For to bigynne a newe werre agayn.
 He wende wel, for that Fortune hym sente
 Swich hap that he escaped thurgh the rayn,
 That of his foos he myghte nat be slayn;
2740 And eek a sweven upon a nyght he mette,
 Of which he was so proud and eek so fayn
 That in vengeance he al his herte sette.
 Upon a tree he was, as that hym thoughte,
 Ther Juppiter hym wessh, bothe bak and syde,
 And Phebus eek a fair towaille hym broughte
 To dryen hym with; and therfore wax his pryde,
 And to his doghter, that stood hym bisyde,
 Which that he knew in heigh sentence habounde,
 He bad hire telle hym what it signyfyde,
2750 And she his dreem bigan right thus expounde:
 "The tree," quod she, "the galwes is to meene,
 And Juppiter bitokneth snow and reyn,
 And Phebus, with his towaille so clene,
 Tho been the sonne stremes for to seyn.
 Thou shalt anhanged be, fader, certeyn;
 Reyn shal thee wasshe, and sonne shal thee drye."
 Thus warned hym ful plat and ek ful pleyn
 His doghter, which that called was Phanye.
 Anhanged was Cresus, the proude kyng;
2760 His roial trone myghte hym nat availle.
 Tragedies noon oother maner thyng
 Ne kan in syngyng crie ne biwaille
 But that Fortune alwey wole assaille
 With unwar strook the regnes that been proude;
 For whan men trusteth hire, thanne wol she faille,
 And covere hire brighte face with a clowde.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Nun's Priest's Prologue

 "Hoo!" quod the Knyght, "good sire, namoore of this!
 That ye han seyd is right ynough, ywis,
 And muchel moore; for litel hevynesse
2770 Is right ynough to muche folk, I gesse.
 I seye for me, it is a greet disese,
 Whereas men han been in greet welthe and ese,
 To heeren of hire sodeyn fal, allas!
 And the contrarie is joye and greet solas,
 As whan a man hath been in povre estaat,
 And clymbeth up and wexeth fortunat,
 And there abideth in prosperitee.
 Swich thyng is gladsom, as it thynketh me,
 And of swich thyng were goodly for to telle."
2780 "Ye," quod oure Hooste, "by Seint Poules belle!
 Ye seye right sooth; this Monk he clappeth lowde.
 He spak how Fortune covered with a clowde
 I noot nevere what; and als of a tragedie
 Right now ye herde, and pardee, no remedie
 It is for to biwaille ne compleyne
 That that is doon, and als it is a peyne,
 As ye han seyd, to heere of hevynesse.
 "Sire Monk, namoore of this, so God yow blesse!
 Youre tale anoyeth al this compaignye.
2790 Swich talkyng is nat worth a boterflye,
 For therinne is ther no desport ne game.
 Wherfore, sire Monk, daun Piers by youre name,
 I pray yow hertely telle us somwhat elles;
 For sikerly, nere clynkyng of youre belles
 That on youre bridel hange on every syde,
 By hevene kyng that for us alle dyde,
 I sholde er this han fallen doun for sleep,
 Althogh the slough had never been so deep;
 Thanne hadde your tale al be toold in veyn.
2800 For certeinly, as that thise clerkes seyn,
 Whereas a man may have noon audience,
 Noght helpeth it to tellen his sentence.
 "And wel I woot the substance is in me,
 If any thyng shal wel reported be.
 Sir, sey somwhat of huntyng, I yow preye."
 "Nay," quod this Monk, "I have no lust to pleye.
 Now lat another telle, as I have toold."
 Thanne spak oure Hoost with rude speche and boold,
 And seyde unto the Nonnes Preest anon,
2810 "Com neer, thou preest, com hyder, thou sir John!
 Telle us swich thyng as may oure hertes glade.
 Be blithe, though thou ryde upon a jade.
 What thogh thyn hors be bothe foul and lene?
 If he wol serve thee, rekke nat a bene.
 Looke that thyn herte be murie everemo."
 "Yis, sir," quod he, "yis, Hoost, so moot I go,
 But I be myrie, ywis I wol be blamed."
 And right anon his tale he hath attamed,
 And thus he seyde unto us everichon,
2820 This sweete preest, this goodly man sir John.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Nun's Priest's Tale

 A povre wydwe, somdeel stape in age,
 Was whilom dwellyng in a narwe cotage,
 Biside a grove, stondynge in a dale.
 This wydwe, of which I telle yow my tale,
 Syn thilke day that she was last a wyf
 In pacience ladde a ful symple lyf,
 For litel was hir catel and hir rente.
 By housbondrie of swich as God hire sente
 She foond hirself and eek hir doghtren two.
2830 Thre large sowes hadde she, and namo,
 Three keen, and eek a sheep that highte Malle.
 Ful sooty was hire bour and eek hir halle,
 In which she eet ful many a sklendre meel.
 Of poynaunt sauce hir neded never a deel.
 No deyntee morsel passed thurgh hir throte;
 Hir diete was accordant to hir cote.
 Repleccioun ne made hire nevere sik;
 Attempree diete was al hir phisik,
 And exercise, and hertes suffisaunce.
2840 The goute lette hire nothyng for to daunce,
 N' apoplexie shente nat hir heed.
 No wyn ne drank she, neither whit ne reed;
 Hir bord was served moost with whit and blak --
 Milk and broun breed, in which she foond no lak,
 Seynd bacoun, and somtyme an ey or tweye,
 For she was, as it were, a maner deye.
 A yeerd she hadde, enclosed al aboute
 With stikkes, and a drye dych withoute,
 In which she hadde a cok, hight Chauntecleer.
2850 In al the land, of crowyng nas his peer.
 His voys was murier than the murie orgon
 On messe-dayes that in the chirche gon.
 Wel sikerer was his crowyng in his logge
 Than is a clokke or an abbey orlogge.
 By nature he knew ech ascencioun
 Of the equynoxial in thilke toun;
 For whan degrees fiftene weren ascended,
 Thanne crew he that it myghte nat been amended.
 His coomb was redder than the fyn coral,
2860 And batailled as it were a castel wal;
 His byle was blak, and as the jeet it shoon;
 Lyk asure were his legges and his toon;
 His nayles whitter than the lylye flour,
 And lyk the burned gold was his colour.
 This gentil cok hadde in his governaunce
 Sevene hennes for to doon al his plesaunce,
 Whiche were his sustres and his paramours,
 And wonder lyk to hym, as of colours;
 Of whiche the faireste hewed on hir throte
2870 Was cleped faire damoysele Pertelote.
 Curteys she was, discreet, and debonaire,
 And compaignable, and bar hyrself so faire
 Syn thilke day that she was seven nyght oold
 That trewely she hath the herte in hoold
 Of Chauntecleer, loken in every lith;
 He loved hire so that wel was hym therwith.
 But swich a joye was it to here hem synge,
 Whan that the brighte sonne gan to sprynge,
 In sweete accord, "My lief is faren in londe!" --
2880 For thilke tyme, as I have understonde,
 Beestes and briddes koude speke and synge.
 And so bifel that in a dawenynge,
 As Chauntecleer among his wyves alle
 Sat on his perche, that was in the halle,
 And next hym sat this faire Pertelote,
 This Chauntecleer gan gronen in his throte,
 As man that in his dreem is drecched soore.
 And whan that Pertelote thus herde hym roore,
 She was agast and seyde, "Herte deere,
2890 What eyleth yow, to grone in this manere?
 Ye been a verray sleper; fy, for shame!"
 And he answerde, and seyde thus: "Madame,
 I pray yow that ye take it nat agrief.
 By God, me mette I was in swich meschief
 Right now that yet myn herte is soore afright.
 Now God," quod he, "my swevene recche aright,
 And kepe my body out of foul prisoun!
 Me mette how that I romed up and doun
 Withinne our yeerd, wheer as I saugh a beest
2900 Was lyk an hound, and wolde han maad areest
 Upon my body, and wolde han had me deed.
 His colour was bitwixe yelow and reed,
 And tipped was his tayl and bothe his eeris
 With blak, unlyk the remenant of his heeris;
 His snowte smal, with glowynge eyen tweye.
 Yet of his look for feere almoost I deye;
 This caused me my gronyng, doutelees."
 "Avoy!" quod she, "fy on yow, hertelees!
 Allas," quod she, "for, by that God above,
2910 Now han ye lost myn herte and al my love!
 I kan nat love a coward, by my feith!
 For certes, what so any womman seith,
 We alle desiren, if it myghte bee,
 To han housbondes hardy, wise, and free,
 And secree -- and no nygard, ne no fool,
 Ne hym that is agast of every tool,
 Ne noon avauntour, by that God above!
 How dorste ye seyn, for shame, unto youre love
 That any thyng myghte make yow aferd?
2920 Have ye no mannes herte, and han a berd?
 Allas! And konne ye been agast of swevenys?
 Nothyng, God woot, but vanitee in sweven is.
 Swevenes engendren of replecciouns,
 And ofte of fume and of complecciouns,
 Whan humours been to habundant in a wight.
 Certes this dreem, which ye han met to-nyght,
 Cometh of the greete superfluytee
 Of youre rede colera, pardee,
 Which causeth folk to dreden in hir dremes
2930 Of arwes, and of fyr with rede lemes,
 Of rede beestes, that they wol hem byte,
 Of contek, and of whelpes, grete and lyte;
 Right as the humour of malencolie
 Causeth ful many a man in sleep to crie
 For feere of blake beres, or boles blake,
 Or elles blake develes wole hem take.
 Of othere humours koude I telle also
 That werken many a man sleep ful wo;
 But I wol passe as lightly as I kan.
2940 "Lo Catoun, which that was so wys a man,
 Seyde he nat thus, `Ne do no fors of dremes'?
 "Now sire," quod she, "whan we flee fro the bemes,
 For Goddes love, as taak som laxatyf.
 Up peril of my soule and of my lyf,
 I conseille yow the beste -- I wol nat lye --
 That bothe of colere and of malencolye
 Ye purge yow; and for ye shal nat tarie,
 Though in this toun is noon apothecarie,
 I shal myself to herbes techen yow
2950 That shul been for youre hele and for youre prow;
 And in oure yeerd tho herbes shal I fynde
 The whiche han of hire propretee by kynde
 To purge yow bynethe and eek above.
 Foryet nat this, for Goddes owene love!
 Ye been ful coleryk of compleccioun;
 Ware the sonne in his ascencioun
 Ne fynde yow nat repleet of humours hoote.
 And if it do, I dar wel leye a grote,
 That ye shul have a fevere terciane,
2960 Or an agu that may be youre bane.
 A day or two ye shul have digestyves
 Of wormes, er ye take youre laxatyves
 Of lawriol, centaure, and fumetere,
 Or elles of ellebor, that groweth there,
 Of katapuce, or of gaitrys beryis,
 Of herbe yve, growyng in oure yeerd, ther mery is;
 Pekke hem up right as they growe and ete hem yn.
 Be myrie, housbonde, for youre fader kyn!
 Dredeth no dreem; I kan sey yow namoore."
2970 "Madame," quod he, "graunt mercy of youre loore.
 But nathelees, as touchyng daun Catoun,
 That hath of wysdom swich a greet renoun,
 Though that he bad no dremes for to drede,
 By God, men may in olde bookes rede
 Of many a man moore of auctorite
 Than evere Caton was, so moot I thee,
 That al the revers seyn of this sentence,
 And han wel founden by experience
 That dremes been significaciouns
2980 As wel of joye as of tribulaciouns
 That folk enduren in this lif present.
 Ther nedeth make of this noon argument;
 The verray preeve sheweth it in dede.
 "Oon of the gretteste auctour that men rede
 Seith thus: that whilom two felawes wente
 On pilgrimage, in a ful good entente,
 And happed so, they coomen in a toun
 Wher as ther was swich congregacioun
 Of peple, and eek so streit of herbergage,
2990 That they ne founde as muche as o cotage
 In which they bothe myghte ylogged bee.
 Wherfore they mosten of necessitee,
 As for that nyght, departen compaignye;
 And ech of hem gooth to his hostelrye,
 And took his loggyng as it wolde falle.
 That oon of hem was logged in a stalle,
 Fer in a yeerd, with oxen of the plough;
 That oother man was logged wel ynough,
 As was his aventure or his fortune,
3000 That us governeth alle as in commune.
 "And so bifel that, longe er it were day,
 This man mette in his bed, ther as he lay,
 How that his felawe gan upon hym calle,
 And seyde, `Allas, for in an oxes stalle
 This nyght I shal be mordred ther I lye!
 Now help me, deere brother, or I dye.
 In alle haste com to me!' he sayde.
 This man out of his sleep for feere abrayde;
 But whan that he was wakened of his sleep,
3010 He turned hym and took of this no keep.
 Hym thoughte his dreem nas but a vanitee.
 Thus twies in his slepyng dremed hee;
 And atte thridde tyme yet his felawe
 Cam, as hym thoughte, and seide, `I am now slawe.
 Bihoold my bloody woundes depe and wyde!
 Arys up erly in the morwe tyde,
 And at the west gate of the toun,' quod he,
 `A carte ful of dong ther shaltow se,
 In which my body is hid ful prively;
3020 Do thilke carte arresten boldely.
 My gold caused my mordre, sooth to sayn,'
 And tolde hym every point how he was slayn,
 With a ful pitous face, pale of hewe.
 And truste wel, his dreem he foond ful trewe,
 For on the morwe, as soone as it was day,
 To his felawes in he took the way;
 And whan that he cam to this oxes stalle,
 After his felawe he bigan to calle.
 "The hostiler answerede hym anon,
3030 And seyde, `Sire, your felawe is agon.
 As soone as day he wente out of the toun.'
 "This man gan fallen in suspecioun,
 Remembrynge on his dremes that he mette,
 And forth he gooth -- no lenger wolde he lette --
 Unto the west gate of the toun, and fond
 A dong-carte, wente as it were to donge lond,
 That was arrayed in that same wise
 As ye han herd the dede man devyse.
 And with an hardy herte he gan to crye
3040 Vengeance and justice of this felonye:
 `My felawe mordred is this same nyght,
 And in this carte he lith gapyng upright.
 I crye out on the ministres,' quod he,
 `That sholden kepe and reulen this citee.
 Harrow! Allas! Heere lith my felawe slayn!'
 What sholde I moore unto this tale sayn?
 The peple out sterte and caste the cart to grounde,
 And in the myddel of the dong they founde
 The dede man, that mordred was al newe.
3050 "O blisful God, that art so just and trewe,
 Lo, how that thou biwreyest mordre alway!
 Mordre wol out; that se we day by day.
 Mordre is so wlatsom and abhomynable
 To God, that is so just and resonable,
 That he ne wol nat suffre it heled be,
 Though it abyde a yeer, or two, or thre.
 Mordre wol out, this my conclusioun.
 And right anon, ministres of that toun
 Han hent the carter and so soore hym pyned,
3060 And eek the hostiler so soore engyned,
 That they biknewe hire wikkednesse anon,
 And were anhanged by the nekke-bon.
 "Heere may men seen that dremes been to drede.
 And certes in the same book I rede,
 Right in the nexte chapitre after this --
 I gabbe nat, so have I joye or blis --
 Two men that wolde han passed over see,
 For certeyn cause, into a fer contree,
 If that the wynd ne hadde been contrarie,
3070 That made hem in a citee for to tarie
 That stood ful myrie upon an haven-syde;
 But on a day, agayn the even-tyde,
 The wynd gan chaunge, and blew right as hem leste.
 Jolif and glad they wente unto hir reste,
 And casten hem ful erly for to saille.
 But herkneth! To that o man fil a greet mervaille:
 That oon of hem, in slepyng as he lay,
 Hym mette a wonder dreem agayn the day.
 Hym thoughte a man stood by his beddes syde,
3080 And hym comanded that he sholde abyde,
 And seyde hym thus: `If thou tomorwe wende,
 Thow shalt be dreynt; my tale is at an ende.'
 He wook, and tolde his felawe what he mette,
 And preyde hym his viage for to lette;
 As for that day, he preyde hym to byde.
 His felawe, that lay by his beddes syde,
 Gan for to laughe, and scorned him ful faste.
 `No dreem,' quod he, `may so myn herte agaste
 That I wol lette for to do my thynges.
3090 I sette nat a straw by thy dremynges,
 For swevenes been but vanytees and japes.
 Men dreme alday of owles and of apes,
 And of many a maze therwithal;
 Men dreme of thyng that nevere was ne shal.
 But sith I see that thou wolt heere abyde,
 And thus forslewthen wilfully thy tyde,
 God woot, it reweth me; and have good day!'
 And thus he took his leve, and wente his way.
 But er that he hadde half his cours yseyled,
3100 Noot I nat why, ne what myschaunce it eyled,
 But casuelly the shippes botme rente,
 And ship and man under the water wente
 In sighte of othere shippes it bisyde,
 That with hem seyled at the same tyde.
 And therfore, faire Pertelote so deere,
 By swiche ensamples olde maistow leere
 That no man sholde been to recchelees
 Of dremes; for I seye thee, doutelees,
 That many a dreem ful soore is for to drede.
3110 "Lo, in the lyf of Seint Kenelm I rede,
 That was Kenulphus sone, the noble kyng
 Of Mercenrike, how Kenelm mette a thyng.
 A lite er he was mordred, on a day,
 His mordre in his avysioun he say.
 His norice hym expowned every deel
 His sweven, and bad hym for to kepe hym weel
 For traisoun; but he nas but seven yeer oold,
 And therfore litel tale hath he toold
 Of any dreem, so hooly was his herte.
3120 By God! I hadde levere than my sherte
 That ye hadde rad his legende, as have I.
 "Dame Pertelote, I sey yow trewely,
 Macrobeus, that writ the avisioun
 In Affrike of the worthy Cipioun,
 Affermeth dremes, and seith that they been
 Warnynge of thynges that men after seen.
 And forthermoore, I pray yow, looketh wel
 In the olde testament, of Daniel,
 If he heeld dremes any vanitee.
3130 Reed eek of Joseph, and ther shul ye see
 Wher dremes be somtyme -- I sey nat alle --
 Warnynge of thynges that shul after falle.
 Looke of Egipte the kyng, daun Pharao,
 His bakere and his butiller also,
 Wher they ne felte noon effect in dremes.
 Whoso wol seken actes of sondry remes
 May rede of dremes many a wonder thyng.
 Lo Cresus, which that was of Lyde kyng,
 Mette he nat that he sat upon a tree,
3140 Which signified he sholde anhanged bee?
 Lo heere Andromacha, Ectores wyf,
 That day that Ector sholde lese his lyf,
 She dremed on the same nyght biforn
 How that the lyf of Ector sholde be lorn,
 If thilke day he wente into bataille.
 She warned hym, but it myghte nat availle;
 He wente for to fighte natheles,
 But he was slayn anon of Achilles.
 But thilke tale is al to longe to telle,
3150 And eek it is ny day; I may nat dwelle.
 Shortly I seye, as for conclusioun,
 That I shal han of this avisioun
 Adversitee; and I seye forthermoor
 That I ne telle of laxatyves no stoor,
 For they been venymes, I woot it weel;
 I hem diffye, I love hem never a deel!
 "Now let us speke of myrthe, and stynte al this.
 Madame Pertelote, so have I blis,
 Of o thyng God hath sent me large grace;
3160 For whan I se the beautee of youre face,
 Ye been so scarlet reed aboute youre yen,
 It maketh al my drede for to dyen;
 For al so siker as In principio,
 Mulier est hominis confusio --
 Madame, the sentence of this Latyn is,
 `Womman is mannes joye and al his blis.'
 For whan I feele a-nyght your softe syde --
 Al be it that I may nat on yow ryde,
 For that oure perche is maad so narwe, allas --
3170 I am so ful of joye and of solas,
 That I diffye bothe sweven and dreem."
 And with that word he fley doun fro the beem,
 For it was day, and eke his hennes alle,
 And with a chuk he gan hem for to calle,
 For he hadde founde a corn, lay in the yerd.
 Real he was, he was namoore aferd.
 He fethered Pertelote twenty tyme,
 And trad hire eke as ofte, er it was pryme.
 He looketh as it were a grym leoun,
3180 And on his toos he rometh up and doun;
 Hym deigned nat to sette his foot to grounde.
 He chukketh whan he hath a corn yfounde,
 And to hym rennen thanne his wyves alle.
 Thus roial, as a prince is in his halle,
 Leve I this Chauntecleer in his pasture,
 And after wol I telle his aventure.
 Whan that the month in which the world bigan,
 That highte March, whan God first maked man,
 Was compleet, and passed were also,
3190 Syn March [was gon], thritty dayes and two,
 Bifel that Chauntecleer in al his pryde,
 His sevene wyves walkynge by his syde,
 Caste up his eyen to the brighte sonne,
 That in the signe of Taurus hadde yronne
 Twenty degrees and oon, and somwhat moore,
 And knew by kynde, and by noon oother loore,
 That it was pryme, and crew with blisful stevene.
 "The sonne," he seyde, "is clomben up on hevene
 Fourty degrees and oon, and moore ywis.
3200 Madame Pertelote, my worldes blis,
 Herkneth thise blisful briddes how they synge,
 And se the fresshe floures how they sprynge;
 Ful is myn herte of revel and solas!"
 But sodeynly hym fil a sorweful cas,
 For evere the latter ende of joye is wo.
 God woot that worldly joye is soone ago;
 And if a rethor koude faire endite,
 He in a cronycle saufly myghte it write
 As for a sovereyn notabilitee.
3210 Now every wys man, lat him herkne me;
 This storie is also trewe, I undertake,
 As is the book of Launcelot de Lake,
 That wommen holde in ful greet reverence.
 Now wol I torne agayn to my sentence.
 A col-fox, ful of sly iniquitee,
 That in the grove hadde woned yeres three,
 By heigh ymaginacioun forncast,
 The same nyght thurghout the hegges brast
 Into the yerd ther Chauntecleer the faire
3220 Was wont, and eek his wyves, to repaire;
 And in a bed of wortes stille he lay
 Til it was passed undren of the day,
 Waitynge his tyme on Chauntecleer to falle,
 As gladly doon thise homycides alle
 That in await liggen to mordre men.
 O false mordrour, lurkynge in thy den!
 O newe Scariot, newe Genylon,
 False dissymulour, o Greek Synon,
 That broghtest Troye al outrely to sorwe!
3230 O Chauntecleer, acursed be that morwe
 That thou into that yerd flaugh fro the bemes!
 Thou were ful wel ywarned by thy dremes
 That thilke day was perilous to thee;
 But what that God forwoot moot nedes bee,
 After the opinioun of certein clerkis.
 Witnesse on hym that any parfit clerk is,
 That in scole is greet altercacioun
 In this mateere, and greet disputisoun,
 And hath been of an hundred thousand men.
3240 But I ne kan nat bulte it to the bren
 As kan the hooly doctour Augustyn,
 Or Boece, or the Bisshop Bradwardyn,
 Wheither that Goddes worthy forwityng
 Streyneth me nedely for to doon a thyng --
 "Nedely" clepe I symple necessitee --
 Or elles, if free choys be graunted me
 To do that same thyng, or do it noght,
 Though God forwoot it er that I was wroght;
 Or if his wityng streyneth never a deel
3250 But by necessitee condicioneel.
 I wol nat han to do of swich mateere;
 My tale is of a cok, as ye may heere,
 That tok his conseil of his wyf, with sorwe,
 To walken in the yerd upon that morwe
 That he hadde met that dreem that I yow tolde.
 Wommennes conseils been ful ofte colde;
 Wommannes conseil broghte us first to wo
 And made Adam fro Paradys to go,
 Ther as he was ful myrie and wel at ese.
3260 But for I noot to whom it myght displese,
 If I conseil of wommen wolde blame,
 Passe over, for I seyde it in my game.
 Rede auctours, where they trete of swich mateere,
 And what they seyn of wommen ye may heere.
 Thise been the cokkes wordes, and nat myne;
 I kan noon harm of no womman divyne.
 Faire in the soond, to bathe hire myrily,
 Lith Pertelote, and alle hire sustres by,
 Agayn the sonne, and Chauntecleer so free
3270 Soong murier than the mermayde in the see
 (For Phisiologus seith sikerly
 How that they syngen wel and myrily).
 And so bifel that, as he caste his ye
 Among the wortes on a boterflye,
 He was war of this fox, that lay ful lowe.
 Nothyng ne liste hym thanne for to crowe,
 But cride anon, "Cok! cok!" and up he sterte
 As man that was affrayed in his herte.
 For natureelly a beest desireth flee
3280 Fro his contrarie, if he may it see,
 Though he never erst hadde seyn it with his ye.
 This Chauntecleer, whan he gan hym espye,
 He wolde han fled, but that the fox anon
 Seyde, "Gentil sire, allas, wher wol ye gon?
 Be ye affrayed of me that am youre freend?
 Now, certes, I were worse than a feend,
 If I to yow wolde harm or vileynye!
 I am nat come youre conseil for t' espye,
 But trewely, the cause of my comynge
3290 Was oonly for to herkne how that ye synge.
 For trewely, ye have as myrie a stevene
 As any aungel hath that is in hevene.
 Therwith ye han in musyk moore feelynge
 Than hadde Boece, or any that kan synge.
 My lord youre fader -- God his soule blesse! --
 And eek youre mooder, of hire gentillesse,
 Han in myn hous ybeen to my greet ese;
 And certes, sire, ful fayn wolde I yow plese.
 But, for men speke of syngyng, I wol seye --
3300 So moote I brouke wel myne eyen tweye --
 Save yow, I herde nevere man so synge
 As dide youre fader in the morwenynge.
 Certes, it was of herte, al that he song.
 And for to make his voys the moore strong,
 He wolde so peyne hym that with bothe his yen
 He moste wynke, so loude he wolde cryen,
 And stonden on his tiptoon therwithal,
 And strecche forth his nekke long and smal.
 And eek he was of swich discrecioun
3310 That ther nas no man in no regioun
 That hym in song or wisedom myghte passe.
 I have wel rad in `Daun Burnel the Asse,'
 Among his vers, how that ther was a cok,
 For that a preestes sone yaf hym a knok
 Upon his leg whil he was yong and nyce,
 He made hym for to lese his benefice.
 But certeyn, ther nys no comparisoun
 Bitwixe the wisedom and discrecioun
 Of youre fader and of his subtiltee.
3320 Now syngeth, sire, for seinte charitee;
 Lat se; konne ye youre fader countrefete?"
 This Chauntecleer his wynges gan to bete,
 As man that koude his traysoun nat espie,
 So was he ravysshed with his flaterie.
 Allas, ye lordes, many a fals flatour
 Is in youre courtes, and many a losengeour,
 That plesen yow wel moore, by my feith,
 Than he that soothfastnesse unto yow seith.
 Redeth Ecclesiaste of flaterye;
3330 Beth war, ye lordes, of hir trecherye.
 This Chauntecleer stood hye upon his toos,
 Strecchynge his nekke, and heeld his eyen cloos,
 And gan to crowe loude for the nones.
 And daun Russell the fox stirte up atones,
 And by the gargat hente Chauntecleer,
 And on his bak toward the wode hym beer,
 For yet ne was ther no man that hym sewed.
 O destinee, that mayst nat been eschewed!
 Allas, that Chauntecleer fleigh fro the bemes!
3340 Allas, his wyf ne roghte nat of dremes!
 And on a Friday fil al this meschaunce.
 O Venus, that art goddesse of plesaunce,
 Syn that thy servant was this Chauntecleer,
 And in thy servyce dide al his poweer,
 Moore for delit than world to multiplye,
 Why woldestow suffre hym on thy day to dye?
 O Gaufred, deere maister soverayn,
 That whan thy worthy kyng Richard was slayn
 With shot, compleynedest his deeth so soore,
3350 Why ne hadde I now thy sentence and thy loore,
 The Friday for to chide, as diden ye?
 For on a Friday, soothly, slayn was he.
 Thanne wolde I shewe yow how that I koude pleyne
 For Chauntecleres drede and for his peyne.
 Certes, swich cry ne lamentacion
 Was nevere of ladyes maad whan Ylion
 Was wonne, and Pirrus with his streite swerd,
 Whan he hadde hent kyng Priam by the berd,
 And slayn hym, as seith us Eneydos,
3360 As maden alle the hennes in the clos,
 Whan they had seyn of Chauntecleer the sighte.
 But sovereynly dame Pertelote shrighte
 Ful louder than dide Hasdrubales wyf,
 Whan that hir housbonde hadde lost his lyf
 And that the Romayns hadde brend Cartage.
 She was so ful of torment and of rage
 That wilfully into the fyr she sterte
 And brende hirselven with a stedefast herte.
 O woful hennes, right so criden ye
3370 As whan that Nero brende the citee
 Of Rome cryden senatoures wyves
 For that hir husbondes losten alle hir lyves --
 Withouten gilt this Nero hath hem slayn.
 Now wole I turne to my tale agayn.
 This sely wydwe and eek hir doghtres two
 Herden thise hennes crie and maken wo,
 And out at dores stirten they anon,
 And syen the fox toward the grove gon,
 And bar upon his bak the cok away,
3380 And cryden, "Out! Harrow and weylaway!
 Ha, ha! The fox!" and after hym they ran,
 And eek with staves many another man.
 Ran Colle oure dogge, and Talbot and Gerland,
 And Malkyn, with a dystaf in hir hand;
 Ran cow and calf, and eek the verray hogges,
 So fered for the berkyng of the dogges
 And shoutyng of the men and wommen eeke
 They ronne so hem thoughte hir herte breeke.
 They yolleden as feendes doon in helle;
3390 The dokes cryden as men wolde hem quelle;
 The gees for feere flowen over the trees;
 Out of the hyve cam the swarm of bees.
 So hydous was the noyse -- a, benedicitee! --
 Certes, he Jakke Straw and his meynee
 Ne made nevere shoutes half so shrille
 Whan that they wolden any Flemyng kille,
 As thilke day was maad upon the fox.
 Of bras they broghten bemes, and of box,
 Of horn, of boon, in whiche they blewe and powped,
3400 And therwithal they skriked and they howped.
 It semed as that hevene sholde falle.
 Now, goode men, I prey yow herkneth alle:
 Lo, how Fortune turneth sodeynly
 The hope and pryde eek of hir enemy!
 This cok, that lay upon the foxes bak,
 In al his drede unto the fox he spak,
 And seyde, "Sire, if that I were as ye,
 Yet sholde I seyn, as wys God helpe me,
 `Turneth agayn, ye proude cherles alle!
3410 A verray pestilence upon yow falle!
 Now I am come unto the wodes syde;
 Maugree youre heed, the cok shal heere abyde.
 I wol hym ete, in feith, and that anon!'"
 The fox answerde, "In feith, it shal be don."
 And as he spak that word, al sodeynly
 This cok brak from his mouth delyverly,
 And heighe upon a tree he fleigh anon.
 And whan the fox saugh that the cok was gon,
 "Allas!" quod he, "O Chauntecleer, allas!
3420 I have to yow," quod he, "ydoon trespas,
 In as muche as I maked yow aferd
 Whan I yow hente and broghte out of the yerd.
 But, sire, I dide it in no wikke entente.
 Com doun, and I shal telle yow what I mente;
 I shal seye sooth to yow, God help me so!"
 "Nay thanne," quod he, "I shrewe us bothe two.
 And first I shrewe myself, bothe blood and bones,
 If thou bigyle me ofter than ones.
 Thou shalt namoore thurgh thy flaterye
3430 Do me to synge and wynke with myn ye;
 For he that wynketh, whan he sholde see,
 Al wilfully, God lat him nevere thee!"
 "Nay," quod the fox, "but God yeve hym meschaunce,
 That is so undiscreet of governaunce
 That jangleth whan he sholde holde his pees."
 Lo, swich it is for to be recchelees
 And necligent, and truste on flaterye.
 But ye that holden this tale a folye,
 As of a fox, or of a cok and hen,
3440 Taketh the moralite, goode men.
 For Seint Paul seith that al that writen is,
 To oure doctrine it is ywrite, ywis;
 Taketh the fruyt, and lat the chaf be stille.
 Now, goode God, if that it be thy wille,
 As seith my lord, so make us alle goode men,
 And brynge us to his heighe blisse! Amen.

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The Canterbury Tales

The Nun's Priest's Epilogue

 ["Sire Nonnes Preest," oure Hooste seide anoon,
 "I-blessed be thy breche, and every stoon!
 This was a murie tale of Chauntecleer.
3450 But by my trouthe, if thou were seculer,
 Thou woldest ben a trede-foul aright.
 For if thou have corage as thou hast myght,
 Thee were nede of hennes, as I wene,
 Ya, moo than seven tymes seventene.
 See, whiche braunes hath this gentil preest,
 So gret a nekke, and swich a large breest!
 He loketh as a sperhauk with his yen;
 Him nedeth nat his colour for to dyen
 With brasile ne with greyn of Portyngale.
3460 Now, sire, faire falle yow for youre tale!"
 And after that he, with ful merie chere,
 Seide unto another, as ye shuln heere.]

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Second Nun's Prologue

 The ministre and the norice unto vices,
 Which that men clepe in Englissh Ydelnesse,
 That porter of the gate is of delices,
 To eschue, and by hire contrarie hire oppresse --
 That is to seyn, by leveful bisynesse --
 Wel oghten we to doon al oure entente,
 Lest that the feend thurgh ydelnesse us hente.
 For he that with his thousand cordes slye
 Continuelly us waiteth to biclappe,
10 Whan he may man in ydelnesse espye,
 He kan so lightly cache hym in his trappe,
 Til that a man be hent right by the lappe,
 He nys nat war the feend hath hym in honde.
 Wel oghte us werche and ydelnesse withstonde.
 And though men dradden nevere for to dye,
 Yet seen men wel by resoun, doutelees,
 That ydelnesse is roten slogardye,
 Of which ther nevere comth no good n' encrees;
 And syn that slouthe hire holdeth in a lees
20 Oonly to slepe, and for to ete and drynke,
 And to devouren al that othere swynke,
 And for to putte us fro swich ydelnesse,
 That cause is of so greet confusioun,
 I have heer doon my feithful bisynesse
 After the legende in translacioun
 Right of thy glorious lif and passioun,
 Thou with thy gerland wroght with rose and lilie --
 Thee meene I, mayde and martyr, Seint Cecilie.
 And thow that flour of virgines art alle,
30 Of whom that Bernard list so wel to write,
 To thee at my bigynnyng first I calle;
 Thou confort of us wrecches, do me endite
 Thy maydens deeth, that wan thurgh hire merite
 The eterneel lyf and of the feend victorie,
 As man may after reden in hire storie.
 Thow Mayde and Mooder, doghter of thy Sone,
 Thow welle of mercy, synful soules cure,
 In whom that God for bountee chees to wone,
 Thow humble, and heigh over every creature,
40 Thow nobledest so ferforth oure nature,
 That no desdeyn the Makere hadde of kynde
 His Sone in blood and flessh to clothe and wynde.
 Withinne the cloistre blisful of thy sydis
 Took mannes shap the eterneel love and pees,
 That of the tryne compas lord and gyde is,
 Whom erthe and see and hevene out of relees
 Ay heryen; and thou, Virgine wemmelees,
 Baar of thy body -- and dweltest mayden pure --
 The Creatour of every creature.
50 Assembled is in thee magnificence
 With mercy, goodnesse, and with swich pitee
 That thou, that art the sonne of excellence
 Nat oonly helpest hem that preyen thee,
 But often tyme of thy benygnytee
 Ful frely, er that men thyn help biseche,
 Thou goost biforn and art hir lyves leche.
 Now help, thow meeke and blisful faire mayde,
 Me, flemed wrecche, in this desert of galle;
 Thynk on the womman Cananee, that sayde
60 That whelpes eten somme of the crommes alle
 That from hir lordes table been yfalle;
 And though that I, unworthy sone of Eve,
 Be synful, yet accepte my bileve.
 And, for that feith is deed withouten werkis,
 So for to werken yif me wit and space,
 That I be quit fro thennes that most derk is!
 O thou, that art so fair and ful of grace,
 Be myn advocat in that heighe place
 Theras withouten ende is songe "Osanne,"
70 Thow Cristes mooder, doghter deere of Anne!
 And of thy light my soule in prison lighte,
 That troubled is by the contagioun
 Of my body, and also by the wighte
 Of erthely lust and fals affeccioun;
 O havene of refut, O salvacioun
 Of hem that been in sorwe and in distresse,
 Now help, for to my werk I wol me dresse.
 Yet preye I yow that reden that I write,
 Foryeve me that I do no diligence
80 This ilke storie subtilly to endite,
 For bothe have I the wordes and sentence
 Of hym that at the seintes reverence
 The storie wroot, and folwen hire legende,
 And pray yow that ye wole my werk amende.
 First wolde I yow the name of Seint Cecilie
 Expowne, as men may in hir storie see.
 It is to seye in Englissh "hevenes lilie,"
 For pure chaastnesse of virginitee;
 Or, for she whitnesse hadde of honestee,
90 And grene of conscience, and of good fame
 The soote savour, "lilie" was hir name.
 Or Cecilie is to seye "the wey to blynde,"
 For she ensample was by good techynge;
 Or elles Cecile, as I writen fynde,
 Is joyned, by a manere conjoynynge
 Of "hevene" and "Lia"; and heere, in figurynge,
 The "hevene" is set for thoght of hoolynesse,
 And "Lia" for hire lastynge bisynesse.
 Cecile may eek be seyd in this manere,
100 "Wantynge of blyndnesse," for hir grete light
 Of sapience and for hire thewes cleere;
 Or elles, loo, this maydens name bright
 Of "hevene" and "leos" comth, for which by right
 Men myghte hire wel "the hevene of peple" calle,
 Ensample of goode and wise werkes alle.
 For "leos" "peple" in Englissh is to seye,
 And right as men may in the hevene see
 The sonne and moone and sterres every weye,
 Right so men goostly in this mayden free
110 Seyen of feith the magnanymytee,
 And eek the cleernesse hool of sapience,
 And sondry werkes, brighte of excellence.
 And right so as thise philosophres write
 That hevene is swift and round and eek brennynge,
 Right so was faire Cecilie the white
 Ful swift and bisy evere in good werkynge,
 And round and hool in good perseverynge,
 And brennynge evere in charite ful brighte.
 Now have I yow declared what she highte.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Second Nun's Tale

120 This mayden bright Cecilie, as hir lif seith,
 Was comen of Romayns and of noble kynde,
 And from hir cradel up fostred in the feith
 Of Crist, and bar his gospel in hir mynde.
 She nevere cessed, as I writen fynde,
 Of hir preyere and God to love and drede,
 Bisekynge hym to kepe hir maydenhede.
 And whan this mayden sholde unto a man
 Ywedded be, that was ful yong of age,
 Which that ycleped was Valerian,
130 And day was comen of hir marriage,
 She, ful devout and humble in hir corage,
 Under hir robe of gold, that sat ful faire,
 Hadde next hire flessh yclad hire in an haire.
 And whil the organs maden melodie,
 To God allone in herte thus sang she:
 "O Lord, my soule and eek my body gye
 Unwemmed, lest that I confounded be."
 And for his love that dyde upon a tree
 Every seconde and thridde day she faste,
140 Ay biddynge in hire orisons ful faste.
 The nyght cam, and to bedde moste she gon
 With hire housbonde, as ofte is the manere,
 And pryvely to hym she seyde anon,
 "O sweete and wel biloved spouse deere,
 Ther is a conseil, and ye wolde it heere,
 Which that right fayn I wolde unto yow seye,
 So that ye swere ye shul it nat biwreye."
 Valerian gan faste unto hire swere
 That for no cas ne thyng that myghte be,
150 He sholde nevere mo biwreyen here;
 And thanne at erst to hym thus seyde she:
 "I have an aungel which that loveth me,
 That with greet love, wher so I wake or sleepe,
 Is redy ay my body for to kepe.
 "And if that he may feelen, out of drede,
 That ye me touche, or love in vileynye,
 He right anon wol sle yow with the dede,
 And in youre yowthe thus ye shullen dye;
 And if that ye in clene love me gye,
160 He wol yow loven as me, for youre clennesse,
 And shewen yow his joye and his brightnesse."
 Valerian, corrected as God wolde,
 Answerde agayn, "If I shal trusten thee,
 Lat me that aungel se and hym biholde;
 And if that it a verray angel bee,
 Thanne wol I doon as thou hast prayed me;
 And if thou love another man, for sothe
 Right with this swerd thanne wol I sle yow bothe."
 Cecile answerde anon-right in this wise:
170 "If that yow list, the angel shul ye see,
 So that ye trowe on Crist and yow baptize.
 Gooth forth to Via Apia," quod shee,
 "That fro this toun ne stant but miles three,
 And to the povre folkes that ther dwelle,
 Sey hem right thus, as that I shal yow telle.
 "Telle hem that I, Cecile, yow to hem sente
 To shewen yow the goode Urban the olde,
 For secree nedes and for good entente.
 And whan that ye Seint Urban han biholde,
180 Telle hym the wordes whiche I to yow tolde;
 And whan that he hath purged yow fro synne,
 Thanne shul ye se that angel, er ye twynne."
 Valerian is to the place ygon,
 And right as hym was taught by his lernynge,
 He foond this hooly olde Urban anon
 Among the seintes buryeles lotynge.
 And he anon withouten tariynge
 Dide his message; and whan that he it tolde,
 Urban for joye his handes gan up holde.
190 The teeris from his eyen leet he falle.
 "Almyghty Lord, O Jhesu Crist," quod he,
 "Sower of chaast conseil, hierde of us alle,
 The fruyt of thilke seed of chastitee
 That thou hast sowe in Cecile, taak to thee!
 Lo, lyk a bisy bee, withouten gile,
 Thee serveth ay thyn owene thral Cecile.
 "For thilke spouse that she took but now
 Ful lyk a fiers leoun, she sendeth heere,
 As meke as evere was any lomb, to yow!"
200 And with that word anon ther gan appeere
 An oold man, clad in white clothes cleere,
 That hadde a book with lettre of gold in honde,
 And gan bifore Valerian to stonde.
 Valerian as deed fil doun for drede
 Whan he hym saugh, and he up hente hym tho,
 And on his book right thus he gan to rede:
 "O Lord, o feith, o God, withouten mo,
 O Cristendom, and Fader of alle also,
 Aboven alle and over alle everywhere."
210 Thise wordes al with gold ywriten were.
 Whan this was rad, thanne seyde this olde man,
 "Leevestow this thyng or no? Sey ye or nay."
 "I leeve al this thyng," quod Valerian,
 "For sother thyng than this, I dar wel say,
 Under the hevene no wight thynke may."
 Tho vanysshed this olde man, he nyste where,
 And Pope Urban hym cristned right there.
 Valerian gooth hoom and fynt Cecilie
 Withinne his chambre with an angel stonde.
220 This angel hadde of roses and of lilie
 Corones two, the which he bar in honde;
 And first to Cecile, as I understonde,
 He yaf that oon, and after gan he take
 That oother to Valerian, hir make.
 "With body clene and with unwemmed thoght
 Kepeth ay wel thise corones," quod he;
 "Fro paradys to yow have I hem broght,
 Ne nevere mo ne shal they roten bee,
 Ne lese hir soote savour, trusteth me;
230 Ne nevere wight shal seen hem with his ye,
 But he be chaast and hate vileynye.
 "And thow, Valerian, for thow so soone
 Assentedest to good conseil also,
 Sey what thee list, and thou shalt han thy boone."
 "I have a brother," quod Valerian tho,
 "That in this world I love no man so.
 I pray yow that my brother may han grace
 To knowe the trouthe, as I do in this place."
 The angel seyde, "God liketh thy requeste,
240 And bothe with the palm of martirdom
 Ye shullen come unto his blisful feste."
 And with that word Tiburce his brother coom.
 And whan that he the savour undernoom,
 Which that the roses and the lilies caste,
 Withinne his herte he gan to wondre faste,
 And seyde, "I wondre, this tyme of the yeer,
 Whennes that soote savour cometh so
 Of rose and lilies that I smelle heer.
 For though I hadde hem in myne handes two,
250 The savour myghte in me no depper go.
 The sweete smel that in myn herte I fynde
 Hath chaunged me al in another kynde."
 Valerian seyde: "Two corones han we,
 Snow white and rose reed, that shynen cleere,
 Whiche that thyne eyen han no myght to see;
 And as thou smellest hem thurgh my preyere,
 So shaltow seen hem, leeve brother deere,
 If it so be thou wolt, withouten slouthe,
 Bileve aright and knowen verray trouthe."
260 Tiburce answerde, "Seistow this to me
 In soothnesse, or in dreem I herkne this?"
 "In dremes," quod Valerian, "han we be
 Unto this tyme, brother myn, ywis.
 But now at erst in trouthe oure dwellyng is."
 "How woostow this?" quod Tiburce, "and in what wyse?"
 Quod Valerian, "That shal I thee devyse.
 "The aungel of God hath me the trouthe ytaught
 Which thou shalt seen, if that thou wolt reneye
 The ydoles and be clene, and elles naught."
270 And of the myracle of thise corones tweye
 Seint Ambrose in his preface list to seye;
 Solempnely this noble doctour deere
 Commendeth it, and seith in this manere:
 "The palm of martirdom for to receyve,
 Seinte Cecile, fulfild of Goddes yifte,
 The world and eek hire chambre gan she weyve;
 Witnesse Tyburces and [Valerians] shrifte,
 To whiche God of his bountee wolde shifte
 Corones two of floures wel smellynge,
280 And made his angel hem the corones brynge.
 "The mayde hath broght thise men to blisse above;
 The world hath wist what it is worth, certeyn,
 Devocioun of chastitee to love."
 Tho shewed hym Cecile al open and pleyn
 That alle ydoles nys but a thyng in veyn,
 For they been dombe, and therto they been deve,
 And charged hym his ydoles for to leve.
 "Whoso that troweth nat this, a beest he is,"
 Quod tho Tiburce, "if that I shal nat lye."
290 And she gan kisse his brest, that herde this,
 And was ful glad he koude trouthe espye.
 "This day I take thee for myn allye,"
 Seyde this blisful faire mayde deere,
 And after that she seyde as ye may heere:
 "Lo, right so as the love of Crist," quod she,
 "Made me thy brotheres wyf, right in that wise
 Anon for myn allye heer take I thee,
 Syn that thou wolt thyne ydoles despise.
 Go with thy brother now, and thee baptise,
300 And make thee clene, so that thou mowe biholde
 The angels face of which thy brother tolde."
 Tiburce answerde and seyde, "Brother deere,
 First tel me whider I shal, and to what man?"
 "To whom?" quod he, "com forth with right good cheere,
 I wol thee lede unto the Pope Urban."
 "Til Urban? Brother myn Valerian,"
 Quod tho Tiburce, "woltow me thider lede?
 Me thynketh that it were a wonder dede.
 "Ne menestow nat Urban," quod he tho,
310 "That is so ofte dampned to be deed,
 And woneth in halkes alwey to and fro,
 And dar nat ones putte forth his heed?
 Men sholde hym brennen in a fyr so reed
 If he were founde, or that men myghte hym spye,
 And we also, to bere hym compaignye;
 "And whil we seken thilke divinitee
 That is yhid in hevene pryvely,
 Algate ybrend in this world shul we be!"
 To whom Cecile answerde boldely,
320 "Men myghten dreden wel and skilfully
 This lyf to lese, myn owene deere brother,
 If this were lyvynge oonly and noon oother.
 "But ther is bettre lif in oother place,
 That nevere shal be lost, ne drede thee noght,
 Which Goddes Sone us tolde thurgh his grace.
 That Fadres Sone hath alle thyng ywroght,
 And al that wroght is with a skilful thoght;
 The Goost, that fro the Fader gan procede,
 Hath sowled hem, withouten any drede.
330 "By word and by myracle heigh Goddes Sone,
 Whan he was in this world, declared heere
 That ther was oother lyf ther men may wone."
 To whom answerde Tiburce, "O suster deere,
 Ne seydestow right now in this manere,
 Ther nys but o God, lord in soothfastnesse?
 And now of three how maystow bere witnesse?"
 "That shal I telle," quod she, "er I go.
 Right as a man hath sapiences three --
 Memorie, engyn, and intellect also --
340 So in o beynge of divinitee,
 Thre persones may ther right wel bee."
 Tho gan she hym ful bisily to preche
 Of Cristes come, and of his peynes teche,
 And manye pointes of his passioun;
 How Goddes Sone in this world was withholde
 To doon mankynde pleyn remissioun,
 That was ybounde in synne and cares colde;
 Al this thyng she unto Tiburce tolde.
 And after this Tiburce in good entente
350 With Valerian to Pope Urban he wente,
 That thanked God, and with glad herte and light
 He cristned hym and made hym in that place
 Parfit in his lernynge, Goddes knyght.
 And after this Tiburce gat swich grace
 That every day he saugh in tyme and space
 The aungel of God; and every maner boone
 That he God axed, it was sped ful soone.
 It were ful hard by ordre for to seyn
 How manye wondres Jhesus for hem wroghte;
360 But atte laste, to tellen short and pleyn,
 The sergeantz of the toun of Rome hem soghte,
 And hem biforn Almache, the prefect, broghte,
 Which hem apposed, and knew al hire entente,
 And to the ymage of Juppiter hem sente,
 And seyde, "Whoso wol nat sacrifise,
 Swape of his heed; this my sentence heer."
 Anon thise martirs that I yow devyse,
 Oon Maximus, that was an officer
 Of the prefectes, and his corniculer,
370 Hem hente, and whan he forth the seintes ladde,
 Hymself he weep for pitee that he hadde.
 Whan Maximus had herd the seintes loore,
 He gat hym of the tormentoures leve,
 And ladde hem to his hous withoute moore,
 And with hir prechyng, er that it were eve,
 They gonnen fro the tormentours to reve,
 And fro Maxime, and fro his folk echone,
 The false feith, to trowe in God allone.
 Cecile cam, whan it was woxen nyght,
380 With preestes that hem cristned alle yfeere;
 And afterward, whan day was woxen light,
 Cecile hem seyde with a ful stedefast cheere,
 "Now, Cristes owene knyghtes leeve and deere,
 Cast alle awey the werkes of derknesse,
 And armeth yow in armure of brightnesse.
 "Ye han for sothe ydoon a greet bataille,
 Youre cours is doon, youre feith han ye conserved.
 Gooth to the corone of lif that may nat faille;
 The rightful Juge, which that ye han served,
390 Shal yeve it yow, as ye han it deserved."
 And whan this thyng was seyd as I devyse,
 Men ledde hem forth to doon the sacrefise.
 But whan they weren to the place broght
 To tellen shortly the conclusioun,
 They nolde encense ne sacrifise right noght,
 But on hir knees they setten hem adoun
 With humble herte and sad devocioun,
 And losten bothe hir hevedes in the place.
 Hir soules wenten to the Kyng of grace.
400 This Maximus, that saugh this thyng bityde,
 With pitous teeris tolde it anonright,
 That he hir soules saugh to hevene glyde
 With aungels ful of cleernesse and of light,
 And with his word converted many a wight;
 For which Almachius dide hym so bete
 With whippe of leed til he his lif gan lete.
 Cecile hym took and buryed hym anon
 By Tiburce and Valerian softely
 Withinne hire buriyng place, under the stoon;
410 And after this, Almachius hastily
 Bad his ministres fecchen openly
 Cecile, so that she myghte in his presence
 Doon sacrifice and Juppiter encense.
 But they, converted at hir wise loore,
 Wepten ful soore, and yaven ful credence
 Unto hire word, and cryden moore and moore,
 "Crist, Goddes Sone, withouten difference,
 Is verray God -- this is al oure sentence --
 That hath so good a servant hym to serve.
420 This with o voys we trowen, thogh we sterve!"
 Almachius, that herde of this doynge,
 Bad fecchen Cecile, that he myghte hire see,
 And alderfirst, lo, this was his axynge.
 "What maner womman artow?" tho quod he.
 "I am a gentil womman born," quod she.
 "I axe thee," quod he, "though it thee greeve,
 Of thy religioun and of thy bileeve."
 "Ye han bigonne youre questioun folily,"
 Quod she, "that wolden two answeres conclude
430 In o demande; ye axed lewedly."
 Almache answerde unto that similitude,
 "Of whennes comth thyn answeryng so rude?"
 "Of whennes?" quod she, whan that she was freyned,
 "Of conscience and of good feith unfeyned."
 Almachius seyde, "Ne takestow noon heede
 Of my power?" And she answerde hym this:
 "Youre myght," quod she, "ful litel is to dreede,
 For every mortal mannes power nys
 But lyk a bladdre ful of wynd, ywys.
440 For with a nedles poynt, whan it is blowe,
 May al the boost of it be leyd ful lowe."
 "Ful wrongfully bigonne thow," quod he,
 "And yet in wrong is thy perseveraunce.
 Wostow nat how oure myghty princes free
 Han thus comanded and maad ordinaunce
 That every Cristen wight shal han penaunce
 But if that he his Cristendom withseye,
 And goon al quit, if he wole it reneye?"
 "Yowre princes erren, as youre nobleye dooth,"
450 Quod tho Cecile, "and with a wood sentence
 Ye make us gilty, and it is nat sooth.
 For ye, that knowen wel oure innocence,
 For as muche as we doon a reverence
 To Crist, and for we bere a Cristen name,
 Ye putte on us a cryme and eek a blame.
 "But we that knowen thilke name so
 For vertuous, we may it nat withseye."
 Almache answerde, "Chees oon of thise two:
 Do sacrifice, or Cristendom reneye,
460 That thou mowe now escapen by that weye."
 At which the hooly blisful faire mayde
 Gan for to laughe, and to the juge sayde:
 "O juge, confus in thy nycetee,
 Woltow that I reneye innocence,
 To make me a wikked wight?" quod shee.
 "Lo, he dissymuleth heere in audience;
 He stareth, and woodeth in his advertence!"
 To whom Almachius, "Unsely wrecche,
 Ne woostow nat how fer my myght may strecche?
470 "Han noght oure myghty princes to me yiven,
 Ye, bothe power and auctoritee
 To maken folk to dyen or to lyven?
 Why spekestow so proudly thanne to me?"
 "I speke noght but stedfastly," quod she;
 "Nat proudly, for I seye, as for my syde,
 We haten deedly thilke vice of pryde.
 "And if thou drede nat a sooth to heere,
 Thanne wol I shewe al openly, by right,
 That thou hast maad a ful gret lesyng heere.
480 Thou seyst thy princes han thee yeven myght
 Bothe for to sleen and for to quyken a wight;
 Thou, that ne mayst but oonly lyf bireve,
 Thou hast noon oother power ne no leve.
 "But thou mayst seyn thy princes han thee maked
 Ministre of deeth; for if thou speke of mo,
 Thou lyest, for thy power is ful naked."
 "Do wey thy booldnesse," seyde Almachius tho,
 "And sacrifice to oure goddes er thou go!
 I recche nat what wrong that thou me profre,
490 For I kan suffre it as a philosophre;
 "But thilke wronges may I nat endure
 That thou spekest of oure goddes heere," quod he.
 Cecile answerde, "O nyce creature!
 Thou seydest no word syn thou spak to me
 That I ne knew therwith thy nycetee
 And that thou were in every maner wise
 A lewed officer and a veyn justise.
 "Ther lakketh no thyng to thyne outter yen
 That thou n' art blynd; for thyng that we seen alle
500 That it is stoon -- that men may wel espyen --
 That ilke stoon a god thow wolt it calle.
 I rede thee, lat thyn hand upon it falle
 And taste it wel, and stoon thou shalt it fynde,
 Syn that thou seest nat with thyne eyen blynde.
 "It is a shame that the peple shal
 So scorne thee and laughe at thy folye,
 For communly men woot it wel overal
 That myghty God is in his hevenes hye;
 And thise ymages, wel thou mayst espye,
510 To thee ne to hemself mowen noght profite,
 For in effect they been nat worth a myte."
 Thise wordes and swiche othere seyde she,
 And he weex wroth, and bad men sholde hir lede
 Hom til hir hous, and "In hire hous," quod he,
 "Brenne hire right in a bath of flambes rede."
 And as he bad, right so was doon the dede;
 For in a bath they gonne hire faste shetten,
 And nyght and day greet fyr they under betten.
 The longe nyght, and eek a day also,
520 For al the fyr and eek the bathes heete
 She sat al coold and feelede no wo.
 It made hire nat a drope for to sweete.
 But in that bath hir lyf she moste lete,
 For he Almachius, with ful wikke entente,
 To sleen hire in the bath his sonde sente.
 Thre strokes in the nekke he smoot hire tho,
 The tormentour, but for no maner chaunce
 He myghte noght smyte al hir nekke atwo;
 And for ther was that tyme an ordinaunce
530 That no man sholde doon man swich penaunce
 The ferthe strook to smyten, softe or soore,
 This tormentour ne dorste do namoore,
 But half deed, with hir nekke ycorven there,
 He lefte hir lye, and on his wey he went.
 The Cristen folk, which that aboute hire were,
 With sheetes han the blood ful faire yhent.
 Thre dayes lyved she in this torment,
 And nevere cessed hem the feith to teche
 That she hadde fostred; hem she gan to preche,
540 And hem she yaf hir moebles and hir thyng,
 And to the Pope Urban bitook hem tho,
 And seyde, "I axed this of hevene kyng,
 To han respit thre dayes and namo
 To recomende to yow, er that I go,
 Thise soules, lo, and that I myghte do werche
 Heere of myn hous perpetuelly a cherche."
 Seint Urban with his deknes prively
 The body fette and buryed it by nyghte
 Among his othere seintes honestly.
550 Hir hous the chirche of Seint Cecilie highte;
 Seint Urban halwed it, as he wel myghte;
 In which, into this day, in noble wyse,
 Men doon to Crist and to his seint servyse.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Canon's Yeoman's Prologue

 Whan ended was the lyf of Seinte Cecile,
 Er we hadde riden fully fyve mile,
 At Boghtoun under Blee us gan atake
 A man that clothed was in clothes blake,
 And undernethe he hadde a whyt surplys.
 His hakeney, that was al pomely grys,
560 So swatte that it wonder was to see;
 It semed as he had priked miles three.
 The hors eek that his yeman rood upon
 So swatte that unnethe myghte it gon.
 Aboute the peytrel stood the foom ful hye;
 He was of foom al flekked as a pye.
 A male tweyfoold on his croper lay;
 It semed that he caried lite array.
 Al light for somer rood this worthy man,
 And in myn herte wondren I bigan
570 What that he was til that I understood
 How that his cloke was sowed to his hood,
 For which, whan I hadde longe avysed me,
 I demed hym som chanoun for to be.
 His hat heeng at his bak doun by a laas,
 For he hadde riden moore than trot or paas;
 He hadde ay priked lik as he were wood.
 A clote-leef he hadde under his hood
 For swoot and for to keep his heed from heete.
 But it was joye for to seen hym swete!
580 His forheed dropped as a stillatorie
 Were ful of plantayne and of paritorie.
 And whan that he was come, he gan to crye,
 "God save," quod he, "this joly compaignye!
 Faste have I priked," quod he, "for youre sake,
 By cause that I wolde yow atake,
 To riden in this myrie compaignye."
 His yeman eek was ful of curteisye,
 And seyde, "Sires, now in the morwe-tyde
 Out of youre hostelrie I saugh yow ryde,
590 And warned heer my lord and my soverayn,
 Which that to ryden with yow is ful fayn
 For his desport; he loveth daliaunce."
 "Freend, for thy warnyng God yeve thee good chaunce,"
 Thanne seyde oure Hoost, "for certein it wolde seme
 Thy lord were wys, and so I may wel deme.
 He is ful jocunde also, dar I leye!
 Can he oght telle a myrie tale or tweye,
 With which he glade may this compaignye?"
 "Who, sire? My lord? Ye, ye, withouten lye,
600 He kan of murthe and eek of jolitee
 Nat but ynough; also, sire, trusteth me,
 And ye hym knewe as wel as do I,
 Ye wolde wondre how wel and craftily
 He koude werke, and that in sondry wise.
 He hath take on hym many a greet emprise,
 Which were ful hard for any that is heere
 To brynge aboute, but they of hym it leere.
 As hoomly as he rit amonges yow,
 If ye hym knewe, it wolde be for youre prow.
610 Ye wolde nat forgoon his aqueyntaunce
 For muchel good, I dar leye in balaunce
 Al that I have in my possessioun.
 He is a man of heigh discrecioun;
 I warne yow wel, he is a passyng man."
 "Wel," quod oure Hoost, "I pray thee, tel me than,
 Is he a clerk, or noon? Telle what he is."
 "Nay, he is gretter than a clerk, ywis,"
 Seyde this Yeman, "and in wordes fewe,
 Hoost, of his craft somwhat I wol yow shewe.
620 "I seye, my lord kan swich subtilitee --
 But al his craft ye may nat wite at me,
 And somwhat helpe I yet to his wirkyng --
 That al this ground on which we been ridyng,
 Til that we come to Caunterbury toun,
 He koude al clene turnen up-so-doun,
 And pave it al of silver and of gold."
 And whan this Yeman hadde this tale ytold
 Unto oure Hoost, he seyde, "Benedicitee!
 This thyng is wonder merveillous to me,
630 Syn that thy lord is of so heigh prudence,
 By cause of which men sholde hym reverence,
 That of his worshipe rekketh he so lite.
 His overslope nys nat worth a myte,
 As in effect, to hym, so moot I go,
 It is al baudy and totore also.
 Why is thy lord so sluttissh, I the preye,
 And is of power bettre clooth to beye,
 If that his dede accorde with thy speche?
 Telle me that, and that I thee biseche."
640 "Why?" quod this Yeman, "wherto axe ye me?
 God help me so, for he shal nevere thee!
 (But I wol nat avowe that I seye,
 And therfore keepe it secree, I yow preye.)
 He is to wys, in feith, as I bileeve.
 That that is overdoon, it wol nat preeve
 Aright, as clerkes seyn; it is a vice.
 Wherfore in that I holde hym lewed and nyce.
 For whan a man hath over-greet a wit,
 Ful oft hym happeth to mysusen it.
650 So dooth my lord, and that me greveth soore;
 God it amende! I kan sey yow namoore."
 "Ther-of no fors, good Yeman," quod oure Hoost;
 "Syn of the konnyng of thy lord thow woost,
 Telle how he dooth, I pray thee hertely,
 Syn that he is so crafty and so sly.
 Where dwelle ye, if it to telle be?"
 "In the suburbes of a toun," quod he,
 "Lurkynge in hernes and in lanes blynde,
 Whereas thise robbours and thise theves by kynde
660 Holden hir pryvee fereful residence,
 As they that dar nat shewen hir presence;
 So faren we, if I shal seye the sothe."
 "Now," quod oure Hoost, "yit lat me talke to the.
 Why artow so discoloured of thy face?"
 "Peter!" quod he, "God yeve it harde grace,
 I am so used in the fyr to blowe
 That it hath chaunged my colour, I trowe.
 I am nat wont in no mirour to prie,
 But swynke soore and lerne multiplie.
670 We blondren evere and pouren in the fir,
 And for al that we faille of oure desir,
 For evere we lakken oure conclusioun.
 To muchel folk we doon illusioun,
 And borwe gold, be it a pound or two,
 Or ten, or twelve, or manye sommes mo,
 And make hem wenen, at the leeste weye,
 That of a pound we koude make tweye.
 Yet is it fals, but ay we han good hope
 It for to doon, and after it we grope.
680 But that science is so fer us biforn,
 We mowen nat, although we hadden it sworn,
 It overtake, it slit awey so faste.
 It wole us maken beggers atte laste."
 Whil this Yeman was thus in his talkyng,
 This Chanoun drough hym neer and herde al thyng
 Which this Yeman spak, for suspecioun
 Of mennes speche evere hadde this Chanoun.
 For Catoun seith that he that gilty is
 Demeth alle thyng be spoke of hym, ywis.
690 That was the cause he gan so ny hym drawe
 To his Yeman, to herknen al his sawe.
 And thus he seyde unto his Yeman tho:
 "Hoold thou thy pees and spek no wordes mo,
 For if thou do, thou shalt it deere abye.
 Thou sclaundrest me heere in this compaignye,
 And eek discoverest that thou sholdest hyde."
 "Ye," quod oure Hoost, "telle on, what so bityde.
 Of al his thretyng rekke nat a myte!"
 "In feith," quod he, "namoore I do but lyte."
700 And whan this Chanon saugh it wolde nat bee,
 But his Yeman wolde telle his pryvetee,
 He fledde awey for verray sorwe and shame.
 "A!" quod the Yeman, "heere shal arise game;
 Al that I kan anon now wol I telle.
 Syn he is goon, the foule feend hym quelle!
 For nevere heerafter wol I with hym meete
 For peny ne for pound, I yow biheete.
 He that me broghte first unto that game,
 Er that he dye, sorwe have he and shame!
710 For it is ernest to me, by my feith;
 That feele I wel, what so any man seith.
 And yet, for al my smert and al my grief,
 For al my sorwe, labour, and meschief,
 I koude nevere leve it in no wise.
 Now wolde God my wit myghte suffise
 To tellen al that longeth to that art!
 But nathelees yow wol I tellen part.
 Syn that my lord is goon, I wol nat spare;
 Swich thyng as that I knowe, I wol declare.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Canon's Yeoman's Tale

720 With this Chanoun I dwelt have seven yeer,
 And of his science am I never the neer.
 Al that I hadde I have lost therby,
 And, God woot, so hath many mo than I.
 Ther I was wont to be right fressh and gay
 Of clothyng and of oother good array,
 Now may I were an hose upon myn heed;
 And wher my colour was bothe fressh and reed,
 Now is it wan and of a leden hewe --
 Whoso it useth, soore shal he rewe! --
730 And of my swynk yet blered is myn ye.
 Lo, which avantage is to multiplie!
 That slidynge science hath me maad so bare
 That I have no good, wher that evere I fare;
 And yet I am endetted so therby
 Of gold that I have borwed, trewely,
 That whil I lyve I shal it quite nevere.
 Lat every man be war by me for evere!
 What maner man that casteth hym therto,
 If he continue, I holde his thrift ydo.
740 For so helpe me God, therby shal he nat wynne,
 But empte his purs and make his wittes thynne.
 And whan he thurgh his madnesse and folye
 Hath lost his owene good thurgh jupartye,
 Thanne he exciteth oother folk therto,
 To lesen hir good as he hymself hath do.
 For unto shrewes joye it is and ese
 To have hir felawes in peyne and disese.
 Thus was I ones lerned of a clerk.
 Of that no charge; I wol speke of oure werk.
750 Whan we been there as we shul exercise
 Oure elvysshe craft, we semen wonder wise,
 Oure termes been so clergial and so queynte.
 I blowe the fir til that myn herte feynte.
 What sholde I tellen ech proporcion
 Of thynges whiche that we werche upon --
 As on fyve or sixe ounces, may wel be,
 Of silver, or som oother quantitee --
 And bisye me to telle yow the names
 Of orpyment, brent bones, iren squames,
760 That into poudre grounden been ful smal;
 And in an erthen pot how put is al,
 And salt yput in, and also papeer,
 Biforn thise poudres that I speke of heer;
 And wel ycovered with a lampe of glas;
 And of muche oother thyng which that ther was;
 And of the pot and glasses enlutyng
 That of the eyr myghte passe out nothyng;
 And of the esy fir, and smart also,
 Which that was maad, and of the care and wo
770 That we hadde in oure matires sublymyng,
 And in amalgamyng and calcenyng
 Of quyksilver, yclept mercurie crude?
 For alle oure sleightes we kan nat conclude.
 Oure orpyment and sublymed mercurie,
 Oure grounden litarge eek on the porfurie,
 Of ech of thise of ounces a certeyn --
 Noght helpeth us; oure labour is in veyn.
 Ne eek oure spirites ascencioun,
 Ne oure materes that lyen al fix adoun,
780 Mowe in oure werkyng no thyng us availle,
 For lost is al oure labour and travaille;
 And al the cost, a twenty devel waye,
 Is lost also, which we upon it laye.
 Ther is also ful many another thyng
 That is unto oure craft apertenyng.
 Though I by ordre hem nat reherce kan,
 By cause that I am a lewed man,
 Yet wol I telle hem as they come to mynde,
 Thogh I ne kan nat sette hem in hir kynde:
790 As boole armonyak, verdegrees, boras,
 And sondry vessels maad of erthe and glas,
 Oure urynales and oure descensories,
 Violes, crosletz, and sublymatories,
 Cucurbites and alambikes eek,
 And othere swiche, deere ynough a leek --
 Nat nedeth it for to reherce hem alle --
 Watres rubifiyng, and boles galle,
 Arsenyk, sal armonyak, and brymstoon;
 And herbes koude I telle eek many oon,
800 As egremoyne, valerian, and lunarie,
 And othere swiche, if that me liste tarie;
 Oure lampes brennyng bothe nyght and day,
 To brynge aboute oure purpos, if we may;
 Oure fourneys eek of calcinacioun,
 And of watres albificacioun;
 Unslekked lym, chalk, and gleyre of an ey,
 Poudres diverse, asshes, donge, pisse, and cley,
 Cered pokkets, sal peter, vitriole,
 And diverse fires maad of wode and cole;
810 Sal tartre, alkaly, and sal preparat,
 And combust materes and coagulat;
 Cley maad with hors or mannes heer, and oille
 Of tartre, alum glas, berme, wort, and argoille,
 Resalgar, and oure materes enbibyng,
 And eek of oure materes encorporyng,
 And of oure silver citrinacioun,
 Oure cementyng and fermentacioun,
 Oure yngottes, testes, and many mo.
 I wol yow telle, as was me taught also,
820 The foure spirites and the bodies sevene,
 By ordre, as ofte I herde my lord hem nevene.
 The firste spirit quyksilver called is,
 The seconde orpyment, the thridde, ywis,
 Sal armonyak, and the ferthe brymstoon.
 The bodyes sevene eek, lo, hem heere anoon:
 Sol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe,
 Mars iren, Mercurie quyksilver we clepe,
 Saturnus leed, and Juppiter is tyn,
 And Venus coper, by my fader kyn!
830 This cursed craft whoso wole excercise,
 He shal no good han that hym may suffise,
 For al the good he spendeth theraboute
 He lese shal; therof have I no doute.
 Whoso that listeth outen his folie,
 Lat hym come forth and lerne multiplie;
 And every man that oght hath in his cofre,
 Lat hym appiere and wexe a philosophre.
 Ascaunce that craft is so light to leere?
 Nay, nay, God woot, al be he monk or frere,
840 Preest or chanoun, or any oother wyght,
 Though he sitte at his book bothe day and nyght
 In lernyng of this elvysshe nyce loore,
 Al is in veyn, and parde, muchel moore.
 To lerne a lewed man this subtiltee --
 Fy! Spek nat therof, for it wol nat bee.
 And konne he letterure or konne he noon,
 As in effect, he shal fynde it al oon.
 For bothe two, by my savacioun,
 Concluden in multiplicacioun
850 Ylike wel, whan they han al ydo;
 This is to seyn, they faillen bothe two.
 Yet forgat I to maken rehersaille
 Of watres corosif, and of lymaille,
 And of bodies mollificacioun,
 And also of hire induracioun;
 Oilles, ablucions, and metal fusible --
 To tellen al wolde passen any bible
 That owher is; wherfore, as for the beste,
 Of alle thise names now wol I me reste,
860 For, as I trowe, I have yow toold ynowe
 To reyse a feend, al looke he never so rowe.
 A! Nay! Lat be; the philosophres stoon,
 Elixer clept, we sechen faste echoon;
 For hadde we hym, thanne were we siker ynow.
 But unto God of hevene I make avow,
 For al oure craft, whan we han al ydo,
 And al oure sleighte, he wol nat come us to.
 He hath ymaad us spenden muchel good,
 For sorwe of which almoost we wexen wood,
870 But that good hope crepeth in oure herte,
 Supposynge evere, though we sore smerte,
 To be releeved by hym afterward.
 Swich supposyng and hope is sharp and hard;
 I warne yow wel, it is to seken evere.
 That futur temps hath maad men to dissevere,
 In trust therof, from al that evere they hadde.
 Yet of that art they kan nat wexen sadde,
 For unto hem it is a bitter sweete --
 So semeth it -- for nadde they but a sheete
880 Which that they myghte wrappe hem inne a-nyght,
 And a brat to walken inne by daylyght,
 They wolde hem selle and spenden on this craft.
 They kan nat stynte til no thyng be laft.
 And everemoore, where that evere they goon,
 Men may hem knowe by smel of brymstoon.
 For al the world they stynken as a goot;
 Hir savour is so rammyssh and so hoot
 That though a man from hem a mile be,
 The savour wole infecte hym, trusteth me.
890 Lo, thus by smellyng and threedbare array,
 If that men liste, this folk they knowe may.
 And if a man wole aske hem pryvely
 Why they been clothed so unthriftily,
 They right anon wol rownen in his ere,
 And seyn that if that they espied were,
 Men wolde hem slee by cause of hir science.
 Lo, thus this folk bitrayen innocence!
 Passe over this; I go my tale unto.
 Er that the pot be on the fir ydo,
900 Of metals with a certeyn quantitee,
 My lord hem tempreth, and no man but he --
 Now he is goon, I dar seyn boldely --
 For, as men seyn, he kan doon craftily.
 Algate I woot wel he hath swich a name;
 And yet ful ofte he renneth in a blame.
 And wite ye how? Ful ofte it happeth so
 The pot tobreketh, and farewel, al is go!
 Thise metals been of so greet violence
 Oure walles mowe nat make hem resistence,
910 But if they weren wroght of lym and stoon;
 They percen so, and thurgh the wal they goon.
 And somme of hem synken into the ground --
 Thus han we lost by tymes many a pound --
 And somme are scatered al the floor aboute;
 Somme lepe into the roof. Withouten doute,
 Though that the feend noght in oure sighte hym shewe,
 I trowe he with us be, that ilke shrewe!
 In helle, where that he is lord and sire,
 Nis ther moore wo, ne moore rancour ne ire.
920 Whan that oure pot is broke, as I have sayd,
 Every man chit and halt hym yvele apayd.
 Somme seyde it was long on the fir makyng;
 Somme seyde nay, it was on the blowyng --
 Thanne was I fered, for that was myn office.
 "Straw!" quod the thridde, "ye been lewed and nyce.
 It was nat tempred as it oghte be."
 "Nay," quod the fourthe, "stynt and herkne me.
 By cause oure fir ne was nat maad of beech,
 That is the cause and oother noon, so thee 'ch!"
930 I kan nat telle wheron it was long,
 But wel I woot greet strif is us among.
 "What," quod my lord, "ther is namoore to doone;
 Of thise perils I wol be war eftsoone.
 I am right siker that the pot was crased.
 Be as be may, be ye no thyng amased;
 As usage is, lat swepe the floor as swithe,
 Plukke up youre hertes and beeth glad and blithe."
 The mullok on an heep ysweped was,
 And on the floor ycast a canevas,
940 And al this mullok in a syve ythrowe,
 And sifted, and ypiked many a throwe.
 "Pardee," quod oon, "somwhat of oure metal
 Yet is ther heere, though that we han nat al.
 And though this thyng myshapped have as now,
 Another tyme it may be well ynow.
 Us moste putte oure good in aventure.
 A marchant, pardee, may nat ay endure,
 Trusteth me wel, in his prosperitee.
 Somtyme his good is drowned in the see,
950 And somtyme comth it sauf unto the londe."
 "Pees!" quod my lord, "the nexte tyme I wol fonde
 To bryngen oure craft al in another plite,
 And but I do, sires, lat me han the wite.
 Ther was defaute in somwhat, wel I woot."
 Another seyde the fir was over-hoot --
 But, be it hoot or coold, I dar seye this,
 That we concluden everemoore amys.
 We faille of that which that we wolden have,
 And in oure madnesse everemoore we rave.
960 And whan we been togidres everichoon,
 Every man semeth a Salomon.
 But al thyng which that shineth as the gold
 Nis nat gold, as that I have herd told;
 Ne every appul that is fair at eye
 Ne is nat good, what so men clappe or crye.
 Right so, lo, fareth it amonges us:
 He that semeth the wiseste, by Jhesus,
 Is moost fool, whan it cometh to the preef;
 And he that semeth trewest is a theef.
970 That shul ye knowe, er that I fro yow wende,
 By that I of my tale have maad an ende.
 Ther is a chanoun of religioun
 Amonges us, wolde infecte al a toun,
 Thogh it as greet were as was Nynyvee,
 Rome, Alisaundre, Troye, and othere three.
 His sleightes and his infinite falsnesse
 Ther koude no man writen, as I gesse,
 Though that he myghte lyve a thousand yeer.
 In al this world of falshede nis his peer,
980 For in his termes he wol hym so wynde,
 And speke his wordes in so sly a kynde,
 Whanne he commune shal with any wight,
 That he wol make hym doten anonright,
 But it a feend be, as hymselven is.
 Ful many a man hath he bigiled er this,
 And wole, if that he lyve may a while;
 And yet men ride and goon ful many a mile
 Hym for to seke and have his aqueyntaunce,
 Noght knowynge of his false governaunce.
990 And if yow list to yeve me audience,
 I wol it tellen heere in youre presence.
 But worshipful chanons religious,
 Ne demeth nat that I sclaundre youre hous,
 Although that my tale of a chanoun bee.
 Of every ordre som shrewe is, pardee,
 And God forbede that al a compaignye
 Sholde rewe o singuleer mannes folye.
 To sclaundre yow is no thyng myn entente,
 But to correcten that is mys I mente.
1000 This tale was nat oonly toold for yow,
 But eek for othere mo; ye woot wel how
 That among Cristes apostelles twelve
 Ther nas no traytour but Judas hymselve.
 Thanne why sholde al the remenant have a blame
 That giltlees were? By yow I seye the same,
 Save oonly this, if ye wol herkne me:
 If any Judas in youre covent be,
 Remoeveth hym bitymes, I yow rede,
 If shame or los may causen any drede.
1010 And beeth no thyng displesed, I yow preye,
 But in this cas herkneth what I shal seye.
 In Londoun was a preest, an annueleer,
 That therinne dwelled hadde many a yeer,
 Which was so plesaunt and so servysable
 Unto the wyf, where as he was at table,
 That she wolde suffre hym no thyng for to paye
 For bord ne clothyng, wente he never so gaye,
 And spendyng silver hadde he right ynow.
 Therof no fors; I wol procede as now,
1020 And telle forth my tale of the chanoun
 That broghte this preest to confusioun.
 This false chanon cam upon a day
 Unto this preestes chambre, wher he lay,
 Bisechynge hym to lene hym a certeyn
 Of gold, and he wolde quite it hym ageyn.
 "Leene me a marc," quod he, "but dayes three,
 And at my day I wol it quiten thee.
 And if so be that thow me fynde fals,
 Another day do hange me by the hals!"
1030 This preest hym took a marc, and that as swithe,
 And this chanoun hym thanked ofte sithe,
 And took his leve, and wente forth his weye,
 And at the thridde day broghte his moneye,
 And to the preest he took his gold agayn,
 Wherof this preest was wonder glad and fayn.
 "Certes," quod he, "no thyng anoyeth me
 To lene a man a noble, or two, or thre,
 Or what thyng were in my possessioun,
 Whan he so trewe is of condicioun
1040 That in no wise he breke wole his day;
 To swich a man I kan never seye nay."
 "What!" quod this chanoun, "sholde I be untrewe?
 Nay, that were thyng yfallen al of newe.
 Trouthe is a thyng that I wol evere kepe
 Unto that day in which that I shal crepe
 Into my grave, and ellis God forbede.
 Bileveth this as siker as your Crede.
 God thanke I, and in good tyme be it sayd,
 That ther was nevere man yet yvele apayd
1050 For gold ne silver that he to me lente,
 Ne nevere falshede in myn herte I mente.
 And sire," quod he, "now of my pryvetee,
 Syn ye so goodlich han been unto me,
 And kithed to me so greet gentillesse,
 Somwhat to quyte with youre kyndenesse
 I wol yow shewe, and if yow list to leere,
 I wol yow teche pleynly the manere
 How I kan werken in philosophie.
 Taketh good heede; ye shul wel seen at ye
1060 That I wol doon a maistrie er I go."
 "Ye," quod the preest, "ye, sire, and wol ye so?
 Marie, therof I pray yow hertely."
 "At youre comandement, sire, trewely,"
 Quod the chanoun, "and ellis God forbeede!"
 Loo, how this theef koude his service beede!
 Ful sooth it is that swich profred servyse
 Stynketh, as witnessen thise olde wyse,
 And that ful soone I wol it verifie
 In this chanoun, roote of al trecherie,
1070 That everemoore delit hath and gladnesse --
 Swiche feendly thoghtes in his herte impresse --
 How Cristes peple he may to meschief brynge.
 God kepe us from his false dissymulynge!
 Noght wiste this preest with whom that he delte,
 Ne of his harm comynge he no thyng felte.
 O sely preest! O sely innocent!
 With coveitise anon thou shalt be blent!
 O gracelees, ful blynd is thy conceite,
 No thyng ne artow war of the deceite
1080 Which that this fox yshapen hath to thee!
 His wily wrenches thou ne mayst nat flee.
 Wherfore, to go to the conclusion,
 That refereth to thy confusion,
 Unhappy man, anon I wol me hye
 To tellen thyn unwit and thy folye,
 And eek the falsnesse of that oother wrecche,
 As ferforth as that my konnyng wol strecche.
 This chanon was my lord, ye wolden weene?
 Sire hoost, in feith, and by the hevenes queene,
1090 It was another chanoun, and nat hee,
 That kan an hundred foold moore subtiltee.
 He hath bitrayed folkes many tyme;
 Of his falsnesse it dulleth me to ryme.
 Evere whan that I speke of his falshede,
 For shame of hym my chekes wexen rede.
 Algates they bigynnen for to glowe,
 For reednesse have I noon, right wel I knowe,
 In my visage; for fumes diverse
 Of metals, whiche ye han herd me reherce,
1100 Consumed and wasted han my reednesse.
 Now taak heede of this chanons cursednesse!
 "Sire," quod he to the preest, "lat youre man gon
 For quyksilver, that we it hadde anon;
 And lat hym bryngen ounces two or three;
 And whan he comth, as faste shal ye see
 A wonder thyng, which ye saugh nevere er this."
 "Sire," quod the preest, "it shal be doon, ywis."
 He bad his servant fecchen hym this thyng,
 And he al redy was at his biddyng,
1110 And wente hym forth, and cam anon agayn
 With this quyksilver, shortly for to sayn,
 And took thise ounces thre to the chanoun;
 And he hem leyde faire and wel adoun,
 And bad the servant coles for to brynge,
 That he anon myghte go to his werkynge.
 The coles right anon weren yfet,
 And this chanoun took out a crosselet
 Of his bosom, and shewed it to the preest.
 "This instrument," quod he, "which that thou seest,
1120 Taak in thyn hand, and put thyself therinne
 Of this quyksilver an ounce, and heer bigynne,
 In name of Crist, to wexe a philosofre.
 Ther been ful fewe to whiche I wolde profre
 To shewen hem thus muche of my science.
 For ye shul seen heer, by experience,
 That this quyksilver I wol mortifye
 Right in youre sighte anon, withouten lye,
 And make it as good silver and as fyn
 As ther is any in youre purs or myn,
1130 Or elleswhere, and make it malliable;
 And elles holdeth me fals and unable
 Amonges folk for evere to appeere.
 I have a poudre heer, that coste me deere,
 Shal make al good, for it is cause of al
 My konnyng, which that I yow shewen shal.
 Voyde youre man, and lat hym be theroute,
 And shette the dore, whils we been aboute
 Oure pryvetee, that no man us espie,
 Whils that we werke in this philosophie."
1140 Al as he bad fulfilled was in dede.
 This ilke servant anonright out yede,
 And his maister shette the dore anon,
 And to hire labour spedily they gon.
 This preest, at this cursed chanons biddyng,
 Upon the fir anon sette this thyng,
 And blew the fir, and bisyed hym ful faste.
 And this chanoun into the crosselet caste
 A poudre, noot I wherof that it was
 Ymaad, outher of chalk, outher of glas,
1150 Or somwhat elles, was nat worth a flye,
 To blynde with this preest; and bad hym hye
 The coles for to couchen al above
 The crosselet. "For in tokenyng I thee love,"
 Quod this chanoun, "thyne owene handes two
 Shul werche al thyng which that shal heer be do."
 "Graunt mercy," quod the preest, and was ful glad,
 And couched coles as the chanoun bad.
 And while he bisy was, this feendly wrecche,
 This false chanoun -- the foule feend hym fecche! --
1160 Out of his bosom took a bechen cole,
 In which ful subtilly was maad an hole,
 And therinne put was of silver lemaille
 An ounce, and stopped was, withouten faille,
 This hole with wex, to kepe the lemaille in.
 And understondeth that this false gyn
 Was nat maad ther, but it was maad bifore;
 And othere thynges I shal tellen moore
 Herafterward, whiche that he with hym broghte.
 Er he cam there, hym to bigile he thoghte,
1170 And so he dide, er that they wente atwynne;
 Til he had terved hym, koude he nat blynne.
 It dulleth me whan that I of hym speke.
 On his falshede fayn wolde I me wreke,
 If I wiste how, but he is heere and there;
 He is so variaunt, he abit nowhere.
 But taketh heede now, sires, for Goddes love!
 He took his cole of which I spak above,
 And in his hand he baar it pryvely.
 And whiles the preest couched bisily
1180 The coles, as I tolde yow er this,
 This chanoun seyde, "Freend, ye doon amys.
 This is nat couched as it oghte be;
 But soone I shal amenden it," quod he.
 "Now lat me medle therwith but a while,
 For of yow have I pitee, by Seint Gile!
 Ye been right hoot; I se wel how ye swete.
 Have heere a clooth, and wipe awey the wete."
 And whiles that the preest wiped his face,
 This chanoun took his cole -- with sory grace! --
1190 And leyde it above upon the myddeward
 Of the crosselet, and blew wel afterward
 Til that the coles gonne faste brenne.
 "Now yeve us drynke," quod the chanoun thenne;
 "As swithe al shal be wel, I undertake.
 Sitte we doun, and lat us myrie make."
 And whan that this chanounes bechen cole
 Was brent, al the lemaille out of the hole
 Into the crosselet fil anon adoun;
 And so it moste nedes, by resoun,
1200 Syn it so evene above couched was.
 But therof wiste the preest nothyng, alas!
 He demed alle the coles yliche good,
 For of that sleighte he nothyng understood.
 And whan this alkamystre saugh his tyme,
 "Ris up," quod he, "sire preest, and stondeth by me;
 And for I woot wel ingot have ye noon,
 Gooth, walketh forth, and bryngeth a chalk stoon;
 For I wol make it of the same shap
 That is an ingot, if I may han hap.
1210 And bryngeth eek with yow a bolle or a panne
 Ful of water, and ye shul se wel thanne
 How that oure bisynesse shal thryve and preeve.
 And yet, for ye shul han no mysbileeve
 Ne wrong conceite of me in youre absence,
 I ne wol nat been out of youre presence,
 But go with yow and come with yow ageyn."
 The chambre dore, shortly for to seyn,
 They opened and shette, and wente hir weye.
 And forth with hem they carieden the keye,
1220 And coome agayn withouten any delay.
 What sholde I tarien al the longe day?
 He took the chalk and shoop it in the wise
 Of an ingot, as I shal yow devyse.
 I seye, he took out of his owene sleeve
 A teyne of silver -- yvele moot he cheeve! --
 Which that ne was nat but an ounce of weighte.
 And taaketh heede now of his cursed sleighte!
 He shoop his ingot in lengthe and in breede
 Of this teyne, withouten any drede,
1230 So slyly that the preest it nat espide,
 And in his sleve agayn he gan it hide,
 And fro the fir he took up his mateere,
 And in th' yngot putte it with myrie cheere,
 And in the water-vessel he it caste,
 Whan that hym luste, and bad the preest as faste,
 "Loke what ther is; put in thyn hand and grope.
 Thow fynde shalt ther silver, as I hope."
 What, devel of helle, sholde it elles be?
 Shaving of silver silver is, pardee!
1240 He putte his hand in and took up a teyne
 Of silver fyn, and glad in every veyne
 Was this preest, whan he saugh it was so.
 "Goddes blessyng, and his moodres also,
 And alle halwes, have ye, sire chanoun,"
 Seyde the preest, "and I hir malisoun,
 But, and ye vouche-sauf to techen me
 This noble craft and this subtilitee,
 I wol be youre in al that evere I may."
 Quod the chanoun, "Yet wol I make assay
1250 The seconde tyme, that ye may taken heede
 And been expert of this, and in youre neede
 Another day assaye in myn absence
 This disciplyne and this crafty science.
 Lat take another ounce," quod he tho,
 "Of quyksilver, withouten wordes mo,
 And do therwith as ye han doon er this
 With that oother, which that now silver is."
 This preest hym bisieth in al that he kan
 To doon as this chanoun, this cursed man,
1260 Comanded hym, and faste blew the fir,
 For to come to th' effect of his desir.
 And this chanon, right in the meene while,
 Al redy was this preest eft to bigile,
 And for a contenaunce in his hand he bar
 An holwe stikke -- taak kep and be war! --
 In the ende of which an ounce, and namoore,
 Of silver lemaille put was, as bifore
 Was in his cole, and stopped with wex weel
 For to kepe in his lemaille every deel.
1270 And whil this preest was in his bisynesse,
 This chanoun with his stikke gan hym dresse
 To hym anon, and his poudre caste in
 As he dide er -- the devel out of his skyn
 Hym terve, I pray to God, for his falshede!
 For he was evere fals in thoght and dede --
 And with this stikke, above the crosselet,
 That was ordeyned with that false jet,
 He stired the coles til relente gan
 The wex agayn the fir, as every man,
1280 But it a fool be, woot wel it moot nede,
 And al that in the stikke was out yede,
 And in the crosselet hastily it fel.
 Now, good sires, what wol ye bet than wel?
 Whan that this preest thus was bigiled ageyn,
 Supposynge noght but treuthe, sooth to seyn,
 He was so glad that I kan nat expresse
 In no manere his myrthe and his gladnesse;
 And to the chanoun he profred eftsoone
 Body and good. "Ye," quod the chanoun soone,
1290 "Though poure I be, crafty thou shalt me fynde.
 I warne thee, yet is ther moore bihynde.
 Is ther any coper herinne?" seyde he.
 "Ye," quod the preest, "sire, I trowe wel ther be."
 "Elles go bye us som, and that as swithe;
 Now, goode sire, go forth thy wey and hy the."
 He wente his wey, and with the coper cam,
 And this chanon it in his handes nam,
 And of that coper weyed out but an ounce.
 Al to symple is my tonge to pronounce,
1300 As ministre of my wit, the doublenesse
 Of this chanoun, roote of alle cursednesse!
 He semed freendly to hem that knewe hym noght,
 But he was feendly bothe in werk and thoght.
 It weerieth me to telle of his falsnesse,
 And nathelees yet wol I it expresse,
 To th' entente that men may be war therby,
 And for noon oother cause, trewely.
 He putte this ounce of coper in the crosselet,
 And on the fir as swithe he hath it set,
1310 And caste in poudre, and made the preest to blowe,
 And in his werkyng for to stoupe lowe,
 As he dide er -- and al nas but a jape;
 Right as hym liste, the preest he made his ape!
 And afterward in the ingot he it caste,
 And in the panne putte it at the laste
 Of water, and in he putte his owene hand,
 And in his sleve (as ye biforen-hand
 Herde me telle) he hadde a silver teyne.
 He slyly took it out, this cursed heyne,
1320 Unwityng this preest of his false craft,
 And in the pannes botme he hath it laft;
 And in the water rombled to and fro,
 And wonder pryvely took up also
 The coper teyne, noght knowynge this preest,
 And hidde it, and hym hente by the breest,
 And to hym spak, and thus seyde in his game:
 "Stoupeth adoun. By God, ye be to blame!
 Helpeth me now, as I dide yow whileer;
 Putte in youre hand, and looketh what is theer."
1330 This preest took up this silver teyne anon,
 And thanne seyde the chanoun, "Lat us gon
 With thise thre teynes, whiche that we han wroght,
 To som goldsmyth and wite if they been oght,
 For, by my feith, I nolde, for myn hood,
 But if that they were silver fyn and good,
 And that as swithe preeved it shal bee."
 Unto the goldsmyth with thise teynes three
 They wente and putte thise teynes in assay
 To fir and hamer; myghte no man seye nay,
1340 But that they weren as hem oghte be.
 This sotted preest, who was gladder than he?
 Was nevere brid gladder agayn the day,
 Ne nyghtyngale, in the sesoun of May,
 Was nevere noon that luste bet to synge;
 Ne lady lustier in carolynge,
 Or for to speke of love and wommanhede,
 Ne knyght in armes to doon an hardy dede,
 To stonden in grace of his lady deere,
 Than hadde this preest this soory craft to leere.
1350 And to the chanoun thus he spak and seyde:
 "For love of God, that for us alle deyde,
 And as I may deserve it unto yow,
 What shal this receite coste? Telleth now!"
 "By oure Lady," quod this chanon, "it is deere,
 I warne yow wel; for save I and a frere,
 In Engelond ther kan no man it make."
 "No fors," quod he, "now, sire, for Goddes sake,
 What shal I paye? Telleth me, I preye."
 "Ywis," quod he, "it is ful deere, I seye.
1360 Sire, at o word, if that thee list it have,
 Ye shul paye fourty pound, so God me save!
 And nere the freendshipe that ye dide er this
 To me, ye sholde paye moore, ywis."
 This preest the somme of fourty pound anon
 Of nobles fette, and took hem everichon
 To this chanoun for this ilke receite.
 Al his werkyng nas but fraude and deceite.
 "Sire preest," he seyde, "I kepe han no loos
 Of my craft, for I wolde it kept were cloos;
1370 And, as ye love me, kepeth it secree.
 For, and men knewen al my soutiltee,
 By God, they wolden han so greet envye
 To me by cause of my philosophye
 I sholde be deed; ther were noon oother weye."
 "God it forbeede," quod the preest, "what sey ye?
 Yet hadde I levere spenden al the good
 Which that I have, and elles wexe I wood,
 Than that ye sholden falle in swich mescheef."
 "For youre good wyl, sire, have ye right good preef,"
1380 Quod the chanoun, "and farwel, grant mercy!"
 He wente his wey, and never the preest hym sy
 After that day; and whan that this preest shoolde
 Maken assay, at swich tyme as he wolde,
 Of this receit, farwel! It wolde nat be.
 Lo, thus byjaped and bigiled was he!
 Thus maketh he his introduccioun,
 To brynge folk to hir destruccioun.
 Considereth, sires, how that, in ech estaat,
 Bitwixe men and gold ther is debaat
1390 So ferforth that unnethes is ther noon.
 This multiplying blent so many oon
 That in good feith I trowe that it bee
 The cause grettest of swich scarsetee.
 Philosophres speken so mystily
 In this craft that men kan nat come therby,
 For any wit that men han now-a-dayes.
 They mowe wel chiteren as doon jayes,
 And in hir termes sette hir lust and peyne,
 But to hir purpos shul they nevere atteyne.
1400 A man may lightly lerne, if he have aught,
 To multiplie, and brynge his good to naught!
 Lo! swich a lucre is in this lusty game,
 A mannes myrthe it wol turne unto grame,
 And empten also grete and hevye purses,
 And maken folk for to purchacen curses
 Of hem that han hir good therto ylent.
 O, fy, for shame! They that han been brent,
 Allas, kan they nat flee the fires heete?
 Ye that it use, I rede ye it leete,
1410 Lest ye lese al; for bet than nevere is late.
 Nevere to thryve were to long a date.
 Though ye prolle ay, ye shul it nevere fynde.
 Ye been as boold as is Bayard the blynde,
 That blondreth forth and peril casteth noon.
 He is as boold to renne agayn a stoon
 As for to goon bisides in the weye.
 So faren ye that multiplie, I seye.
 If that youre eyen kan nat seen aright,
 Looke that youre mynde lakke noght his sight.
1420 For though ye looken never so brode and stare,
 Ye shul nothyng wynne on that chaffare,
 But wasten al that ye may rape and renne.
 Withdraweth the fir, lest it to faste brenne;
 Medleth namoore with that art, I mene,
 For if ye doon, youre thrift is goon ful clene.
 And right as swithe I wol yow tellen heere
 What philosophres seyn in this mateere.
 Lo, thus seith Arnold of the Newe Toun,
 As his Rosarie maketh mencioun;
1430 He seith right thus, withouten any lye:
 "Ther may no man mercurie mortifie
 But it be with his brother knowlechyng";
 How [be] that he which that first seyde this thyng
 Of philosophres fader was, Hermes;
 He seith how that the dragon, doutelees,
 Ne dyeth nat but if that he be slayn
 With his brother; and that is for to sayn,
 By the dragon, Mercurie, and noon oother
 He understood, and brymstoon by his brother,
1440 That out of Sol and Luna were ydrawe.
 "And therfore," seyde he -- taak heede to my sawe --
 "Lat no man bisye hym this art for to seche,
 But if that he th' entencioun and speche
 Of philosophres understonde kan;
 And if he do, he is a lewed man.
 For this science and this konnyng," quod he,
 "Is of the secree of the secretes, pardee."
 Also ther was a disciple of Plato,
 That on a tyme seyde his maister to,
1450 As his book Senior wol bere witnesse,
 And this was his demande in soothfastnesse:
 "Telle me the name of the privee stoon."
 And Plato answerde unto hym anoon,
 "Take the stoon that Titanos men name."
 "Which is that?" quod he. "Magnasia is the same,"
 Seyde Plato. "Ye, sire, and is it thus?
 This is ignotum per ignocius.
 What is Magnasia, good sire, I yow preye?"
 "It is a water that is maad, I seye,
1460 Of elementes foure," quod Plato.
 "Telle me the roote, good sire," quod he tho,
 "Of that water, if it be youre wil."
 "Nay, nay," quod Plato, "certein, that I nyl.
 The philosophres sworn were everychoon
 That they sholden discovere it unto noon,
 Ne in no book it write in no manere.
 For unto Crist it is so lief and deere
 That he wol nat that it discovered bee,
 But where it liketh to his deitee
1470 Men for t' enspire, and eek for to deffende
 Whom that hym liketh; lo, this is the ende."
 Thanne conclude I thus, sith that God of hevene
 Ne wil nat that the philosophres nevene
 How that a man shal come unto this stoon,
 I rede, as for the beste, lete it goon.
 For whoso maketh God his adversarie,
 As for to werken any thyng in contrarie
 Of his wil, certes, never shal he thryve,
 Thogh that he multiplie terme of his lyve.
1480 And there a poynt, for ended is my tale.
 God sende every trewe man boote of his bale!

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Manciple's Prologue

 Woot ye nat where ther stant a litel toun
 Which that ycleped is Bobbe-up-and-doun,
 Under the Blee, in Caunterbury Weye?
 Ther gan oure Hooste for to jape and pleye,
 And seyde, "Sires, what! Dun is in the myre!
 Is ther no man, for preyere ne for hyre,
 That wole awake oure felawe al bihynde?
 A theef myghte hym ful lightly robbe and bynde.
 See how he nappeth! See how, for cokkes bones,
10 That he wol falle fro his hors atones!
 Is that a cook of Londoun, with meschaunce?
 Do hym come forth, he knoweth his penaunce;
 For he shal telle a tale, by my fey,
 Although it be nat worth a botel hey.
 Awake, thou Cook," quod he, "God yeve thee sorwe!
 What eyleth thee to slepe by the morwe?
 Hastow had fleen al nyght, or artow dronke?
 Or hastow with som quene al nyght yswonke,
 So that thow mayst nat holden up thyn heed?"
20 This Cook, that was ful pale and no thyng reed,
 Seyde to oure Hoost, "So God my soule blesse,
 As ther is falle on me swich hevynesse,
 Noot I nat why, that me were levere slepe
 Than the beste galon wyn in Chepe."
 "Wel," quod the Maunciple, "if it may doon ese
 To thee, sire Cook, and to no wight displese,
 Which that heere rideth in this compaignye,
 And that oure Hoost wole, of his curteisye,
 I wol as now excuse thee of thy tale.
30 For, in good feith, thy visage is ful pale,
 Thyne eyen daswen eek, as that me thynketh,
 And, wel I woot, thy breeth ful soure stynketh:
 That sheweth wel thou art nat wel disposed.
 Of me, certeyn, thou shalt nat been yglosed.
 See how he ganeth, lo, this dronken wight,
 As though he wolde swolwe us anonright.
 Hoold cloos thy mouth, man, by thy fader kyn!
 The devel of helle sette his foot therin!
 Thy cursed breeth infecte wole us alle.
40 Fy, stynkyng swyn! Fy, foule moote thee falle!
 A, taketh heede, sires, of this lusty man.
 Now, sweete sire, wol ye justen atte fan?
 Therto me thynketh ye been wel yshape!
 I trowe that ye dronken han wyn ape,
 And that is whan men pleyen with a straw."
 And with this speche the Cook wax wrooth and wraw,
 And on the Manciple he gan nodde faste
 For lakke of speche, and doun the hors hym caste,
 Where as he lay, til that men hym up took.
50 This was a fair chyvachee of a cook!
 Allas, he nadde holde hym by his ladel!
 And er that he agayn were in his sadel,
 Ther was greet showvyng bothe to and fro
 To lifte hym up, and muchel care and wo,
 So unweeldy was this sory palled goost.
 And to the Manciple thanne spak oure Hoost:
 "By cause drynke hath dominacioun
 Upon this man, by my savacioun,
 I trowe he lewedly wolde telle his tale.
60 For, were it wyn or oold or moysty ale
 That he hath dronke, he speketh in his nose,
 And fneseth faste, and eek he hath the pose.
 "He hath also to do moore than ynough
 To kepen hym and his capul out of the slough;
 And if he falle from his capul eftsoone,
 Thanne shal we alle have ynogh to doone
 In liftyng up his hevy dronken cors.
 Telle on thy tale; of hym make I no fors.
 "But yet, Manciple, in feith thou art to nyce,
70 Thus openly repreve hym of his vice.
 Another day he wole, peraventure,
 Reclayme thee and brynge thee to lure;
 I meene, he speke wole of smale thynges,
 As for to pynchen at thy rekenynges,
 That were nat honest, if it cam to preef."
 "No," quod the Manciple, "that were a greet mescheef!
 So myghte he lightly brynge me in the snare.
 Yet hadde I levere payen for the mare
 Which he rit on, than he sholde with me stryve.
80 I wol nat wratthen hym, also moot I thryve!
 That that I spak, I seyde it in my bourde.
 And wite ye what? I have heer in a gourde
 A draghte of wyn, ye, of a ripe grape,
 And right anon ye shul seen a good jape.
 This Cook shal drynke therof, if I may.
 Up peyne of deeth, he wol nat seye me nay."
 And certeynly, to tellen as it was,
 Of this vessel the Cook drank faste, allas!
 What neded hym? He drank ynough biforn.
90 And whan he hadde pouped in this horn,
 To the Manciple he took the gourde agayn;
 And of that drynke the Cook was wonder fayn,
 And thanked hym in swich wise as he koude.
 Thanne gan oure Hoost to laughen wonder loude,
 And seyde, "I se wel it is necessarie,
 Where that we goon, good drynke with us carie;
 For that wol turne rancour and disese
 T' acord and love, and many a wrong apese.
 "O Bacus, yblessed be thy name,
100 That so kanst turnen ernest into game!
 Worshipe and thank be to thy deitee!
 Of that mateere ye gete namoore of me.
 Telle on thy tale, Manciple, I thee preye."
 "Wel, sire," quod he, "now herkneth what I seye.

---

The Canterbury Tales

The Manciple's Tale

 Whan Phebus dwelled heere in this erthe adoun,
 As olde bookes maken mencioun,
 He was the mooste lusty bachiler
 In al this world, and eek the beste archer.
 He slow Phitoun, the serpent, as he lay
110 Slepynge agayn the sonne upon a day;
 And many another noble worthy dede
 He with his bowe wroghte, as men may rede.
 Pleyen he koude on every mynstralcie,
 And syngen that it was a melodie
 To heeren of his cleere voys the soun.
 Certes the kyng of Thebes, Amphioun,
 That with his syngyng walled that citee,
 Koude nevere syngen half so wel as hee.
 Therto he was the semelieste man
120 That is or was sith that the world bigan.
 What nedeth it his fetures to discryve?
 For in this world was noon so faire on-lyve.
 He was therwith fulfild of gentillesse,
 Of honour, and of parfit worthynesse.
 This Phebus, that was flour of bachilrie,
 As wel in fredom as in chivalrie,
 For his desport, in signe eek of victorie
 Of Phitoun, so as telleth us the storie,
 Was wont to beren in his hand a bowe.
130 Now hadde this Phebus in his hous a crowe
 Which in a cage he fostred many a day,
 And taughte it speken, as men teche a jay.
 Whit was this crowe as is a snow-whit swan,
 And countrefete the speche of every man
 He koude, whan he sholde telle a tale.
 Therwith in al this world no nyghtyngale
 Ne koude, by an hondred thousand deel,
 Syngen so wonder myrily and weel.
 Now hadde this Phebus in his hous a wyf
140 Which that he lovede moore than his lyf,
 And nyght and day dide evere his diligence
 Hir for to plese and doon hire reverence,
 Save oonly, if the sothe that I shal sayn,
 Jalous he was, and wolde have kept hire fayn.
 For hym were looth byjaped for to be,
 And so is every wight in swich degree;
 But al in ydel, for it availleth noght.
 A good wyf, that is clene of werk and thoght,
 Sholde nat been kept in noon awayt, certayn;
150 And trewely the labour is in vayn
 To kepe a shrewe, for it wol nat bee.
 This holde I for a verray nycetee,
 To spille labour for to kepe wyves:
 Thus writen olde clerkes in hir lyves.
 But now to purpos, as I first bigan:
 This worthy Phebus dooth al that he kan
 To plesen hire, wenynge for swich plesaunce,
 And for his manhede and his governaunce,
 That no man sholde han put hym from hir grace.
160 But God it woot, ther may no man embrace
 As to destreyne a thyng which that nature
 Hath natureelly set in a creature.
 Taak any bryd, and put it in a cage,
 And do al thyn entente and thy corage
 To fostre it tendrely with mete and drynke
 Of alle deyntees that thou kanst bithynke,
 And keep it al so clenly as thou may,
 Although his cage of gold be never so gay,
 Yet hath this brid, by twenty thousand foold,
170 Levere in a forest that is rude and coold
 Goon ete wormes and swich wrecchednesse.
 For evere this brid wol doon his bisynesse
 To escape out of his cage, yif he may.
 His libertee this brid desireth ay.
 Lat take a cat, and fostre hym wel with milk
 And tendre flessh, and make his couche of silk,
 And lat hym seen a mous go by the wal,
 Anon he weyveth milk and flessh and al,
 And every deyntee that is in that hous,
180 Swich appetit hath he to ete a mous.
 Lo, heere hath lust his dominacioun,
 And appetit fleemeth discrecioun.
 A she-wolf hath also a vileyns kynde.
 The lewedeste wolf that she may fynde,
 Or leest of reputacioun, wol she take,
 In tyme whan hir lust to han a make.
 Alle thise ensamples speke I by thise men
 That been untrewe, and nothyng by wommen.
 For men han evere a likerous appetit
190 On lower thyng to parfourne hire delit
 Than on hire wyves, be they never so faire,
 Ne never so trewe, ne so debonaire.
 Flessh is so newefangel, with meschaunce,
 That we ne konne in nothyng han plesaunce
 That sowneth into vertu any while.
 This Phebus, which that thoghte upon no gile,
 Deceyved was, for al his jolitee.
 For under hym another hadde shee,
 A man of litel reputacioun,
200 Nat worth to Phebus in comparisoun.
 The moore harm is, it happeth ofte so,
 Of which ther cometh muchel harm and wo.
 And so bifel, whan Phebus was absent,
 His wyf anon hath for hir lemman sent.
 Hir lemman? Certes, this is a knavyssh speche!
 Foryeveth it me, and that I yow biseche.
 The wise Plato seith, as ye may rede,
 The word moot nede accorde with the dede.
 If men shal telle proprely a thyng,
210 The word moot cosyn be to the werkyng.
 I am a boystous man, right thus seye I:
 Ther nys no difference, trewely,
 Bitwixe a wyf that is of heigh degree,
 If of hir body dishonest she bee,
 And a povre wenche, oother than this --
 If it so be they werke bothe amys --
 But that the gentile, in estaat above,
 She shal be cleped his lady, as in love;
 And for that oother is a povre womman,
220 She shal be cleped his wenche or his lemman.
 And, God it woot, myn owene deere brother,
 Men leyn that oon as lowe as lith that oother.
 Right so bitwixe a titlelees tiraunt
 And an outlawe or a theef erraunt,
 The same I seye: ther is no difference.
 To Alisaundre was toold this sentence,
 That, for the tirant is of gretter myght
 By force of meynee for to sleen dounright,
 And brennen hous and hoom, and make al playn,
230 Lo, therfore is he cleped a capitayn;
 And for the outlawe hath but smal meynee,
 And may nat doon so greet an harm as he,
 Ne brynge a contree to so greet mescheef,
 Men clepen hym an outlawe or a theef.
 But for I am a man noght textueel,
 I wol noght telle of textes never a deel;
 I wol go to my tale, as I bigan.
 Whan Phebus wyf had sent for hir lemman,
 Anon they wroghten al hire lust volage.
240 The white crowe, that heeng ay in the cage,
 Biheeld hire werk, and seyde never a word.
 And whan that hoom was come Phebus, the lord,
 This crowe sang "Cokkow! Cokkow! Cokkow!"
 "What, bryd?" quod Phebus. "What song syngestow?
 Ne were thow wont so myrily to synge
 That to myn herte it was a rejoysynge
 To heere thy voys? Allas, what song is this?"
 "By God," quod he, "I synge nat amys.
 Phebus," quod he, "for al thy worthynesse,
250 For al thy beautee and thy gentilesse,
 For al thy song and al thy mynstralcye,
 For al thy waityng, blered is thyn ye
 With oon of litel reputacioun,
 Noght worth to thee, as in comparisoun,
 The montance of a gnat, so moote I thryve!
 For on thy bed thy wyf I saugh hym swyve."
 What wol ye moore? The crowe anon hym tolde,
 By sadde tokenes and by wordes bolde,
 How that his wyf had doon hire lecherye,
260 Hym to greet shame and to greet vileynye,
 And tolde hym ofte he saugh it with his yen.
 This Phebus gan aweyward for to wryen,
 And thoughte his sorweful herte brast atwo.
 His bowe he bente, and sette therinne a flo,
 And in his ire his wyf thanne hath he slayn.
 This is th' effect; ther is namoore to sayn;
 For sorwe of which he brak his mynstralcie,
 Bothe harpe, and lute, and gyterne, and sautrie;
 And eek he brak his arwes and his bowe,
270 And after that thus spak he to the crowe:
 "Traitour," quod he, "with tonge of scorpioun,
 Thou hast me broght to my confusioun;
 Allas, that I was wroght! Why nere I deed?
 O deere wyf! O gemme of lustiheed!
 That were to me so sad and eek so trewe,
 Now listow deed, with face pale of hewe,
 Ful giltelees, that dorste I swere, ywys!
 O rakel hand, to doon so foule amys!
 O trouble wit, O ire recchelees,
280 That unavysed smyteth gilteles!
 O wantrust, ful of fals suspecion,
 Where was thy wit and thy discrecion?
 O every man, be war of rakelnesse!
 Ne trowe no thyng withouten strong witnesse.
 Smyt nat to soone, er that ye witen why,
 And beeth avysed wel and sobrely
 Er ye doon any execucion
 Upon youre ire for suspecion.
 Allas, a thousand folk hath rakel ire
290 Fully fordoon, and broght hem in the mire.
 Allas! For sorwe I wol myselven slee!"
 And to the crowe, "O false theef!" seyde he,
 "I wol thee quite anon thy false tale.
 Thou songe whilom lyk a nyghtyngale;
 Now shaltow, false theef, thy song forgon,
 And eek thy white fetheres everichon,
 Ne nevere in al thy lif ne shaltou speke.
 Thus shal men on a traytour been awreke;
 Thou and thyn ofspryng evere shul be blake,
300 Ne nevere sweete noyse shul ye make,
 But evere crie agayn tempest and rayn,
 In tokenynge that thurgh thee my wyf is slayn."
 And to the crowe he stirte, and that anon,
 And pulled his white fetheres everychon,
 And made hym blak, and refte hym al his song,
 And eek his speche, and out at dore hym slong
 Unto the devel, which I hym bitake;
 And for this caas been alle crowes blake.
 Lordynges, by this ensample I yow preye,
310 Beth war, and taketh kep what that ye seye:
 Ne telleth nevere no man in youre lyf
 How that another man hath dight his wyf;
 He wol yow haten mortally, certeyn.
 Daun Salomon, as wise clerkes seyn,
 Techeth a man to kepen his tonge weel.
 But, as I seyde, I am noght textueel.
 But nathelees, thus taughte me my dame:
 "My sone, thenk on the crowe, a Goddes name!
 My sone, keep wel thy tonge, and keep thy freend.
320 A wikked tonge is worse than a feend;
 My sone, from a feend men may hem blesse.
 My sone, God of his endelees goodnesse
 Walled a tonge with teeth and lippes eke,
 For man sholde hym avyse what he speeke.
 My sone, ful ofte, for to muche speche
 Hath many a man been spilt, as clerkes teche,
 But for litel speche avysely
 Is no man shent, to speke generally.
 My sone, thy tonge sholdestow restreyne
330 At alle tymes, but whan thou doost thy peyne
 To speke of God, in honour and preyere.
 The firste vertu, sone, if thou wolt leere,
 Is to restreyne and kepe wel thy tonge;
 Thus lerne children whan that they been yonge.
 My sone, of muchel spekyng yvele avysed,
 Ther lasse spekyng hadde ynough suffised,
 Comth muchel harm; thus was me toold and taught.
 In muchel speche synne wanteth naught.
 Wostow wherof a rakel tonge serveth?
340 Right as a swerd forkutteth and forkerveth
 An arm a-two, my deere sone, right so
 A tonge kutteth freendshipe al a-two.
 A jangler is to God abhomynable.
 Reed Salomon, so wys and honurable;
 Reed David in his psalmes; reed Senekke.
 My sone, spek nat, but with thyn heed thou bekke.
 Dissimule as thou were deef, if that thou heere
 A janglere speke of perilous mateere.
 The Flemyng seith, and lerne it if thee leste,
350 That litel janglyng causeth muchel reste.
 My sone, if thou no wikked word hast seyd,
 Thee thar nat drede for to be biwreyd;
 But he that hath mysseyd, I dar wel sayn,
 He may by no wey clepe his word agayn.
 Thyng that is seyd is seyd, and forth it gooth,
 Though hym repente, or be hym nevere so looth.
 He is his thral to whom that he hath sayd
 A tale of which he is now yvele apayd.
 My sone, be war, and be noon auctour newe
360 Of tidynges, wheither they been false or trewe.
 Whereso thou come, amonges hye or lowe,
 Kepe wel thy tonge and thenk upon the crowe."

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The Canterbury Tales

The Parson's Prologue

 By that the Maunciple hadde his tale al ended,
 The sonne fro the south lyne was descended
 So lowe that he nas nat, to my sighte,
 Degrees nyne and twenty as in highte.
 Foure of the clokke it was tho, as I gesse,
 For ellevene foot, or litel moore or lesse,
 My shadwe was at thilke tyme, as there
 Of swiche feet as my lengthe parted were
 In sixe feet equal of proporcioun.
10 Therwith the moones exaltacioun --
 I meene Libra -- alwey gan ascende
 As we were entryng at a thropes ende;
 For which oure Hoost, as he was wont to gye,
 As in this caas, oure joly compaignye,
 Seyde in this wise: "Lordynges everichoon,
 Now lakketh us no tales mo than oon.
 Fulfilled is my sentence and my decree;
 I trowe that we han herd of ech degree;
 Almoost fulfild is al myn ordinaunce.
20 I pray to God, so yeve hym right good chaunce,
 That telleth this tale to us lustily.
 "Sire preest," quod he, "artow a vicary?
 Or arte a person? Sey sooth, by thy fey!
 Be what thou be, ne breke thou nat oure pley;
 For every man, save thou, hath toold his tale.
 Unbokele and shewe us what is in thy male;
 For trewely, me thynketh by thy cheere
 Thou sholdest knytte up wel a greet mateere.
 Telle us a fable anon, for cokkes bones!"
30 This Persoun answerde, al atones,
 "Thou getest fable noon ytoold for me,
 For Paul, that writeth unto Thymothee,
 Repreveth hem that weyven soothfastnesse
 And tellen fables and swich wrecchednesse.
 Why sholde I sowen draf out of my fest,
 Whan I may sowen whete, if that me lest?
 For which I seye, if that yow list to heere
 Moralitee and vertuous mateere,
 And thanne that ye wol yeve me audience,
40 I wol ful fayn, at Cristes reverence,
 Do yow plesaunce leefful, as I kan.
 But trusteth wel, I am a Southren man;
 I kan nat geeste `rum, ram, ruf,' by lettre,
 Ne, God woot, rym holde I but litel bettre;
 And therfore, if yow list -- I wol nat glose --
 I wol yow telle a myrie tale in prose
 To knytte up al this feeste and make an ende.
 And Jhesu, for his grace, wit me sende
 To shewe yow the wey, in this viage,
50 Of thilke parfit glorious pilgrymage
 That highte Jerusalem celestial.
 And if ye vouche sauf, anon I shal
 Bigynne upon my tale, for which I preye
 Telle youre avys; I kan no bettre seye.
 "But nathelees, this meditacioun
 I putte it ay under correccioun
 Of clerkes, for I am nat textueel;
 I take but the sentence, trusteth weel.
 Therfore I make protestacioun
60 That I wol stonde to correccioun."
 Upon this word we han assented soone,
 For, as it seemed, it was for to doone --
 To enden in som vertuous sentence,
 And for to yeve hym space and audience,
 And bade oure Hoost he sholde to hym seye
 That alle we to telle his tale hym preye.
 Oure Hoost hadde the wordes for us alle;
 "Sire preest," quod he, "now faire yow bifalle!
 Telleth," quod he, "youre meditacioun.
70 But hasteth yow; the sonne wole adoun;
 Beth fructuous, and that in litel space,
 And to do wel God sende yow his grace!
 Sey what yow list, and we wol gladly heere."
 And with that word he seyde in this manere.

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The Canterbury Tales

The Parson's Tale

 Oure sweete Lord God of hevene, that no man wole perisse but wole that
 we comen alle to the knoweleche of hym and to the blisful lif that is perdurable,
 amonesteth us by the prophete Jeremie, that seith in thys wyse:
 "Stondeth upon the weyes, and seeth and axeth of olde pathes (that is to seyn, of olde sentences) which is the goode wey,
 and walketh in that wey, and ye shal fynde refresshynge for youre soules, etc."
 Manye been the weyes espirituels that leden folk to oure Lord Jhesu Crist and to the regne of glorie.
80 Of whiche weyes ther is a ful noble wey and a ful covenable, which may nat fayle to man ne to womman
80A that thurgh synne hath mysgoon fro the righte wey of Jerusalem celestial;
 and this wey is cleped Penitence, of which man sholde gladly herknen and enquere with al his herte
 to wyten what is Penitence, and whennes it is cleped Penitence, and in how manye maneres been the acciouns or werkynges of Penitence,
 and how manye speces ther been of Penitence, and whiche thynges apertenen and bihoven to Penitence, and whiche thynges destourben Penitence.
 Seint Ambrose seith that Penitence is the pleynynge of man for the gilt that he hath doon,
 and namoore to do any thyng for which hym oghte to pleyne.
 And som doctour seith, "Penitence is the waymentynge of man that sorweth for his synne and pyneth hymself for he hath mysdoon."
 Penitence, with certeyne circumstances, is verray repentance of a man that halt hymself in sorwe and oother peyne for his giltes.
 And for he shal be verray penitent, he shal first biwaylen the synnes that he hath doon,
 and stidefastly purposen in his herte to have shrift of mouthe, and to doon satisfaccioun,
 and nevere to doon thyng for which hym oghte moore to biwayle
 or to compleyne, and to continue in goode werkes, or elles his repentance may nat availle.
 For, as seith Seint Ysidre,
 "He is a japere and a gabbere and no verray repentant that eftsoone dooth thyng for which hym oghte repente."
90 Wepynge, and nat for to stynte to do synne, may nat avayle.
 But nathelees, men shal hope that every tyme that man falleth, be it never so ofte,
 that he may arise thurgh Penitence, if he have grace; but certeinly it is greet doute.
 For, as seith Seint Gregorie, "Unnethe ariseth he out of his synne, that is charged with the charge of yvel usage."
 And therfore repentant folk, that stynte for to synne and forlete synne er that synne forlete hem,
 hooly chirche holdeth hem siker of hire savacioun.
 And he that synneth and verraily repenteth hym in his laste, hooly chirche yet hopeth his savacioun,
 by the grete mercy of oure Lord Jhesu Crist, for his repentaunce; but taak the siker wey.
 And now, sith I have declared yow what thyng is Penitence, now shul ye understonde that ther been three acciouns of Penitence.
 The firste is that if a man be baptized after that he hath synned.
 Seint Augustyn seith, "But he be penytent for his olde synful lyf, he may nat bigynne the newe clene lif."
 For, certes, if he be baptized withouten penitence of his olde gilt, he receyveth the mark of baptesme
 but nat the grace ne the remission of his synnes, til he have repentance verray.
 Another defaute is this: that men doon deedly synne after that they han receyved baptesme.
100 The thridde defaute is that men fallen in venial synnes after hir baptesme fro day to day.
 Therof seith Seint Augustyn that penitence of goode and humble folk is the penitence of every day.
 The speces of Penitence been three. That oon of hem is solempne, another is commune, and the thridde is privee.
 Thilke penance that is solempne is in two maneres;
 as to be put out of hooly chirche in Lente for slaughtre of children, and swich maner thyng.
 Another is, whan a man hath synned openly, of which synne the fame is openly spoken in the contree,
 and thanne hooly chirche by juggement destreyneth hym for to do open penaunce.
 Commune penaunce is that preestes enjoynen men communly in certeyn caas, as for to goon peraventure naked in pilgrimages, or barefoot.
 Pryvee penaunce is thilke that men doon alday for privee synnes, of whiche we shryve us prively and receyve privee penaunce.
 Now shaltow understande what is bihovely and necessarie to verray parfit Penitence. And this stant on three thynges:
 Contricioun of Herte, Confessioun of Mouth, and Satisfaccioun.
 For which seith Seint John Crisostom, "Penitence destreyneth a man to accepte benygnely every peyne that hym is enjoyned,
 with contricioun of herte, and shrift of mouth, with satisfaccioun, and in werkynge of alle manere humylitee."
110 And this is fruytful penitence agayn three thynges in which we wratthe oure Lord Jhesu Crist;
 this is to seyn, by delit in thynkynge, by reccheleesnesse in spekynge, and by wikked synful werkynge.
 And agayns thise wikkede giltes is Penitence, that may be likned unto a tree.
 The roote of this tree is Contricioun, that hideth hym in the herte of hym that is verray repentaunt,
 right as the roote of a tree hydeth hym in the erthe.
 Of the roote of Contricioun spryngeth a stalke that bereth braunches and leves of Confessioun, and fruyt of Satisfaccioun.
 For which Crist seith in his gospel, "Dooth digne fruyt of Penitence"; for by this fruyt may men knowe this tree,
 and nat by the roote that is hyd in the herte of man, ne by the braunches, ne by the leves of Confessioun.
 And therfore oure Lord Jhesu Crist seith thus: "By the fruyt of hem shul ye knowen hem."
 Of this roote eek spryngeth a seed of grace, the which seed is mooder of sikernesse, and this seed is egre and hoot.
 The grace of this seed spryngeth of God thurgh remembrance of the day of doom and on the peynes of helle.
 Of this matere seith Salomon that in the drede of God man forleteth his synne.
120 The heete of this seed is the love of God and the desiryng of the joye perdurable.
 This heete draweth the herte of a man to God and dooth hym haten his synne.
 For soothly ther is nothyng that savoureth so wel to a child as the milk of his norice,
 ne nothyng is to hym moore abhomynable than thilke milk whan it is medled with oother mete.
 Right so the synful man that loveth his synne, hym semeth that it is to him moost sweete of any thyng;
 but fro that tyme that he loveth sadly oure Lord Jhesu Crist,
 and desireth the lif perdurable, ther nys to him no thyng moore abhomynable.
 For soothly the lawe of God is the love of God; for which David the prophete seith.
 "I have loved thy lawe and hated wikkednesse and hate"; he that loveth God kepeth his lawe and his word.
 This tree saugh the prophete Daniel in spirit, upon the avysioun of the kyng Nabugodonosor, whan he conseiled hym to do penitence.
 Penaunce is the tree of lyf to hem that it receyven,
 and he that holdeth hym in verray penitence is blessed, after the sentence of Salomon.
 In this Penitence or Contricioun man shal understonde foure thynges; that is to seyn, what is Contricioun,
 and whiche been the causes that moeven a man to Contricioun, and how he sholde be contrit, and what Contricioun availleth to the soule.
 Thanne is it thus: that Contricioun is the verray sorwe that a man receyveth in his herte for his synnes,
 with sad purpos to shryve hym, and to do penaunce, and neveremoore to do synne.
130 And this sorwe shal been in this manere, as seith Seint Bernard:
130A "It shal been hevy and grevous, and ful sharp and poynaunt in herte."
 First, for man hath agilt his Lord and his Creatour; and moore sharp and poynaunt for he hath agilt hys Fader celestial;
 and yet moore sharp and poynaunt for he hath wrathed and agilt hym that boghte hym, that with his precious blood hath delivered us
 fro the bondes of synne, and fro the crueltee of the devel, and fro the peynes of helle.
 The causes that oghte moeve a man to Contricioun been sixe. First a man shal remembre hym of his synnes;
 but looke he that thilke remembraunce ne be to hym no delit by no wey, but greet shame and sorwe for his gilt.
 For Job seith, "Synful men doon werkes worthy of confusioun."
 And therfore seith Ezechie, "I wol remembre me alle the yeres of my lyf in bitternesse of myn herte."
 And God seith in the Apocalipse, "Remembreth yow fro whennes that ye been falle";
 for biforn that tyme that ye synned, ye were the children of God and lymes of the regne of God;
 but for youre synne ye been woxen thral, and foul, and membres of the feend, hate of aungels, sclaundre of hooly chirche,
 and foode of the false serpent, perpetueel matere of the fir of helle;
 and yet moore foul and abhomynable, for ye trespassen so ofte tyme as dooth the hound that retourneth to eten his spewyng.
 And yet be ye fouler for youre longe continuyng in synne and youre synful usage,
 for which ye be roten in youre synne, as a beest in his dong.
140 Swiche manere of thoghtes maken a man to have shame of his synne, and no delit, as God seith by the prophete Ezechiel,
 "Ye shal remembre yow of youre weyes, and they shuln displese yow." Soothly synnes been the weyes that leden folk to helle.
 The seconde cause that oghte make a man to have desdeyn of synne is this:
 that, as seith Seint Peter, "whoso that dooth synne is thral of synne"; and synne put a man in greet thraldom.
 And therfore seith the prophete Ezechiel: "I wente sorweful in desdayn of myself."
 Certes, wel oghte a man have desdayn of synne and withdrawe hym from that thraldom and vileynye.
 And lo, what seith Seneca in this matere? He seith thus: "Though I wiste that neither God ne man ne sholde nevere knowe it,
 yet wolde I have desdayn for to do synne."
 And the same Seneca also seith, "I am born to gretter thynges than to be thral to my body,
 or than for to maken of my body a thral."
 Ne a fouler thral may no man ne womman maken of his body than for to yeven his body to synne.
 Al were it the fouleste cherl or the fouleste womman that lyveth, and leest of value,
 yet is he thanne moore foul and moore in servitute.
 Evere fro the hyer degree that man falleth, the moore is he thral, and moore to God and to the world vile and abhomynable.
 O goode God, wel oghte man have desdayn of synne, sith that thurgh synne ther he was free now is he maked bonde.
150 And therfore seyth Seint Augustyn: "If thou hast desdayn of thy servant,
150A if he agilte or synne, have thou thanne desdayn that thou thyself sholdest do synne."
 Tak reward of thy value, that thou ne be to foul to thyself.
 Allas, wel oghten they thanne have desdayn to been servauntz and thralles to synne, and soore been ashamed of hemself
 that God of his endelees goodnesse hath set hem in heigh estaat, or yeven hem wit, strengthe of body, heele, beautee, prosperitee,
 and boghte hem fro the deeth with his herte-blood,
 that they so unkyndely, agayns his gentilesse, quiten hym so vileynsly to slaughtre of hir owene soules.
 O goode God, ye wommen that been of so greet beautee, remembreth yow of the proverbe of Salomon. He seith,
 "Likneth a fair womman that is a fool of hire body
 lyk to a ryng of gold that were in the groyn of a soughe."
 For right as a soughe wroteth in everich ordure, so wroteth she hire beautee in the stynkynge ordure of synne.
 The thridde cause that oghte moeve a man to Contricioun is drede of the day of doom and of the horrible peynes of helle.
 For as Seint Jerome seith, "At every tyme that me remembreth of the day of doom I quake;
160 for whan I ete or drynke, or what so that I do, evere semeth me that the trompe sowneth in myn ere:
 `Riseth up, ye that been dede, and cometh to the juggement.'"
 O goode God, muchel oghte a man to drede swich a juggement, "ther as we shullen been alle,"
 as Seint Poul seith, "biforn the seete of oure Lord Jhesu Crist";
 whereas he shal make a general congregacioun, whereas no man may been absent.
 For certes there availleth noon essoyne ne excusacioun.
 And nat oonly that oure defautes shullen be jugged, but eek that alle oure werkes shullen openly be knowe.
 And, as seith Seint Bernard, "Ther ne shal no pledynge availle, ne no sleighte; we shullen yeven rekenynge of everich ydel word."
 Ther shul we han a juge that may nat been deceyved ne corrupt. And why?
 For, certes, alle oure thoghtes been discovered as to hym, ne for preyere ne for meede he shal nat been corrupt.
 And therfore seith Salomon, "The wratthe of God ne wol nat spare no wight, for preyere ne for yifte";
 and therfore, at the day of doom ther nys noon hope to escape.
 Wherfore, as seith Seint Anselm, "Ful greet angwyssh shul the synful folk have at that tyme;
170 ther shal the stierne and wrothe juge sitte above, and under hym the horrible pit of helle open to destroyen hym
170A that moot biknowen his synnes, whiche synnes openly been shewed biforn God and biforn every creature;
 and in the left syde mo develes than herte may bithynke, for to harye and drawe the synful soules to the peyne of helle;
 and withinne the hertes of folk shal be the bitynge conscience, and withouteforth shal be the world al brennynge.
 Whider shal thanne the wrecched synful man flee to hiden hym? Certes, he may nat hyden hym; he moste come forth and shewen hym."
 For certes, as seith Seint Jerome, "the erthe shal casten hym out of hym, and the see also,
 and the eyr also, that shal be ful of thonder-clappes and lightnynges."
 Now soothly, whoso wel remembreth hym of thise thynges, I gesse that his synne shal nat turne hym into delit,
 but to greet sorwe for drede of the peyne of helle.
 And therfore seith Job to God, "Suffre, Lord, that I may a while biwaille and wepe,
 er I go withoute returnyng to the derke lond, covered with the derknesse of deeth,
 to the lond of mysese and of derknesse, whereas is the shadwe of deeth,
 whereas ther is noon ordre or ordinaunce but grisly drede that evere shal laste."
 Loo, heere may ye seen that Job preyde respit a while to biwepe and waille his trespas,
 for soothly oo day of respit is bettre than al the tresor of this world.
 And forasmuche as a man may acquiten hymself biforn God by penitence in this world, and nat by tresor,
 therfore sholde he preye to God to yeve hym respit a while to biwepe and biwaillen his trespas.
180 For certes, al the sorwe that a man myghte make fro the bigynnyng of the world
180A nys but a litel thyng at regard of the sorwe of helle.
 The cause why that Job clepeth helle the "lond of derkness.":
 understondeth that he clepeth it "lond" or erthe, for it is stable and nevere shal faille; "derk,"
 for he that is in helle hath defaute of light material.
 For certes, the derke light that shal come out of the fyr that evere shal brenne
 shal turne hym al to peyne that is in helle for it sheweth him to the horrible develes that hym tormenten.
 "Covered with the derknesse of deeth" -- that is to seyn, that
 he that is in helle shal have defaute of the sighte of God, for certes the sighte of God is the lyf perdurable.
 "The derknesse of deeth" been the synnes that the wrecched man hath doon, whiche that destourben hym to see the face of God,
 right as dooth a derk clowde bitwixe us and the sonne.
 "Lond of misese," by cause that ther been three maneres of defautes,
 agayn three thynges that folk of this world han in this present lyf; that is to seyn, honours, delices, and richesses.
 Agayns honour, have they in helle shame and confusioun.
 For wel ye woot that men clepen honour the reverence that man doth to man, but in helle is noon honour ne reverence.
 For certes, namoore reverence shal be doon there to a kyng than to a knave.
 For which God seith by the prophete Jeremye, "Thilke folk that me despisen shul been in despit."
190 Honour is eek cleped greet lordshipe; ther shal no wight serven other, but of harm
190A and torment. Honour is eek cleped greet dignytee and heighnesse, but in helle shul they been al fortroden of develes.
 And God seith, "The horrible develes shulle goon and comen upon the hevedes of the dampned folk." And this is for as muche as
 the hyer that they were in this present lyf, the moore shulle they been abated and defouled in helle.
 Agayns the richesse of this world shul they han mysese of poverte, and this poverte shal been in foure thynges:
 In defaute of tresor, of which that David seith, "The riche folk, that embraceden and oneden al hire herte to tresor of this world,
 shul slepe in the slepynge of deeth; and nothyng ne shal they fynden in hir handes of al hir tresor."
 And mooreover the myseyse of helle shal been in defaute of mete and drinke.
 For God seith thus by Moyses: "They shul been wasted with hunger, and the briddes of helle shul devouren hem with bitter deeth,
 and the galle of the dragon shal been hire drynke, and the venym of the dragon hire morsels."
 And forther over, hire myseyse shal been in defaute of clothyng, for they shulle be naked in body as of clothyng,
 save the fyr in which they brenne, and othere filthes;
 and naked shul they been of soule, as of alle manere vertues, which that is the clothyng of the soule.
 Where been thanne the gaye robes, and the softe shetes, and the smale shertes?
 Loo, what seith God of hem by the prophete Ysaye: that
 "under hem shul been strawed motthes, and hire covertures shulle been of wormes of helle."
 And forther over, hir myseyse shal been in defaute of freendes.
 For he nys nat povre that hath goode freendes; but there is no frend,
200 for neither God ne no creature shal been freend to hem, and everich of hem shal haten oother with deedly hate.
 "The sones and the doghtren shullen rebellen agayns fader and mooder, and kynrede agayns kynrede, and chiden
 and despisen everich of hem oother bothe day and nyght," as God seith by the prophete Michias.
 And the lovynge children, that whilom loveden so flesshly everich oother, wolden everich of hem eten oother if they myghte.
 For how sholden they love hem togidre in the peyne of helle,
 whan they hated everich of hem oother in the prosperitee of this lyf?
 For truste wel, hir flesshly love was deedly hate, as seith the prophete David: "Whoso that loveth wikkednesse, he hateth his soule."
 And whoso hateth his owene soule, certes, he may love noon oother wight in no manere.
 And therfore, in helle is no solas ne no freendshipe, but evere the moore flesshly kynredes that been in helle,
 the moore cursynges, the more chidynges, and the moore deedly hate ther is among hem.
 And forther over, they shul have defaute of alle manere delices.
 For certes, delices been after the appetites of the fyve wittes, as sighte, herynge, smellynge, savorynge, and touchynge.
 But in helle hir sighte shal be ful of derknesse and of smoke,
 and therfore ful of teeres; and hir herynge ful of waymentynge and of gryntynge of teeth, as seith Jhesu Crist.
 Hir nose-thirles shullen be ful of stynkynge stynk; and, as seith Ysaye the prophete, "hir savoryng shal be ful of bitter galle";
210 and touchynge of al hir body ycovered with "fir
210A that nevere shal quenche and with wormes that nevere shul dyen,"
210B as God seith by the mouth of Ysaye.
 And for as muche as they shul nat wene that they may dyen for peyne, and by hir deeth flee fro peyne,
 that may they understonden by the word of Job, that seith, "ther as is the shadwe of deeth."
 Certes, a shadwe hath the liknesse of the thyng of which it is shadwe,
 but shadwe is nat the same thyng of which it is shadwe.
 Right so fareth the peyne of helle; it is lyk deeth for the horrible angwissh, and why?
 For it peyneth hem evere, as though they sholde dye anon; but certes, they shal nat dye.
 For, as seith Seint Gregorie, "To wrecche caytyves shal be deeth withoute deeth, and ende withouten ende, and defaute withoute failynge.
 For hir deeth shal alwey lyven, and hir ende shal everemo bigynne, and hir defaute shal nat faille."
 And therfore seith Seint John the Evaungelist, "They shullen folwe deeth,
 and they shul nat fynde hym; and they shul desiren to dye, and deeth shal flee fro hem."
 And eek Job seith that in helle is noon ordre of rule.
 And al be it so that God hath creat alle thynges in right ordre, and no thyng withouten ordre,
 but alle thynges been ordeyned and nombred; yet, nathelees, they that been dampned been nothyng in ordre, ne holden noon ordre,
 for the erthe ne shal bere hem no fruyt.
220 For, as the prophete David seith, "God shal destroie the fruyt of the erthe as fro hem;
220A ne water ne shal yeve hem no moisture, ne the eyr no refresshyng, ne fyr no light."
 For, as seith Seint Basilie, "The brennynge of the fyr of this world shal God yeven in helle to hem that been dampned,
 but the light and the cleernesse shal be yeven in hevene to his children,"
 right as the goode man yeveth flessh to his children and bones to his houndes.
 And for they shullen have noon hope to escape, seith Seint Job atte laste that "ther shal horrour and grisly drede dwellen withouten ende."
 Horrour is alwey drede of harm that is to come, and this drede shal evere dwelle in the hertes of hem that been dampned.
 And therfore han they lorn al hire hope, for sevene causes.
 First, for God, that is hir juge, shal be withouten mercy to hem; and they may nat plese hym ne noon of his halwes;
 ne they ne may yeve no thyng for hir raunsoun;
 ne they have no voys to speke to hym; ne they may nat fle fro peyne;
 ne they have no goodnesse in hem, that they mowe shewe to delivere hem fro peyne.
 And therfore seith Salomon: "The wikked man dyeth, and whan he is deed, he shal have noon hope to escape fro peyne."
 Whoso thanne wolde wel understande thise peynes and bithynke hym weel that he hath deserved thilke peynes for his synnes,
 certes, he sholde have moore talent to siken and to wepe than for to syngen and to pleye.
 For, as that seith Salomon, "Whoso that hadde the science to knowe the peynes
 that been establissed and ordeyned for synne, he wolde make sorwe."
230 "Thilke science," as seith Seint Augustyn, "maketh a man to waymenten in his herte."
 The fourthe point that oghte maken a man to have contricion is the sorweful remembraunce of the good
 that he hath left to doon heere in erthe, and eek the good that he hath lorn.
 Soothly, the goode werkes that he hath lost, outher they been the goode werkes that he wroghte er he fel into deedly synne
 or elles the goode werkes that he wroghte while he lay in synne.
 Soothly, the goode werkes that he dide biforn that he fil in synne been al mortefied and astoned and dulled by the ofte synnyng.
 The othere goode werkes, that he wroghte whil he lay in deedly synne,
 thei been outrely dede, as to the lyf perdurable in hevene.
 Thanne thilke goode werkes that been mortefied by ofte synnyng,
 whiche goode werkes he dide whil he was in charitee, ne mowe nevere quyken agayn withouten verray penitence.
 And therof seith God by the mouth of Ezechiel, that
 "if the rightful man returne agayn from his rightwisnesse and werke wikkednesse, shal he lyve?"
 Nay, for alle the goode werkes that he hath wroght ne shul nevere been in remembraunce, for he shal dyen in his synne.
 And upon thilke chapitre seith Seint Gregorie thus: that "we shulle understonde this principally;
 that whan we doon deedly synne,
 it is for noght thanne to rehercen or drawen into memorie the goode werkes that we han wroght biforn."
240 For certes, in the werkynge of the deedly synne, ther is no trust to no good werk that we han doon biforn;
240A that is to seyn, as for to have therby the lyf perdurable in hevene.
 But nathelees, the goode werkes quyken agayn, and comen agayn, and helpen,
 and availlen to have the lyf perdurable in hevene, whan we han contricioun.
 But soothly, the goode werkes that men doon whil they been in deedly synne,
 for as muche as they were doon in deedly synne, they may nevere quyke agayn.
 For certes, thyng that nevere hadde lyf may nevere quykene; and nathelees, al be it that they ne availle noght to han the lyf perdurable,
 yet availlen they to abregge of the peyne of helle, or elles to geten temporal richesse,
 or elles that God wole the rather enlumyne and lightne the herte of the synful man to have repentaunce;
 and eek they availlen for to usen a man to doon goode werkes, that the feend have the lasse power of his soule.
 And thus the curteis Lord Jhesu Crist ne wole that no good werk be lost, for in somwhat it shal availle.
 But, for as muche as the goode werkes that men doon whil they been in good lyf been al mortefied by synne folwynge,
 and eek sith that alle the goode werkes that men doon whil they been in deedly synne been outrely dede
 as for to have the lyf perdurable,
 wel may that man that no good werk ne dooth synge thilke newe Frenshe song, "Jay tout perdu mon temps et mon labour."
 For certes, synne bireveth a man bothe goodnesse of nature and eek the goodnesse of grace.
250 For soothly, the grace of the Hooly Goost fareth lyk fyr, that may nat been ydel;
250A for fyr fayleth anoon as it forleteth his wirkynge, and right so grace fayleth anoon as it forleteth his werkynge.
 Then leseth the synful man the goodnesse of glorie, that oonly is bihight to goode men that labouren and werken.
 Wel may he be sory thanne, that oweth al his lif to God as longe as he hath lyved, and eek as longe
 as he shal lyve, that no goodnesse ne hath to paye with his dette to God to whom he oweth al his lyf.
 For trust wel, "He shal yeven acountes," as seith Seint Bernard,
 "of alle the goodes that han be yeven hym in this present lyf, and how he hath hem despended,
 [in] so muche that ther shal nat perisse an heer of his heed, ne a moment of an houre
 ne shal nat perisse of his tyme, that he ne shal yeve of it a rekenyng."
 The fifthe thyng that oghte moeve a man to contricioun
 is remembrance of the passioun that oure Lord Jhesu Crist suffred for oure synnes.
 For, as seith Seint Bernard, "Whil that I lyve I shal have remembrance of the travailles that oure Lord Crist suffred in prechyng:
 his werynesse in travaillyng, his temptaciouns whan he fasted, his longe wakynges
 whan he preyde, hise teeres whan that he weep for pitee of good peple,
 the wo and the shame and the filthe that men seyden to hym, of the foule spittyng that men spitte in his face,
 of the buffettes that men yaven hym, of the foule mowes, and of the repreves that men to hym seyden,
 of the nayles with whiche he was nayled to the croys,
 and of al the remenant of his passioun that he suffred for my synnes, and no thyng for his gilt."
260 And ye shul understonde that in mannes synne is every manere of ordre or ordinaunce turned up-so-doun.
 For it is sooth that God, and resoun, and sensualitee, and the body of man been so ordeyned
 that everich of thise foure thynges sholde have lordshipe over that oother,
 as thus: God sholde have lordshipe over resoun, and resoun over sensualitee, and sensualitee over the body of man.
 But soothly, whan man synneth, al this ordre or ordinaunce is turned up-so-doun.
 And therfore thanne, for as muche as the resoun of man ne wol nat be subget ne obeisant to God, that is
 his lord by right, therfore leseth it the lordshipe that it sholde have over sensualitee, and eek over the body of man.
 And why? For sensualitee rebelleth thanne agayns resoun, and by that way leseth resoun the lordshipe over sensualitee and over the body.
 For right as resoun is rebel to God, right so is bothe sensualitee rebel to resoun and the body also.
 And certes this disordinaunce and this rebellioun oure Lord Jhesu Crist aboghte upon his precious body ful deere, and herkneth in which wise.
 For as muche thanne as resoun is rebel to God, therfore is man worthy to have sorwe and to be deed.
 This suffred oure Lord Jhesu Crist for man, after that he hadde be bitraysed of his disciple, and distreyned and bounde
 so that his blood brast out at every nayl of his handes, as seith Seint Augustyn.
270 And forther over, for as muchel as resoun of man ne wol nat daunte sensualitee whan it may,
270A therfore is man worthy to have shame; and this suffred oure Lord Jhesu Crist for man, whan they spetten in his visage.
 And forther over, for as muchel thanne as the caytyf body of man is rebel bothe to resoun and to sensualitee,
 therfore is it worthy the deeth.
 And this suffred oure Lord Jhesu Crist for man upon the croys,
 where as ther was no part of his body free withouten greet peyne and bitter passioun.
 And al this suffred Jhesu Crist, that nevere forfeted. And therfore resonably may be seyd of Jhesu in this manere:
 "To muchel am I peyned for the thynges that I nevere deserved, and to muche defouled for shendshipe that man is worthy to have."
 And therfore may the synful man wel seye, as seith Seint Bernard,
 "Acursed be the bitternesse of my synne, for which ther moste be suffred so muchel bitternesse."
 For certes, after the diverse [disordinaunces] of oure wikkednesses was the passioun of Jhesu Crist ordeyned in diverse thynges.
 As thus: Certes, synful mannes soule is bitraysed of the devel by coveitise of temporeel prosperitee, and scorned by deceite
 whan he cheseth flesshly delices; and yet is it tormented by inpacience of adversitee and bispet by servage and subjeccioun of synne;
 and atte laste it is slayn fynally.
 For this disordinaunce of synful man was Jhesu Crist first bitraysed,
 and after that was he bounde, that cam for to unbynden us of synne and peyne.
 Thanne was he byscorned, that oonly sholde han been honoured in alle thynges and of alle thynges.
 Thanne was his visage, that oghte be desired to be seyn of al mankynde, in which visage aungels desiren to looke, vileynsly bispet.
280 Thanne was he scourged, that no thyng hadde agilt; and finally, thanne was he crucified and slayn.
 Thanne was acompliced the word of Ysaye, "He was wounded for oure mysdedes and defouled for oure felonies."
 Now sith that Jhesu Crist took upon hymself the peyne of alle oure wikkednesses, muchel oghte synful man wepen and biwayle,
 that for his synnes Goddes sone of hevene sholde al this peyne endure.
 The sixte thyng that oghte moeve a man to contricioun is the hope of three thynges; that is to seyn, foryifnesse of synne,
 and the yifte of grace wel for to do, and the glorie of hevene, with which God shal gerdone man for his goode dedes.
 And for as muche as Jhesu Crist yeveth us thise yiftes of his largesse and of his sovereyn bountee,
 therfore is he cleped Jhesus Nazarenus rex Judeorum.
 Jhesus is to seyn "saveour" or "salvacioun," on whom men shul hope to have foryifnesse of synnes, which that is proprely salvacioun of synnes.
 And therfore seyde the aungel to Joseph, "Thou shalt clepen his name Jhesus, that shal saven his peple of hir synnes."
 And heerof seith Seint Peter: "Ther is noon oother name under hevene
 that is yeve to any man, by which a man may be saved, but oonly Jhesus."
 Nazarenus is as muche for to seye as "florisshynge," in which a man shal hope that
 he that yeveth hym remissioun of synnes shal yeve hym eek grace wel for to do.
 For in the flour is hope of fruyt in tyme comynge, and in foryifnesse of synnes hope of grace wel for to do.
 "I was atte dore of thyn herte," seith Jhesus, "and cleped for to entre. He that openeth to me shal have foryifnesse of synne.
290 I wol entre into hym by my grace and soupe with hym," by the goode werkes that he shal doon,
290A whiche werkes been the foode of God; "and he shal soupe with me" by the grete joye that I shal yeven hym.
 Thus shal man hope, for his werkes of penaunce that God shal yeven hym his regne, as he bihooteth hym in the gospel.
 Now shal a man understonde in which manere shal been his contricioun. I seye that it shal been universal and total.
 This is to seyn, a man shal be verray repentaunt for alle his synnes that he hath doon
 in delit of his thoght, for delit is ful perilous.
 For ther been two manere of consentynges: that oon of hem is cleped consentynge of affeccioun,
 whan a man is moeved to do synne, and deliteth hym longe for to thynke on that synne;
 and his reson aperceyveth it wel that it is synne agayns the lawe of God,
 and yet his resoun refreyneth nat his foul delit or talent, though he se wel apertly that it is agayns the reverence of God.
 Although his resoun ne consente noght to doon that synne in dede,
 yet seyn somme doctours that swich delit that dwelleth longe, it is ful perilous, al be it nevere so lite.
 And also a man sholde sorwe namely for al that evere he hath desired agayn the lawe of God
 with parfit consentynge of his resoun, for therof is no doute, that it is deedly synne in consentynge.
 For certes, ther is no deedly synne that it nas first in mannes thought
 and after that in his delit, and so forth into consentynge and into dede.
 Wherfore I seye that many men ne repenten hem nevere of swiche thoghtes and delites,
 ne nevere shryven hem of it, but oonly of the dede of grete synnes outward.
 Wherfore I seye that swiche wikked delites and wikked thoghtes been subtile bigileres of hem that shullen be dampned.
300 Mooreover, man oghte to sorwe for his wikkede wordes as wel as for his wikkede dedes.
300A For certes, the repentaunce of a synguler synne, and nat repente of alle his othere synnes,
300B or elles repenten hym of alle his othere synnes and nat of a synguler synne, may nat availle.
 For certes, God almyghty is al good, and therfore he foryeveth al or elles right noght.
 And heerof seith Seint Augustyn,
 "I wot certeynly that God is enemy to everich synnere." And how thanne?
 He that observeth o synne, shal he have foryifnesse of the remenaunt of his othere synnes? Nay.
 And forther over, contricioun sholde be wonder sorweful and angwissous; and therfore yeveth hym God pleynly his mercy;
 and therfore, whan my soule was angwissous withinne me, I hadde remembrance of God that my preyere myghte come to hym.
 Forther over, contricioun moste be continueel, and that man have stedefast purpos to shriven hym, and for to amenden hym of his lyf.
 For soothly, whil contricioun lasteth, man may evere have hope of foryifnesse;
 and of this comth hate of synne, that destroyeth synne, bothe in himself and eek in oother folk at his power.
 For which seith David: "Ye that loven God, hateth wikkednesse."
 For trusteth wel, to love God is for to love that he loveth, and hate that he hateth.
 The laste thyng that men shal understonde in contricioun is this:
 wherof avayleth contricioun. I seye that somtyme contricioun delivereth a man fro synne;
 of which that David seith, "I seye," quod David (that is to seyn,
 I purposed fermely) "to shryve me, and thow, Lord, relessedest my synne."
310 And right so as contricion availleth noght withouten sad purpos of shrifte,
310A if man have oportunitee, right so litel worth is shrifte or satisfaccioun withouten contricioun.
 And mooreover contricion destroyeth the prisoun of helle, and maketh wayk and fieble alle the strengthes of the develes,
 and restoreth the yiftes of the Hooly Goost and of alle goode vertues;
 and it clenseth the soule of synne, and delivereth the soule fro the peyne of helle, and fro the compaignye of the devel,
 and fro the servage of synne, and restoreth it to alle goodes espirituels, and to the compaignye and communyoun of hooly chirche.
 And forther over, it maketh hym that whilom was sone of ire to be sone of grace;
 and alle thise thynges been preved by hooly writ.
 And therfore, he that wolde sette his entente to thise thynges, he were ful wys;
 for soothly he ne sholde nat thanne in al his lyf have corage to synne,
 but yeven his body and al his herte to the service of Jhesu Crist, and therof doon hym hommage.
 For soothly oure sweete Lord Jhesu Crist hath spared us so debonairly in oure folies that
 if he ne hadde pitee of mannes soule, a sory song we myghten alle synge.
 The seconde partie of Penitence is Confessioun, that is signe of contricioun.
 Now shul ye understonde what is Confessioun,
 and wheither it oghte nedes be doon or noon, and whiche thynges been covenable to verray Confessioun.
 First shaltow understonde that Confessioun is verray shewynge of synnes to the preest.
 This is to seyn "verray," for he moste confessen hym of alle the condiciouns that bilongen to his synne, as ferforth as he kan.
320 Al moot be seyd, and no thyng excused ne hyd ne forwrapped, and noght avaunte thee of thy goode werkes.
 And forther over, it is necessarie to understonde whennes that synnes spryngen, and how they encreessen, and whiche they been.
 Of the spryngynge of synnes seith Seint Paul in this wise: that "Right as by a man synne entred first into this world,
 and thurgh that synne deeth, right so thilke deeth entred into alle men that synneden."
 And this man was Adam, by whom synne entred into this world, whan he brak the comaundementz of God.
 And therfore, he that first was so myghty that he sholde nat have dyed, bicam swich oon that he moste nedes dye,
 wheither he wolde or noon, and al his progenye in this world, that in thilke man synneden.
 Looke that in th' estaat of innocence, whan Adam and Eve naked weren in Paradys, and nothyng ne hadden shame of hir nakednesse,
 how that the serpent, that was moost wily of alle othere beestes that God hadde maked, seyde to the womman,
 "Why comaunded God to yow ye sholde nat eten of every tree in Paradys?"
 The womman answerde: "Of the fruyt," quod she, "of the trees in Paradys we feden us,
 but soothly, of the fruyt of the tree that is in the myddel of Paradys, God forbad us for to ete,
 ne nat touchen it, lest per aventure we sholde dyen."
 The serpent seyde to the womman, "Nay, nay, ye shul nat dyen of deeth; for sothe, God woot that
 what day that ye eten therof, youre eyen shul opene and ye shul been as goddes, knowynge good and harm."
 The womman thanne saugh that the tree was good to feedyng, and fair to the eyen, and delitable to the sighte.
 She took of the fruyt of the tree, and eet it, and yaf to hire housbonde,
 and he eet, and anoon the eyen of hem bothe openeden.
330 And whan that they knewe that they were naked, they sowed of fige leves a maner of breches to hiden hire membres.
 There may ye seen that deedly synne hath, first, suggestion of the feend, as sheweth heere by the naddre;
 and afterward, the delit of the flessh, as sheweth heere by Eve; and after that, the consentynge of resoun, as sheweth heere by Adam.
 For trust wel, though so were that the feend tempted Eve -- that is to seyn, the flessh --
 and the flessh hadde delit in the beautee of the fruyt defended, yet certes, til that resoun -- that is to seyn, Adam --
 consented to the etynge of the fruyt, yet stood he in th' estaat of innocence.
 Of thilke Adam tooke we thilke synne original,
 for of hym flesshly descended be we alle, and engendred of vile and corrupt mateere.
 And whan the soule is put in oure body, right anon is contract original synne;
 and that that was erst but oonly peyne of concupiscence is afterward bothe peyne and synne.
 And therfore be we alle born sones of wratthe and of dampnacioun perdurable, if it nere baptesme that we receyven,
 which bynymeth us the culpe. But for sothe, the peyne dwelleth with us, as to temptacioun, which peyne highte concupiscence.
 And this concupiscence, whan it is wrongfully disposed or ordeyned in man, it maketh hym coveite, by coveitise of flessh,
 flesshly synne, by sighte of his eyen as to erthely thynges, and eek coveitise of hynesse by pride of herte.
 Now, as for to speken of the firste coveitise, that is concupiscence, after the lawe of oure membres
 that weren lawefulliche ymaked and by rightful juggement of God,
 I seye, forasmuche as man is nat obeisaunt to God, that is his lord,
 therfore is the flessh to hym disobeisaunt thurgh concupiscence, which yet is cleped norrissynge of synne and occasioun of synne.
 Therfore, al the while that a man hath in hym the peyne of concupiscence,
 it is impossible but he be tempted somtime and moeved in his flessh to synne.
340 And this thyng may nat faille as longe as he lyveth.
340A it may wel wexe fieble and faille by vertu of baptesme and by the grace of God thurgh penitence,
 but fully ne shal it nevere quenche, that he ne shal som tyme be moeved in hymself,
 but if he were al refreyded by siknesse, or by malefice of sorcerie, or colde drynkes.
 For lo, what seith Seint Paul: "The flessh coveiteth agayn the spirit, and the spirit agayn the flessh;
 they been so contrarie and so stryven that a man may nat alway doon as he wolde."
 The same Seint Paul, after his grete penaunce in water and in lond --
 in water by nyght and by day in greet peril and in greet peyne;
 in lond, in famyne and thurst, in coold and cloothlees, and ones stoned almoost to the deeth
 -- yet seyde he, "Allas, I caytyf man! Who shal delivere me fro the prisoun of my caytyf body?"
 And Seint Jerome, whan he longe tyme hadde woned in desert, where as he hadde no compaignye but of wilde beestes,
 where as he ne hadde no mete but herbes, and water to his drynke, ne no bed but the naked erthe,
 for which his flessh was blak as an Ethiopeen for heete, and ny destroyed for coold,
 yet seyde he that "the brennynge of lecherie boyled in al his body."
 Wherfore I woot wel sykerly that they been deceyved that seyn that they ne be nat tempted in hir body.
 Witnesse on Seint Jame the Apostel, that seith that "every wight is tempted in his owene concupiscence"; that is to seyn,
 that everich of us hath matere and occasioun to be tempted of the norissynge of synne that is in his body.
 And therfore seith Seint John the Evaungelist, "If that we seyn that we be withoute synne,
 we deceyve us selve, and trouthe is nat in us."
350 Now shal ye understonde in what manere that synne wexeth or encreesseth in man.
350A The firste thyng is thilke norissynge of synne of which I spak biforn, thilke flesshly concupiscence.
 And after that comth the subjeccioun of the devel --
 this is to seyn, the develes bely, with which he bloweth in man the fir of flesshly concupiscence.
 And after that, a man bithynketh hym wheither he wol doon or no thilke thing to which he is tempted.
 And thanne, if that a man withstonde and weyve the firste entisynge of his flessh and of the feend,
 thanne is it no synne; and if it so be that he do nat so, thanne feeleth he anoon a flambe of delit.
 And thanne is it good to be war and kepen hym wel,
 or elles he wol falle anon into consentynge of synne; and thanne wol he do it, if he may have tyme and place.
 And of this matere seith Moyses by the devel in this manere: "The feend seith,
 `I wole chace and pursue the man by wikked suggestioun, and I wole hente hym by moevynge or stirynge of synne.
 And I wol departe my prise or my praye by deliberacioun, and my lust shal been acompliced in delit.
 I wol drawe my swerd in consentyng.'" --
 for certes, right as a swerd departeth a thyng in two peces, right so consentynge departeth God fro man --
 "`and thanne wol I sleen hym with myn hand in dede of synne'; thus seith the feend."
 For certes, thanne is a man al deed in soule.
 And thus is synne acompliced by temptacioun, by delit, and by consentynge; and thanne is the synne cleped actueel.
 For sothe, synne is in two maneres; outher it is venial or deedly synne.
 Soothly, whan man loveth any creature moore than Jhesu Crist oure Creatour, thanne is it deedly synne.
 And venial synne is it, if man love Jhesu Crist lasse than hym oghte.
 For sothe, the dede of this venial synne is ful perilous,
 for it amenuseth the love that men sholde han to God moore and moore.
360 And therfore, if a man charge hymself with manye swiche venial synnes,
360A certes, but if so be that he somtyme descharge hym of hem by shrifte,
360B they mowe ful lightly amenuse in hym al the love that he hath to Jhesu Crist;
 and in this wise skippeth venial into deedly synne. For certes, the moore that a man chargeth his soule with venial synnes,
 the moore is he enclyned to fallen into deedly synne.
 And therfore lat us nat be necligent to deschargen us of venial synnes. For the proverbe seith that "Manye smale maken a greet."
 And herkne this ensample. A greet wawe of the see comth som tyme with so greet a violence that it drencheth the ship.
 And the same harm doon som tyme the smale dropes of water, that entren thurgh a litel crevace into the thurrok,
 and in the botme of the ship, if men be so necligent that they ne descharge hem nat by tyme.
 And therfore, although ther be a difference bitwixe thise two causes of drenchynge, algates the ship is dreynt.
 Right so fareth it somtyme of deedly synne, and of anoyouse veniale synnes,
 whan they multiplie in a man so greetly that [the love of] thilke worldly thynges that he loveth,
 thurgh whiche he synneth venyally, is as greet in his herte as the love of God, or moore.
 And therfore, the love of every thyng that is nat biset in God, ne doon principally for Goddes sake,
 although that a man love it lasse than God, yet is it venial synne;
 and deedly synne whan the love of any thyng weyeth in the herte of man as muchel as the love of God, or moore.
 "Deedly synne," as seith Seint Augustyn, "is whan a man turneth his herte fro God,
 which that is verray sovereyn bountee, that may nat chaunge, and yeveth his herte to thyng that may chaunge and flitte."
 And certes, that is every thyng save God of hevene.
 For sooth is that if a man yeve his love, the which that he oweth al to God with al his herte, unto a creature,
 certes, as muche of his love as he yeveth to thilke creature, so muche he bireveth fro God;
370 and therfore dooth he synne. For he that is dettour to God ne yeldeth nat to God al his dette;
370A that is to seyn, al the love of his herte.
 Now sith man understondeth generally which is venial synne, thanne is it covenable to tellen specially of synnes whiche that many
 a man peraventure ne demeth hem nat synnes, and ne shryveth him nat of the same thynges, and yet natheless they been synnes
 soothly, as thise clerkes writen; this is to seyn, that at every tyme that a man eteth or drynketh
 moore than suffiseth to the sustenaunce of his body, in certein he dooth synne.
 And eek whan he speketh moore than it nedeth, it is synne. Eke whan he herkneth nat benignely the compleint of the povre;
 eke whan he is in heele of body and wol nat faste whan other folk faste, withouten cause resonable;
 eke whan he slepeth moore than nedeth, or whan he comth by thilke enchesoun to late to chirche, or to othere werkes of charite;
 eke whan he useth his wyf withouten sovereyn desir of engendrure to the honour of God
 or for the entente to yelde to his wyf the dette of his body;
 eke whan he wol nat visite the sike and the prisoner, if he may;
 eke if he love wyf or child, or oother worldly thyng, moore than resoun requireth.
 eke if he flatere or blandise moore than hym oghte for any necessitee;
 eke if he amenuse or withdrawe the almesse of the povre;
 eke if he apparailleth his mete moore deliciously than nede is, or ete it to hastily by likerousnesse;
 eke if he tale vanytees at chirche or at Goddes service, or that he be a talker
 of ydel wordes of folye or of vileynye, for he shal yelden acountes of it at the day of doom;
 eke whan he biheteth or assureth to do thynges that he may nat parfourne;
 eke whan that he by lightnesse or folie mysseyeth or scorneth his neighebor;
380 eke whan he hath any wikked suspecioun of thyng ther he ne woot of it no soothfastnesse:
 thise thynges, and mo withoute nombre, been synnes, as seith Seint Augustyn.
 Now shal men understonde that, al be it so that noon erthely man may eschue alle venial synnes,
 yet may he refreyne hym by the brennynge love that he hath to oure Lord Jhesu Crist,
 and by preyeres and confessioun and othere goode werkes, so that it shal but litel greve.
 For, as seith Seint Augustyn, "If a man love God in swich manere that al that evere he dooth
 is in the love of God and for the love of God verraily, for he brenneth in the love of God,
 looke how muche that a drope of water that falleth in a fourneys ful of fyr anoyeth
 or greveth, so muche anoyeth a venial synne unto a man that is parfit in the love of Jhesu Crist."
 Men may also refreyne venial synne by receyvynge worthily of the precious body of Jhesu Crist;
 by receyvynge eek of hooly water, by almesdede, by general confessioun of Confiteor at masse and at complyn,
 and by blessynge of bisshopes and of preestes, and by oothere goode werkes.
 Now is it bihovely thyng to telle whiche been the sevene deedly synnes,
 this is to seyn, chieftaynes of synnes. Alle they renne in o lees, but in diverse manneres.
 Now been they cleped chieftaynes, for as muche as they been chief and spryng of alle othere synnes.
 Of the roote of thise sevene synnes, thanne, is Pride the general roote of alle harmes.
 For of this roote spryngen certein braunches, as Ire, Envye, Accidie or Slewthe, Avarice or Coveitise (to commune understondynge), Glotonye, and Lecherye.
 And everich of thise chief synnes hath his braunches and his twigges, as shal be declared in hire chapitres folwynge.
390 And thogh so be that no man kan outrely telle the nombre of the twigges and of the harmes that cometh of Pride,
390A yet wol I shewe a partie of hem, as ye shul understonde.
 Ther is inobedience, avauntynge, ypocrisie, despit, arrogance, inpudence, swellynge of herte, insolence, elacioun, inpacience, strif, contumacie, presumpcioun, irreverence, pertinacie, veyneglorie,
 and many another twig that I kan nat declare.
 Inobedient is he that disobeyeth for despit to the comandementz of God, and to his sovereyns, and to his goostly fader.
 Avauntour is he that bosteth of the harm or of the bountee that he hath doon.
 Ypocrite is he that hideth to shewe hym swich as he is and sheweth hym swich as he noght is.
 Despitous is he that hath desdeyn of his neighebor --
 that is to seyn, of his evene-Cristene -- or hath despit to doon that hym oghte to do.
 Arrogant is he that thynketh that he hath thilke bountees in hym that he hath noght,
 or weneth that he sholde have hem by his desertes, or elles he demeth that he be that he nys nat.
 Inpudent is he that for his pride hath no shame of his synnes.
 Swellynge of herte is whan a man rejoyseth hym of harm that he hath doon.
 Insolent is he that despiseth in his juggement alle othere folk,
 as to regard of his value, and of his konnyng, and of his spekyng, and of his beryng.
400 Elacioun is whan he ne may neither suffre to have maister ne felawe.
 Inpacient is he that wol nat been ytaught ne undernome of his vice, and by strif werreieth trouthe wityngly, and deffendeth his folye.
 Contumax is he that thurgh his indignacioun is agayns everich auctoritee or power of hem that been his sovereyns.
 Presumpcioun is whan a man undertaketh an emprise that hym oghte nat do, or elles that he may nat do;
 and this is called surquidrie. Irreverence is whan men do nat honour there as hem oghte to doon, and waiten to be reverenced.
 Pertinacie is whan man deffendeth his folie and trusteth to muchel to his owene wit.
 Veyneglorie is for to have pompe and delit in his temporeel hynesse, and glorifie hym in this worldly estaat.
 Janglynge is whan a man speketh to muche biforn folk, and clappeth as a mille, and taketh no keep what he seith.
 And yet is ther a privee spece of Pride that waiteth first to be salewed
 er he wole salewe, al be he lasse worth than that oother is, peraventure;
 and eek he waiteth or desireth to sitte, or elles to goon above hym in the wey,
 or kisse pax, or been encensed, or goon to offryng biforn his neighebor,
 and swiche semblable thynges, agayns his duetee, peraventure, but that he hath his herte
 and his entente in swich a proud desir to be magnified and honoured biforn the peple.
 Now been ther two maneres of Pride: that oon of hem is withinne the herte of man, and that oother is withoute.
410 Of whiche, soothly, thise forseyde thynges, and mo than I have seyd, apertenen to Pride that is in the herte of man;
410A and that othere speces of Pride been withoute.
 But natheles that oon of thise speces of Pride is signe of that oother,
 right as the gaye leefsel atte taverne is signe of the wyn that is in the celer.
 And this is in manye thynges: as in speche and contenaunce, and in outrageous array of clothyng.
 For certes, if ther ne hadde be no synne in clothyng,
 Crist wolde nat so soone have noted and spoken of the clothyng of thilke riche man in the gospel.
 And, as seith Seint Gregorie, that "precious clothyng is cowpable for the derthe of it, and for his softenesse,
 and for his strangenesse and degisynesse, and for the superfluitee, or for the inordinat scantnesse of it."
 Allas, may man nat seen, as in oure dayes, the synful costlewe array of clothynge,
 and namely in to muche superfluite, or elles in to desordinat scantnesse?
 As to the first synne, that is in superfluitee of clothynge, which that maketh it so deere, to harm of the peple;
 nat oonly the cost of embrowdynge, the degise endentynge or barrynge, owndynge, palynge, wyndynge or bendynge, and semblable wast of clooth in vanitee,
 but ther is also costlewe furrynge in hir gownes, so muche pownsonynge of chisels to maken holes, so muche daggynge of sheres;
 forth-with the superfluitee in lengthe of the forseide gownes, trailynge in the dong and in the mire, on horse and eek on foote,
 as wel of man as of womman, that al thilke trailyng is verraily as in effect wasted, consumed, thredbare, and roten with donge,
 rather than it is yeven to the povre, to greet damage of the forseyde povre folk.
420 And that in sondry wise; this is to seyn that the moore that clooth is wasted,
420A the moore moot it coste to the peple for the scarsnesse.
 And forther over, if so be that they wolde yeven swich pownsoned and dagged clothyng to the povre folk,
 it is nat convenient to were for hire estaat, ne suffisant to beete hire necessitee, to kepe hem fro the distemperance of the firmament.
 Upon that oother side, to speken of the horrible disordinat scantnesse of clothyng, as been thise kutted sloppes, or haynselyns,
 that thurgh hire shortnesse ne covere nat the shameful membres of man, to wikked entente.
 Allas, somme of hem shewen the boce of hir shap, and the horrible swollen membres,
 that semeth lik the maladie of hirnia, in the wrappynge of hir hoses;
 and eek the buttokes of hem faren as it were the hyndre part of a she-ape in the fulle of the moone.
 And mooreover, the wrecched swollen membres that they shewe thurgh disgisynge,
 in departynge of hire hoses in whit and reed, semeth that half hir shameful privee membres weren flayne.
 And if so be that they departen hire hoses in othere colours,
 as is whit and blak, or whit and blew, or blak and reed, and so forth,
 thanne semeth it, as by variaunce of colour, that half the partie of hire privee membres were corrupt
 by the fir of Seint Antony, or by cancre, or by oother swich meschaunce.
 Of the hyndre part of hir buttokes, it is ful horrible for to see.
 For certes, in that partie of hir body ther as they purgen hir stynkynge ordure,
 that foule partie shewe they to the peple prowdly in despit of honestitee,
 which honestitee that Jhesu Crist and his freendes observede to shewen in hir lyve.
430 Now, as of the outrageous array of wommen, God woot that though the visages of somme of hem seme ful chaast and debonaire,
430A yet notifie they in hire array of atyr likerousnesse and pride.
 I sey nat that honestitee in clothynge of man or womman is uncovenable, but certes the superfluitee or disordinat scantitee of clothynge is reprevable.
 Also the synne of aornement or of apparaille is in thynges that apertenen to ridynge,
 as in to manye delicat horses that been hoolden for delit, that been so faire, fatte, and costlewe;
 and also in many a vicious knave that is sustened by cause of hem; and in to curious harneys,
 as in sadeles, in crouperes, peytrels, and bridles covered with precious clothyng, and riche barres and plates of gold and of silver.
 For which God seith by Zakarie the prophete, "I wol confounde the rideres of swiche horses."
 This folk taken litel reward of the ridynge of Goddes sone of hevene, and of his harneys whan he rood upon the asse,
 and ne hadde noon oother harneys but the povre clothes of his disciples;
 ne we ne rede nat that evere he rood on oother beest.
 I speke this for the synne of superfluitee, and nat for resonable honestitee, whan reson it requireth.
 And forther over, certes, pride is greetly notified in holdynge of greet meynee, whan they be of litel profit or of right no profit,
 and namely whan that meynee is felonous and damageous to the peple by hardynesse of heigh lordshipe or by wey of offices.
 For certes, swiche lordes sellen thanne hir lordshipe to the devel of helle, whanne they sustenen the wikkednesse of hir meynee.
440 Or elles, whan this folk of lowe degree, as thilke that holden hostelries, sustenen the thefte of hire hostilers,
440A and that is in many manere of deceites.
 Thilke manere of folk been the flyes that folwen the hony,
 or elles the houndes that folwen the careyne. Swich forseyde folk stranglen spiritually hir lordshipes;
 for which thus seith David the prophete:
 "Wikked deeth moote come upon thilke lordshipes, and God yeve that they moote descenden into helle al doun,
 for in hire houses been iniquitees and shrewednesses and nat God of hevene."
 And certes, but if they doon amendement, right as God yaf his benysoun to [Laban] by the service of Jacob,
 and to [Pharao] by the service of Joseph, right so God wol yeve his malisoun
 to swiche lordshipes as sustenen the wikkednesse of hir servauntz, but they come to amendement.
 Pride of the table appeereth eek ful ofte; for certes, riche men been cleped to festes, and povre folk been put awey and rebuked.
 Also in excesse of diverse metes and drynkes, and namely swich manere bake-metes and dissh-metes, brennynge of wilde fir
 and peynted and castelled with papir, and semblable wast, so that it is abusioun for to thynke.
 And eek in to greet preciousnesse of vessel and curiositee of mynstralcie, by whiche a man is stired the moore to delices of luxurie,
 if so be that he sette his herte the lasse upon oure Lord Jhesu Crist, certeyn it is a synne;
 and certeinly the delices myghte been so grete in this caas that man myghte lightly falle by hem into deedly synne.
 The especes that sourden of Pride, soothly whan they sourden of malice ymagined, avised, and forncast,
 or elles of usage, been deedly synnes, it is no doute.
 And whan they sourden by freletee unavysed, and sodeynly withdrawen
 ayeyn, al been they grevouse synnes, I gesse that they ne been nat deedly.
450 Now myghte men axe wherof that Pride sourdeth and spryngeth, and I seye,
450A somtyme it spryngeth of the goodes of nature, and somtyme of the goodes of fortune, and somtyme of the goodes of grace.
 Certes, the goodes of nature stonden outher in goodes of body or in goodes of soule.
 Certes, goodes of body been heele of body, strengthe, delivernesse, beautee, gentrice, franchise.
 Goodes of nature of the soule been good wit, sharp understondynge, subtil engyn, vertu natureel, good memorie.
 Goodes of fortune been richesse, hyghe degrees of lordshipes, preisynges of the peple.
 Goodes of grace been science, power to suffre spiritueel travaille, benignitee, vertuous contemplacioun, withstondynge of temptacioun, and semblable thynges.
 Of whiche forseyde goodes, certes it is a ful greet folye a man to priden hym in any of hem alle.
 Now as for to speken of goodes of nature,
 God woot that somtyme we han hem in nature as muche to oure damage as to oure profit.
 As for to speken of heele of body, certes it passeth ful lightly,
 and eek it is ful ofte enchesoun of the siknesse of oure soule.
 For, God woot, the flessh is a ful greet enemy to the soule,
 and therfore, the moore that the body is hool, the moore be we in peril to falle.
 Eke for to pride hym in his strengthe of body, it is an heigh folye.
 For certes, the flessh coveiteth agayn the spirit, and ay the moore strong that the flessh is, the sorier may the soule be.
460 And over al this, strengthe of body and worldly hardynesse causeth ful ofte many a man to peril and meschaunce.
 Eek for to pride hym of his gentrie is ful greet folie; for
 ofte tyme the gentrie of the body binymeth the gentrie of the soule;
 and eek we ben alle of o fader and of o mooder;
 and alle we been of o nature, roten and corrupt, bothe riche and povre.
 For sothe, o manere gentrie is for to preise, that apparailleth mannes corage with vertues and moralitees, and maketh hym Cristes child.
 For truste wel that over what man that synne hath maistrie, he is a verray cherl to synne.
 Now been ther generale signes of gentillesse, as eschewynge of vice and ribaudye and servage of synne, in word, in werk, and contenaunce,
 and usynge vertu, curteisye, and clennesse, and to be liberal --
 that is to seyn, large by mesure, for thilke that passeth mesure is folie and synne.
 Another is to remembre hym of bountee that he of oother folk hath receyved.
 Another is to be benigne to his goode subgetis; wherfore seith Senek,
 "Ther is no thing moore covenable to a man of heigh estaat than debonairetee and pitee.
 And therfore thise flyes that men clepen bees, whan they maken hir kyng,
 they chesen oon that hath no prikke wherwith he may stynge."
 Another is, a man to have a noble herte and a diligent to attayne to heighe vertuouse thynges.
470 Now certes, a man to pride hym in the goodes of grace is eek an outrageous folie, for thilke
470A yifte of grace that sholde have turned hym to goodnesse and to medicine, turneth hym to venym and to confusioun, as seith Seint Gregorie.
 Certes also, whoso prideth hym in the goodes of fortune, he is a ful greet fool;
 for somtyme is a man a greet lord by the morwe, that is a caytyf and a wrecche er it be nyght;
 and somtyme the richesse of a man is cause of his deth;
 somtyme the delices of a man ben cause of the grevous maladye thurgh which he dyeth.
 Certes, the commendacioun of the peple is somtyme ful fals and ful brotel for to triste; this day they preyse, tomorwe they blame.
 God woot, desir to have commendacioun eek of the peple hath caused deeth to many a bisy man.
 Now sith that so is that ye han understonde what is Pride,
 and whiche been the speces of it, and whennes Pride sourdeth and spryngeth,
 now shul ye understonde which is the remedie agayns the synne of Pride; and that is humylitee, or mekenesse.
 That is a vertu thurgh which a man hath verray knoweleche of hymself, and holdeth of hymself no pris ne deyntee,
 as in regard of his desertes, considerynge evere his freletee.
 Now been ther three maneres of humylitee: as humylitee in herte; another humylitee is in his mouth; the thridde in his werkes.
 The humilitee in herte is in foure maneres. That oon is whan a man holdeth hymself as noght worth biforn God of hevene.
 Another is whan he ne despiseth noon oother man.
480 The thridde is whan he rekketh nat, though men holde hym noght worth. The ferthe is whan he nys nat sory of his humiliacioun.
 Also the humilitee of mouth is in foure thynges:
 in attempree speche, and in humblesse of speche, and whan he biknoweth with his owene mouth
 that he is swich as hym thynketh that he is in his herte.
 Another is whan he preiseth the bountee of another man, and nothyng therof amenuseth.
 Humilitee eek in werkes is in foure maneres. The firste is whan he putteth othere men biforn hym.
 The seconde is to chese the loweste place over al. The thridde is gladly to assente to good conseil.
 The ferthe is to stonde gladly to the award of his sovereyns,
 or of hym that is in hyer degree. Certein, this is a greet werk of humylitee.
 After Pride wol I speken of the foule synne of Envye, which that is, as by the word of the Philosophre,
 "sorwe of oother mannes prosperitee"; and after the word of Seint Augustyn, it is "Sorwe
 of oother mennes wele, and joye of othere mennes harm."
 This foule synne is platly agayns the Hooly Goost. Al be it so that every synne is agayns the Hooly Goost,
 yet nathelees, for as muche as bountee aperteneth proprely to the Hooly Goost, and Envye comth proprely of malice,
 therfore it is proprely agayn the bountee of the Hooly Goost.
 Now hath malice two speces; that is to seyn, hardnesse of herte in wikkednesse,
 or elles the flessh of man is so blynd that he considereth nat that he is in synne
 or rekketh nat that he is in synne, which is the hardnesse of the devel.
 That oother spece of malice is whan a man werreyeth trouthe, whan he woot that it is trouthe;
 and eek whan he werreyeth the grace that God hath yeve to his neighebor; and al this is by Envye.
 Certes, thanne is Envye the worste synne that is. For soothly, alle othere synnes been somtyme oonly agayns o special vertu,
 but certes Envye is agayns alle vertues and agayns alle goodnesses.
 For it is sory of alle the bountees of his neighebor, and in this manere it is divers from alle othere synnes.
490 For wel unnethe is ther any synne that it ne hath som delit in itself,
490A save oonly Envye, that evere hath in itself angwissh and sorwe.
 The speces of Envye been thise. Ther is first, sorwe of oother mannes goodnesse and of his prosperitee;
 and prosperitee is kyndely matere of joye; thanne is Envye a synne agayns kynde.
 The seconde spece of Envye is joye of oother mannes harm,
 and that is proprely lyk to the devel, that evere rejoyseth hym of mannes harm.
 Of thise two speces comth bakbityng; and this synne of bakbityng or detraccion hath certeine speces, as thus:
 Som man preiseth his neighebor by a wikked entente,
 for he maketh alwey a wikked knotte atte laste ende. Alwey he maketh a "but" atte laste ende,
 that is digne of moore blame than worth is al the preisynge.
 The seconde spece is that if a man be good and dooth or seith a thing to good entente,
 the bakbitere wol turne al thilke goodnesse up-so-doun to his shrewed entente.
 The thridde is to amenuse the bountee of his neighebor.
 The fourthe spece of bakbityng is this: that if men speke goodnesse of a man, thanne wol the bakbitere seyn,
 "Parfey, swich a man is yet bet than he," in dispreisynge of hym that men preise.
 The fifte spece is this: for to consente gladly and herkne gladly to the harm that men speke of oother folk.
 This synne is ful greet and ay encreesseth after the wikked entente of the bakbitere.
 After bakbityng cometh gruchchyng or murmuracioun; and somtyme it spryngeth of inpacience agayns God, and somtyme agayns man.
500 Agayn God it is whan a man gruccheth agayn the peyne of helle, or agayns poverte, or los of catel,
500A or agayn reyn or tempest; or elles gruccheth that shrewes han prosperitee, or elles for that goode men han adversitee.
 And alle thise thynges sholde man suffre paciently, for they comen by the rightful juggement and ordinaunce of God.
 Somtyme comth grucching of avarice;
 as Judas grucched agayns the Magdaleyne whan she enoynted the heved of oure Lord Jhesu Crist with hir precious oynement.
 This manere murmure is swich as whan man gruccheth of goodnesse that hymself dooth, or that oother folk doon of hir owene catel.
 Somtyme comth murmure of Pride, as whan Simon the Pharisee gruchched agayn the Magdaleyne
 whan she approched to Jhesu Crist and weep at his feet for hire synnes.
 And somtyme grucchyng sourdeth of Envye, whan men discovereth a mannes harm that was pryvee or
 bereth hym on hond thyng that is fals.
 Murmure eek is ofte amonges servauntz that grucchen whan hir sovereyns bidden hem doon leveful thynges;
 and forasmuche as they dar nat openly withseye the comaundementz of hir sovereyns,
 yet wol they seyn harm, and grucche, and murmure prively for verray despit;
 whiche wordes men clepen the develes Pater noster, though so be that the devel ne hadde nevere Pater noster,
 but that lewed folk yeven it swich a name.
 Somtyme it comth of Ire or prive hate that norisseth rancour in herte, as afterward I shal declare.
510 Thanne cometh eek bitternesse of herte, thurgh which bitternesse every good dede of his neighebor semeth to hym bitter and unsavory.
 Thanne cometh discord that unbyndeth alle manere of freendshipe. Thanne comth scornynge of his neighebor, al do he never so weel.
 Thanne comth accusynge, as whan man seketh occasioun to anoyen his neighebor,
 which that is lyk the craft of the devel, that waiteth bothe nyght and day to accusen us alle.
 Thanne comth malignitee, thurgh which a man anoyeth his neighebor prively, if he may;
 and if he noght may, algate his wikked wil ne shal nat wante,
 as for to brennen his hous pryvely, or empoysone or sleen his beestes, and semblable thynges.
 Now wol I speke of remedie agayns this foule synne of Envye. First is the love of God principal
 and lovyng of his neighebor as hymself, for soothly that oon ne may nat been withoute that oother.
 And truste wel that in the name of thy neighebor thou shalt understonde the name of thy brother;
 for certes alle we have o fader flesshly and o mooder -- that is to seyn, Adam and Eve --
 and eek o fader espiritueel, and that is God of hevene.
 Thy neighebor artow holden for to love and wilne hym alle goodnesse; and therfore seith God,
 "Love thy neighebor as thyselve" -- that is to seyn, to salvacioun bothe of lyf and of soule.
 And mooreover thou shalt love hym in word, and in benigne amonestynge and chastisynge,
 and conforten hym in his anoyes, and preye for hym with al thyn herte.
 And in dede thou shalt love hym in swich wise that thou shalt doon to hym in charitee
 as thou woldest that it were doon to thyn owene persone.
520 And therfore thou ne shalt doon hym no damage in wikked word, ne harm in his body,
520A ne in his catel, ne in his soule, by entissyng of wikked ensample.
 Thou shalt nat desiren his wyf ne none of his thynges. Understoond eek that in the name of neighebor is comprehended his enemy.
 Certes, man shal loven his enemy, by the comandement of God; and soothly thy freend shaltow love in God.
 I seye, thyn enemy shaltow love for Goddes sake, by his commandement.
 For if it were reson that man sholde haten his enemy,
 for sothe God nolde nat receyven us to his love that been his enemys.
 Agayns three manere of wronges that his enemy dooth to hym, he shal doon three thynges, as thus:
 Agayns hate and rancour of herte, he shal love hym in herte.
 Agayns chidyng and wikkede wordes, he shal preye for his enemy. Agayns the wikked dede of his enemy, he shal doon hym bountee.
 For Crist seith, "Loveth youre enemys, and preyeth for hem that speke yow harm, and eek for hem that yow chacen and pursewen,
 and dooth bountee to hem that yow haten." Loo, thus comaundeth us oure Lord Jhesu Crist to do to oure enemys.
 For soothly, nature dryveth us to loven oure freendes, and parfey, oure enemys han moore nede to love than oure freendes;
 and they that moore nede have, certes to hem shal men doon goodnesse;
 and certes, in thilke dede have we remembraunce of the love of Jhesu Crist that deyde for his enemys.
 And in as muche as thilke love is the moore grevous to parfourne, so muche is the moore gret the merite;
 and therfore the lovynge of oure enemy hath confounded the venym of the devel.
530 For right as the devel is disconfited by humylitee, right so is he wounded to the deeth by love of oure enemy.
 Certes, thanne is love the medicine that casteth out the venym of Envye fro mannes herte.
 The speces of this paas shullen be moore largely declared in hir chapitres folwynge.
 After Envye wol I discryven the synne of Ire. For soothly, whoso hath envye upon his neighebor,
 anon he wole comunly fynde hym a matere of wratthe, in word or in dede, agayns hym to whom he hath envye.
 And as wel comth Ire of Pride as of Envye, for soothly he that is proud or envyous is lightly wrooth.
 This synne of Ire, after the discryvyng of Seint Augustyn, is wikked wil to been avenged by word or by dede.
 Ire, after the Philosophre, is the fervent blood of man yquyked in his herte,
 thurgh which he wole harm to hym that he hateth.
 For certes, the herte of man, by eschawfynge and moevynge of his blood, wexeth
 so trouble that he is out of alle juggement of resoun.
 But ye shal understonde that Ire is in two maneres; that oon of hem is good, and that oother is wikked.
 The goode Ire is by jalousie of goodnesse,
 thurgh which a man is wrooth with wikkednesse and agayns wikkednesse; and therfore seith a wys man that Ire is bet than pley.
540 This Ire is with debonairetee, and it is wrooth withouten bitternesse; nat wrooth agayns the man,
540A but wrooth with the mysdede of the man, as seith the prophete David, "Irascimini et nolite peccare."
 Now understondeth that wikked Ire is in two maneres;
 that is to seyn, sodeyn Ire or hastif Ire, withouten avisement and consentynge of resoun.
 The menyng and the sens of this is that the resoun of a man ne consente nat to thilke sodeyn Ire,
 and thanne is it venial.
 Another Ire is ful wikked, that comth of felonie of herte avysed and cast biforn, with wikked wil to do vengeance,
 and therto his resoun consenteth. and soothly this is deedly synne.
 This Ire is so displesant to God that it troubleth his hous and chaceth the Hooly Goost out of mannes soule,
 and wasteth and destroyeth the liknesse of God -- that is to seyn, the vertu that is in mannes soule --
 and put in hym the liknesse of the devel, and bynymeth the man fro God, that is his rightful lord.
 This Ire is a ful greet plesaunce to the devel,
 for it is the develes fourneys, that is eschawfed with the fir of helle.
 For certes, right so as fir is moore mighty to destroyen erthely thynges than any oother element,
 right so Ire is myghty to destroyen alle spiritueel thynges.
 Looke how that fir of smale gleedes that been almost dede under asshen wollen quike agayn whan they been touched with brymstoon;
 right so Ire wol everemo quyken agayn whan it is touched by the pride that is covered in mannes herte.
 For certes, fir ne may nat comen out of no thyng, but if it were first in the same thyng natureelly,
 as fir is drawen out of flyntes with steel.
550 And right so as pride is ofte tyme matere of Ire, right so is rancour norice and kepere of Ire.
 Ther is a maner tree, as seith Seint Ysidre, that whan men maken fir of thilke tree
 and covere the coles of it with asshen, soothly the fir of it wol lasten al a yeer or moore.
 And right so fareth it of rancour; whan it is ones conceyved in the hertes of som men,
 certein, it wol lasten peraventure from oon Estre day unto another Estre day, and moore.
 But certes, thilke man is ful fer fro the mercy of God al thilke while.
 In this forseyde develes fourneys ther forgen three shrewes: Pride, that ay bloweth and encreesseth the fir by chidynge and wikked wordes;
 thanne stant Envye and holdeth the hoote iren upon the herte of man with a peire of longe toonges of long rancour;
 and thanne stant the synne of Contumelie, or strif and cheeste, and batereth and forgeth by vileyns reprevynges.
 Certes, this cursed synne anoyeth bothe to the man hymself and eek to his neighebor.
 For soothly, almoost al the harm that any man dooth to his neighebor comth of wratthe.
 For certes, outrageous wratthe dooth al that evere the devel hym comaundeth, for he ne spareth neither Crist ne his sweete Mooder.
 And in his outrageous anger and ire -- allas, allas! --
 ful many oon at that tyme feeleth in his herte ful wikkedly, bothe of Crist and eek of alle his halwes.
560 Is nat this a cursed vice? Yis, certes. Allas! It bynymeth from man his wit and his resoun,
560A and al his debonaire lif espiritueel that sholde kepen his soule.
 Certes, it bynymeth eek Goddes due lordshipe, and that is mannes soule and the love of his neighebores.
 It stryveth eek alday agayn trouthe. It reveth hym the quiete of his herte and subverteth his soule.
 Of Ire comen thise stynkynge engendrures: First, hate, that is oold wratthe;
 discord, thurgh which a man forsaketh his olde freend that he hath loved ful longe;
 and thanne cometh werre and every manere of wrong that man dooth to his neighebor, in body or in catel.
 Of this cursed synne of Ire cometh eek manslaughtre. And understonde wel that homycide, that is manslaughtre, is in diverse wise.
 Som manere of homycide is spiritueel, and som is bodily.
 Spiritueel manslaughtre is in sixe thynges. First by hate, as seith Seint John: "He that hateth his brother is an homycide."
 Homycide is eek by bakbitynge, of whiche bakbiteres seith Salomon that "they han two swerdes with whiche they sleen hire neighebores."
 For soothly, as wikke is to bynyme his good name as his lyf.
 Homycide is eek in yevynge of wikked conseil by fraude, as for to yeven conseil to areysen wrongful custumes and taillages.
 Of whiche seith Salomon, "Leon rorynge and bere hongry been like to the cruel lordshipes" in withholdynge or abreggynge of the shepe
 (or the hyre), or of the wages of servauntz, or elles in usure, or in withdrawynge of the almesse of povre folk.
 For which the wise man seith, "Fedeth hym that almoost dyeth for honger"; for soothly, but if thow feede hym, thou sleest hym;
 and alle thise been deedly synnes.
570 Bodily manslaughtre is, whan thow sleest him with thy tonge in oother manere,
570A as whan thou comandest to sleen a man or elles yevest hym conseil to sleen a man.
 Manslaughtre in dede is in foure maneres.
 That oon is by lawe, right as a justice dampneth hym that is coupable to the deeth.
 But lat the justice be war that he do it rightfully, and
 that he do it nat for delit to spille blood but for kepynge of rightwisnesse.
 Another homycide is that is doon for necessitee, as whan o man sleeth another in his defendaunt
 and that he ne may noon ootherwise escape from his owene deeth.
 But certeinly if he may escape withouten slaughtre of his adversarie, and sleeth hym,
 he dooth synne and he shal bere penance as for deedly synne.
 Eek if a man, by caas or aventure, shete an arwe,
 or caste a stoon with which he sleeth a man, he is homycide.
 Eek if a womman by necligence overlyeth hire child in hir slepyng, it is homycide and deedly synne.
 Eek whan man destourbeth concepcioun of a child, and maketh a womman outher bareyne
 by drynkynge venenouse herbes thurgh which she may nat conceyve,
 or sleeth a child by drynkes wilfully, or elles putteth certeine material thynges in hire secree places to slee the child,
 or elles dooth unkyndely synne, by which man or womman shedeth hire nature in manere or in place
 ther as a child may nat be conceived, or elles if a woman have conceyved,
 and hurt hirself and sleeth the child, yet is it homycide.
 What seye we eek of wommen that mordren hir children for drede of worldly shame? Certes, an horrible homicide.
 Homycide is eek if a man approcheth to a womman by desir of lecherie, thurgh which the child is perissed,
 or elles smyteth a womman wityngly, thurgh which she leseth hir child. Alle thise been homycides and horrible deedly synnes.
580 Yet comen ther of Ire manye mo synnes, as wel in word as in thoght and in dede;
580A as he that arretteth upon God, or blameth God of thyng of which he is hymself gilty,
580B or despiseth God and alle his halwes, as doon thise cursede hasardours in diverse contrees.
 This cursed synne doon they, whan they feelen in hir herte ful wikkedly of God and of his halwes.
 Also whan they treten unreverently the sacrement of the auter, thilke synne is so greet that unnethe may it been releessed,
 but that the mercy of God passeth alle his werkes; it is so greet, and he so benigne.
 Thanne comth of Ire attry angre. Whan a man is sharply amonested in his shrifte to forleten his synne,
 thanne wole he be angry, and answeren hokerly and angrily, and deffenden or excusen his synne by unstedefastnesse of his flessh;
 or elles he dide it for to holde compaignye with his felawes; or elles, he seith, the feend enticed hym;
 or elles he dide it for his youthe; or elles his compleccioun is so corageous that he may nat forbere;
 or elles it is his destinee, as he seith, unto a certein
 age; or elles, he seith, it cometh hym of gentillesse of his auncestres; and semblable thynges.
 Alle thise manere of folk so wrappen hem in hir synnes that they ne wol nat delivere hemself.
 For soothly, no wight that excuseth hym wilfully of his synne
 may nat been delivered of his synne til that he mekely biknoweth his synne.
 After this, thanne cometh sweryng, that is expres agayn the comandement of God; and this bifalleth ofte of anger and of Ire.
 God seith, "Thow shalt nat take the name of thy Lord God in veyn or in ydel."
 Also oure Lord Jhesu Crist seith, by the word of Seint Mathew,
 "Ne wol ye nat swere in alle manere; neither by hevene, for it is Goddes trone;
 ne by erthe, for it is the bench of his feet; ne by Jerusalem, for it is the citee of a greet kyng;
 ne by thyn heed, for thou mayst nat make an heer whit ne blak.
590 But seyeth by youre word `ye, ye,' and `nay, nay'; and what that is moore, it is of yvel" -- thus seith Crist.
 For Cristes sake, ne swereth nat so synfully in dismembrynge of Crist by soule, herte, bones, and body.
 For certes, it semeth that ye thynke that the cursede Jewes ne dismembred nat ynough the preciouse persone of Crist,
 but ye dismembre hym moore.
 And if so be that the lawe compelle yow to swere, thanne rule yow after the lawe of God in youre swerying,
 as seith Jeremye, quarto capitulo: Thou shalt kepe three condicions: thou shalt swere "in trouthe, in doom, and in rightwisnesse."
 This is to seyn, thou shalt swere sooth, for every lesynge is agayns Crist;
 for Crist is verray trouthe. And thynk wel this: that "every greet swerere, nat compelled lawefully to
 swere, the wounde shal nat departe from his hous" whil he useth swich unleveful swerying.
 Thou shalt sweren eek in doom, whan thou art constreyned by thy domesman to witnessen the trouthe.
 Eek thow shalt nat swere for envye, ne for favour, ne for meede, but for rightwisnesse, for declaracioun of it,
 to the worshipe of God and helpyng of thyne evene-Cristene.
 And therfore every man that taketh Goddes name in ydel, or falsly swereth with his mouth,
 or elles taketh on hym the name of Crist, to be called a Cristen man
 and lyveth agayns Cristes lyvynge and his techynge, alle they taken Goddes name in ydel.
 Looke eek what Seint Peter seith, Actuum quarto, Non est aliud nomen sub celo, etc., "Ther nys noon oother name," seith Seint Peter,
 "under hevene yeven to men, in which they mowe be saved"; that is to seyn, but the name of Jhesu Crist.
 Take kep eek how precious is the name of Crist, as seith Seint Paul, ad Philipenses secundo, In nomine Jhesu, etc.,
 "That in the name of Jhesu every knee of hevenely creatures, or erthely, or of helle sholde
 bowe," for it is so heigh and so worshipful that the cursede feend in helle sholde tremblen to heeren it ynempned.
 Thanne semeth it that men that sweren so horribly by his blessed name,
 that they despise it moore booldely than dide the cursede Jewes or elles the devel, that trembleth whan he heereth his name.
600 Now certes, sith that sweryng, but if it be lawefully doon, is so heighly deffended, muche worse is forsweryng falsly, and yet nedelees.
 What seye we eek of hem that deliten hem in sweryng,
 and holden it a gentrie or a manly dede to swere grete othes?
 And what of hem that of verray usage ne cesse nat to swere grete othes, al be the cause nat worth a straw?
 Certes, this is horrible synne.
 Swerynge sodeynly withoute avysement is eek a synne.
 But lat us go now to thilke horrible sweryng of adjuracioun and conjuracioun,
 as doon thise false enchauntours or nigromanciens in bacyns ful of water,
 or in a bright swerd, in a cercle, or in a fir, or in a shulder-boon of a sheep.
 I kan nat seye but that they doon cursedly and dampnably agayns Crist and al the feith of hooly chirche.
 What seye we of hem that bileeven on divynailes, as by flight or by noyse of briddes, or of beestes,
 or by sort, by nigromancie, by dremes, by chirkynge of dores or crakkynge of houses, by gnawynge of rattes, and swich manere wrecchednesse?
 Certes, al this thyng is deffended by God and by hooly chirche.
 For which they been acursed, til they come to amendement, that on swich filthe setten hire bileeve.
 Charmes for woundes or maladie of men or of beestes, if they taken any effect,
 it may be peraventure that God suffreth it, for folk sholden yeve the moore feith and reverence to his name.
 Now wol I speken of lesynges, which generally is fals signyficaunce of word, in entente to deceyven his evene-Cristene.
 Som lesynge is of which ther comth noon avantage to no wight;
 and som lesynge turneth to the ese and profit of o man, and to disese and damage of another man.
610 Another lesynge is for to saven his lyf or his catel. Another
610A lesynge comth of delit for to lye, in which delit they wol forge a long tale
610B and peynten it with alle circumstaunces, where al the ground of the tale is fals.
 Som lesynge comth for he wole sustene his word; and som lesynge comth of reccheleesnesse withouten avisement; and semblable thynges.
 Lat us now touche the vice of flaterynge, which ne comth nat gladly but for drede or for coveitise.
 Flaterye is generally wrongful preisynge. Flatereres been the develes norices, that norissen his children with milk of losengerie.
 For sothe, Salomon seith that "Flaterie is wors than detraccioun." For somtyme detraccion maketh an hauteyn man be the moore humble,
 for he dredeth detraccion; but certes flaterye, that maketh a man to enhauncen his herte and his contenaunce.
 Flatereres been the develes enchauntours; for they make a man to wene of hymself be lyk that he nys nat lyk.
 They been lyk to Judas that bitraysen a man to sellen hym to his enemy; that is to the devel.
 Flatereres been the develes chapelleyns, that syngen evere Placebo.
 I rekene flaterie in the vices of Ire,
 for ofte tyme if o man be wrooth with another, thanne wole he flatere som wight to sustene hym in his querele.
 Speke we now of swich cursynge as comth of irous herte. Malisoun generally may be seyd every maner power of harm.
 Swich cursynge bireveth man fro the regne of God, as seith Seint Paul.
620 And ofte tyme swich cursynge wrongfully retorneth agayn to hym that curseth, as a bryd that retorneth agayn to his owene nest.
 And over alle thyng men oghten eschewe to cursen hire children, and yeven to the devel hire engendrure,
 as ferforth as in hem is. Certes, it is greet peril and greet synne.
 Lat us thanne speken of chidynge and reproche, whiche been ful grete woundes in mannes herte,
 for they unsowen the semes of freendshipe in mannes herte.
 For certes, unnethes may a man pleynly been accorded with hym that hath hym openly revyled and repreved and disclaundred.
 This is a ful grisly synne, as Crist seith in the gospel.
 And taak kep now, that he that repreveth his neighebor, outher he repreveth hym by som harm of peyne
 that he hath on his body, as "mesel," "croked harlot," or by som synne that he dooth.
 Now if he repreve hym by harm of peyne, thanne turneth the repreve to Jhesu Crist,
 for peyne is sent by the rightwys sonde of God, and by his suffrance, be it meselrie, or maheym, or maladie.
 And if he repreve hym uncharitably of synne, as "thou holour," "thou dronkelewe harlot," and so forth,
 thanne aperteneth that to the rejoysynge of the devel, that evere hath joye that men doon synne.
 And certes, chidynge may nat come but out of a vileyns herte.
 For after the habundance of the herte speketh the mouth ful ofte.
 And ye shul understonde that looke, by any wey,
 whan any man shal chastise another, that he be war from chidynge or reprevynge.
 For trewely, but he be war, he may ful lightly quyken the fir of angre and of wratthe,
 which that he sholde quenche, and peraventure sleeth hym which that he myghte chastise with benignitee.
 For as seith Salomon, "The amyable tonge is the tree of lyf" -- that is to seyn, of lyf espiritueel --
 and soothly, a deslavee tonge sleeth the spirites of hym that repreveth and eek of hym that is repreved.
630 Loo, what seith Seint Augustyn: "Ther is nothyng so lyk the develes child as he that ofte chideth."
630A Seint Paul seith eek, "The servant of God bihoveth nat to chide."
 And how that chidynge be a vileyns thyng bitwixe alle manere folk,
 yet is it certes moost uncovenable bitwixe a man and his wyf,
 for there is nevere reste. And therfore seith Salomon, "An
 hous that is uncovered and droppynge and a chidynge wyf been lyke."
 A man that is in a droppynge hous in manye places,
 though he eschewe the droppynge in o place, it droppeth on hym in another place.
 So fareth it by a chydynge wyf; but she chide hym in o place, she wol chide hym in another.
 And therfore, "Bettre is a morsel of breed with joye than an hous ful of delices with chidynge," seith Salomon.
 Seint Paul seith, "O ye wommen, be ye subgetes to youre housbondes as bihoveth in God,
 and ye men loveth youre wyves." Ad Colossenses tertio.
 Afterward speke we of scornynge, which is a wikked synne, and namely whan he scorneth a man for his goode werkes.
 For certes, swiche scorneres faren lyk the foule
 tode, that may nat endure to smelle the soote savour of the vyne whanne it florissheth.
 Thise scorneres been partyng felawes with the devel; for they han joye whan the devel wynneth and sorwe whan he leseth.
 They been adversaries of Jhesu Crist, for they haten that he loveth -- that is to seyn, salvacioun of soule.
 Speke we now of wikked conseil, for he that wikked conseil yeveth is a traytour.
 For he deceyveth hym that trusteth in hym, ut Achitofel ad Absolonem. But nathelees, yet is his wikked conseil first agayn hymself.
640 For, as seith the wise man, "Every fals lyvynge hath this propertee in hymself, that
640A he that wole anoye another man, he anoyeth first hymself."
 And men shul understonde that man shal nat taken his conseil of fals folk, ne of angry folk, or grevous folk,
 ne of folk that loven specially to muchel hir owene profit, ne to muche worldly folk, namely in conseilynge of soules.
 Now comth the synne of hem that sowen and maken discord amonges folk, which is a synne that Crist hateth outrely.
 And no wonder is, for he deyde for to make concord.
 And moore shame do they to Crist than dide they that hym crucifiede,
 for God loveth bettre that freendshipe be amonges folk, than he dide his owene body,
 the which that he yaf for unitee. Therfore been they likned to the devel, that evere is aboute to maken discord.
 Now comth the synne of double tonge, swiche as speken faire byforn folk and wikkedly bihynde, or elles they maken semblant
 as though they speeke of good entencioun, or elles in game and pley, and yet they speke of wikked entente.
 Now comth biwreying of conseil, thurgh which a man is defamed; certes, unnethe may he restoore the damage.
 Now comth manace, that is an open folye, for he that ofte manaceth, he threteth moore than he may parfourne ful ofte tyme.
 Now cometh ydel wordes, that is withouten profit of hym that speketh tho wordes,
 and eek of hym that herkneth tho wordes. Or elles ydel wordes been tho that been nedelees or withouten entente of natureel profit.
 And al be it that ydel wordes been somtyme venial synne,
 yet sholde men douten hem, for we shul yeve rekenynge of hem bifore God.
 Now comth janglynge, that may nat been withoute synne. And, as seith Salomon, "It is a sygne of apert folye."
650 And therfore a philosophre seyde, whan men axed hym how that men sholde plese the peple,
650A and he answerde, "Do manye goode werkes, and spek fewe jangles."
 After this comth the synne of japeres, that been the develes apes,
 for they maken folk to laughe at hire japerie as folk doon at the gawdes of an ape.
 Swiche japeres deffendeth Seint Paul.
 Looke how that vertuouse wordes and hooly conforten hem that travaillen in the service of Crist,
 right so conforten the vileyns wordes and knakkes of japeris hem that travaillen in the service of the devel.
 Thise been the synnes that comen of the tonge, that comen of Ire and of othere synnes mo.
 The remedie agayns Ire is a vertu that men clepen mansuetude, that is debonairetee;
 and eek another vertu, that men callen pacience or suffrance.
 Debonairetee withdraweth and refreyneth the stirynges and the moevynges of mannes corage in his herte,
 in swich manere that they ne skippe nat out by angre ne by ire.
 Suffrance suffreth swetely alle the anoyaunces and the wronges that men doon to man outward.
 Seint Jerome seith thus of debonairetee, that "it dooth noon harm to no wight ne seith.
 ne for noon harm that men doon or seyn, he ne eschawfeth nat agayns his resoun."
 This vertu somtyme comth of nature, for, as seith the Philosophre,
 "A man is a quyk thyng, by nature debonaire and tretable to goodnesse;
 but whan debonairetee is enformed of grace, thanne is it the moore worth."
 Pacience, that is another remedie agayns Ire, is a vertu that suffreth swetely every mannes goodnesse,
 and is nat wrooth for noon harm that is doon to hym.
660 The Philosophre seith that pacience is thilke vertu that suffreth debonairely alle the outrages of adversitee and every wikked word.
 This vertu maketh a man lyk to God, and maketh hym Goddes owene deere child, as seith Crist.
 This vertu disconfiteth thyn enemy. And therfore seith the wise man, "If thow wolt venquysse thyn enemy, lerne to suffre."
 And thou shalt understonde that man suffreth foure manere of grevances in outward thynges,
 agayns the whiche foure he moot have foure manere of paciences.
 The firste grevance is of wikkede wordes. Thilke suffrede Jhesu Crist withouten grucchyng, ful paciently,
 whan the Jewes despised and repreved hym ful ofte.
 Suffre thou therfore paciently; for the wise man seith, "If thou stryve with a fool,
 though the fool be wrooth or though he laughe, algate thou shalt have no reste."
 That oother grevance outward is to have damage of thy catel. Theragayns suffred Crist ful paciently, whan
 he was despoyled of al that he hadde in this lyf, and that nas but his clothes.
 The thridde grevance is a man to have harm in his body. That suffred Crist ful paciently in al his passioun.
 The fourthe grevance is in outrageous labour in werkes.
 Wherfore I seye that folk that maken hir servantz to travaillen to grevously or out of tyme, as on haly dayes,
 soothly they do greet synne.
 Heer-agayns suffred Crist ful paciently and taughte us pacience, whan he baar upon his blissed shulder
 the croys upon which he sholde suffren despitous deeth.
 Heere may men lerne to be pacient, for certes noght oonly Cristen men been pacient for love of Jhesu Crist
 and for gerdoun of the blisful lyf that is perdurable, but
 certes, the olde payens that nevere were Cristene commendeden and useden the vertu of pacience.
670 A philosophre upon a tyme, that wolde have beten his disciple for his grete trespas,
670A for which he was greetly amoeved, and broghte a yerde to scoure with the child;
 and whan this child saugh the yerde, he seyde to his maister,
 "What thenke ye do?" "I wol bete thee," quod the maister, "for thy correccioun."
 "For sothe," quod the child, "ye oghten first correcte youreself,
 that han lost al youre pacience for the gilt of a child."
 "For sothe," quod the maister al wepynge, "thow seyst sooth. Have thow the yerde, my deere sone, and correcte me for myn inpacience."
 Of pacience comth obedience, thurgh which a man is obedient to Crist and to alle hem
 to whiche he oghte to been obedient in Crist.
 And understond wel that obedience is parfit
 whan that a man dooth gladly and hastily, with good herte entierly, al that he sholde do.
 Obedience generally is to parfourne the doctrine of God and of his sovereyns, to whiche hym oghte to ben obeisaunt in alle rightwisnesse.
 After the synne of Envye and of Ire, now wol I speken of the synne of Accidie.
 For Envye blyndeth the herte of a man, and Ire troubleth a man, and Accidie maketh hym hevy, thoghtful, and wraw.
 Envye and Ire maken bitternesse in herte, which bitternesse is mooder of Accidie, and bynymeth hym the love of alle goodnesse.
 Thanne is Accidie the angwissh of troubled herte; and Seint Augustyn seith, "It is anoy of goodnesse and joye of harm."
 Certes, this is a dampnable synne, for it dooth wrong to Jhesu Crist,
 in as muche as it bynymeth the service that men oghte doon to Crist with alle diligence, as seith Salomon.
680 But Accidie dooth no swich diligence. He dooth alle thyng with anoy, and with wrawnesse, slaknesse, and excusacioun, and with ydelnesse, and unlust;
680A for which the book seith, "Acursed be he that dooth the service of God necligently."
 Thanne is Accidie enemy to everich estaat of man, for certes the estaat of man is in three maneres.
 Outher it is th' estaat of innocence, as was th' estaat of Adam biforn that he fil into synne,
 in which estaat he was holden to wirche as in heriynge and adowrynge of God.
 Another estaat is the estaat of synful men, in which estaat men been holden to laboure in preiynge to God
 for amendement of hire synnes, and that he wole graunte hem to arysen out of hir synnes.
 Another estaat is th' estaat of grace, in which estaat he is holden to werkes of penitence.
 And certes, to alle thise thynges is Accidie enemy and contrarie, for he loveth no bisynesse at al.
 Now certes this foule synne Accidie is eek a ful greet enemy to the liflode of the body,
 for it ne hath no purveaunce agayn temporeel necessitee, for it forsleweth and forsluggeth and destroyeth alle goodes temporeles by reccheleesnesse.
 The fourthe thyng is that Accidie is lyk hem that been in the peyne of helle, by cause of hir slouthe
 and of hire hevynesse, for they that been dampned been so bounde that they ne may neither wel do ne wel thynke.
 Of Accidie comth first that a man is anoyed and encombred for to doon any goodnesse,
 and maketh that God hath abhomynacion of swich Accidie, as seith Seint John.
 Now comth Slouthe, that wol nat suffre noon hardnesse ne no penaunce. For soothly, Slouthe is so tendre and so delicaat,
 as seith Salomon, that he wol nat suffre noon hardnesse ne penaunce, and therfore he shendeth al that he dooth.
 Agayns this roten-herted synne of Accidie and Slouthe sholde men exercise hemself to doon goode werkes, and manly
 and vertuously cacchen corage wel to doon, thynkynge that oure Lord Jhesu Crist quiteth every good dede, be it never so lite.
690 Usage of labour is a greet thyng, for it maketh, as seith Seint Bernard, the laborer to have stronge armes and harde synwes;
690A and slouthe maketh hem feble and tendre.
 Thanne comth drede to bigynne to werke anye goode werkes. For certes, he that is enclyned to synne,
 hym thynketh it is so greet an emprise for to undertake to doon werkes of goodnesse,
 and casteth in his herte that the circumstaunces of goodnesse been so grevouse
 and so chargeaunt for to suffre, that he dar nat undertake to do werkes of goodnesse, as seith Seint Gregorie.
 Now comth wanhope, that is despeir of the mercy of God, that comth somtyme of to muche outrageous sorwe,
 and somtyme of to muche drede, ymaginynge that he hath doon so muche synne that it wol nat availlen hym,
 though he wolde repenten hym and forsake synne,
 thurgh which despeir or drede he abaundoneth al his herte to every maner synne, as seith Seint Augustin.
 Which dampnable synne, if that it continue unto his ende, it is cleped synnyng in the Hooly Goost.
 This horrible synne is so perilous that he that is despeired,
 ther nys no felonye ne no synne that he douteth for to do, as shewed wel by Judas.
 Certes, aboven alle synnes thanne is this synne moost displesant to Crist, and moost adversarie.
 Soothly, he that despeireth hym is lyk the coward champioun recreant, that seith "creant" withoute nede.
 Allas, allas, nedeles is he recreant and nedelees despeired.
 Certes, the mercy of God is evere redy to the penitent, and is aboven alle his werkes.
700 Allas, kan a man nat bithynke hym on the gospel of Seint Luc, 15,
700A where as Crist seith that "as wel shal ther be joye in hevene upon a synful man that dooth penitence,
700B as upon nynty and nyne rightful men that neden no penitence."
 Looke forther, in the same gospel, the joye and the feeste of the goode man that hadde lost his sone,
 whan his sone with repentaunce was retourned to his fader.
 Kan they nat remembren hem eek that, as seith Seint Luc, 23, how that the theef that was hanged bisyde Jhesu Crist seyde,
 "Lord, remembre of me, whan thow comest into thy regn."?
 "For sothe," seyde Crist, "I seye to thee, to-day shaltow been with me in paradys."
 Certes, ther is noon so horrible synne of man
 that it ne may in his lyf be destroyed by penitence, thurgh vertu of the passion and of the deeth of Crist.
 Allas, what nedeth man thanne to been despeired, sith that his mercy so redy is and large? Axe and have.
 Thanne cometh sompnolence, that is sloggy slombrynge, which maketh a man be hevy and dul in body and in soule,
 and this synne comth of Slouthe.
 And certes, the tyme that, by wey of resoun, men sholde nat slepe, that is by the morwe,
 but if ther were cause resonable.
 For soothly, the morwe tyde is moost covenable a man to seye his preyeres, and for to thynken on God,
 and for to honoure God, and to yeven almesse to the povre that first cometh in the name of Crist.
 Lo, what seith Salomon: "Whoso wolde by the morwe awaken and seke me, he shal fynde."
710 Thanne cometh necligence, or reccheleesnesse, that rekketh of no thyng.
710A And how that ignoraunce be mooder of alle harm, certes, necligence is the norice.
 Necligence ne dooth no fors, whan he shal doon a thyng, wheither he do it weel or baddely.
 Of the remedie of thise two synnes, as seith the wise man,
 that "He that dredeth God, he spareth nat to doon that him oghte doon."
 And he that loveth God, he wol doon diligence to plese God by his werkes
 and abaundone hymself, with al his myght, wel for to doon.
 Thanne comth ydelnesse, that is the yate of alle harmes. An ydel man is lyk to a place that hath no walles;
 the develes may entre on every syde, or sheten at hym at discovert, by temptacion on every syde.
 This ydelnesse is the thurrok of alle wikked and vileyns thoghtes, and of alle jangles, trufles, and of alle ordure.
 Certes, the hevene is yeven to hem that wol labouren, and nat to ydel folk. Eek David seith that
 "they ne been nat in the labour of men, ne they shul nat been whipped with men"
 -- that is to seyn, in purgatorie.
 Certes, thanne semeth it they shul be tormented with the devel in helle, but if they doon penitence.
 Thanne comth the synne that men clepen tarditas, as whan a man is to laterede or tariynge er he wole turne to God,
 and certes that is a greet folie. He is lyk to hym that falleth in the dych and wol nat arise.
 And this vice comth of a fals hope, that he thynketh that he shal lyve longe; but that hope faileth ful ofte.
720 Thanne comth lachesse; that is he that whan he biginneth any good werk
720A anon he shal forleten it and stynten, as doon they that han any wight to governe
720B and ne taken of hym namoore kep anon as they fynden any contrarie or any anoy.
 Thise been the newe sheepherdes that leten hir sheep wityngly go renne
 to the wolf that is in the breres, or do no fors of hir owene governaunce.
 Of this comth poverte and destruccioun, bothe of spiritueel and temporeel thynges.
 Thanne comth a manere cooldnesse, that freseth al the herte of a man.
 Thanne comth undevocioun, thurgh which a man is so blent, as seith Seint Bernard,
 and hath swich langour in soule that he may neither rede ne singe in hooly chirche, ne heere ne thynke of no devocioun,
 ne travaille with his handes in no good werk, that it nys hym unsavory and al apalled.
 Thanne wexeth he slough and slombry, and soone wol be wrooth, and soone is enclyned to hate and to envye.
 Thanne comth the synne of worldly sorwe, swich as is cleped tristicia, that sleeth man, as seith Seint Paul.
 For certes, swich sorwe werketh to the deeth of the soule and of the body also;
 for therof comth that a man is anoyed of his owene lif.
 Wherfore swich sorwe shorteth ful ofte the lif of man, er that his tyme be come by wey of kynde.
 Agayns this horrible synne of Accidie, and the branches of the same, ther is a vertu that is called fortitudo or strengthe,
 that is an affeccioun thurgh which a man despiseth anoyouse thinges.
 This vertu is so myghty and so vigerous that it dar withstonde myghtily and wisely kepen hymself fro perils that been wikked,
 and wrastle agayn the assautes of the devel.
730 For it enhaunceth and enforceth the soule, right as Accidie abateth it and maketh it fieble.
730A For this fortitudo may endure by long suffraunce the travailles that been covenable.
 This vertu hath manye speces; and the firste is cleped magnanimitee, that is to seyn, greet corage.
 For certes, ther bihoveth greet corage agains Accidie,
 lest that it ne swolwe the soule by the synne of sorwe, or destroye it by wanhope.
 This vertu maketh folk to undertake harde thynges and grevouse thynges, by hir owene wil, wisely and resonably.
 And for as muchel as the devel fighteth agayns a man moore by queyntise and by sleighte than by strengthe,
 therfore men shal withstonden hym by wit and by resoun and by discrecioun.
 Thanne arn ther the vertues of feith and hope in God and in his seintes
 to acheve and acomplice the goode werkes in the whiche he purposeth fermely to continue.
 Thanne comth seuretee or sikernesse, and that is
 whan a man ne douteth no travaille in tyme comynge of the goode werkes that a man hath bigonne.
 Thanne comth magnificence; that is to seyn, whan a man dooth and parfourneth grete werkes of goodnesse; and that is the ende
 why that men sholde do goode werkes, for in the acomplissynge of grete goode werkes lith the grete gerdoun.
 Thanne is ther constaunce, that is stablenesse of corage, and this sholde been in herte by stedefast feith,
 and in mouth, and in berynge, and in chiere, and in dede.
 Eke ther been mo speciale remedies against Accidie in diverse werkes, and
 in consideracioun of the peynes of helle and of the joyes of hevene,
 and in the trust of the grace of the Holy Goost, that wole yeve hym myght to parfourne his goode entente.
 After Accidie wol I speke of Avarice and of Coveitise, of which synne seith
 Seint Paul that "the roote of alle harmes is Coveitise." Ad Thimotheum Sexto.
740 For soothly, whan the herte of a man is confounded in itself and troubled, and that
740A the soule hath lost the confort of God, thanne seketh he an ydel solas of worldly thynges.
 Avarice, after the descripcioun of Seint Augustyn, is a likerousnesse in herte to have erthely thynges.
 Som oother folk seyn that Avarice is for to purchacen manye erthely thynges and no thyng yeve to hem that han nede.
 And understoond that Avarice ne stant nat oonly in lond ne catel,
 but somtyme in science and in glorie, and in every manere of outrageous thyng is Avarice and Coveitise.
 And the difference bitwixe Avarice and Coveitise is this: Coveitise is for to coveite swiche thynges as thou hast nat;
 and Avarice is for to withholde and kepe swiche thynges as thou hast, withoute rightful nede.
 Soothly, this Avarice is a synne that is ful dampnable, for al hooly writ curseth it and speketh agayns that vice,
 for it dooth wrong to Jhesu Crist.
 For it bireveth hym the love that men to hym owen, and turneth it bakward agayns alle resoun,
 and maketh that the avaricious man hath moore hope in his catel than in Jhesu Crist,
 and dooth moore observance in kepynge of his tresor than he dooth to the service of Jhesu Crist.
 And therfore seith Seint Paul Ad Ephesios quinto, that an avaricious man is the thraldom of ydolatrie.
 What difference is bitwixe an ydolastre and an avaricious man, but that an ydolastre, per aventure, ne hath but o mawmet or two,
 and the avaricious man hath manye? For certes, every floryn in his cofre is his mawmet.
750 And certes, the synne of mawmettrie is the firste thyng
750A that God deffended in the ten comaundementz, as bereth witnesse in Exodi capitulo vicesimo:
 "Thou shalt have no false goddes bifore me, ne thou shalt make to thee no grave thyng."
 Thus is an avaricious man, that loveth his tresor biforn God, an ydolastre,
 thurgh this cursed synne of avarice. Of Coveitise comen thise harde lordshipes,
 thurgh whiche men been distreyned by taylages, custumes, and cariages, moore than hire duetee or resoun is.
 And eek taken they of hire bonde-men amercimentz, whiche myghten moore resonably ben cleped extorcions than amercimentz.
 Of whiche amercimentz and raunsonynge of boonde-men somme lordes stywardes seyn that it is rightful,
 for as muche as a cherl hath no temporeel thyng that it ne is his lordes, as they seyn.
 But certes, thise lord-shipes doon wrong
 that bireven hire bonde-folk thynges that they nevere yave hem. Augustinus, De Civitate libro nono.
 "Sooth is that the condicioun of thraldom and the firste cause of thraldom is for synne. Genesis nono.
 Thus may ye seen that the gilt disserveth thraldom, but nat nature."
 Wherfore thise lordes ne sholde nat muche glorifien hem in hir lordshipes,
 sith that by natureel condicion they been nat lordes over thralles, but that thraldom comth first by the desert of synne.
 And forther over, ther as the lawe seith that temporeel goodes of boonde-folk been the goodes of hir lordshipes, ye,
 that is for to understonde, the goodes of the emperour, to deffenden hem in hir right,
 but nat for to robben hem ne reven hem.
 And therfore seith Seneca, "Thy prudence sholde lyve benignely with thy thralles."
760 Thilke that thou clepest thy thralles been Goddes peple, for humble folk been Cristes freendes; they been contubernyal with the Lord.
 Thynk eek that of swich seed as cherles spryngen, of swich seed spryngen lordes.
 As wel may the cherl be saved as the lord.
 The same deeth that taketh the cherl, swich deeth taketh the lord.
 Wherfore I rede, do right so with thy cherl, as thou woldest that thy lord dide with thee,
 if thou were in his plit.
 Every synful man is a cherl to synne. I rede thee, certes, that thou, lord,
 werke in swich wise with thy cherles that they rather love thee than drede.
 I woot wel ther is degree above degree, as reson is,
 and skile is that men do hir devoir ther as it is due,
 but certes, extorcions and despit of youre underlynges is dampnable.
 And forther over, understoond wel that thise conquerours or tirauntz maken ful ofte thralles
 of hem that been born of as roial blood as been they that hem conqueren.
 This name of thraldom was nevere erst kowth til
 that Noe seyde that his sone Canaan sholde be thral to his bretheren for his synne.
 What seye we thanne of hem that pilen and doon extorcions to hooly chirche?
 Certes, the swerd that men yeven first to a knyght, whan he is newe dubbed, signifieth that he sholde deffenden hooly chirche,
 and nat robben it ne pilen it; and whoso dooth is traitour to Crist.
 And, as seith Seint Augustyn, "They been the develes wolves that stranglen the sheep of Jhesu Crist," and doon worse than wolves.
 For soothly, whan the wolf hath ful his wombe, he stynteth to strangle sheep.
 But soothly, the pilours and destroyours of the godes of hooly chirche ne do nat so, for they ne stynte nevere to pile.
770 Now as I have seyd, sith so is that synne was first cause of thraldom, thanne is it thus:
770A that thilke tyme that al this world was in synne, thanne was al this world in thraldom and subjeccioun.
 But certes, sith the time of grace cam, God ordeyned that som folk sholde be moore heigh in estaat and in degree,
 and som folk moore lough, and that everich sholde be served in his estaat and in his degree.
 And therfore in somme contrees, ther they byen thralles, whan they han turned hem to the feith,
 they maken hire thralles free out of thraldom. And therfore,
 certes, the lord oweth to his man that the man oweth to his lord.
 The Pope calleth hymself servant of the servantz of God; but
 for as muche as the estaat of hooly chirche ne myghte nat han be, ne the commune profit myghte nat han be kept,
 ne pees and rest in erthe, but if God hadde ordeyned that som men hadde hyer degree and som men lower,
 therfore was sovereyntee ordeyned, to kepe and mayntene and deffenden hire underlynges or hire subgetz in resoun,
 as ferforth as it lith in hire power, and nat to destroyen hem ne confounde.
 Wherfore I seye that thilke lordes that been lyk wolves,
 that devouren the possessiouns or the catel of povre folk wrongfully, withouten mercy or mesure,
 they shul receyven by the same mesure that they han mesured to povre folk the
 mercy of Jhesu Crist, but if it be amended.
 Now comth deceite bitwixe marchaunt and marchant. And thow shalt understonde that marchandise is in manye maneres;
 that oon is bodily, and that oother is goostly; that oon is honest and leveful, and that oother is deshonest and unleveful.
 Of thilke bodily marchandise that is leveful and honest is this:
 that, there as God hath ordeyned that a regne or a contree is suffisaunt to hymself,
 thanne is it honest and leveful that of habundaunce of this contree, that men helpe another contree that is moore nedy.
 And therfore ther moote been marchantz to bryngen fro that o contree to that oother hire marchandises.
780 That oother marchandise, that men haunten with fraude and trecherie and deceite, with lesynges and false othes, is cursed and dampnable.
 Espiritueel marchandise is proprely symonye, that is ententif desir to byen thyng espiritueel;
 that is, thyng that aperteneth to the seintuarie of God and to cure of the soule.
 This desir, if so be that a man do his diligence to parfournen it,
 al be it that his desir ne take noon effect, yet is it to hym a deedly synne;
 and if he be ordred, he is irreguleer.
 Certes symonye is cleped of Simon Magus, that wolde han boght for temporeel catel
 the yifte that God hadde yeven by the Hooly Goost to Seint Peter and to the apostles.
 And therfore understoond that bothe he that selleth and he that beyeth thynges espirituels been cleped symonyals,
 be it by catel, be it by procurynge, or by flesshly preyere of his freendes, flesshly freendes or espiritueel freendes:
 Flesshly in two maneres; as by kynrede, or othere freendes. Soothly, if they praye for hym that is nat worthy and able,
 it is symonye, if he take the benefice; and if he be worthy and able, ther nys noon.
 That oother manere is whan men or wommen preyen for folk to avauncen hem,
 oonly for wikked flesshly affeccioun that they han unto the persone, and that is foul symonye.
 But certes, in service, for which men yeven thynges espirituels unto hir servantz, it moot been understonde that
 the service moot been honest and elles nat; and eek that it be withouten bargaynynge, and that the persone be able.
 For, as seith Seint Damasie, "Alle the synnes of the world, at regard of this synne, arn as thyng of noght."
 For it is the gretteste synne that may be, after the synne of Lucifer and Antecrist.
 For by this synne God forleseth the chirche and the soule that he boghte with his precious blood,
 by hem that yeven chirches to hem that been nat digne.
790 For they putten in theves that stelen the soules of Jhesu Crist and destroyen his patrimoyne.
 By swiche undigne preestes and curates han lewed men the lasse reverence of the sacramentz of hooly chirche,
 and swiche yeveres of chirches putten out the children of Crist and putten into the chirche the develes owene sone.
 They sellen the soules that lambes sholde kepen to the wolf that strangleth hem.
 And therfore shul they nevere han part of the pasture of lambes, that is the blisse of hevene.
 Now comth hasardrie with his apurtenaunces, as tables and rafles, of which comth deceite, false othes, chidynges, and alle ravynes,
 blasphemynge and reneiynge of God, and hate of his neighebores, wast of goodes, mysspendynge of tyme, and somtyme manslaughtre.
 Certes, hasardours ne mowe nat been withouten greet synne whiles they haunte that craft.
 Of Avarice comen eek lesynges, thefte, fals witnesse, and false othes.
 And ye shul understonde that thise been grete synnes and expres agayn the comaundementz of God, as I have seyd.
 Fals witnesse is in word and eek in dede. In word, as for to bireve thy neighebores goode name by thy fals witnessyng,
 or bireven hym his catel or his heritage by thy fals witnessyng, whan thou for ire, or for meede,
 or for envye, berest fals witnesse, or accusest hym or excusest hym by thy fals witnesse, or elles excusest thyself falsly.
 Ware yow, questemongeres and notaries! Certes, for fals witnessyng was Susanna in ful gret sorwe and peyne, and many another mo.
 The synne of thefte is eek expres agayns Goddes heeste, and that in two maneres, corporeel or spiritueel.
 Corporeel, as for to take thy neighebores catel agayn his wyl,
 be it by force or by sleighte, be it by met or by mesure;
800 by stelyng eek of false enditementz upon hym, and in borwynge of thy neighebores catel,
800A in entente nevere to payen it agayn, and semblable thynges.
 Espiritueel thefte is sacrilege; that is to seyn, hurtynge of hooly thynges, or of thynges sacred to Crist, in two maneres:
 by reson of the hooly place, as chirches or chirche-hawes,
 for which every vileyns synne that men doon in swiche places may be cleped sacrilege, or every violence in the semblable places;
 also, they that withdrawen falsly the rightes that longen to hooly chirche.
 And pleynly and generally, sacrilege is to reven hooly thyng fro hooly place,
 or unhooly thyng out of hooly place, or hooly thing out of unhooly place.
 Now shul ye understonde that the releevynge of Avarice is misericorde, and pitee largely taken.
 And men myghten axe why that misericorde and pitee is releevynge of Avarice.
 Certes, the avricious man sheweth no pitee ne misericorde to the nedeful man, for he deliteth hym
 in the kepynge of his tresor, and nat in the rescowynge ne releevynge of his evene-Cristen. And therfore speke I first of misericorde.
 Thanne is misericorde, as seith the Philosophre, a vertu
 by which the corage of a man is stired by the mysese of hym that is mysesed.
 Upon which misericorde folweth pitee in parfournynge of charitable werkes of misericorde.
 And certes, thise thynges moeven a man to the misericorde of Jhesu Crist,
 that he yaf hymself for oure gilt, and suffred deeth for misericorde, and forgaf us oure originale synnes,
 and therby relessed us fro the peynes of helle, and amenused the peynes of purgatorie by penitence,
 and yeveth grace wel to do, and atte laste the blisse of hevene.
810 The speces of misericorde been, as for to lene and for to yeve, and to foryeven and relesse,
810A and for to han pitee in herte and compassioun of the meschief of his evene-Cristene, and eek to chastise, there as nede is.
 Another manere of remedie agayns avarice is resonable largesse; but soothly, heere bihoveth the consideracioun of the grace of Jhesu Crist,
 and of his temporeel goodes, and eek of the goodes perdurables that Crist yaf to us;
 and to han remembrance of the deeth that he shal receyve, he noot whanne, where, ne how;
 and eek that he shal forgon al that he hath, save oonly that he hath despended in goode werkes.
 But for as muche as som folk been unmesurable, men oghten eschue fool-largesse, that men clepen wast.
 Certes, he that is fool-large ne yeveth nat his catel, but he leseth his catel.
 Soothly, what thyng that he yeveth for veyne glorie, as to mynstrals and to folk for to beren his renoun
 in the world, he hath synne therof and noon almesse.
 Certes, he leseth foule his good that ne seketh with the yifte of his good nothyng but synne.
 He is lyk to an hors that seketh
 rather to drynken drovy or trouble water than for to drynken water of the clere welle.
 And for as muchel as they yeven ther as they sholde nat yeven, to hem aperteneth
 thilke malisoun that Crist shal yeven at the day of doom to hem that shullen been dampned.
 After Avarice comth Glotonye, which is expres eek agayn the comandement of God. Glotonye is unmesurable appetit to ete or to drynke,
 or elles to doon ynogh to the unmesurable appetit and desordeynee coveitise to eten or to drynke.
 This synne corrumped al this world, as is wel shewed in the synne of Adam and of Eve.
 Looke eek what seith Seint Paul of Glotonye:
820 "Manye," seith Saint Paul, "goon, of whiche I have ofte seyd to yow,
820A and now I seye it wepynge, that been the enemys of the croys of Crist; of whiche the ende is deeth,
820B and of whiche hire wombe is hire god, and hire glorie in confusioun of hem that so savouren erthely thynges."
 He that is usaunt to this synne of glotonye, he ne may no synne withstonde.
 He moot been in servage of alle vices, for it is the develes hoord ther he hideth hym and resteth.
 This synne hath manye speces. The firste is dronkenesse, that is the horrible sepulture of mannes resoun;
 and therfore, whan a man is dronken, he hath lost his resoun; and this is deedly synne.
 But soothly, whan that a man is nat wont to strong drynke, and peraventure ne knoweth nat the strengthe of the drynke,
 or hath feblesse in his heed, or hath travailed, thurgh which he drynketh the moore, al be he sodeynly caught with drynke,
 it is no deedly synne, but venyal.
 The seconde spece of glotonye is that the spirit of a man wexeth al trouble,
 for dronkenesse bireveth hym the discrecioun of his wit.
 The thridde spece of glotonye is whan a man devoureth his mete and hath no rightful manere of etynge.
 The fourthe is whan, thurgh the grete habundaunce of his mete, the humours in his body been distempred.
 The fifthe is foryetelnesse by to muchel drynkynge, for which somtyme
 a man foryeteth er the morwe what he dide at even, or on the nyght biforn.
 In oother manere been distinct the speces of Glotonye, after Seint Gregorie. The firste is for to ete biforn tyme to ete.
 The seconde is whan a man get hym to delicaat mete or drynke.
 The thridde is whan men taken to muche over mesure. The fourthe is curiositee, with greet entente to maken and apparaillen his mete.
 The fifthe is for to eten to gredily.
830 Thise been the fyve fyngres of the develes hand, by whiche he draweth folk to synne.
 Agayns Glotonye is the remedie abstinence, as seith Galien; but that holde I nat meritorie,
 if he do it oonly for the heele of his body. Seint Augustyn wole that abstinence be doon for vertu and with pacience.
 "Abstinence," he seith, "is litel worth but if a man have good wil therto,
 and but it be enforced by pacience and by charitee, and that men doon it for Godes sake,
 and in hope to have the blisse of hevene."
 The felawes of abstinence been attemperaunce, that holdeth the meene in alle thynges; eek shame, that eschueth alle deshonestee;
 suffisance, that seketh no riche metes ne drynkes, ne dooth no fors of to outrageous apparailynge of mete;
 mesure also, that restreyneth by resoun the deslavee appetit of etynge; sobrenesse also, that restreyneth the outrage of drynke;
 sparynge also, that restreyneth the delicaat ese to sitte longe at his mete and softely,
 wherfore some folk stonden of hir owene wyl to eten at the lasse leyser.
 After Glotonye thanne comth Lecherie, for thise two synnes been so ny cosyns that ofte tyme they wol nat departe.
 God woot, this synne is ful displesaunt thyng to God, for he seyde hymself,
 "Do no lecherie." And therfore he putte grete peynes agayns this synne in the olde lawe.
 If womman thral were taken in this synne, she sholde be beten with staves to the deeth;
 and if she were a gentil womman, she sholde be slayn with
 stones; and if she were a bisshoppes doghter, she sholde been brent, by Goddes comandement.
 Forther over, by the synne of lecherie God dreynte al the world at the diluge.
 And after that he brente fyve citees with thonder-leyt, and sank hem into helle.
840 Now lat us speke thanne of thilke stynkynge synne of Lecherie that men clepe avowtrie of wedded folk;
840A that is to seyn, if that oon of hem be wedded, or elles bothe.
 Seint John seith that avowtiers shullen been in helle, in a stank brennynge of fyr and of brymston
 -- in fyr for hire lecherye, in brymston for the stynk of hire ordure.
 Certes, the brekynge of this sacrement is an horrible thyng.
 It was maked of God hymself in paradys, and confermed by Jhesu Crist, as witnesseth Seint Mathew in the gospel:
 "A man shal lete fader and mooder and taken hym to his wif, and they shullen be two in o flessh."
 This sacrement bitokneth the knyttynge togidre of Crist and of hooly chirche.
 And nat oonly that God forbad avowtrie in dede, but eek he comanded that thou sholdest nat coveite thy neighebores wyf.
 "In this heeste," seith Seint Augustyn, "is forboden alle manere coveitise to doon lecherie." Lo, what seith Seint Mathew in the gospel, that
 "whoso seeth a womman to coveitise of his lust, he hath doon lecherie with hire in his herte."
 Heere may ye seen that nat oonly the dede of this synne is forboden, but eek the desir to doon that synne.
 This cursed synne anoyeth grevousliche hem that it haunten. And first to hire soule,
 for he obligeth it to synne and to peyne of deeth that is perdurable.
 Unto the body anoyeth it grevously also, for it dreyeth hym, and wasteth him, and shent hym, and of his blood
 he maketh sacrifice to the feend of helle. It wasteth eek his catel and his substaunce.
 And certes, if it be a foul thyng a man to waste his catel on wommen,
 yet is it a fouler thyng whan that, for swich ordure, wommen dispenden upon men hir catel and substaunce.
850 This synne, as seith the prophete, bireveth man and womman hir goode fame and al hire honour,
850A and it is ful plesaunt to the devel, for therby wynneth he the mooste partie of this world.
 And right as a marchant deliteth hym moost in chaffare that he hath moost avantage of,
 right so deliteth the fend in this ordure.
 This is that oother hand of the devel with fyve fyngres to cacche the peple to his vileynye.
 The firste fynger is the fool lookynge of the fool womman and of the fool man; that sleeth, right
 as the basilicok sleeth folk by the venym of his sighte, for the coveitise of eyen folweth the coveitise of the herte.
 The seconde fynger is the vileyns touchynge in wikkede manere.
 And therfore seith Salomon that "whoso toucheth and handleth a womman, he fareth lyk
 hym that handleth the scorpioun that styngeth and sodeynly sleeth thurgh his envenymynge"; as whoso toucheth warm pych, it shent his fyngres.
 The thridde is foule wordes, that fareth lyk fyr, that right anon brenneth the herte.
 The fourthe fynger is the kissynge; and trewely he were a greet fool
 that wolde kisse the mouth of a brennynge oven or of a fourneys.
 And moore fooles been they that kissen in vileynye, for that mouth is the mouth of helle;
 and namely thise olde dotardes holours, yet wol they kisse, though they may nat do, and smatre hem.
 Certes, they been lyk to houndes; for an hound, whan he comth by the roser or by othere [bushes],
 though he may nat pisse, yet wole he heve up his leg and make a contenaunce to pisse.
 And for that many man weneth that he may nat synne for no likerousnesse that he dooth with his wyf,
 certes, that opinion is fals. God woot, a man may sleen hymself with his owene knyf,
 and make hymselve dronken of his owene tonne.
860 Certes, be it wyf, be it child,
860A or any worldly thyng that he loveth biforn God, it is his mawmet, and he is an ydolastre.
 Man sholde loven hys wyf by discrecioun, paciently and atemprely, and thanne is she as though it were his suster.
 The fifthe fynger of the develes hand is the stynkynge dede of Leccherie.
 Certes, the fyve fyngres of Glotonie the feend put in the wombe of a man,
 and with his fyve fingres of Lecherie he gripeth hym by the reynes for to throwen hym into the fourneys of helle,
 ther as they shul han the fyr and the wormes that evere shul lasten, and wepynge and wailynge, sharp hunger and thurst,
 [and] grymnesse of develes, that shullen al totrede hem withouten respit and withouten ende.
 Of Leccherie, as I seyde, sourden diverse speces, as fornicacioun, that is bitwixe man and womman that been nat maried,
 and this is deedly synne and agayns nature.
 Al that is enemy and destruccioun to nature is agayns nature.
 Parfay, the resoun of a man telleth eek hym wel that it is deedly synne, for as muche as God forbad leccherie.
 And Seint Paul yeveth hem the regne that nys dewe to no wight but to hem that doon deedly synne.
 Another synne of Leccherie is to bireve a mayden of hir maydenhede, for he that so dooth,
 certes, he casteth a mayden out of the hyeste degree that is in this present lif
 and bireveth hire thilke precious fruyt that the book clepeth the hundred fruyt.
 I ne kan seye it noon ootherweyes in Englissh, but in Latyn it highte Centesimus fructus.
870 Certes, he that so dooth is cause of manye damages and vileynyes, mo than any man kan rekene;
870A right as he somtyme is cause of alle damages that beestes don in the feeld, that breketh the hegge or the closure,
870B thurgh which he destroyeth that may nat been restoored.
 For certes, namoore may maydenhede be restoored than an arm that is smyten fro the body may retourne agayn to wexe.
 She may have mercy, this woot I wel, if she do penitence; but nevere shal it be that she nas corrupt.
 And al be it so that I have spoken somwhat of avowtrie,
 it is good to shewen mo perils that longen to avowtrie, for to eschue that foule synne.
 Avowtrie in Latyn is for to seyn approchynge of oother mannes bed,
 thurgh which tho that whilom weren o flessh abawndone hir bodyes to othere persones.
 Of this synne, as seith the wise man, folwen manye harmes.
 First, brekynge of feith, and certes in feith is the keye of Cristendom.
 And whan that feith is broken and lorn, soothly Cristendom stant veyn and withouten fruyt.
 This synne is eek a thefte, for thefte generally is for to reve a wight his thyng agayns his wille.
 Certes, this is the fouleste thefte that may be, whan a womman steleth hir body from hir housbonde
 and yeveth it to hire holour to defoulen hire, and steleth hir soule fro Crist and yeveth it to the devel.
 This is a fouler thefte than for to breke a chirche and stele the chalice,
 for thise avowtiers breken the temple of God spiritually, and stelen the vessel of grace, that is the body and the soule,
 for which Crist shal destroyen hem, as seith Seint Paul.
880 Soothly, of this thefte douted gretly Joseph, whan that his lordes wyf preyed hym of vileynye, whan he seyde,
880A "Lo, my lady, how my lord hath take to me under my warde al that he hath in this world,
880B ne no thyng of his thynges is out of my power, but oonly ye, that been his wyf.
 And how sholde I thanne do this wikkednesse, and synne so horribly agayns God and agayns my lord?
 God it forbeede!" Allas, al to litel is swich trouthe now yfounde.
 The thridde harm is the filthe thurgh which they breken the comandement of God, and defoulen the auctour of matrimoyne, that is Crist.
 For certes, in so muche as the sacrement of mariage is so noble and so digne, so muche is it gretter synne
 for to breken it, for God made mariage in paradys, in the estaat of innocence, to multiplye mankynde to the service of God.
 And therfore is the brekynge therof the moore grevous; of which brekynge comen false heires ofte tyme, that wrongfully ocupien folkes heritages.
 And therfore wol Crist putte hem out of the regne of hevene, that is heritage to goode folk.
 Of this brekynge comth eek ofte tyme that folk unwar wedden or synnen with hire owene kynrede, and namely thilke harlotes that haunten
 bordels of thise fool wommen, that mowe be likned to a commune gong, where as men purgen hire ordure.
 What seye we eek of putours that lyven by the horrible synne of putrie, and constreyne wommen to yelden hem a certeyn rente
 of hire bodily puterie, ye, somtyme of his owene wyf or his child, as doon thise bawdes? Certes, thise been cursede synnes.
 Understoond eek that Avowtrie is set gladly in the ten comandementz bitwixe thefte and manslaughtre;
 for it is the gretteste thefte that may be, for it is thefte of body and of soule.
 And it is lyk to homycide, for it kerveth atwo and breketh atwo hem that first were maked o flessh.
 And therfore, by the olde lawe of God, they sholde be slayn.
 But nathelees, by the lawe of Jhesu Crist, that is lawe of pitee, whan he seyde to the womman
 that was founden in avowtrie, and sholde han been slayn with stones, after the wyl of the Jewes, as was hir lawe,
 "Go," quod Jhesu Crist, "and have namoore wyl to synne," or, "wille namoore to do synne."
890 Soothly the vengeaunce of Avowtrie is awarded to the peynes of helle, but if so be that it be destourbed by penitence.
 Yet been ther mo speces of this cursed synne; as whan that oon of hem is religious, or elles bothe;
 or of folk that been entred into ordre, as subdekne, or dekne, or preest, or hospitaliers.
 And evere the hyer that he is in ordre, the gretter is the synne.
 The thynges that gretly agreggen hire synne is the brekynge of hire avow of chastitee, whan they receyved the ordre.
 And forther over, sooth is that hooly ordre is chief of al the tresorie of God
 and his especial signe and mark of chastitee to shewe that they been joyned to chastitee,
 which that is the moost precious lyf that is.
 And thise ordred folk been specially titled to God, and of the special meignee of God,
 for which, whan they doon deedly synne, they been the special traytours of God and of his peple;
 for they lyven of the peple, to preye for the peple,
 and while they ben suche traitours, here preyer avayleth nat to the peple.
 Preestes been aungels, as by the dignitee of hir mysterye;
 but for sothe, Seint Paul seith that Sathanas transformeth hym in an aungel of light.
 Soothly, the preest that haunteth deedly synne, he may be likned to the aungel of derknesse transformed in the aungel of light.
 He semeth aungel of light, but for sothe he is aungel of derknesse.
 Swiche preestes been the sones of Helie,
 as sheweth in the Book of Kynges, that they weren the sones of Belial -- that is, the devel.
 Belial is to seyn, "withouten juge." And so faren they; hem thynketh they been free and han no juge,
 namoore than hath a free bole that taketh which cow that hym liketh in the town.
 So faren they by wommen. For right as a free bole is ynough for al a toun,
 right so is a wikked preest corrupcioun ynough for al a parisshe, or for al a contree.
900 Thise preestes, as seith the book, ne konne nat the mysterie of preesthod to the peple, ne God ne knowe they nat.
900A They ne helde hem nat apayd, as seith the book, of soden flessh that was to hem offred,
900B but they tooke by force the flessh that is rawe.
 Certes, so thise shrewes ne holden hem nat apayed of roosted flessh and sode flessh,
 with which the peple feden hem in greet reverence, but they wole have raw flessh of folkes wyves and hir doghtres.
 And certes, thise wommen that consenten to hire harlotrie doon greet wrong to Crist,
 and to hooly chirche, and alle halwes, and to alle soules;
 for they bireven alle thise hym that sholde worshipe Crist and hooly chirche and preye for Cristene soules.
 And therfore han swiche preestes, and hire lemmanes eek that consenten to hir leccherie,
 the malisoun of al the court Cristien, til they come to amendement.
 The thridde spece of avowtrie is somtyme bitwixe a man and his wyf, and that is
 whan they take no reward in hire assemblynge but oonly to hire flesshly delit, as seith Seint Jerome,
 and ne rekken of nothyng but that they been assembled;
 by cause that they been maried, al is good ynough, as thynketh to hem.
 But in swich folk hath the devel power, as seyde the aungel Raphael to Thobie,
 for in hire assemblynge they putten Jhesu Crist out of hire herte and yeven hemself to alle ordure.
 The fourthe spece is the assemblee of hem that been of hire kynrede, or of hem that been of oon affynytee,
 or elles with hem with whiche hir fadres or hir kynrede han deled in the synne of lecherie.
 This synne maketh hem lyk to houndes, that taken no kep to kynrede.
 And certes, parentele is in two maneres, outher goostly or flesshly; goostly, as for to deelen with his godsibbes.
 For right so as he that engendreth a child is his flesshly fader, right so is his godfader his fader espiritueel.
 For which a womman may in no lasse synne assemblen with hire godsib than with hire owene flesshly brother.
910 The fifthe spece is thilke abhomynable synne, of which that no man unnethe oghte speke ne write;
910A nathelees it is openly reherced in holy writ.
 This cursednesse doon men and wommen in diverse entente and in diverse manere; but though that hooly writ speke of horrible synne,
 certes hooly writ may nat been defouled, namoore than the sonne that shyneth on the mixne.
 Another synne aperteneth to leccherie, that comth in slepynge, and this synne cometh ofte to hem that been maydenes,
 and eek to hem that been corrupt; and this synne men clepen polucioun, that comth in foure maneres.
 Somtyme of langwissynge of body, for the humours been to ranke and to habundaunt in the body of man;
 somtyme of infermetee, for the fieblesse of the vertu retentif, as phisik maketh mencion; somtyme for surfeet of mete and drynke;
 and somtyme of vileyns thoghtes that been enclosed in mannes mynde whan he gooth to slepe, which may nat been withoute synne;
 for which men moste kepen hem wisely, or elles may men synnen ful grevously.
 Now comth the remedie agayns Leccherie, and that is generally chastitee and continence,
 that restreyneth alle the desordeynee moevynges that comen of flesshly talentes.
 And evere the gretter merite shal he han that moost restreyneth the wikkede eschawfynges of the [ardour] of this synne.
 And this is in two maneres -- that is to seyn, chastitee in mariage, and chastitee of widwehod.
 Now shaltow understonde that matrimoyne is leefful assemblynge of man and of womman that receyven by vertu of the sacrement the boond
 thurgh which they may nat be departed in al hir lyf -- that is to seyn, whil that they lyven bothe.
 This, as seith the book, is a ful greet sacrement.
 God maked it, as I have seyd, in paradys, and wolde hymself be born in mariage.
 And for to halwen mariage he was at a weddynge, where as he turned water into wyn,
 which was the firste miracle that he wroghte in erthe biforn his disciples.
920 Trewe effect of mariage clenseth fornicacioun and replenysseth hooly chirche of good lynage, for that is the ende of mariage;
920A and it chaungeth deedly synne into venial synne bitwixe hem that been ywedded,
920B and maketh the hertes al oon of hem that been ywedded, as wel as the bodies.
 This is verray mariage, that was establissed by God, er that synne bigan, whan natureel lawe was in his right poynt in paradys;
 and it was ordeyned that o man sholde have but o womman, and o womman but o man,
 as seith Seint Augustyn, by manye resouns.
 First, for mariage is figured bitwixe Crist and holy chirche. And that oother is for a man is heved of a womman;
 algate, by ordinaunce it sholde be so.
 For if a womman hadde mo men than oon, thanne sholde she have moo hevedes than oon, and
 that were an horrible thyng biforn God; and eek a womman ne myghte nat plese to many folk at oones.
 And also ther ne sholde nevere be pees ne reste amonges hem, for everich wolde axen his owene thyng.
 And forther over, no man ne sholde knowe his owene engendrure, ne who sholde have his heritage;
 and the womman sholde been the lasse biloved fro the tyme that she were conjoynt to many men.
 Now comth how that a man sholde bere hym with his wif, and namely in two thynges;
 that is to seyn, in suffraunce and reverence, as shewed Crist whan he made first womman.
 For he ne made hire nat of the heved of Adam, for she sholde nat clayme to greet lordshipe.
 For ther as the womman hath the maistrie, she maketh to muche desray.
 Ther neden none ensamples of this; the experience of day by day oghte suffise.
 Also, certes, God ne made nat womman of the foot of Adam, for she ne sholde nat been holden to lowe;
 for she kan nat paciently suffre. But God made womman of the ryb of Adam, for womman sholde be felawe unto man.
 Man sholde bere hym to his wyf in feith, in trouthe, and in love,
 as seith Seint Paul, that a man sholde loven his wyf as Crist loved hooly chirche,
 that loved it so wel that he deyde for it. So sholde a man for his wyf, if it were nede.
930 Now how that a womman sholde be subget to hire housbonde, that telleth Seint Peter. First, in obedience.
 And eek, as seith the decree, a womman that is wyf, as longe as she is a wyf,
 she hath noon auctoritee to swere ne to bere witnesse withoute leve of hir housbonde,
 that is hire lord; algate, he sholde be so by resoun.
 She sholde eek serven hym in alle honestee, and been attempree of hire array.
 I woot wel that they sholde setten hire entente to plesen hir housbondes, but nat by hire queyntise of array.
 Seint Jerome seith that "wyves that been apparailled in silk and in precious purpre ne mowe nat clothen hem in Jhesu Crist."
 Loke what seith Seint John eek in thys matere?
 Seint Gregorie eek seith that "No wight seketh precious array but oonly for veyne glorie, to been honoured the moore biforn the peple."
 It is a greet folye, a womman to have a fair array outward and in hirself be foul inward.
 A wyf sholde eek be mesurable in lookynge and in berynge and in lawghynge, and discreet in alle hire wordes and hire dedes.
 And aboven alle worldly thyng she sholde loven hire housbonde with al hire herte, and to hym be trewe of hir body.
 So sholde an housbonde eek be to his wyf. For sith that al the body is the housbondes,
 so sholde hire herte been, or elles ther is bitwixe hem two, as in that, no parfit mariage.
 Thanne shal men understonde that for thre thynges a man and his wyf flesshly mowen assemble.
 The firste is in entente of engendrure of children to the service of God, for certes that is the cause final of matrimoyne.
940 Another cause is to yelden everich of hem to oother the dette of hire bodies,
940A for neither of hem hath power of his owene body. The thridde is for to eschewe leccherye and vileynye.
940B The ferthe is for sothe deedly synne.
 As to the firste, it is meritorie; the seconde also, for, as seith the decree, that
 she hath merite of chastitee that yeldeth to hire housbonde the dette of hir body,
 ye, though it be agayn hir likynge and the lust of hire herte.
 The thridde manere is venyal synne; and, trewely, scarsly may ther any of thise be withoute venial synne,
 for the corrupcion and for the delit.
 The fourthe manere is for to understonde, as if they assemble oonly for amorous love and for noon of the foreseyde causes,
 but for to accomplice thilke brennynge delit, they rekke nevere how ofte.
 Soothly it is deedly synne; and yet, with sorwe, somme folk wol peynen hem moore to doon than to hire appetit suffiseth.
 The seconde manere of chastitee is for to been a clene wydewe,
 and eschue the embracynges of man, and desiren the embracynge of Jhesu Crist.
 Thise been tho that han been wyves and han forgoon hire housbondes,
 and eek wommen that han doon leccherie and been releeved by penitence.
 And certes, if that a wyf koude kepen hire al chaast by licence of hir housbonde,
 so that she yeve nevere noon occasion that he agilte, it were to hire a greet merite.
 Thise manere wommen that observen chastitee moste be clene in herte as wel as in body and in thought,
 and mesurable in clothynge and in contenaunce, and been abstinent in etynge and drynkynge, in spekynge, and in dede.
 They been the vessel or the boyste of the blissed Magdelene, that fulfilleth hooly chirche of good odour.
 The thridde manere of chastitee is virginitee, and it bihoveth that she be hooly in herte and clene of body.
 Thanne is she spouse to Jhesu Crist, and she is the lyf of angeles.
 She is the preisynge of this world, and she is as thise martirs in egalitee;
 she hath in hire that tonge may nat telle ne herte thynke.
950 Virginitee baar oure Lord Jhesu Crist, and virgine was hymselve.
 Another remedie agayns Leccherie is specially to withdrawen swiche thynges as yeve occasion to thilke vileynye, as ese, etynge, and drynkynge.
 For certes, whan the pot boyleth strongly, the beste remedie is to withdrawe the fyr.
 Slepynge longe in greet quiete is eek a greet norice to Leccherie.
 Another remedie agayns Leccherie is that a man or a womman eschue the compaignye of hem
 by whiche he douteth to be tempted, for al be it so that the dede be withstonden, yet is ther greet temptacioun.
 Soothly, a whit wal, although it ne brenne noght fully by stikynge of a candele, yet is the wal blak of the leyt.
 Ful ofte tyme I rede that no man truste in his owene perfeccioun,
 but he be stronger than Sampson, and hoolier than David, and wiser than Salomon.
 Now after that I have declared yow, as I kan, the sevene deedly synnes,
 and somme of hire braunches and hire remedies, soothly, if I koude, I wolde telle yow the ten comandementz.
 But so heigh a doctrine I lete to divines. Nathelees, I hope to God,
 they been touched in this tretice, everich of hem alle.
 Now for as muche as the seconde partie of Penitence stant in confessioun of mouth,
 as I bigan in the firste chapitre, I seye, Seint Augustyn seith,
 "Synne is every word and every dede, and al that men coveiten, agayn the lawe of Jhesu Crist;
 and this is for to synne in herte, in mouth, and in dede, by thy fyve wittes,
 that been sighte, herynge, smellynge, tastynge or savourynge, and feelynge."
960 Now is it good to understonde the circumstances that agreggen muchel every synne.
 Thou shalt considere what thow art that doost the synne,
 wheither thou be male or femele, yong or oold, gentil or thral,
 free or servant, hool or syk, wedded or sengle, ordred or unordred, wys or fool, clerk or seculeer;
 if she be of thy kynrede, bodily or goostly, or noon;
 if any of thy kynrede have synned with hire, or noon; and manye mo thinges.
 Another circumstaunce is this: wheither it be doon in fornicacioun or in avowtrie or noon, incest or noon, mayden or noon,
 in manere of homicide or noon, horrible grete synnes or smale, and how longe thou hast continued in synne.
 The thridde circumstaunce is the place ther thou hast do synne, wheither in oother mennes hous or in thyn owene,
 in feeld or in chirche or in chirchehawe, in chirche dedicaat or noon.
 For if the chirche be halwed, and man or womman
 spille his kynde inwith that place by wey of synne or by wikked temptacioun,
 the chirche is entredited til it be reconsiled by the bysshop.
 And the preest sholde be enterdited that dide swich a vileynye; to terme of al his lif he sholde namoore synge masse,
 and if he dide, he sholde doon deedly synne at every time that he so songe masse.
 The fourthe circumstaunce is by whiche mediatours, or by whiche messagers, as for enticement, or for consentement to bere compaignye with felaweshipe;
 for many a wrecche, for to bere compaignye, wol go to the devel of helle.
 Wherfore they that eggen or consenten to the synne been parteners of the synne, and of the dampnacioun of the synnere.
 The fifthe circumstaunce is how manye tymes that he hath synned,
 if it be in his mynde, and how ofte that he hath falle.
970 For he that ofte falleth in synne, he despiseth the mercy of God, and encreesseth hys synne, and is unkynde to Crist;
970A and he wexeth the moore fieble to withstonde synne, and synneth the moore lightly,
 and the latter ariseth, and is the moore eschew for to shryven hym, and namely, to hym that is his confessour.
 For which that folk, whan they falle agayn in hir olde folies, outher they forleten hir olde confessours al outrely
 or elles they departen hir shrift in diverse places; but soothly, swich departed shrift deserveth no mercy of God of his synnes.
 The sixte circumstaunce is why that a man synneth, as by which temptacioun, and if hymself procure thilke temptacioun,
 or by the excitynge of oother folk; or if he synne with a womman by force, or by hire owene assent;
 or if the womman, maugree hir hed, hath been afforced, or noon. This shal she telle:
 for coveitise, or for poverte, and if it was hire procurynge, or noon; and swich manere harneys.
 The seventhe circumstaunce is in what manere he hath doon his synne,
 or how that she hath suffred that folk han doon to hire.
 And the same shal the man telle pleynly with alle circumstaunces; and wheither he hath synned with comune bordel wommen or noon,
 or doon his synne in hooly tymes or noon, in fastyng tymes or noon, or biforn his shrifte, or after his latter shrifte,
 and hath peraventure broken therfore his penance enjoyned, by whos help and whos conseil, by sorcerie or craft; al moste be toold.
 Alle thise thynges, after that they been grete or smale, engreggen the conscience of man.
 And eek the preest, that is thy juge, may the bettre been avysed of his juggement
 in yevynge of thy penaunce, and that is after thy contricioun.
980 For understond wel that after tyme that a man hath defouled his baptesme by synne,
980A if he wole come to salvacioun, ther is noon other wey but by penitence and shrifte and satisfaccioun,
 and namely by the two, if ther be a confessour to which he may shriven hym,
 and the thridde, if he have lyf to parfournen it.
 Thanne shal man looke and considere that if he wole maken a trewe and a profitable confessioun, ther moste be foure condiciouns.
 First, it moot been in sorweful bitternesse of herte, as seyde the kyng Ezechias to God,
 "I wol remembre me alle the yeres of my lif in bitternesse of myn herte."
 This condicioun of bitternesse hath fyve signes. The firste is that confessioun moste be shamefast, nat for to covere ne hyden his synne,
 for he hath agilt his God and defouled his soule.
 And herof seith Seint Augustyn, "The herte travailleth for shame of his synne";
 and for he hath greet shamefastnesse, he is digne to have greet mercy of God.
 Swich was the confessioun of the publican that wolde nat heven up his eyen to hevene,
 for he hadde offended God of hevene; for which shamefastnesse he hadde anon the mercy of God.
 And therof seith Seint Augustyn that swich shamefast folk been next foryevenesse and remissioun.
 Another signe is humylitee in confessioun, of which seith Seint Peter,
 "Humbleth yow under the myght of God." The hond of God is myghty in confessioun, for
 therby God foryeveth thee thy synnes, for he allone hath the power.
 And this humylitee shal been in herte and in signe outward, for right as he hath humylitee to God in his herte,
 right so sholde he humble his body outward to the preest, that sit in Goddes place.
990 For which in no manere, sith that Crist is sovereyn, and the preest meene and mediatour bitwixe Crist and the synnere,
990A and the synnere is the laste by wey of resoun,
 thanne sholde nat the synnere sitte as heighe as his confessour, but knele biforn hym or at his feet,
 but if maladie destourbe it. For he shal nat taken kep who sit there, but in whos place that he sitteth.
 A man that hath trespased to a lord, and comth for to axe mercy and maken his accord,
 and set him doun anon by the lord,
 men wolde holden hym outrageous, and nat worthy so soone for to have remissioun ne mercy.
 The thridde signe is how that thy shrift sholde be ful of teeris, if man may,
 and if man may nat wepe with his bodily eyen, lat hym wepe in herte.
 Swich was the confession of Seint Peter, for after that he hadde forsake Jhesu Crist, he wente out and weep ful bitterly.
 The fourthe signe is that he ne lette nat for shame to shewen his confessioun.
 Swich was the confessioun of the Magdalene, that ne spared for no shame of hem
 that weren atte feeste, for to go to oure Lord Jhesu Crist and biknowe to hym hire synne.
 The fifthe signe is that a man or a womman be obeisant to receyven the penaunce that hym is enjoyned for his synnes,
 for certes, Jhesu Crist, for the giltes of o man, was obedient to the deeth.
 The seconde condicion of verray confession is that it be hastily doon.
 For certes, if a man hadde a deedly wounde, evere the lenger that he taried to warisshe hymself,
 the moore wolde it corrupte and haste hym to his deeth, and eek the wounde wolde be the wors for to heele.
 And right so fareth synne that longe tyme is in a man unshewed.
1000 Certes, a man oghte hastily shewen his synnes for manye causes; as for drede of deeth, that cometh ofte sodeynly,
1000A and no certeyn what tyme it shal be, ne in what place; and eek the drecchynge of o synne draweth in another;
 and eek the lenger that he tarieth, the ferther he is fro Crist. And if he abide to his laste day, scarsly
 may he shryven hym or remembre hym of his synnes or repenten hym, for the grevous maladie of his deeth.
 And for as muche as he ne hath nat in his lyf herkned Jhesu Crist
 whanne he hath spoken, he shal crie to Jhesu Crist at his laste day, and scarsly wol he herkne hym.
 And understond that this condicioun moste han foure thynges. Thi shrift moste be purveyed bifore and avysed;
 for wikked haste dooth no profit; and that a man konne shryve hym of his synnes,
 be it of pride, or of envye, and so forth with the speces and circumstances;
 and that he have comprehended in hys mynde the nombre and the greetnesse of his synnes,
 and how longe that he hath leyn in synne;
 and eek that he be contrit of his synnes, and in stidefast purpos,
 by the grace of God, nevere eft to falle in synne;
 and eek that he drede and countrewaite hymself, that he fle the occasiouns of synne to whiche he is enclyned.
 Also thou shalt shryve thee of alle thy synnes to o man, and nat a parcel to o man and a parcel to another;
 that is to understonde, in entente to departe thy confessioun, as for shame or drede, for it nys but stranglynge of thy soule.
 For certes Jhesu Crist is entierly al good; in hym nys noon imperfeccioun,
 and therfore outher he foryeveth al parfitly or elles never a deel.
 I seye nat that if thow be assigned to the penitauncer for certein synne,
 that thow art bounde to shewen hym al the remenaunt of thy synnes, of whiche thow hast be shryven of thy curaat,
 but if it like to thee of thyn humylitee; this is no departynge of shrifte.
 Ne I seye nat, ther as I speke of divisioun of confessioun, that if thou have licence
 for to shryve thee to a discreet and an honest preest, where thee liketh, and by licence of thy curaat,
 that thow ne mayst wel shryve thee to him of alle thy synnes.
1010 But lat no blotte be bihynde; lat no synne been untoold, as fer as thow hast remembraunce.
 And whan thou shalt be shryven to thy curaat, telle hym eek alle the synnes that thow hast doon
 syn thou were last yshryven; this is no wikked entente of divisioun of shrifte.
 Also the verray shrifte axeth certeine condiciouns. First, that thow shryve thee by thy free wil,
 noght constreyned, ne for shame of folk, ne for maladie, ne swiche thynges.
 For it is resoun that he that trespaseth by his free wyl, that by his free wyl he confesse his trespas,
 and that noon oother man telle his synne but he hymself;
 ne he shal nat nayte ne denye his synne, ne wratthe hym agayn the preest for his amonestynge to lete synne.
 The seconde condicioun is that thy shrift be laweful; that is to seyn, that
 thow that shryvest thee and eek the preest that hereth thy confessioun been verraily in the feith of hooly chirche,
 and that a man ne be nat despeired of the mercy of Jhesu Crist, as Caym or Judas.
 And eek a man moot accusen hymself of his owene trespas, and nat another;
 but he shal blame and wyten hymself and his owene malice of his synne, and noon oother.
 But nathelees, if that another man be occasioun or enticere of his synne,
 or the estaat of a persone be swich thurgh which his synne is agregged, or elles that he may nat pleynly shryven
 hym but he telle the persone with which he hath synned, thanne may he telle it,
 so that his entente ne be nat to bakbite the persone, but oonly to declaren his confessioun.
 Thou ne shalt nat eek make no lesynges in thy confessioun, for humylitee,
 peraventure, to seyn that thou hast doon synnes of whiche thow were nevere gilty.
1020 For Seint Augustyn seith, "If thou, by cause of thyn humylitee, makest lesynges on thyself,
1020A though thow ne were nat in synne biforn, yet artow thanne in synne thurgh thy lesynges."
 Thou most eek shewe thy synne by thyn owene propre mouth, but thow be woxe dowmb, and nat by no lettre;
 for thow that hast doon the synne, thou shalt have the shame therfore.
 Thow shalt nat eek peynte thy confessioun by faire subtile wordes, to covere the moore thy synne;
 for thanne bigilestow thyself, and nat the preest. Thow most tellen it platly, be it nevere so foul ne so horrible.
 Thow shalt eek shryve thee to a preest that is discreet to conseille
 thee; and eek thou shalt nat shryve thee for veyne glorie, ne for ypocrisye, ne for no cause
 but oonly for the doute of Jhesu Crist and the heele of thy soule.
 Thow shalt nat eek renne to the preest sodeynly to tellen hym lightly thy synne,
 as whoso telleth a jape or a tale, but avysely and with greet devocioun.
 And generally, shryve thee ofte. If thou ofte falle, ofte thou arise by confessioun.
 And though thou shryve thee ofter than ones of synne of which thou hast be shryven, it is the moore merite.
 And, as seith Seint Augustyn, thow shalt have the moore lightly relessyng and grace of God, bothe of synne and of peyne.
 And certes, oones a yeere atte leeste wey it is laweful for to been housled, for certes, oones a yeere alle thynges renovellen.
 Now have I toold yow of verray Confessioun, that is the seconde partie of Penitence.
 The thridde partie of Penitence is Satisfaccioun, and that stant moost generally in almesse and in bodily peyne.
1030 Now been ther thre manere of almesse: contricion of herte, where a man offreth hymself to God;
1030A another is to han pitee of defaute of his neighebores; and the thridde is
1030B in yevynge of good conseil and comfort, goostly and bodily, where men han nede, and namely in sustenaunce of mannes foode.
 And tak kep that a man hath nede of thise thinges generally: he hath nede of foode, he hath nede of clothyng and herberwe,
 he hath nede of charitable conseil and visitynge in prisone and in maladie, and sepulture of his dede body.
 And if thow mayst nat visite the nedeful with thy persone, visite hym by thy message and by thy yiftes.
 Thise been general almesses or werkes of charitee
 of hem that han temporeel richesses or discrecioun in conseilynge. Of thise werkes shaltow heren at the day of doom.
 Thise almesses shaltow doon of thyne owene propre thynges, and hastily and prively, if thow mayst.
 But nathelees, if thow mayst nat doon it prively, thow shalt nat forbere to doon almesse though men seen it,
 so that it be nat doon for thank of the world, but oonly for thank of Jhesu Crist.
 For, as witnesseth Seint Mathew, capitulo quinto, "A citee may nat been hyd that is set on a montayne,
 ne men lighte nat a lanterne and put it under a busshel,
 but men sette it on a candle-stikke to yeve light to the men in the hous.
 Right so shal youre light lighten bifore men, that they may seen youre goode werkes, and glorifie youre fader that is in hevene."
 Now as to speken of bodily peyne, it stant in preyeres, in wakynges, in fastynges, in vertuouse techynges of orisouns.
 And ye shul understonde that orisouns or preyeres is for to seyn a pitous wyl of herte,
 that redresseth it in God and expresseth it by word outward, to remoeven harmes and to han thynges espiritueel and durable,
 and somtyme temporele thynges; of whiche orisouns, certes, in the orison of the Pater noster hath Jhesu Crist enclosed moost thynges.
1040 Certes, it is privyleged of thre thynges in his dignytee,
1040A for which it is moore digne than any oother preyere, for that Jhesu Crist hymself maked it;
 and it is short, for it sholde be koud the moore lightly, and
 for to withholden it the moore esily in herte, and helpen hymself the ofter with the orisoun,
 and for a man sholde be the lasse wery to seyen it, and for a man may nat excusen hym to lerne it,
 it is so short and so esy, and for it comprehendeth in it self alle goode preyeres.
 The exposicioun of this hooly preyere, that is so excellent and digne, I bitake to thise maistres of theologie,
 save thus muchel wol I seyn; that whan thow prayest that God sholde foryeve thee thy giltes as
 thou foryevest hem that agilten to thee, be ful wel war that thow ne be nat out of charitee.
 This hooly orison amenuseth eek venyal synne, and therfore it aperteneth specially to penitence.
 This preyere moste be trewely seyd, and in verray feith, and that men preye to God ordinatly and discreetly and devoutly;
 and alwey a man shal putten his wyl to be subget to the wille of God.
 This orisoun moste eek been seyd with greet humblesse and ful pure, honestly and nat to the anoyaunce of any man or womman.
 It moste eek been continued with the werkes of charitee.
 It avayleth eek agayn the vices of the soule, for, as seith Seint Jerome,
 "By fastynge been saved the vices of the flessh, and by preyere the vices of the soule."
 After this, thou shalt understonde that bodily peyne stant in wakynge, for Jhesu Crist seith,
 "Waketh and preyeth, that ye ne entre in wikked temptacioun."
 Ye shul understanden also that fastynge stant in thre thynges: in forberynge of bodily mete and drynke, and in forberynge of worldly jolitee,
 and in forberynge of deedly synne; this is to seyn, that a man shal kepen hym fro deedly synne with al his myght.
1050 And thou shalt understanden eek that God ordeyned fastynge, and to fastynge appertenen foure thinges:
 largenesse to povre folk, gladnesse of herte espiritueel, nat to been angry ne anoyed, ne grucche for he fasteth,
 and also resonable houre for to ete; ete by mesure; that is for to seyn,
 a man shal nat ete in untyme, ne sitte the lenger at his table to ete for he fasteth.
 Thanne shaltow understonde that bodily peyne stant in disciplyne or techynge, by word, or by writynge, or in ensample;
 also in werynge of heyres, or of stamyn, or of haubergeons on hire naked flessh, for Cristes sake, and swiche manere penances.
 But war thee wel that swiche manere penaunces on thy flessh ne make nat thyn herte bitter or angry or anoyed of thyself,
 for bettre is to caste awey thyn heyre, than for to caste awey the swetenesse of Jhesu Crist.
 And therfore seith Seint Paul, "Clothe yow, as they that been chosen of God, in herte of misericorde, debonairetee, suffraunce,
 and swich manere of clothynge," of whiche Jhesu Crist is moore apayed than of heyres, or haubergeouns, or hauberkes.
 Thanne is discipline eek in knokkynge of thy brest, in scourgynge with yerdes, in knelynges, in tribulacions,
 in suffrynge paciently wronges that been doon to thee,
 and eek in pacient suffraunce of maladies, or lesynge of worldly catel, or of wyf, or of child, or othere freendes.
 Thanne shaltow understonde whiche thynges destourben penaunce; and this is in foure maneres:
 that is, drede, shame, hope, and wanhope, that is desperacion.
 And for to speke first of drede, for which he weneth that he may suffre no penaunce;
 ther-agayns is remedie for to thynke that bodily penaunce is but short and litel at regard of the peyne of helle,
 that is so crueel and so long that it lasteth withouten ende.
1060 Now again the shame that a man hath to shryven hym,
1060A and namely thise ypocrites that wolden been holden so parfite that they han no nede to shryven hem;
 agayns that shame sholde a man thynke that, by wey of resoun, that he that hath nat been shamed to doon foule thinges,
 certes hym oghte nat been ashamed to do faire thynges, and that is confessiouns.
 A man sholde eek thynke that God seeth and woot alle his thoghtes and alle his werkes,
 to hym may no thyng been hyd ne covered.
 Men sholden eek remembren hem of the shame that is to come at the day of doom
 to hem that been nat penitent and shryven in this present lyf.
 For alle the creatures in hevene, in erthe, and in helle shullen seen apertly al that they hyden in this world.
 Now for to speken of the hope of hem that been necligent and slowe to shryven hem, that stant in two maneres.
 That oon is that he hopeth for to lyve longe and for to purchacen muche richesse for his delit,
 and thanne he wol shryven hym; and, as he seith, hym semeth thanne tymely ynough to come to shrifte.
 Another is of surquidrie that he hath in Cristes mercy.
 Agayns the firste vice, he shal thynke that oure lif is in no sikernesse,
 and eek that alle the richesses in this world ben in aventure and passen as a shadwe on the wal;
 and, as seith Seint Gregorie, that it aperteneth to the grete rightwisnesse of God that
 nevere shal the peyne stynte of hem that nevere wolde withdrawen hem fro synne, hir thankes,
 but ay continue in synne; for thilke perpetueel wil to do synne shul they han perpetueel peyne.
1070 Wanhope is in two maneres: the firste wanhope is in the mercy of Crist;
1070A that oother is that they thynken that they ne myghte nat longe persevere in goodnesse.
 The firste wanhope comth of that he demeth that he hath synned so greetly and so ofte,
 and so longe leyn in synne, that he shal nat be saved.
 Certes, agayns that cursed wanhope sholde he thynke that
 the passion of Jhesu Crist is moore strong for to unbynde than synne is strong for to bynde.
 Agayns the seconde wanhope he shal thynke that as ofte as he falleth he may arise agayn by penitence.
 And though he never so longe have leyn in synne, the mercy of Crist is alwey redy to receiven hym to mercy.
 Agayns the wanhope that he demeth that he sholde nat longe persevere in goodnesse,
 he shal thynke that the feblesse of the devel may nothyng doon, but if men wol suffren hym;
 and eek he shal han strengthe of the help of God,
 and of al hooly chirche, and of the proteccioun of aungels, if hym list.
 Thanne shal men understonde what is the fruyt of penaunce; and, after the word of Jhesu Crist,
 it is the endelees blisse of hevene,
 ther joye hath no contrarioustee of wo ne grevaunce; ther alle harmes been passed of this present lyf;
 ther as is the sikernesse fro the peyne of helle; ther as is the blisful compaignye
 that rejoysen hem everemo, everich of otheres joye;
 ther as the body of man, that whilom was foul and derk, is moore cleer than the sonne;
 ther as the body, that whilom was syk, freele, and fieble, and mortal, is inmortal,
 and so strong and so hool that ther may no thyng apeyren it;
 ther as ne is neither hunger, thurst, ne coold, but every soule replenyssed with the sighte of the parfit knowynge of God.
1080 This blisful regne may men purchace by poverte espiritueel, and the glorie by lowenesse, the plentee of joye
1080A by hunger and thurst, and the reste by travaille, and the lyf by deeth and mortificacion of synne.
 Now preye I to hem alle that herkne this litel tretys or rede,
 that if ther be any thyng in it that liketh hem,
 that therof they thanken oure Lord Jhesu Crist, of whom procedeth al wit and al goodnesse.
 And if ther be any thyng that displese hem, I preye hem also that they arrette it to the defaute
 of myn unkonnynge and nat to my wyl, that wolde ful fayn have seyd bettre if I hadde had konnynge.
 For oure book seith, "Al that is writen is writen for oure doctrine,"
 and that is myn entente.
 Wherfore I biseke yow mekely, for the mercy of God,
 that ye preye for me that Crist have mercy on me and foryeve me my giltes;
 and namely of my translacions and enditynges of worldly vanitees, the whiche I revoke in my retracciouns:
 as is the book of Troilus; the book also of Fame;
 the book of the XXV. Ladies; the book of the Duchesse;
 the book of Seint Valentynes day of the Parlement of Briddes; the tales of Caunterbury, thilke that sownen into synne;
 the book of the Leoun; and many another book, if they were in my remembrance, and many a song
 and many a leccherous lay, that Crist for his grete mercy foryeve me the synne.
 But of the translacion of Boece de Consolacione, and othere bookes of legendes of seintes, and omelies, and moralitee, and devocioun,
 that thanke I oure Lord Jhesu Crist and his blisful Mooder, and alle the seintes of hevene,
1090 bisekynge hem that they from hennes forth unto my lyves ende sende me grace to biwayle my giltes and to studie
1090A to the salvacioun of my soule, and graunte me grace of verray penitence, confessioun and satisfaccioun to doon in this present lyf,
 thurgh the benigne grace of hym that is kyng of kynges and preest over alle preestes,
 that boghte us with the precious blood of his herte,
 so that I may been oon of hem at the day of doom that shulle be saved.
 Qui cum Patre et Spiritu Sancto vivit et regnat Deus per omnia secula. Amen.

---

The Canterbury Tales

Chaucer's Retraction

 Now preye I to hem alle that herkne this litel tretys or rede,
 that if ther be any thyng in it that liketh hem,
 that therof they thanken oure Lord Jhesu Crist, of whom al wit and al goodnesse.
 And if ther be any thyng that displese hem, I preye hem that they arrette it to the defaute
 of myn unkonnynge and nat to my wyl, that wolde ful fayn seyd bettre if I hadde had konnynge.
 For oure book seith, "Al that is writen is writen for doctrine,"
 and that is myn entente.
 Wherfore I biseke yow mekely, for the mercy of God,
 that ye preye for me that Crist have mercy on me and me my giltes;
 and namely of my translacions and enditynges of worldly vanitees, the whiche I revoke in my retracciouns:
 as is the book of Troilus; the book also of Fame;
 the book of the XXV. Ladies; the book of the Duchesse;
 the book of Seint Valentynes day of the Parlement of Briddes; the tales of Caunterbury, thilke that sownen into synne;
 the book of the Leoun; and many another book, if they were in my remembrance, and many a song
 and many a leccherous lay, that Crist for his grete mercy foryeve me the synne.
 But of the translacion of Boece de Consolacione, and othere bookes of legendes of seintes, and omelies, and moralitee, and devocioun,
 that thanke I oure Lord Jhesu Crist and his blisful Mooder, and alle the seintes of hevene,
1090 bisekynge hem that they from hennes forth unto my lyves ende sende me grace to biwayle my giltes and to studie
1090A to the salvacioun of my soule, and graunte me grace of verray penitence, confessioun and satisfaccioun to doon in this present lyf,
 thurgh the benigne grace of hym that is kyng of kynges and preest over alle preestes,
 that boghte us with the precious blood of his herte,
 so that I may been oon of hem at the day of doom that shulle be saved.
 Qui cum Patre et Spiritu Sancto vivit et regnat Deus per omnia secula. Amen.

---

Other Works

The Book of the Duchess

 I have gret wonder, be this lyght,
 How that I lyve, for day ne nyght
 I may nat slepe wel nygh noght;
 I have so many an ydel thoght
 Purely for defaute of slep
 That, by my trouthe, I take no kep
 Of nothing, how hyt cometh or gooth,
 Ne me nys nothyng leef nor looth.
 Al is ylyche good to me --
10 Joye or sorowe, wherso hyt be --
 For I have felynge in nothyng,
 But as yt were a mased thyng,
 Alway in poynt to falle a-doun;
 For sorwful ymagynacioun
 Ys alway hooly in my mynde.
 And wel ye woot, agaynes kynde
 Hyt were to lyven in thys wyse,
 For nature wolde nat suffyse
 To noon erthly creature
20 Nat longe tyme to endure
 Withoute slep and be in sorwe.
 And I ne may, ne nyght ne morwe,
 Slepe; and [thus] melancolye
 And drede I have for to dye.
 Defaute of slep and hevynesse
 Hath sleyn my spirit of quyknesse
 That I have lost al lustyhede.
 Suche fantasies ben in myn hede
 So I not what is best to doo.
30 But men myght axe me why soo
 I may not slepe and what me is.
 But natheles, who aske this
 Leseth his asking trewely.
 Myselven can not telle why
 The sothe; but trewly, as I gesse,
 I holde hit be a sicknesse
 That I have suffred this eight yeer;
 And yet my boote is never the ner,
 For there is phisicien but oon
40 That may me hele; but that is don.
 Passe we over untill eft;
 That wil not be mot nede be left;
 Our first mater is good to kepe.
 So whan I saw I might not slepe
 Til now late this other night,
 Upon my bed I sat upright
 And bad oon reche me a book,
 A romaunce, and he it me tok
 To rede and drive the night away;
50 For me thoughte it better play
 Then playe either at ches or tables.
 And in this bok were written fables
 That clerkes had in olde tyme,
 And other poetes, put in rime
 To rede and for to be in minde,
 While men loved the lawe of kinde.
 This bok ne spak but of such thinges,
 Of quenes lives, and of kinges,
 And many other thinges smale.
60 Amonge al this I fond a tale
 That me thoughte a wonder thing.
 This was the tale: There was a king
 That highte Seys, and had a wif,
 The beste that mighte bere lyf,
 And this quene highte Alcyone.
 So it befil thereafter soone
 This king wol wenden over see.
 To tellen shortly, whan that he
 Was in the see thus in this wise,
70 Such a tempest gan to rise
 That brak her mast and made it falle,
 And clefte her ship, and dreinte hem alle,
 That never was founde, as it telles,
 Bord ne man, ne nothing elles.
 Right thus this king Seys loste his lif.
 Now for to speke of Alcyone, his wif:
 This lady, that was left at hom,
 Hath wonder that the king ne com
 Hom, for it was a longe terme.
80 Anon her herte began to [erme];
 And for that her thoughte evermo
 It was not wele [he dwelte] so,
 She longed so after the king
 That certes it were a pitous thing
 To telle her hertely sorowful lif
 That she had, this noble wif,
 For him, alas, she loved alderbest.
 Anon she sent bothe eest and west
 To seke him, but they founde nought.
90 "Alas!" quod she, "that I was wrought!
 And wher my lord, my love, be deed?
 Certes, I nil never ete breed,
 I make avow to my god here,
 But I mowe of my lord here!"
 Such sorowe this lady to her tok
 That trewly I, that made this book,
 Had such pittee and such rowthe
 To rede hir sorwe that, by my trowthe,
 I ferde the worse al the morwe
100 Aftir to thenken on hir sorwe.
 So whan this lady koude here noo word
 That no man myghte fynde hir lord,
 Ful ofte she swouned, and sayed "Alas!"
 For sorwe ful nygh wood she was,
 Ne she koude no reed but oon;
 But doun on knees she sat anoon
 And wepte that pittee was to here.
 "A, mercy, swete lady dere!"
 Quod she to Juno, hir goddesse,
110 "Helpe me out of thys distresse,
 And yeve me grace my lord to se
 Soone or wite wher-so he be,
 Or how he fareth, or in what wise,
 And I shal make yow sacrifise,
 And hooly youres become I shal
 With good wille, body, herte, and al;
 And but thow wolt this, lady swete,
 Send me grace to slepe and mete
 In my slep som certeyn sweven
120 Wherthourgh that I may knowen even
 Whether my lord be quyk or ded."
 With that word she heng doun the hed
 And fel a-swowne as cold as ston.
 Hyr women kaught hir up anoon
 And broghten hir in bed al naked,
 And she, forweped and forwaked,
 Was wery; and thus the dede slep
 Fil on hir or she tooke kep,
 Throgh Juno, that had herd hir bone,
130 That made hir to slepe sone.
 For as she prayede, ryght so was don
 In dede; for Juno ryght anon
 Called thus hir messager
 To doo hir erande, and he com ner.
 Whan he was come, she bad hym thus:
 "Go bet," quod Juno, "to Morpheus --
 Thou knowest hym wel, the god of slep.
 Now understond wel and tak kep!
 Sey thus on my half: that he
140 Go faste into the Grete Se,
 And byd hym that, on alle thyng,
 He take up Seys body the kyng,
 That lyeth ful pale and nothyng rody.
 Bid hym crepe into the body
 And doo hit goon to Alcione
 The quene, ther she lyeth allone,
 And shewe hir shortly, hit ys no nay,
 How hit was dreynt thys other day;
 And do the body speke ryght soo,
150 Ryght as hyt was woned to doo
 The whiles that hit was alyve.
 Goo now faste, and hye the blyve!"
 This messager tok leve and wente
 Upon hys wey, and never ne stente
 Til he com to the derke valeye
 That stant betwixe roches tweye
 Ther never yet grew corn ne gras,
 Ne tre, ne noght that ought was,
 Beste, ne man, ne noght elles,
160 Save ther were a fewe welles
 Came rennynge fro the clyves adoun,
 That made a dedly slepynge soun,
 And ronnen doun ryght by a cave
 That was under a rokke ygrave
 Amydde the valey, wonder depe.
 There these goddes lay and slepe,
 Morpheus and Eclympasteyr,
 That was the god of slepes heyr,
 That slep and dide noon other werk.
170 This cave was also as derk
 As helle-pit overal aboute.
 They had good leyser for to route,
 To envye who myghte slepe best.
 Somme henge her chyn upon hir brest
 And slept upryght, hir hed yhed,
 And somme lay naked in her bed
 And slepe whiles the dayes laste.
 This messager com fleynge faste
 And cried, "O, how! Awake anoon!"
180 Hit was for noght; there herde hym non.
 "Awake!" quod he, "whoo ys lyth there?"
 And blew his horn ryght in here eere,
 And cried "Awaketh!" wonder hye.
 This god of slep with hys oon ye
 Cast up, and axed, "Who clepeth ther?"
 "Hyt am I," quod this messager.
 "Juno bad thow shuldest goon" --
 And tolde hym what he shulde doon
 (As I have told yow here-to-fore;
190 Hyt ys no nede reherse hyt more)
 And went hys wey whan he had sayd.
 Anoon this god of slep abrayd
 Out of hys slep, and gan to goon,
 And dyde as he had bede hym doon:
 Took up the dreynte body sone
 And bar hyt forth to Alcione,
 Hys wif the quene, ther as she lay
 Ryght even a quarter before day,
 And stood ryght at hyr beddes fet,
200 And called hir ryght as she het
 By name, and sayde, "My swete wyf,
 Awake! Let be your sorwful lyf,
 For in your sorwe there lyth no red;
 For, certes, swete, I am but ded.
 Ye shul me never on lyve yse.
 But, goode swete herte, that ye
 Bury my body, for such a tyde
 Ye mowe hyt fynde the see besyde;
 And farewel, swete, my worldes blysse!
210 I praye God youre sorwe lysse.
 To lytel while oure blysse lasteth!"
 With that hir eyen up she casteth
 And saw noght. "Allas!" quod she for sorwe,
 And deyede within the thridde morwe.
 But what she sayede more in that swow
 I may not telle yow as now;
 Hyt were to longe for to dwelle.
 My first matere I wil yow telle,
 Wherfore I have told this thyng
220 Of Alcione and Seys the kyng,
 For thus moche dar I saye wel:
 I had be dolven everydel
 And ded, ryght thurgh defaute of slep,
 Yif I ne had red and take kep
 Of this tale next before.
 And I wol telle yow wherfore:
 For I ne myghte, for bote ne bale,
 Slepe or I had red thys tale
 Of this dreynte Seys the kyng
230 And of the goddes of slepyng.
 Whan I had red thys tale wel
 And overloked hyt everydel,
 Me thoghte wonder yf hit were so,
 For I had never herd speke or tho
 Of noo goddes that koude make
 Men to slepe, ne for to wake,
 For I ne knew never god but oon.
 And in my game I sayde anoon
 (And yet me lyst ryght evel to pleye)
240 Rather then that y shulde deye
 Thorgh defaute of slepynge thus,
 I wolde yive thilke Morpheus,
 Or hys goddesse, dame Juno,
 Or som wight elles, I ne roghte who --
 "To make me slepe and have som reste
 I wil yive hym the alderbeste
 Yifte that ever he abod hys lyve.
 And here on warde, ryght now as blyve,
 Yif he wol make me slepe a lyte,
250 Of down of pure dowves white
 I wil yive hym a fether-bed,
 Rayed with gold and ryght wel cled
 In fyn blak satyn doutremer,
 And many a pilowe, and every ber
 Of cloth of Reynes, to slepe softe --
 Hym thar not nede to turnen ofte --
 And I wol yive hym al that falles
 To a chambre, and al hys halles
 I wol do peynte with pure gold
260 And tapite hem ful many fold
 Of oo sute; this shal he have
 (Yf I wiste where were hys cave),
 Yf he kan make me slepe sone,
 As did the goddesse quene Alcione.
 And thus this ylke god, Morpheus,
 May wynne of me moo fees thus
 Than ever he wan; and to Juno,
 That ys hys goddesse, I shal soo do,
 I trow, that she shal holde hir payd."
270 I hadde unneth that word ysayd
 Ryght thus as I have told hyt yow,
 That sodeynly, I nyste how,
 Such a lust anoon me took
 To slepe that ryght upon my book
 Y fil aslepe, and therwith even
 Me mette so ynly swete a sweven,
 So wonderful that never yit
 Y trowe no man had the wyt
 To konne wel my sweven rede;
280 No, not Joseph, withoute drede,
 Of Egipte, he that redde so
 The kynges metynge Pharao,
 No more than koude the lest of us;
 Ne nat skarsly Macrobeus
 (He that wrot al th' avysyoun
 That he mette, kyng Scipioun,
 The noble man, the Affrikan --
 Suche marvayles fortuned than),
 I trowe, arede my dremes even.
290 Loo, thus hyt was; thys was my sweven.
 Me thoghte thus: that hyt was May,
 And in the dawenynge I lay
 (Me mette thus) in my bed al naked
 And loked forth, for I was waked
 With smale foules a gret hep
 That had affrayed me out of my slep
 Thorgh noyse and swetnesse of her song.
 And, as me mette, they sate among
 Upon my chambre roof wythoute,
300 Upon the tyles, overal aboute,
 And songe, everych in hys wyse,
 The moste solempne servise
 By noote that ever man, y trowe,
 Had herd, for som of hem song lowe,
 Som high, and al of oon acord.
 To telle shortly, att oo word,
 Was never herd so swete a steven
 But hyt had be a thyng of heven --
 So mery a soun, so swete entewnes,
310 That certes, for the toun of Tewnes
 I nolde but I had herd hem synge;
 For al my chambre gan to rynge
 Thurgh syngynge of her armonye;
 For instrument nor melodye
 Was nowhere herd yet half so swete,
 Nor of acord half so mete;
 For ther was noon of hem that feyned
 To synge, for ech of hem hym peyned
 To fynde out mery crafty notes.
320 They ne spared not her throtes.
 And sooth to seyn, my chambre was
 Ful wel depeynted, and with glas
 Were al the wyndowes wel yglased
 Ful clere, and nat an hoole ycrased,
 That to beholde hyt was gret joye.
 For hooly al the story of Troye
 Was in the glasynge ywroght thus,
 Of Ector and of kyng Priamus,
 Of Achilles and of kyng Lamedon,
330 And eke of Medea and of Jason,
 Of Paris, Eleyne, and of Lavyne.
 And alle the walles with colours fyne
 Were peynted, bothe text and glose,
 [Of] al the Romaunce of the Rose.
 My wyndowes were shette echon,
 And throgh the glas the sonne shon
 Upon my bed with bryghte bemes,
 With many glade gilde stremes;
 And eke the welken was so fair --
340 Blew, bryght, clere was the ayr,
 And ful attempre for sothe hyt was;
 For nother to cold nor hoot yt nas,
 Ne in al the welken was a clowde.
 And as I lay thus, wonder lowde
 Me thoght I herde an hunte blowe
 T' assay hys horn and for to knowe
 Whether hyt were clere or hors of soun.
 And I herde goynge bothe up and doun
 Men, hors, houndes, and other thyng;
350 And al men speken of huntyng,
 How they wolde slee the hert with strengthe,
 And how the hert had upon lengthe
 So moche embosed -- y not now what.
 Anoon ryght whan I herde that,
 How that they wolde on-huntynge goon,
 I was ryght glad, and up anoon
 Took my hors, and forth I wente
 Out of my chambre; I never stente
 Til I com to the feld withoute.
360 Ther overtok y a gret route
 Of huntes and eke of foresteres,
 With many relayes and lymeres,
 And hyed hem to the forest faste
 And I with hem. So at the laste
 I asked oon, ladde a lymere:
 "Say, felowe, who shal hunte here?"
 Quod I, and he answered ageyn,
 "Syr, th' emperour Octovyen,"
 Quod he, "and ys here faste by."
370 "A Goddes half, in good tyme!" quod I,
 "Go we faste!" and gan to ryde.
 Whan we came to the forest syde,
 Every man dide ryght anoon
 As to huntynge fil to doon.
 The mayster-hunte anoon, fot-hot,
 With a gret horn blew thre mot
 At the uncouplynge of hys houndes.
 Withynne a while the hert yfounde ys,
 Yhalowed, and rechased faste
380 Longe tyme; and so at the laste
 This hert rused and staal away
 Fro alle the houndes a privy way.
 The houndes had overshote hym alle
 And were on a defaute yfalle.
 Therwyth the hunte wonder faste
 Blew a forloyn at the laste.
 I was go walked fro my tree,
 And as I wente, ther cam by mee
 A whelp, that fauned me as I stood,
390 That hadde yfolowed and koude no good.
 Hyt com and crepte to me as lowe
 Ryght as hyt hadde me yknowe,
 Helde doun hys hed and joyned hys eres,
 And leyde al smothe doun hys heres.
 I wolde have kaught hyt, and anoon
 Hyt fledde and was fro me goon;
 And I hym folwed, and hyt forth wente
 Doun by a floury grene wente
 Ful thikke of gras, ful softe and swete.
400 With floures fele, faire under fete,
 And litel used; hyt semed thus,
 For both Flora and Zephirus,
 They two that make floures growe,
 Had mad her dwellynge ther, I trowe;
 For hit was, on to beholde,
 As thogh the erthe envye wolde
 To be gayer than the heven,
 To have moo floures, swiche seven,
 As in the welken sterres bee.
410 Hyt had forgete the povertee
 That wynter, thorgh hys colde morwes,
 Had mad hyt suffre, and his sorwes;
 All was forgeten, and that was sene,
 For al the woode was waxen grene;
 Swetnesse of dew had mad hyt waxe.
 Hyt ys no nede eke for to axe
 Wher there were many grene greves,
 Or thikke of trees, so ful of leves;
 And every tree stood by hymselve
420 Fro other wel ten foot or twelve --
 So grete trees, so huge of strengthe,
 Of fourty or fifty fadme lengthe,
 Clene withoute bowgh or stikke,
 With croppes brode, and eke as thikke --
 They were nat an ynche asonder --
 That hit was shadewe overal under.
 And many an hert and many an hynde
 Was both before me and behynde.
 Of founes, sowres, bukkes, does
430 Was ful the woode, and many roes,
 And many sqwirelles that sete
 Ful high upon the trees and ete,
 And in hir maner made festes.
 Shortly, hyt was so ful of bestes
 That thogh Argus, the noble countour,
 Sete to rekene in hys countour,
 And rekene with his figures ten --
 For by tho figures mowe al ken,
 Yf they be crafty, rekene and noumbre,
440 And telle of every thing the noumbre --
 Yet shoulde he fayle to rekene even
 The wondres me mette in my sweven.
 But forth they romed ryght wonder faste
 Doun the woode; so at the laste
 I was war of a man in blak,
 That sat and had yturned his bak
 To an ook, an huge tree.
 "Lord," thoght I, "who may that be?
 What ayleth hym to sitten her?"
450 Anoon-ryght I wente ner;
 Than found I sitte even upryght
 A wonder wel-farynge knyght --
 By the maner me thoghte so --
 Of good mochel, and ryght yong therto,
 Of the age of foure and twenty yer,
 Upon hys berd but lytel her,
 And he was clothed al in blak.
 I stalked even unto hys bak,
 And there I stood as stille as ought,
460 That, soth to saye, he saw me nought;
 For-why he heng hys hed adoun,
 And with a dedly sorwful soun
 He made of rym ten vers or twelve
 Of a compleynte to hymselve --
 The moste pitee, the moste rowthe,
 That ever I herde; for, by my trowthe,
 467 Hit was gret wonder that Nature
 Myght suffre any creature
 To have such sorwe and be not ded.
470 Ful pitous pale and nothyng red,
 He sayd a lay, a maner song,
 Withoute noote, withoute song;
 And was thys, for ful wel I kan
 Reherse hyt; ryght thus hyt began:
 "I have of sorwe so gret won
 That joye gete I never non,
 Now that I see my lady bryght,
 Which I have loved with al my myght,
 Is fro me ded and ys agoon.
 "Allas, deth, what ayleth the,
 That thou noldest have taken me,
 Whan thou toke my lady swete,
 That was so fair, so fresh, so fre,
 So good that men may wel se
 Of al goodnesse she had no mete!"
 Whan he had mad thus his complaynte,
 Hys sorwful hert gan faste faynte
 And his spirites wexen dede;
490 The blood was fled for pure drede
 Doun to hys herte, to make hym warm --
 For wel hyt feled the herte had harm --
 To wite eke why hyt was adrad
 By kynde, and for to make hyt glad,
 For hit ys membre principal
 Of the body; and that made al
 Hys hewe chaunge and wexe grene
 And pale, for ther noo blood ys sene
 In no maner lym of hys.
500 Anoon therwith whan y sawgh this --
 He ferde thus evel there he set --
 I went and stood ryght at his fet,
 And grette hym; but he spak noght,
 But argued with his owne thoght,
 And in hys wyt disputed faste
 Why and how hys lyf myght laste;
 Hym thoughte hys sorwes were so smerte
 And lay so colde upon hys herte.
 So, throgh hys sorwe and hevy thoght,
510 Made hym that he herde me noght;
 For he had wel nygh lost hys mynde,
 Thogh Pan, that men clepeth god of kynde,
 Were for hys sorwes never so wroth.
 But at the last, to sayn ryght soth,
 He was war of me, how y stood
 Before hym and did of myn hood,
 And had ygret hym as I best koude,
 Debonayrly, and nothyng lowde.
 He sayde, "I prey the, be not wroth.
520 I herde the not, to seyn the soth,
 Ne I sawgh the not, syr, trewely."
 "A, goode sir, no fors," quod y,
 "I am ryght sory yif I have ought
 Destroubled yow out of your thought.
 Foryive me, yif I have mystake."
 "Yis, th' amendes is lyght to make,"
 Quod he, "for ther lyeth noon therto;
 There ys nothyng myssayd nor do."
 Loo, how goodly spak thys knyght,
530 As hit had be another wyght;
 He made hyt nouther towgh ne queynte.
 And I saw that, and gan me aqueynte
 With hym, and fond hym so tretable,
 Ryght wonder skylful and resonable,
 As me thoghte, for al hys bale.
 Anoon ryght I gan fynde a tale
 To hym, to loke wher I myght ought
 Have more knowynge of hys thought.
 "Sir," quod I, "this game is doon.
540 I holde that this hert be goon;
 These huntes konne hym nowher see."
 "Y do no fors therof," quod he;
 "My thought ys theron never a del."
 "By oure Lord," quod I, "y trow yow wel;
 Ryght so me thinketh by youre chere.
 But, sir, oo thyng wol ye here?
 Me thynketh in gret sorowe I yow see;
 But certes, sire, yif that yee
 Wolde ought discure me youre woo,
550 I wolde, as wys God helpe me soo,
 Amende hyt, yif I kan or may.
 Ye mowe preve hyt be assay;
 For, by my trouthe, to make yow hool
 I wol do al my power hool.
 And telleth me of your sorwes smerte;
 Paraunter hyt may ese youre herte,
 That semeth ful sek under your syde."
 With that he loked on me asyde,
 As who sayth, "Nay, that wol not be."
560 "Graunt mercy, goode frend," quod he,
 "I thanke the that thow woldest soo,
 But hyt may never the rather be doo.
 No man may my sorwe glade,
 That maketh my hewe to falle and fade,
 And hath myn understondynge lorn
 That me ys wo that I was born!
 May noght make my sorwes slyde,
 Nought al the remedyes of Ovyde,
 Ne Orpheus, god of melodye,
570 Ne Dedalus with his playes slye;
 Ne hele me may no phisicien,
 Noght Ypocras ne Galyen;
 Me ys wo that I lyve houres twelve.
 But whooso wol assay hymselve
 Whether his hert kan have pitee
 Of any sorwe, lat hym see me.
 Y wrecche, that deth hath mad al naked
 Of al the blysse that ever was maked,
 Yworthe worste of alle wyghtes,
580 That hate my dayes and my nyghtes!
 My lyf, my lustes, be me loothe,
 For al welfare and I be wroothe.
 The pure deth ys so ful my foo
 That I wolde deye, hyt wolde not soo;
 For whan I folwe hyt, hit wol flee;
 I wolde have hym, hyt nyl nat me.
 This ys my peyne wythoute red,
 Alway deynge and be not ded,
 That Cesiphus, that lyeth in helle,
590 May not of more sorwe telle.
 And whoso wiste al, by my trouthe,
 My sorwe, but he hadde rowthe
 And pitee of my sorwes smerte,
 That man hath a fendly herte;
 For whoso seeth me first on morwe
 May seyn he hath met with sorwe,
 For y am sorwe, and sorwe ys y.
 "Allas! and I wol tel the why:
 My [song] ys turned to pleynynge,
600 And al my laughtre to wepynge,
 My glade thoghtes to hevynesse;
 In travayle ys myn ydelnesse
 And eke my reste; my wele is woo,
 My good ys harm, and evermoo
 In wrathe ys turned my pleynge
 And my delyt into sorwynge.
 Myn hele ys turned into seknesse,
 In drede ys al my sykernesse;
 To derke ys turned al my lyght,
610 My wyt ys foly, my day ys nyght,
 My love ys hate, my slep wakynge,
 My myrthe and meles ys fastynge,
 My countenaunce ys nycete
 And al abaved, where so I be;
 My pees in pledynge and in werre.
 Allas, how myghte I fare werre?
 My boldnesse ys turned to shame,
 For fals Fortune hath pleyd a game
 Atte ches with me, allas the while!
620 The trayteresse fals and ful of gyle,
 That al behoteth and nothyng halt,
 She goth upryght and yet she halt,
 That baggeth foule and loketh faire,
 The dispitouse debonaire
 That skorneth many a creature!
 An ydole of fals portrayture
 Ys she, for she wol sone wrien;
 She is the monstres hed ywrien,
 As fylthe over-ystrawed with floures.
630 Hir moste worshippe and hir flour ys
 To lyen, for that ys hyr nature;
 Withoute feyth, lawe, or mesure
 She ys fals, and ever laughynge
 With oon eye, and that other wepynge.
 That ys broght up she set al doun.
 I lykne hyr to the scorpioun,
 That ys a fals, flaterynge beste,
 For with his hed he maketh feste,
 But al amydde hys flaterynge
640 With hys tayle he wol stynge
 And envenyme; and so wol she.
 She ys th' envyouse charite
 That ys ay fals and semeth wel;
 So turneth she hyr false whel
 Aboute, for hyt ys nothyng stable --
 Now by the fire, now at table;
 For many oon hath she thus yblent.
 She ys pley of enchauntement,
 That semeth oon and ys not soo.
650 The false thef! What hath she doo,
 Trowest thou? By oure Lord I wol the seye:
 "At the ches with me she gan to pleye;
 With hir false draughtes dyvers
 She staal on me and tok my fers.
 And whan I sawgh my fers awaye,
 Allas, I kouthe no lenger playe,
 But seyde, `Farewel, swete, ywys,
 And farewel al that ever ther ys!'
 "Therwith Fortune seyde `Chek her!
660 And mat in the myd poynt of the chekker,
 With a poun errant!' Allas,
 Ful craftier to pley she was
 Than Athalus, that made the game
 First of the ches, so was hys name.
 But God wolde I had oones or twyes
 Ykoud and knowe the jeupardyes
 That kowde the Grek Pictagores!
 I shulde have pleyd the bet at ches
 And kept my fers the bet therby.
670 And thogh wherto? For trewely
 I holde that wyssh nat worth a stree!
 Hyt had be never the bet for me,
 For Fortune kan so many a wyle
 Ther be but fewe kan hir begile;
 And eke she ys the lasse to blame;
 Myself I wolde have do the same,
 Before God, hadde I ben as she;
 She oghte the more excused be.
 For this I say yet more therto:
680 Had I be God and myghte have do
 My wille whan she my fers kaughte,
 I wolde have drawe the same draughte.
 For, also wys God yive me reste,
 I dar wel swere she took the beste.
 But through that draughte I have lorn
 My blysse; allas, that I was born!
 For evermore, y trowe trewly,
 For al my wille, my lust holly
 Ys turned; but yet, what to doone?
690 Be oure Lord, hyt ys to deye soone.
 For nothyng I leve hyt noght,
 But lyve and deye ryght in this thoght;
 For there nys planete in firmament,
 Ne in ayr ne in erthe noon element,
 That they ne yive me a yifte echone
 Of wepynge whan I am allone.
 For whan that I avise me wel
 And bethenke me every del
 How that ther lyeth in rekenyng,
700 In my sorwe, for nothyng,
 And how ther leveth no gladnesse
 May glade me of my distresse,
 And how I have lost suffisance,
 And therto I have no plesance,
 Than may I say I have ryght noght.
 And whan al this falleth in my thoght,
 Allas, than am I overcome!
 For that ys doon ys not to come.
 I have more sorowe than Tantale."
710 And whan I herde hym tel thys tale
 Thus pitously, as I yow telle,
 Unnethe myght y lenger dwelle,
 Hyt dyde myn herte so moche woo.
 "A, goode sir," quod I, "say not soo!
 Have som pitee on your nature
 That formed yow to creature.
 Remembre yow of Socrates,
 For he ne counted nat thre strees
 Of noght that Fortune koude doo."
720 "No," quod he, "I kan not soo."
 "Why so, good syr? Yis parde!" quod y;
 "Ne say noght soo, for trewely,
 Thogh ye had lost the ferses twelve,
 And ye for sorwe mordred yourselve,
 Ye sholde be dampned in this cas
 By as good ryght as Medea was,
 That slough hir children for Jasoun;
 And Phyllis also for Demophoun
 Heng hirself -- so weylaway! --
730 For he had broke his terme-day
 731 To come to hir. Another rage
 Had Dydo, the quene eke of Cartage,
 That slough hirself for Eneas
 Was fals -- which a fool she was!
 And Ecquo died for Narcisus
 Nolde nat love hir, and ryght thus
 Hath many another foly doon;
 And for Dalida died Sampson,
 That slough hymself with a piler.
740 But ther is no man alyve her
 Wolde for a fers make this woo!"
 "Why so?" quod he, "hyt ys nat soo.
 Thou wost ful lytel what thou menest;
 I have lost more than thow wenest."
 "Loo, [sey] how that may be?" quod y;
 "Good sir, telle me al hooly
 In what wyse, how, why, and wherfore
 That ye have thus youre blysse lore."
 "Blythely," quod he; "com sytte adoun!
750 I telle the upon a condicioun
 That thou shalt hooly, with al thy wyt,
 Doo thyn entent to herkene hit."
 "Yis, syr." "Swere thy trouthe therto."
 "Gladly." "Do thanne holde hereto!"
 "I shal ryght blythely, so God me save,
 Hooly, with al the wit I have,
 Here yow as wel as I kan."
 "A Goddes half!" quod he, and began:
 "Syr," quod he, "sith first I kouthe
760 Have any maner wyt fro youthe,
 Or kyndely understondyng
 To comprehende in any thyng
 What love was, in myn owne wyt,
 Dredeles, I have ever yit
 Be tributarye and yive rente
 To Love, hooly with good entente,
 And throgh plesaunce become his thral
 With good wille, body, hert, and al.
 Al this I putte in his servage,
770 As to my lord, and dide homage;
 And ful devoutly I prayed hym to
 He shulde besette myn herte so
 That hyt plesance to hym were
 And worship to my lady dere.
 "And this was longe, and many a yer
 Or that myn herte was set owher,
 That I dide thus, and nyste why;
 I trowe hit cam me kyndely.
 Paraunter I was therto most able,
780 As a whit wal or a table,
 For hit ys redy to cacche and take
 Al that men wil theryn make,
 Whethir so men wil portreye or peynte,
 Be the werkes never so queynte.
 "And thilke tyme I ferde ryght so,
 I was able to have lerned tho,
 And to have kend as wel or better,
 Paraunter, other art or letre;
 But for love cam first in my thoght,
790 Therfore I forgat hyt noght.
 I ches love to my firste craft;
 Therfore hit ys with me laft,
 For-why I tok hyt of so yong age
 That malyce hadde my corage
 Nat that tyme turned to nothyng
 Thorgh to mochel knowlechyng.
 For that tyme Yowthe, my maistresse,
 Governed me in ydelnesse;
 For hyt was in my firste youthe,
800 And thoo ful lytel good y couthe,
 For al my werkes were flyttynge
 That tyme, and al my thoght varyinge.
 Al were to me ylyche good
 That I knew thoo; but thus hit stood:
 "Hit happed that I cam on a day
 Into a place ther that I say
 Trewly the fayrest companye
 Of ladyes that evere man with ye
 Had seen togedres in oo place.
810 Shal I clepe hyt hap other grace
 That broght me there? Nay, but Fortune,
 That ys to lyen ful comune,
 813 The false trayteresse pervers!
 God wolde I koude clepe hir wers,
 For now she worcheth me ful woo,
 And I wol telle sone why soo.
 "Among these ladyes thus echon,
 Soth to seyen, y sawgh oon
 That was lyk noon of the route;
820 For I dar swere, withoute doute,
 That as the someres sonne bryght
 Ys fairer, clerer, and hath more lyght
 Than any other planete in heven,
 The moone or the sterres seven,
 For al the world so hadde she
 Surmounted hem alle of beaute,
 Of maner, and of comlynesse,
 Of stature, and of wel set gladnesse,
 Of goodlyhede so wel beseye --
830 Shortly, what shal y more seye?
 By God and by his halwes twelve,
 Hyt was my swete, ryght as hirselve.
 She had so stedfast countenaunce,
 So noble port and meyntenaunce,
 And Love, that had wel herd my boone,
 Had espyed me thus soone,
 That she ful sone in my thoght,
 As helpe me God, so was ykaught
 So sodenly that I ne tok
840 No maner counseyl but at hir lok
 And at myn herte; for-why hir eyen
 So gladly, I trow, myn herte seyen
 That purely tho myn owne thoght
 Seyde hit were beter serve hir for noght
 Than with another to be wel.
 And hyt was soth, for everydel
 I wil anoon ryght telle thee why.
 "I sawgh hyr daunce so comlily,
 Carole and synge so swetely,
850 Laughe and pleye so womanly,
 And loke so debonairly,
 So goodly speke and so frendly,
 That certes y trowe that evermor
 Nas seyn so blysful a tresor.
 For every heer on hir hed,
 Soth to seyne, hyt was not red,
 Ne nouther yelowe ne broun hyt nas;
 Me thoghte most lyk gold hyt was.
 "And whiche eyen my lady hadde!
860 Debonaire, goode, glade, and sadde,
 Symple, of good mochel, noght to wyde.
 Therto hir look nas not asyde
 Ne overthwert, but beset so wel
 Hyt drew and took up everydel
 Al that on hir gan beholde.
 Hir eyen semed anoon she wolde
 Have mercy -- fooles wenden soo --
 But hyt was never the rather doo.
 Hyt nas no countrefeted thyng;
870 Hyt was hir owne pure lokyng
 That the goddesse, dame Nature,
 Had mad hem opene by mesure
 And close; for were she never so glad,
 Hyr lokynge was not foly sprad,
 Ne wildely, thogh that she pleyde;
 But ever, me thoght, hir eyen seyde,
 `Be God, my wrathe ys al foryive!'
 "Therwith hir lyste so wel to lyve,
 That dulnesse was of hir adrad.
880 She nas to sobre ne to glad;
 In alle thynges more mesure
 Had never, I trowe, creature.
 But many oon with hire lok she herte,
 And that sat hyr ful lyte at herte,
 For she knew nothyng of her thoght;
 But whether she knew or knew it nowght
 Algate she ne roughte of hem a stree! --
 To gete her love no ner nas he
 That woned at hom than he in Ynde;
890 The formest was alway behynde.
 But goode folk, over al other,
 She loved as man may do hys brother;
 Of which love she was wonder large,
 In skilful places that bere charge.
 "But which a visage had she thertoo!
 Allas, myn herte ys wonder woo
 That I ne kan discryven hyt!
 Me lakketh both Englyssh and wit
 For to undo hyt at the fulle;
900 And eke my spirites be so dulle
 So gret a thyng for to devyse.
 I have no wit that kan suffise
 To comprehende hir beaute.
 But thus moche dar I sayn, that she
 Was whit, rody, fressh, and lyvely hewed,
 And every day hir beaute newed.
 And negh hir face was alderbest,
 For certes Nature had swich lest
 To make that fair that trewly she
910 Was hir chef patron of beaute,
 And chef ensample of al hir werk,
 And moustre; for be hyt never so derk,
 Me thynketh I se hir ever moo.
 And yet moreover, thogh alle thoo
 That ever livede were now alyve,
 Ne sholde have founde to discryve
 Yn al hir face a wikked sygne,
 For hit was sad, symple, and benygne.
 "And which a goodly, softe speche
920 Had that swete, my lyves leche!
 So frendly, and so wel ygrounded,
 Up al resoun so wel yfounded,
 And so tretable to alle goode
 That I dar swere wel, by the roode,
 Of eloquence was never founde
 So swete a sownynge facounde,
 Ne trewer tonged, ne skorned lasse,
 Ne bet koude hele -- that, by the masse
 I durste swere, thogh the pope hit songe,
930 That ther was never yet throgh hir tonge
 Man ne woman gretly harmed;
 As for her, was al harm hyd --
 Ne lasse flaterynge in hir word,
 That purely hir symple record
 Was founde as trewe as any bond
 Or trouthe of any mannes hond;
 Ne chyde she koude never a del;
 That knoweth al the world ful wel.
 "But swich a fairnesse of a nekke
940 Had that swete that boon nor brekke
 Nas ther non sene that myssat.
 Hyt was whit, smothe, streght, and pure flat,
 Wythouten hole or canel-boon,
 As be semynge had she noon.
 Hyr throte, as I have now memoyre,
 Semed a round tour of yvoyre,
 Of good gretnesse, and noght to gret.
 "And goode faire White she het;
 That was my lady name ryght.
950 She was bothe fair and bryght;
 She hadde not hir name wrong.
 Ryght faire shuldres and body long
 She had, and armes, every lyth
 Fattyssh, flesshy, not gret therwith;
 Ryght white handes, and nayles rede;
 Rounde brestes; and of good brede
 Hyr hippes were; a streight flat bak.
 I knew on hir noon other lak
 That al hir lymmes nere pure sewynge
960 In as fer as I had knowynge.
 "Therto she koude so wel pleye,
 Whan that hir lyste, that I dar seye
 That she was lyk to torche bryght
 That every man may take of lyght
 Ynogh, and hyt hath never the lesse.
 Of maner and of comlynesse
 Ryght so ferde my lady dere,
 For every wight of hir manere
 Myght cacche ynogh, yif that he wolde,
970 Yif he had eyen hir to beholde;
 For I dar swere wel, yif that she
 Had among ten thousand be,
 She wolde have be, at the leste,
 A chef myrour of al the feste,
 Thogh they had stonden in a rowe,
 To mennes eyen that koude have knowe;
 For wher-so men had pleyd or waked,
 Me thoghte the felawsshyppe as naked
 Withouten hir that sawgh I oones
980 As a corowne withoute stones.
 981 Trewly she was, to myn ye
 The soleyn fenix of Arabye,
 For ther livyth never but oon,
 Ne swich as she ne knowe I noon.
 "To speke of godnesse, trewly she
 Had as moche debonairte
 As ever had Hester in the Bible,
 And more, yif more were possyble.
 And soth to seyne, therwythal
990 She had a wyt so general,
 So hool enclyned to alle goode,
 That al hir wyt was set, by the rode,
 Withoute malyce, upon gladnesse;
 And therto I saugh never yet a lesse
 Harmful than she was in doynge.
 I sey nat that she ne had knowynge
 What harm was, or elles she
 Had koud no good, so thinketh me.
 "And trewly for to speke of trouthe,
1000 But she had had, hyt hadde be routhe.
 Therof she had so moche hyr del --
 And I dar seyn and swere hyt wel --
 That Trouthe hymself over al and al
 Had chose hys maner principal
 In hir that was his restyng place.
 Therto she hadde the moste grace
 To have stedefast perseveraunce
 And esy, atempre governaunce
 That ever I knew or wyste yit,
1010 So pure suffraunt was hir wyt;
 And reson gladly she understood;
 Hyt folowed wel she koude good.
 She used gladly to do wel;
 These were hir maners everydel.
 "Therwith she loved so wel ryght
 She wrong do wolde to no wyght.
 No wyght myghte do hir noo shame,
 She loved so wel hir owne name.
 Hyr lust to holde no wyght in honde,
1020 Ne, be thou siker, she wolde not fonde
 To holde no wyght in balaunce
 By half word ne by countenaunce --
 But if men wolde upon hir lye --
 Ne sende men into Walakye,
 To Pruyse, and into Tartarye,
 To Alysaundre, ne into Turkye,
 And byd hym faste anoon that he
 Goo hoodles into the Drye Se
 And come hom by the Carrenar,
1030 And seye, `Sir, be now ryght war
 That I may of yow here seyn
 Worshyp or that ye come ageyn!'
 She ne used no suche knakkes smale.
 "But wherfore that y telle my tale?
 Ryght on thys same, as I have seyd,
 Was hooly al my love leyd;
 For certes she was, that swete wif,
 1038 My suffisaunce, my lust, my lyf,
 Myn hap, myn hele, and al my blesse,
1040 My worldes welfare, and my goddesse,
 And I hooly hires and everydel."
 "By oure Lord," quod I, "y trowe yow wel!
 Hardely, your love was wel beset;
 I not how ye myghte have do bet."
 "Bet? Ne no wyght so wel," quod he.
 "Y trowe hyt wel, sir," quod I, "parde!"
 "Nay, leve hyt wel!" "Sire, so do I;
 I leve yow wel, that trewely
 Yow thoghte that she was the beste
1050 And to beholde the alderfayreste,
 Whoso had loked hir with your eyen."
 "With myn? Nay, alle that hir seyen
 Seyde and sworen hyt was soo.
 And thogh they ne hadde, I wolde thoo
 Have loved best my lady free,
 Thogh I had had al the beaute
 That ever had Alcipyades,
 And al the strengthe of Ercules,
 And therto had the worthynesse
1060 Of Alysaunder, and al the rychesse
 That ever was in Babyloyne,
 In Cartage, or in Macedoyne,
 1063 Or in Rome, or in Nynyve;
 And therto also hardy be
 As was Ector, so have I joye,
 That Achilles slough at Troye --
 And therfore was he slayn alsoo
 In a temple, for bothe twoo
 Were slayne, he and Antylegyus
1070 (And so seyth Dares Frygius),
 For love of Polixena --
 Or ben as wis as Mynerva,
 I wolde ever, withoute drede,
 Have loved hir, for I moste nede.
 `Nede?' Nay, trewly, I gabbe now;
 Noght `nede,' and I wol tellen how:
 For of good wille myn herte hyt wolde,
 And eke to love hir I was holde
 As for the fairest and the beste.
1080 She was as good, so have I reste,
 As ever was Penelopee of Grece,
 Or as the noble wif Lucrece,
 That was the beste -- he telleth thus,
 The Romayn, Tytus Lyvyus --
 She was as good, and nothyng lyk
 (Thogh hir stories be autentyk),
 Algate she was as trewe as she.
 "But wherfore that I telle thee
 Whan I first my lady say?
1090 I was ryght yong, soth to say,
 And ful gret nede I hadde to lerne;
 Whan my herte wolde yerne
 To love, hyt was a gret empryse.
 But as my wyt koude best suffise,
 After my yonge childly wyt,
 Withoute drede, I besette hyt
 To love hir in my beste wyse,
 To do hir worship and the servise
 That I koude thoo, be my trouthe,
1100 Withoute feynynge outher slouthe,
 For wonder feyn I wolde hir se.
 So mochel hyt amended me
 That whan I saugh hir first a-morwe
 I was warished of al my sorwe
 Of al day after; til hyt were eve
 Me thoghte nothyng myghte me greve,
 Were my sorwes never so smerte.
 And yet she syt so in myn herte
 That, by my trouthe, y nolde noght
1110 For al thys world out of my thoght
 Leve my lady; noo, trewely!"
 "Now, by my trouthe, sir," quod I,
 "Me thynketh ye have such a chaunce
 As shryfte wythoute repentaunce."
 "Repentaunce? Nay, fy!" quod he,
 "Shulde y now repente me
 To love? Nay, certes, than were I wel
 Wers than was Achitofel,
 Or Anthenor, so have I joye,
1120 The traytor that betraysed Troye,
 Or the false Genelloun,
 He that purchased the tresoun
 Of Rowland and of Olyver.
 Nay, while I am alyve her,
 I nyl foryete hir never moo."
 "Now, goode syre," quod I thoo,
 "Ye han wel told me herebefore;
 Hyt ys no nede to reherse it more,
 How ye sawe hir first, and where.
1130 But wolde ye tel me the manere
 To hire which was your firste speche --
 Therof I wolde yow beseche --
 And how she knewe first your thoght,
 Whether ye loved hir or noght?
 And telleth me eke what ye have lore,
 I herde yow telle herebefore."
 "Yee!" seyde he, "thow nost what thow menest;
 I have lost more than thou wenest."
 "What los ys that?" quod I thoo;
1140 "Nyl she not love yow? Ys hyt soo?
 Or have ye oght doon amys,
 That she hath left yow? Ys hyt this?
 For Goddes love, telle me al."
 "Before God," quod he, "and I shal.
 I saye ryght as I have seyd,
 On hir was al my love leyd,
 And yet she nyste hyt nat, never a del
 Noght longe tyme, leve hyt wel!
 For be ryght siker, I durste noght
1150 For al this world telle hir my thoght,
 Ne I wolde have wraththed hir, trewely.
 For wostow why? She was lady
 Of the body; she had the herte,
 And who hath that may not asterte.
 But for to kepe me fro ydelnesse,
 Trewly I dide my besynesse
 To make songes, as I best koude,
 And ofte tyme I song hem loude;
 And made songes thus a gret del,
1160 Althogh I koude not make so wel
 Songes, ne knewe the art al,
 As koude Lamekes sone Tubal,
 That found out first the art of songe;
 For as hys brothres hamers ronge
 Upon hys anvelt up and doun,
 Therof he took the firste soun --
 But Grekes seyn Pictagoras,
 That he the firste fynder was
 Of the art (Aurora telleth so);
1170 But therof no fors of hem two.
 Algates songes thus I made
 Of my felynge, myn herte to glade;
 And, lo, this was [the] altherferste --
 I not wher hyt were the werste.
 `Lord, hyt maketh myn herte lyght
 Whan I thenke on that swete wyght
 That is so semely on to see;
 And wisshe to God hit myghte so bee
 That she wolde holde me for hir knyght,
1180 My lady, that is so fair and bryght!'
 "Now have I told thee, soth to say,
 My firste song. Upon a day
 I bethoghte me what woo
 And sorwe that I suffred thoo
 For hir, and yet she wyste hyt noght,
 Ne telle hir durste I nat my thoght.
 `Allas,' thoghte I, `y kan no red;
 And but I telle hir, I [nam] but ded;
 And yif I telle hyr, to seye ryght soth,
1190 I am adred she wol be wroth.
 Allas, what shal I thanne do?'
 "In this debat I was so wo
 Me thoghte myn herte braste atweyne!
 So at the laste, soth to sayne,
 I bethoghte me that Nature
 Ne formed never in creature
 So moche beaute, trewely,
 And bounte, wythoute mercy.
 In hope of that, my tale I tolde
1200 With sorwe, as that I never sholde,
 For nedes, and mawgree my hed,
 I most have told hir or be ded.
 I not wel how that I began;
 Ful evel rehersen hyt I kan;
 And eke, as helpe me God withal,
 I trowe hyt was in the dismal,
 That was the ten woundes of Egipte --
 For many a word I over-skipte
 In my tale, for pure fere
1210 Lest my wordes mysset were.
 With sorweful herte and woundes dede,
 Softe and quakynge for pure drede
 And shame, and styntynge in my tale
 For ferde, and myn hewe al pale --
 Ful ofte I wex bothe pale and red --
 Bowynge to hir, I heng the hed;
 I durste nat ones loke hir on,
 For wit, maner, and al was goon.
 I seyde `Mercy!' and no more.
1220 Hyt nas no game; hyt sat me sore.
 "So at the laste, soth to seyn,
 Whan that myn hert was come ageyn,
 To telle shortly al my speche,
 With hool herte I gan hir beseche
 That she wolde be my lady swete;
 And swor, and gan hir hertely hete
 Ever to be stedfast and trewe,
 And love hir alwey fresshly newe,
 And never other lady have,
1230 And al hir worship for to save
 As I best koude. I swor hir this:
 `For youres is alle that ever ther ys
 For evermore, myn herte swete!
 And never to false yow, but I mete,
 I nyl, as wys God helpe me soo!'
 "And whan I had my tale y-doo,
 God wot, she acounted nat a stree
 Of al my tale, so thoghte me.
 To telle shortly ryght as hyt ys,
1240 Trewly hir answere hyt was this --
 I kan not now wel counterfete
 Hir wordes, but this was the grete
 Of hir answere: she sayde `Nay'
 Al outerly. Allas, that day
 The sorowe I suffred and the woo
 That trewly Cassandra, that soo
 Bewayled the destruccioun
 Of Troye and of Ilyoun,
 Had never swich sorwe as I thoo.
1250 I durste no more say thertoo
 For pure fere, but stal away;
 1252 And thus I lyved ful many a day,
 That trewely I hadde no ned
 Ferther than my beddes hed
 Never a day to seche sorwe;
 I fond hyt redy every morwe,
 For-why I loved hyr in no gere.
 "So hit befel, another yere
 I thoughte ones I wolde fonde
1260 To do hir knowe and understonde
 My woo; and she wel understod
 That I ne wilned thyng but god,
 And worship, and to kepe hir name
 Over alle thynges, and drede hir shame,
 And was so besy hyr to serve,
 And pitee were I shulde sterve,
 Syth that I wilned noon harm, ywis.
 So whan my lady knew al this,
 My lady yaf me al hooly
1270 The noble yifte of hir mercy,
 Savynge hir worship by al weyes --
 Dredles, I mene noon other weyes.
 And therwith she yaf me a ryng;
 I trowe hyt was the firste thyng;
 But if myn herte was ywaxe
 Glad, that is no nede to axe!
 As helpe me God, I was as blyve
 Reysed as fro deth to lyve --
 Of al happes the alderbeste,
1280 The gladdest, and the moste at reste.
 For trewely that swete wyght,
 Whan I had wrong and she the ryght,
 1283 She wolde alway so goodly
 Foryeve me so debonairly.
 In al my yowthe, in al chaunce,
 She took me in hir governaunce.
 Therwyth she was alway so trewe
 Our joye was ever ylyche newe;
 Oure hertes wern so evene a payre
1290 That never nas that oon contrayre
 To that other for no woo.
 For sothe, ylyche they suffred thoo
 Oo blysse and eke oo sorwe bothe;
 Ylyche they were bothe glad and wrothe;
 Al was us oon, withoute were.
 And thus we lyved ful many a yere
 So wel I kan nat telle how."
 "Sir," quod I, "where is she now?"
 "Now?" quod he, and stynte anoon.
1300 Therwith he wax as ded as stoon
 And seyde, "Allas, that I was bore!
 That was the los that here-before
 I tolde the that I hadde lorn.
 Bethenke how I seyde here-beforn,
 `Thow wost ful lytel what thow menest;
 I have lost more than thow wenest.'
 God wot, allas! Ryght that was she!"
 "Allas, sir, how? What may that be?"
 "She ys ded!" "Nay!" "Yis, be my trouthe!"
1310 "Is that youre los? Be God, hyt ys routhe!"
 And with that word ryght anoon
 They gan to strake forth; al was doon,
 For that tyme, the hert-huntyng.
 With that me thoghte that this kyng
 Gan homwarde for to ryde
 Unto a place, was there besyde,
 Which was from us but a lyte --
 A long castel with walles white,
 Be Seynt Johan, on a ryche hil,
1320 As me mette; but thus hyt fil.
 Ryght thus me mette, as I yow telle,
 That in the castell ther was a belle,
 As hyt hadde smyten houres twelve.
 Therwyth I awook myselve
 And fond me lyinge in my bed;
 And the book that I hadde red,
 Of Alcione and Seys the kyng,
 And of the goddes of slepyng,
 I fond hyt in myn hond ful even.
1330 Thoghte I, "Thys ys so queynt a sweven
 That I wol, be processe of tyme,
 Fonde to put this sweven in ryme
 As I kan best, and that anoon."
 This was my sweven; now hit ys doon.

---

Other Works

The House of Fame

 God turne us every drem to goode!
 For hyt is wonder, be the roode,
 To my wyt, what causeth swevenes
 Eyther on morwes or on evenes,
 And why th' effect folweth of somme,
 And of somme hit shal never come;
 Why that is an avision
 And why this a revelacion,
 Why this a drem, why that a sweven,
10 And noght to every man lyche even;
 Why this a fantome, why these oracles,
 I not; but whoso of these miracles
 The causes knoweth bet then I,
 Devyne he, for I certeinly
 Ne kan hem noght, ne never thinke
 To besily my wyt to swinke
 To knowe of hir signifiaunce
 The gendres, neyther the distaunce
 Of tymes of hem, ne the causes,
20 Or why this more then that cause is --
 As yf folkys complexions
 Make hem dreme of reflexions,
 Or ellys thus, as other sayn,
 For to gret feblenesse of her brayn,
 By abstinence or by seknesse,
 Prison-stewe or gret distresse,
 Or ellys by dysordynaunce
 Of naturel acustumaunce,
 That som man is to curious
30 In studye, or melancolyous,
 Or thus so inly ful of drede
 That no man may hym bote bede;
 Or elles that devocion
 Of somme, and contemplacion
 Causeth suche dremes ofte;
 Or that the cruel lyf unsofte
 Which these ilke lovers leden
 That hopen over-muche or dreden,
 That purely her impressions
40 Causeth hem avisions;
 Or yf that spirites have the myght
 To make folk to dreme a-nyght;
 Or yf the soule of propre kynde
 Be so parfit, as men fynde,
 That yt forwot that ys to come,
 And that hyt warneth alle and some
 Of everych of her aventures
 Be avisions or be figures,
 But that oure flessh ne hath no myght
50 To understonde hyt aryght,
 For hyt is warned to derkly --
 But why the cause is, noght wot I.
 Wel worth of this thyng grete clerkys
 That trete of this and other werkes,
 For I of noon opinion
 Nyl as now make mensyon,
 But oonly that the holy roode
 Turne us every drem to goode!
 For never sith that I was born,
60 Ne no man elles me beforn,
 Mette, I trowe stedfastly,
 So wonderful a drem as I
 The tenthe day now of Decembre,
 The which, as I kan now remembre,
 I wol yow tellen everydel.
 But at my gynnynge, trusteth wel,
 I wol make invocacion,
 With special devocion,
 Unto the god of slep anoon,
70 That duelleth in a cave of stoon
 Upon a strem that cometh fro Lete,
 That is a flood of helle unswete,
 Besyde a folk men clepeth Cymerie --
 There slepeth ay this god unmerie
 With his slepy thousand sones,
 That alwey for to slepe hir wone is.
 And to this god that I of rede
 Prey I that he wol me spede
 My sweven for to telle aryght,
80 Yf every drem stonde in his myght.
 And he that mover ys of al,
 That is and was and ever shal,
 So yive hem joye that hyt here
 Of alle that they dreme to-yere,
 And for to stonden alle in grace
 Of her loves, or in what place
 That hem were levest for to stonde,
 And shelde hem fro poverte and shonde,
 And from unhap and ech disese,
90 And sende hem al that may hem plese,
 That take hit wel and skorne hyt noght,
 Ne hyt mysdemen in her thoght
 Thorgh malicious entencion.
 And whoso thorgh presumpcion,
 Or hate, or skorn, or thorgh envye,
 Dispit, or jape, or vilanye,
 Mysdeme hyt, pray I Jesus God
 That (dreme he barefot, dreme he shod),
 That every harm that any man
100 Hath had syth the world began
 Befalle hym therof or he sterve,
 And graunte he mote hit ful deserve,
 Lo, with such a conclusion
 As had of his avision
 Cresus, that was kyng of Lyde,
 That high upon a gebet dyde.
 This prayer shal he have of me;
 I am no bet in charyte!
 Now herkeneth, as I have yow seyd,
110 What that I mette or I abreyd.
 Of Decembre the tenthe day,
 Whan hit was nyght to slepe I lay
 Ryght ther as I was wont to done,
 And fil on slepe wonder sone,
 As he that wery was forgo
 On pilgrymage myles two
 To the corseynt Leonard,
 To make lythe of that was hard.
 But as I slepte, me mette I was
120 Withyn a temple ymad of glas,
 In which ther were moo ymages
 Of gold, stondynge in sondry stages,
 And moo ryche tabernacles,
 And with perre moo pynacles,
 And moo curiouse portreytures,
 And queynte maner of figures
 Of olde werk, then I saugh ever.
 For certeynly, I nyste never
 Wher that I was, but wel wyste I
130 Hyt was of Venus redely,
 The temple; for in portreyture
 I sawgh anoon-ryght hir figure
 Naked fletynge in a see,
 And also on hir hed, pardee,
 Hir rose garlond whit and red,
 And hir comb to kembe hyr hed,
 Hir dowves, and daun Cupido
 Hir blynde sone, and Vulcano,
 That in his face was ful broun.
140 But as I romed up and doun,
 I fond that on a wall ther was
 Thus writen on a table of bras:
 "I wol now synge, yif I kan,
 The armes and also the man
 That first cam, thurgh his destinee,
 Fugityf of Troy contree,
 In Itayle, with ful moche pyne
 Unto the strondes of Lavyne."
 And tho began the story anoon,
150 As I shal telle yow echon.
 First sawgh I the destruction
 Of Troye thurgh the Grek Synon,
 [That] with his false forswerynge,
 And his chere and his lesynge,
 Made the hors broght into Troye,
 Thorgh which Troyens loste al her joye.
 And aftir this was grave, allas,
 How Ilyon assayled was
 And wonne, and kyng Priam yslayn
160 And Polytes his sone, certayn,
 Dispitously, of daun Pirrus.
 And next that sawgh I how Venus,
 Whan that she sawgh the castel brende,
 Doun fro the heven gan descende,
 And bad hir sone Eneas flee;
 And how he fledde, and how that he
 Escaped was from al the pres,
 And took his fader Anchises,
 And bar hym on hys bak away,
170 Cryinge, "Allas, and welaway!"
 The whiche Anchises in hys hond
 Bar the goddes of the lond,
 Thilke that unbrende were.
 And I saugh next, in al thys fere,
 How Creusa, daun Eneas wif,
 Which that he lovede as hys lyf,
 And hir yonge sone Iulo,
 And eke Askanius also,
 Fledden eke with drery chere,
180 That hyt was pitee for to here;
 And in a forest as they wente,
 At a turnynge of a wente,
 How Creusa was ylost, allas,
 That ded, not I how, she was;
 How he hir soughte, and how hir gost
 Bad hym to flee the Grekes host,
 And seyde he moste unto Itayle,
 As was hys destinee, sauns faille;
 That hyt was pitee for to here,
190 When hir spirit gan appere,
 The wordes that she to hym seyde,
 And for to kepe hir sone hym preyde.
 Ther sawgh I graven eke how he,
 Hys fader eke, and his meynee,
 With hys shippes gan to saylle
 Towardes the contree of Itaylle
 As streight as that they myghte goo.
 Ther saugh I thee, cruel Juno,
 That art daun Jupiteres wif,
200 That hast yhated al thy lyf
 Al the Troianysshe blood,
 Renne and crye as thou were wood
 On Eolus, the god of wyndes,
 To blowen oute, of alle kyndes,
 So lowde that he shulde drenche
 Lord and lady, grom and wenche,
 Of al the Troian nacion,
 Withoute any savacion.
 Ther saugh I such tempeste aryse
210 That every herte myght agryse
 To see hyt peynted on the wal.
 Ther saugh I graven eke withal,
 Venus, how ye, my lady dere,
 Wepynge with ful woful chere,
 Prayen Jupiter on hye
 To save and kepe that navye
 Of the Troian Eneas,
 Syth that he hir sone was.
 Ther saugh I Joves Venus kysse,
220 And graunted of the tempest lysse.
 Ther saugh I how the tempest stente,
 And how with alle pyne he wente,
 And prively tok arryvage
 In the contree of Cartage;
 And on the morwe, how that he
 And a knyght highte Achate
 Mette with Venus that day,
 Goynge in a queynt array
 As she had ben an hunteresse,
230 With wynd blowynge upon hir tresse;
 How Eneas gan hym to pleyne,
 When that he knew hir, of his peyne;
 And how his shippes dreynte were,
 Or elles lost, he nyste where;
 How she gan hym comforte thoo,
 And bad hym to Cartage goo,
 And ther he shulde his folk fynde,
 That in the see were left behynde.
 And, shortly of this thyng to pace,
240 She made Eneas so in grace
 Of Dido, quene of that contree,
 That, shortly for to tellen, she
 Becam hys love and let him doo
 Al that weddynge longeth too.
 What shulde I speke more queynte,
 Or peyne me my wordes peynte
 To speke of love? Hyt wol not be;
 I kan not of that faculte.
 And eke to telle the manere
250 How they aqueynteden in fere,
 Hyt were a long proces to telle,
 And over-long for yow to dwelle.
 Ther sawgh I grave how Eneas
 Tolde Dido every caas
 That hym was tyd upon the see.
 And after grave was how shee
 Made of hym shortly at oo word
 Hyr lyf, hir love, hir lust, hir lord,
 And dide hym al the reverence
260 And leyde on hym al the dispence
 That any woman myghte do,
 Wenynge hyt had al be so
 As he hir swor; and herby demed
 That he was good, for he such semed.
 Allas! what harm doth apparence,
 Whan hit is fals in existence!
 For he to hir a traytour was;
 Wherfore she slow hirself, allas!
 Loo, how a woman doth amys
270 To love hym that unknowen ys.
 For, be Cryste, lo, thus yt fareth.
 "Hyt is not al gold that glareth."
 For also browke I wel myn hed,
 Ther may be under godlyhed
 Kevered many a shrewed vice.
 Therfore be no wyght so nyce
 To take a love oonly for chere,
 Or speche, or for frendly manere,
 For this shal every woman fynde,
280 That som man, of his pure kynde,
 Wol shewen outward the fayreste,
 Tyl he have caught that what him leste;
 And thanne wol he causes fynde
 And swere how that she ys unkynde,
 Or fals, or privy, or double was.
 Al this seye I be Eneas
 And Dido, and hir nyce lest,
 That loved al to sone a gest;
 Therfore I wol seye a proverbe,
290 That "he that fully knoweth th' erbe
 May saufly leye hyt to his ye" --
 Withoute drede, this ys no lye.
 But let us speke of Eneas,
 How he betrayed hir, allas,
 And lefte hir ful unkyndely.
 So when she saw al utterly
 That he wolde hir of trouthe fayle,
 And wende fro hir to Itayle,
 She gan to wringe hir hondes two.
300 "Allas," quod she, "what me ys woo!
 Allas, is every man thus trewe,
 That every yer wolde have a newe,
 Yf hit so longe tyme dure,
 Or elles three, peraventure?
 As thus: of oon he wolde have fame
 In magnyfyinge of hys name;
 Another for frendshippe, seyth he;
 And yet ther shal the thridde be
 That shal be take for delyt,
310 Loo, or for synguler profit""
 In suche wordes gan to pleyne
 Dydo of hir grete peyne,
 As me mette redely --
 Non other auctour alegge I.
 "Allas!" quod she, "my swete herte,
 Have pitee on my sorwes smerte,
 And slee mee not! Goo noght awey!
 O woful Dido, wel-away!"
 Quod she to hirselve thoo.
320 "O Eneas, what wol ye doo?
 O that your love, ne your bond
 That ye have sworn with your ryght hond,
 Ne my crewel deth," quod she,
 "May holde yow stille here with me!
 O haveth of my deth pitee!
 Iwys, my dere herte, ye
 Knowen ful wel that never yit,
 As ferforth as I hadde wyt,
 Agylte [I] yow in thoght ne dede.
330 O, have ye men such godlyhede
 In speche, and never a del of trouthe?
 Allas, that ever hadde routhe
 Any woman on any man!
 Now see I wel, and telle kan,
 We wrechched wymmen konne noon art;
 For certeyn, for the more part,
 Thus we be served everychone.
 How sore that ye men konne groone,
 Anoon as we have yow receyved,
340 Certaynly we ben deceyvyd!
 For, though your love laste a seson,
 Wayte upon the conclusyon,
 And eke how that ye determynen,
 And for the more part diffynen.
 "O wel-awey that I was born!
 For thorgh yow is my name lorn,
 And alle myn actes red and songe
 Over al thys lond, on every tonge.
 O wikke Fame! -- for ther nys
350 Nothing so swift, lo, as she is.
 O, soth ys, every thing ys wyst,
 Though hit be kevered with the myst.
 Eke, though I myghte duren ever,
 That I have don rekever I never,
 That I ne shal be seyd, allas,
 Yshamed be thourgh Eneas,
 And that I shal thus juged be:
 `Loo, ryght as she hath don, now she
 Wol doo eft-sones, hardely' --
360 Thus seyth the peple prively."
 But that is don, is not to done;
 Al hir compleynt ne al hir moone,
 Certeyn, avayleth hir not a stre.
 And when she wiste sothly he
 Was forth unto his shippes goon,
 She into hir chambre wente anoon,
 And called on hir suster Anne,
 And gan hir to compleyne thanne,
 And seyde that she cause was
370 That she first loved him, allas,
 And thus counseylled hir thertoo.
 But what! When this was seyd and doo,
 She rof hirselve to the herte
 And deyde thorgh the wounde smerte.
 And al the maner how she deyde,
 And alle the wordes that she seyde,
 Whoso to knowe hit hath purpos,
 Rede Virgile in Eneydos
 Or the Epistle of Ovyde,
380 What that she wrot or that she dyde;
 And nere hyt to long to endyte,
 Be God, I wolde hyt here write.
 But wel-away, the harm, the routhe,
 That hath betyd for such untrouthe,
 As men may ofte in bokes rede,
 And al day sen hyt yet in dede,
 That for to thynken hyt, a tene is.
 Loo Demophon, duk of Athenys,
 How he forswor hym ful falsly,
390 And traysed Phillis wikkidly,
 That kynges doghtre was of Trace,
 And falsly gan hys terme pace;
 And when she wiste that he was fals,
 She heng hirself ryght be the hals,
 For he had doon hir such untrouthe.
 Loo, was not this a woo and routhe?
 Eke lo how fals and reccheles
 Was to Breseyda Achilles,
 And Paris to Oenone,
400 And Jason to Isiphile,
 And eft Jason to Medea,
 And Ercules to Dyanira,
 For he left hir for Yole,
 That made hym cache his deth, parde.
 How fals eke was he Theseus,
 That, as the story telleth us,
 How he betrayed Adriane --
 The devel be hys soules bane!
 For had he lawghed, had he loured,
410 He moste have ben al devoured,
 Yf Adriane ne had ybe.
 And for she had of hym pite,
 She made hym fro the deth escape,
 And he made hir a ful fals jape;
 For aftir this, withyn a while,
 He lefte hir slepynge in an ile
 Desert allone, ryght in the se,
 And stal away and let hir be,
 And took hir suster Phedra thoo
420 With him, and gan to shippe goo.
 And yet he had yswore to here
 On al that ever he myghte swere
 That, so she saved hym hys lyf,
 He wolde have take hir to hys wif;
 For she desired nothing ellis,
 In certeyn, as the book us tellis.
 But to excusen Eneas
 Fullyche of al his grete trespas,
 The book seyth Mercurie, sauns fayle,
430 Bad hym goo into Itayle,
 And leve Auffrikes regioun,
 And Dido and hir faire toun.
 Thoo sawgh I grave how to Itayle
 Daun Eneas is goo to sayle;
 And how the tempest al began,
 And how he loste hys sterisman,
 Which that the stere, or he tok kep,
 Smot over bord, loo, as he slep.
 And also sawgh I how Sybile
440 And Eneas, besyde an yle,
 To helle wente for to see
 His fader, Anchyses the free;
 How he ther fond Palinurus,
 And Dido, and eke Deiphebus;
 And every turment eke in helle
 Saugh he, which is longe to telle;
 Which whoso willeth for to knowe,
 He moste rede many a rowe
 On Virgile or on Claudian,
450 Or Daunte, that hit telle kan.
 Tho saugh I grave al the aryvayle
 That Eneas had in Itayle;
 And with kyng Latyne hys tretee
 And alle the batayles that hee
 Was at hymself, and eke hys knyghtis,
 Or he had al ywonne his ryghtis;
 And how he Turnus reft his lyf,
 And wan Lavina to his wif;
 And alle the mervelous signals
460 Of the goddys celestials;
 How, mawgree Juno, Eneas,
 For al hir sleight and hir compas,
 Acheved al his aventure,
 For Jupiter took of hym cure
 At the prayer of Venus --
 The whiche I preye alwey save us,
 And us ay of oure sorwes lyghte!
 When I had seen al this syghte
 In this noble temple thus,
470 "A, Lord," thoughte I, "that madest us,
 Yet sawgh I never such noblesse
 Of ymages, ne such richesse,
 As I saugh graven in this chirche;
 But not wot I whoo did hem wirche,
 Ne where I am, ne in what contree.
 But now wol I goo out and see,
 Ryght at the wiket, yf y kan
 See owhere any stiryng man
 That may me telle where I am."
480 When I out at the dores cam,
 I faste aboute me beheld.
 Then sawgh I but a large feld,
 As fer as that I myghte see,
 Withouten toun, or hous, or tree,
 Or bush, or grass, or eryd lond;
 For al the feld nas but of sond
 As smal as man may se yet lye
 In the desert of Lybye.
 Ne no maner creature
490 That ys yformed be Nature
 Ne sawgh I, me to rede or wisse.
 "O Crist," thoughte I, "that art in blysse,
 Fro fantome and illusion
 Me save!" And with devocion
 Myn eyen to the hevene I caste.
 Thoo was I war, lo, at the laste,
 That faste be the sonne, as hye
 As kenne myghte I with myn ye,
 Me thoughte I sawgh an egle sore,
500 But that hit semed moche more
 Then I had any egle seyn.
 But this as sooth as deth, certeyn,
 Hyt was of gold, and shon so bryghte
 That never sawe men such a syghte,
 But yf the heven had ywonne
 Al newe of gold another sonne;
 So shone the egles fethers bryghte,
 And somwhat dounward gan hyt lyghte.
 Now herkeneth every maner man
510 That Englissh understonde kan
 And [listeth. of my drem to lere,
 For now at erste shul ye here
 So sely an avisyon,
 That Isaye, ne Scipion,
 Ne kyng Nabugodonosor,
 Pharoo, Turnus, ne Elcanor,
 Ne mette such a drem as this.
 Now faire blisfull, O Cipris,
 So be my favour at this tyme!
520 And ye, me to endite and ryme
 Helpeth, that on Parnaso duelle,
 Be Elicon, the clere welle.
 O Thought, that wrot al that I mette,
 And in the tresorye hyt shette
 Of my brayn, now shal men se
 Yf any vertu in the be
 To tellen al my drem aryght.
 Now kythe thyn engyn and myght!
 This egle, of which I have yow told,
530 That shon with fethres as of gold,
 Which that so hye gan to sore,
 I gan beholde more and more
 To se the beaute and the wonder;
 But never was ther dynt of thonder,
 Ne that thyng that men calle fouder,
 That smot somtyme a tour to powder
 And in his swifte comynge brende,
 That so swithe gan descende
 As this foul, when hyt beheld
540 That I a-roume was in the feld.
 And with hys grymme pawes stronge,
 Withyn hys sharpe nayles longe,
 Me, fleynge, in a swap he hente,
 And with hys sours ayen up wente,
 Me caryinge in his clawes starke
 As lyghtly as I were a larke,
 How high, I can not telle yow,
 For I cam up, y nyste how.
 For so astonyed and asweved
550 Was every vertu in my heved,
 What with his sours and with my drede,
 That al my felynge gan to dede,
 For-whi hit was to gret affray.
 Thus I longe in hys clawes lay,
 Til at the laste he to me spak
 In mannes vois, and seyde, "Awak!
 And be not agast so, for shame!"
 And called me tho by my name,
 And for I shulde the bet abreyde,
560 Me mette "Awak," to me he seyde
 Ryght in the same vois and stevene
 That useth oon I koude nevene;
 And with that vois, soth for to seyn,
 My mynde cam to me ageyn,
 For hyt was goodly seyd to me,
 So nas hyt never wont to be.
 And here-withal I gan to stere,
 And he me in his fet to bere,
 Til that he felte that I had hete,
570 And felte eke tho myn herte bete.
 And thoo gan he me to disporte,
 And with wordes to comforte,
 And sayde twyes, "Seynte Marye,
 Thou art noyous for to carye!
 And nothyng nedeth it, pardee,
 For also wis God helpe me,
 As thou noon harm shalt have of this;
 And this caas that betyd the is,
 Is for thy lore and for thy prow.
580 Let see! Darst thou yet loke now?
 Be ful assured, boldely,
 I am thy frend." And therwith I
 Gan for to wondren in my mynde.
 "O God," thoughte I, "that madest kynde,
 Shal I noon other weyes dye?
 Wher Joves wol me stellyfye,
 Or what thing may this sygnifye?
 I neyther am Ennok, ne Elye,
 Ne Romulus, ne Ganymede,
590 That was ybore up, as men rede,
 To hevene with daun Jupiter,
 And mad the goddys botiller."
 Loo, this was thoo my fantasye.
 But he that bar me gan espye
 That I so thoughte, and seyde this:
 "Thow demest of thyself amys,
 For Joves ys not theraboute --
 I dar wel putte the out of doute --
 To make of the as yet a sterre;
600 But er I bere the moche ferre,
 I wol the telle what I am,
 And whider thou shalt, and why I cam
 To do thys, so that thou take
 Good herte, and not for fere quake."
 "Gladly," quod I. "Now wel," quod he,
 "First, I, that in my fet have the,
 Of which thou hast a fere and wonder,
 Am dwellynge with the god of thonder,
 Which that men callen Jupiter,
610 That dooth me flee ful ofte fer
 To do al hys comaundement.
 And for this cause he hath me sent
 To the. Now herke, be thy trouthe:
 Certeyn, he hath of the routhe
 That thou so longe trewely
 Hast served so ententyfly
 Hys blynde nevew Cupido,
 And faire Venus also,
 Withoute guerdon ever yit,
620 And never-the-lesse hast set thy wit --
 Although that in thy hed ful lyte is --
 To make bookys, songes, dytees,
 In ryme or elles in cadence,
 As thou best canst, in reverence
 Of Love and of hys servantes eke,
 That have hys servyse soght, and seke;
 And peynest the to preyse hys art,
 Although thou haddest never part.
 Wherfore, also God me blesse,
630 Joves halt hyt gret humblesse
 And vertu eke, that thou wolt make
 A-nyght ful ofte thyn hed to ake
 In thy studye, so thou writest,
 And ever mo of love enditest,
 In honour of hym and in preysynges,
 And in his folkes furtherynges,
 And in hir matere al devisest,
 And noght hym nor his folk dispisest,
 Although thou maist goo in the daunce
640 Of hem that hym lyst not avaunce.
 "Wherfore, as I seyde, ywys,
 Jupiter considereth this,
 And also, beau sir, other thynges:
 That is, that thou hast no tydynges
 Of Loves folk yf they be glade,
 Ne of noght elles that God made;
 And noght oonly fro fer contree
 That ther no tydynge cometh to thee,
 But of thy verray neyghebores,
650 That duellen almost at thy dores,
 Thou herist neyther that ne this;
 For when thy labour doon al ys,
 And hast mad alle thy rekenynges,
 In stede of reste and newe thynges
 Thou goost hom to thy hous anoon,
 And, also domb as any stoon,
 Thou sittest at another book
 Tyl fully daswed ys thy look;
 And lyvest thus as an heremyte,
660 Although thyn abstynence ys lyte.
 "And therfore Joves, thorgh hys grace,
 Wol that I bere the to a place
 Which that hight the Hous of Fame,
 To do the som disport and game,
 In som recompensacion
 Of labour and devocion
 That thou hast had, loo causeles,
 To Cupido the rechcheles.
 And thus this god, thorgh his merite,
670 Wol with som maner thing the quyte,
 So that thou wolt be of good chere.
 For truste wel that thou shalt here,
 When we be come there I seye,
 Mo wonder thynges, dar I leye,
 And of Loves folk moo tydynges,
 Both sothe sawes and lesinges,
 And moo loves newe begonne,
 And longe yserved loves wonne,
 And moo loves casuelly
680 That ben betyd, no man wot why,
 But as a blynd man stert an hare;
 And more jolytee and fare
 While that they fynde love of stel,
 As thinketh hem, and over-al wel;
 Mo discordes, moo jelousies,
 Mo murmures and moo novelries,
 And moo dissymulacions,
 And feyned reparacions,
 And moo berdys in two houres
690 Withoute rasour or sisoures
 Ymad then greynes be of sondes;
 And eke moo holdynge in hondes,
 And also moo renovelaunces
 Of olde forleten aqueyntaunces;
 Mo love-dayes and acordes
 Then on instrumentes be cordes;
 And eke of loves moo eschaunges
 Then ever cornes were in graunges --
 Unnethe maistow trowen this?"
700 Quod he. "Noo, helpe me God so wys,"
 Quod I. "Noo? why?" quod he. "For hyt
 Were impossible, to my wit,
 Though that Fame had alle the pies
 In al a realme, and alle the spies,
 How that yet she shulde here al this,
 Or they espie hyt." "O yis, yis!"
 Quod he to me, "that kan I preve
 Be reson worthy for to leve,
 So that thou yeve thyn advertence
710 To understonde my sentence.
 "First shalt thou here where she duelleth,
 And so thyn oune bok hyt tellith.
 Hir paleys stant, as I shal seye,
 Ryght even in myddes of the weye
 Betwixen hevene and erthe and see,
 That what so ever in al these three
 Is spoken, either privy or apert,
 The way therto ys so overt,
 And stant eke in so juste a place
720 That every soun mot to hyt pace;
 Or what so cometh from any tonge,
 Be hyt rouned, red, or songe,
 Or spoke in suerte or in drede,
 Certeyn, hyt moste thider nede.
 "Now herkene wel, for-why I wille
 Tellen the a propre skille
 And a worthy demonstracion
 In myn ymagynacion.
 "Geffrey, thou wost ryght wel this,
730 That every kyndely thyng that is
 Hath a kyndely stede ther he
 May best in hyt conserved be;
 Unto which place every thyng
 Thorgh his kyndely enclynyng
 Moveth for to come to
 Whan that hyt is awey therfro;
 As thus: loo, thou maist alday se
 That any thing that hevy be,
 As stoon, or led, or thyng of wighte,
740 And bere hyt never so hye on highte,
 Lat goo thyn hand, hit falleth doun.
 Ryght so seye I be fyr or soun,
 Or smoke or other thynges lyghte;
 Alwey they seke upward on highte,
 While ech of hem is at his large:
 Lyght thing upward, and dounward charge.
 And for this cause mayst thou see
 That every ryver to the see
 Enclyned ys to goo by kynde,
750 And by these skilles, as I fynde,
 Hath fyssh duellynge in flood and see,
 And trees eke in erthe bee.
 Thus every thing, by thys reson,
 Hath his propre mansyon
 To which hit seketh to repaire,
 Ther-as hit shulde not apaire.
 Loo, this sentence ys knowen kouth
 Of every philosophres mouth,
 As Aristotle and daun Platon,
760 And other clerkys many oon;
 And to confirme my resoun,
 Thou wost wel this, that spech is soun,
 Or elles no man myghte hyt here;
 Now herke what y wol the lere.
 "Soun ys noght but eyr ybroken;
 And every speche that ys spoken,
 Lowd or pryvee, foul or fair,
 In his substaunce ys but air;
 For as flaumbe ys but lyghted smoke,
770 Ryght soo soun ys air ybroke.
 But this may be in many wyse,
 Of which I wil the twoo devyse,
 As soun that cometh of pipe or harpe.
 For whan a pipe is blowen sharpe
 The air ys twyst with violence
 And rent -- loo, thys ys my sentence.
 Eke whan men harpe-strynges smyte,
 Whether hyt be moche or lyte,
 Loo, with the strok the ayr tobreketh.
780 And ryght so breketh it when men speketh.
 Thus wost thou wel what thing is speche.
 "Now hennesforth y wol the teche
 How every speche, or noyse, or soun,
 Thurgh hys multiplicacioun,
 Thogh hyt were piped of a mous,
 Mot nede come to Fames Hous.
 I preve hyt thus -- take hede now --
 Be experience; for yf that thow
 Throwe on water now a stoon,
790 Wel wost thou hyt wol make anoon
 A litel roundell as a sercle,
 Paraunter brod as a covercle;
 And ryght anoon thow shalt see wel
 That whel wol cause another whel,
 And that the thridde, and so forth, brother,
 Every sercle causynge other
 Wydder than hymselve was;
 And thus fro roundel to compas,
 Ech aboute other goynge
800 Causeth of othres sterynge
 And multiplyinge ever moo,
 Til that hyt be so fer ygoo
 That hyt at bothe brynkes bee.
 Although thou mowe hyt not ysee
 Above, hyt gooth yet alway under,
 Although thou thenke hyt a gret wonder.
 And whoso seyth of trouthe I varye,
 Bid hym proven the contrarye.
 And ryght thus every word, ywys,
810 That lowd or pryvee spoken ys,
 Moveth first an ayr aboute,
 And of thys movynge, out of doute,
 Another ayr anoon ys meved;
 As I have of the watir preved,
 That every cercle causeth other,
 Ryght so of ayr, my leve brother:
 Everych ayr another stereth
 More and more, and speche up bereth,
 Or voys, or noyse, or word, or soun,
820 Ay through multiplicacioun,
 Til hyt be atte Hous of Fame --
 Take yt in ernest or in game.
 "Now have I told, yf thou have mynde,
 How speche or soun, of pure kynde,
 Enclyned ys upward to meve --
 This mayst thou fele wel I preve --
 And that same place, ywys,
 That every thyng enclyned to ys
 Hath his kyndelyche stede:
830 That sheweth hyt, withouten drede,
 That kyndely the mansioun
 Of every speche, of every soun,
 Be hyt eyther foul or fair,
 Hath hys kynde place in ayr.
 And syn that every thyng that is
 Out of hys kynde place, ywys,
 Moveth thidder for to goo,
 Yif hyt aweye be therfroo --
 As I have before preved the --
840 Hyt seweth, every soun, parde,
 Moveth kyndely to pace
 Al up into his kyndely place.
 And this place of which I telle,
 Ther as Fame lyst to duelle,
 Ys set amyddys of these three,
 Heven, erthe, and eke the see,
 As most conservatyf the soun.
 Than ys this the conclusyoun:
 That every speche of every man,
850 As y the telle first began,
 Moveth up on high to pace
 Kyndely to Fames place.
 "Telle me this now feythfully,
 Have y not preved thus symply,
 Withoute any subtilite
 Of speche, or gret prolixite
 Of termes of philosophie,
 Of figures of poetrie,
 Or colours of rethorike?
860 Pardee, hit oughte the to lyke,
 For hard langage and hard matere
 Ys encombrous for to here
 Attones; wost thou not wel this?"
 And y answered and seyde, "Yis."
 "A ha," quod he, "lo, so I can
 Lewedly to a lewed man
 Speke, and shewe hym swyche skiles
 That he may shake hem be the biles,
 So palpable they shulden be.
870 But telle me this, now praye y the,
 How thinketh the my conclusyon?"
 [Quod he]. "A good persuasion,"
 Quod I, "hyt is, and lyk to be
 Ryght so as thou hast preved me."
 "Be God," quod he, "and as I leve,
 Thou shalt have yet, or hit be eve,
 Of every word of thys sentence
 A preve by experience,
 And with thyne eres heren wel,
880 Top and tayl and everydel,
 That every word that spoken ys
 Cometh into Fames Hous, ywys,
 As I have seyd; what wilt thou more?"
 And with this word upper to sore
 He gan, and seyde, "Be Seynt Jame,
 Now wil we speken al of game!"
 "How farest thou?" quod he to me.
 "Wel," quod I. "Now see," quod he,
 "By thy trouthe, yond adoun,
890 Wher that thou knowest any toun,
 Or hous, or any other thing.
 And whan thou hast of ought knowyng,
 Looke that thou warne me,
 And y anoon shal telle the
 How fer that thou art now therfro."
 And y adoun gan loken thoo,
 And beheld feldes and playnes,
 And now hilles, and now mountaynes,
 Now valeyes, now forestes,
900 And now unnethes grete bestes,
 Now ryveres, now citees,
 Now tounes, and now grete trees,
 Now shippes seyllynge in the see.
 But thus sone in a while he
 Was flowen fro the ground so hye
 That al the world, as to myn ye,
 No more semed than a prikke;
 Or elles was the air so thikke
 That y ne myghte not discerne.
910 With that he spak to me as yerne,
 And seyde, "Seest thou any [toun]
 Or ought thou knowest yonder doun?"
 I sayde, "Nay." "No wonder nys,"
 Quod he, "for half so high as this
 Nas Alixandre Macedo;
 Ne the kyng, Daun Scipio,
 That saw in drem, at poynt devys,
 Helle and erthe and paradys;
 Ne eke the wrechche Dedalus,
920 Ne his child, nyce Ykarus,
 That fleigh so highe that the hete
 Hys wynges malt, and he fel wete
 In myd the see, and ther he dreynte,
 For whom was maked moch compleynte.
 "Now turn upward," quod he, "thy face,
 And behold this large space,
 This eyr, but loke thou ne be
 Adrad of hem that thou shalt se,
 For in this region, certeyn,
930 Duelleth many a citezeyn,
 Of which that speketh Daun Plato;
 These ben the eyryssh bestes, lo!"
 And so saw y all that meynee
 Boothe goon and also flee.
 "Now," quod he thoo, "cast up thyn ye.
 Se yonder, loo, the Galaxie,
 Which men clepeth the Milky Wey
 For hit ys whit (and somme, parfey,
 Kallen hyt Watlynge Strete),
940 That ones was ybrent with hete,
 Whan the sonnes sone the rede,
 That highte Pheton, wolde lede
 Algate hys fader carte, and gye.
 The carte-hors gonne wel espye
 That he koude no governaunce,
 And gonne for to lepe and launce,
 And beren hym now up, now doun,
 Til that he sey the Scorpioun,
 Which that in heven a sygne is yit.
950 And he for ferde loste hys wyt
 Of that, and let the reynes gon
 Of his hors; and they anoon
 Gonne up to mounte and doun descende,
 Til bothe the eyr and erthe brende,
 Til Jupiter, loo, atte laste,
 Hym slow, and fro the carte caste.
 Loo, ys it not a gret myschaunce
 To lete a fool han governaunce
 Of thing that he can not demeyne?"
960 And with this word, soth for to seyne,
 He gan alway upper to sore,
 And gladded me ay more and more,
 So feythfully to me spak he.
 Tho gan y loken under me
 And beheld the ayerissh bestes,
 Cloudes, mystes, and tempestes,
 Snowes, hayles, reynes, wyndes,
 And th' engendrynge in hir kyndes,
 All the wey thrugh which I cam.
970 "O God," quod y, "that made Adam,
 Moche ys thy myght and thy noblesse!"
 And thoo thoughte y upon Boece,
 That writ, "A thought may flee so hye
 Wyth fetheres of Philosophye,
 To passen everych element,
 And whan he hath so fer ywent,
 Than may be seen behynde hys bak
 Cloude" -- and al that y of spak.
 Thoo gan y wexen in a were,
980 And seyde, "Y wot wel y am here,
 But wher in body or in gost
 I not, ywys, but God, thou wost,"
 For more clere entendement
 Nas me never yit ysent.
 And than thoughte y on Marcian,
 And eke on Anteclaudian,
 That sooth was her descripsion
 Of alle the hevenes region,
 As fer as that y sey the preve;
990 Therfore y kan hem now beleve.
 With that this egle gan to crye,
 "Lat be," quod he, "thy fantasye!
 Wilt thou lere of sterres aught?"
 "Nay, certeynly," quod y, "ryght naught."
 "And why?" "For y am now to old."
 "Elles I wolde the have told,"
 Quod he, "the sterres names, lo,
 And al the hevenes sygnes therto,
 And which they ben." "No fors," quod y.
1000 "Yis, pardee," quod he; "wostow why?
 For when thou redest poetrie,
 How goddes gonne stellifye
 Bridd, fissh, best, or him or here,
 As the Raven or eyther Bere,
 Or Arionis harpe fyn,
 Castor, Pollux, or Delphyn,
 Or Athalantes doughtres sevene,
 How alle these arn set in hevene;
 For though thou have hem ofte on honde,
1010 Yet nostow not wher that they stonde."
 "No fors," quod y, "hyt is no nede.
 I leve as wel, so God me spede,
 Hem that write of this matere,
 As though I knew her places here;
 And eke they shynen here so bryghte,
 Hyt shulde shenden al my syghte
 To loke on hem." "That may wel be,"
 Quod he. And so forth bar he me
 A while, and than he gan to crye,
1020 That never herde I thing so hye,
 "Now up the hed, for al ys wel;
 Seynt Julyan, loo, bon hostel!
 Se here the Hous of Fame, lo!
 Maistow not heren that I do?"
 "What?" quod I. "The grete soun,"
 Quod he, "that rumbleth up and doun
 In Fames Hous, full of tydynges,
 Bothe of feir speche and chidynges,
 And of fals and soth compouned.
1030 Herke wel; hyt is not rouned.
 Herestow not the grete swogh?"
 "Yis, parde," quod y, "wel ynogh."
 "And what soun is it lyk?" quod hee.
 "Peter, lyk betynge of the see,"
 Quod y, "ayen the roches holowe,
 Whan tempest doth the shippes swalowe,
 And lat a man stonde, out of doute,
 A myle thens, and here hyt route;
 Or elles lyk the last humblynge
1040 After the clappe of a thundringe,
 Whan Joves hath the air ybete.
 But yt doth me for fere swete."
 "Nay, dred the not therof," quod he;
 "Hyt is nothing will byten the;
 Thou shalt non harm have trewely."
 And with this word both he and y
 As nygh the place arryved were
 As men may casten with a spere.
 Y nyste how, but in a strete
1050 He sette me fair on my fete,
 And seyde, "Walke forth a pas,
 And tak thyn aventure or cas
 That thou shalt fynde in Fames place."
 "Now," quod I, "while we han space
 To speke, or that I goo fro the,
 For the love of God, telle me --
 In sooth, that wil I of the lere --
 Yf thys noyse that I here
 Be, as I have herd the tellen,
1060 Of folk that doun in erthe duellen,
 And cometh here in the same wyse
 As I the herde or this devyse;
 And that there lives body nys
 In al that hous that yonder ys,
 That maketh al this loude fare."
 "Noo," quod he, "by Seynte Clare,
 And also wis God rede me;
 But o thing y will warne the,
 Of the whiche thou wolt have wonder.
1070 Loo, to the Hous of Fame yonder,
 Thou wost now how, cometh every speche --
 Hyt nedeth noght eft the to teche.
 But understond now ryght wel this:
 Whan any speche ycomen ys
 Up to the paleys, anon-ryght
 Hyt wexeth lyk the same wight
 Which that the word in erthe spak,
 Be hyt clothed red or blak;
 And hath so verray hys lyknesse
1080 That spak the word, that thou wilt gesse
 That it the same body be,
 Man or woman, he or she.
 And ys not this a wonder thyng?"
 "Yis," quod I tho, "by heven kyng!"
 And with this word, "Farewel," quod he,
 "And here I wol abyden the;
 And God of heven sende the grace
 Some good to lernen in this place."
 And I of him tok leve anon,
1090 And gan forth to the paleys gon.
 O God of science and of lyght,
 Appollo, thurgh thy grete myght,
 This lytel laste bok thou gye!
 Nat that I wilne, for maistrye,
 Here art poetical be shewed,
 But for the rym ys lyght and lewed,
 Yit make hyt sumwhat agreable,
 Though som vers fayle in a sillable;
 And that I do no diligence
1100 To shewe craft, but o sentence.
 And yif, devyne vertu, thow
 Wilt helpe me to shewe now
 That in myn hed ymarked ys --
 Loo, that is for to menen this,
 The Hous of Fame for to descryve --
 Thou shalt se me go as blyve
 Unto the nexte laure y see,
 And kysse yt, for hyt is thy tree.
 Now entre in my brest anoon!
1110 Whan I was fro thys egle goon,
 I gan beholde upon this place.
 And certein, or I ferther pace,
 I wol yow al the shap devyse
 Of hous and [site], and al the wyse
 How I gan to thys place aproche
 That stood upon so hygh a roche,
 Hier stant ther non in Spayne.
 But up I clomb with alle payne,
 And though to clymbe it greved me,
1120 Yit I ententyf was to see,
 And for to powren wonder lowe,
 Yf I koude any weyes knowe
 What maner stoon this roche was.
 For hyt was lyk alum de glas,
 But that hyt shoon ful more clere;
 But of what congeled matere
 Hyt was, I nyste redely.
 But at the laste aspied I,
 And found that hit was every del
1130 A roche of yse, and not of stel.
 Thoughte I, "By Seynt Thomas of Kent,
 This were a feble fundament
 To bilden on a place hye.
 He ought him lytel glorifye
 That hereon bilt, God so me save!"
 Tho sawgh I al the half ygrave
 With famous folkes names fele,
 That had iben in mochel wele,
 And her fames wide yblowe.
1140 But wel unnethes koude I knowe
 Any lettres for to rede
 Hir names by; for, out of drede,
 They were almost ofthowed so
 That of the lettres oon or two
 Was molte away of every name,
 So unfamous was woxe hir fame.
 But men seyn, "What may ever laste?"
 Thoo gan I in myn herte caste
 That they were molte awey with hete,
1150 And not awey with stormes bete.
 For on that other syde I say
 Of this hil, that northward lay,
 How hit was writen ful of names
 Of folkes that hadden grete fames
 Of olde tyme, and yet they were
 As fressh as men had writen hem here
 The selve day ryght, or that houre
 That I upon hem gan to poure.
 But wel I wiste what yt made;
1160 Hyt was conserved with the shade
 Of a castel that stood on high --
 Al this writynge that I sigh --
 And stood eke on so cold a place
 That hete myghte hit not deface.
 Thoo gan I up the hil to goon,
 And fond upon the cop a woon,
 That al the men that ben on lyve
 Ne han the kunnynge to descrive
 The beaute of that ylke place,
1170 Ne coude casten no compace
 Swich another for to make,
 That myght of beaute ben hys make,
 Ne so wonderlych ywrought;
 That hit astonyeth yit my thought,
 And maketh al my wyt to swynke,
 On this castel to bethynke,
 So that the grete craft, beaute,
 The cast, the curiosite
 Ne kan I not to yow devyse;
1180 My wit ne may me not suffise.
 But natheles al the substance
 I have yit in my remembrance;
 For whi me thoughte, be Seynt Gyle,
 Al was of ston of beryle,
 Bothe the castel and the tour,
 And eke the halle and every bour,
 Wythouten peces or joynynges.
 But many subtil compassinges,
 [Babewynnes] and pynacles,
1190 Ymageries and tabernacles
 I say; and ful eke of wyndowes
 As flakes falle in grete snowes.
 And eke in ech of the pynacles
 Weren sondry habitacles,
 In which stoden, al withoute --
 Ful the castel, al aboute --
 Of alle maner of mynstralles
 And gestiours that tellen tales
 Both of wepinge and of game,
1200 Of al that longeth unto Fame.
 Ther herde I pleyen on an harpe,
 That sowned bothe wel and sharpe,
 Orpheus ful craftely,
 And on his syde, faste by,
 Sat the harper Orion,
 And Eacides Chiron,
 And other harpers many oon,
 And the Bret Glascurion;
 And smale harpers with her glees
1210 Sate under hem in dyvers sees,
 And gunne on hem upward to gape,
 And countrefete hem as an ape,
 Or as craft countrefeteth kynde.
 Tho saugh I stonden hem behynde,
 Afer fro hem, al be hemselve,
 Many thousand tymes twelve,
 That maden lowde mynstralcies
 In cornemuse and shalemyes,
 And many other maner pipe,
1220 That craftely begunne to pipe,
 Bothe in doucet and in rede,
 That ben at festes with the brede;
 And many flowte and liltyng horn,
 And pipes made of grene corn,
 As han thise lytel herde-gromes
 That kepen bestis in the bromes.
 Ther saugh I than Atiteris,
 And of Athenes daun Pseustis,
 And Marcia that loste her skyn,
1230 Bothe in face, body, and chyn,
 For that she wolde envien, loo,
 To pipen bet than Appolloo.
 Ther saugh I famous, olde and yonge,
 Pipers of the Duche tonge,
 To lerne love-daunces, sprynges,
 Reyes, and these straunge thynges.
 Tho saugh I in an other place
 Stonden in a large space,
 Of hem that maken blody soun
1240 In trumpe, beme, and claryoun;
 For in fight and blod-shedynge
 Ys used gladly clarionynge.
 Ther herde I trumpen Messenus,
 Of whom that speketh Virgilius.
 There herde I trumpe Joab also,
 Theodomas, and other mo;
 And alle that used clarion
 In Cataloigne and Aragon,
 That in her tyme famous were
1250 To lerne, saugh I trumpe there.
 There saugh I sitte in other sees,
 Pleyinge upon sondry glees,
 Whiche that I kan not nevene,
 Moo than sterres ben in hevene,
 Of whiche I nyl as now not ryme,
 For ese of yow and los of tyme.
 For tyme ylost, this knowen ye,
 Be no way may recovered be.
 Ther saugh I pleye jugelours,
1260 Magiciens, and tregetours,
 And Phitonesses, charmeresses,
 Olde wicches, sorceresses,
 That use exorsisacions,
 And eke these fumygacions;
 And clerkes eke, which konne wel
 Al this magik naturel,
 That craftely doon her ententes
 To make, in certeyn ascendentes,
 Ymages, lo, thrugh which magik
1270 To make a man ben hool or syk.
 Ther saugh I the, quene Medea,
 And Circes eke, and Calipsa;
 Ther saugh I Hermes Ballenus,
 Limote, and eke Symon Magus.
 There saugh I, and knew hem by name,
 That by such art don men han fame.
 Ther saugh I Colle tregetour
 Upon a table of sycamour
 Pleye an uncouth thyng to telle --
1280 Y saugh him carien a wynd-melle
 Under a walsh-note shale.
 What shuld I make lenger tale
 Of alle the pepil y ther say,
 Fro hennes into domes day?
 Whan I had al this folk beholde,
 And fond me lous and nought yholde,
 And eft imused longe while
 Upon these walles of berile,
 That shoone ful lyghter than a glas
1290 And made wel more than hit was
 To semen every thing, ywis,
 As kynde thyng of Fames is,
 I gan forth romen til I fond
 The castel-yate on my ryght hond,
 Which that so wel corven was
 That never such another nas;
 And yit it was be aventure
 Iwrought, as often as be cure.
 Hyt nedeth noght yow more to tellen,
1300 To make yow to longe duellen,
 Of this yates florisshinges,
 Ne of compasses, ne of kervynges,
 Ne how they hatte in masoneries,
 As corbetz, ful of ymageries.
 But Lord, so fair yt was to shewe,
 For hit was al with gold behewe.
 But in I wente, and that anoon.
 Ther mette I cryinge many oon,
 "A larges, larges, hold up wel!
1310 God save the lady of thys pel,
 Our oune gentil lady Fame,
 And hem that wilnen to have name
 Of us!" Thus herde y crien alle,
 And faste comen out of halle
 And shoken nobles and sterlynges.
 And somme corouned were as kynges,
 With corounes wroght ful of losenges;
 And many ryban and many frenges
 Were on her clothes trewely.
1320 Thoo atte last aspyed y
 That pursevantes and heraudes,
 That crien ryche folkes laudes,
 Hyt weren alle; and every man
 Of hem, as y yow tellen can,
 Had on him throwen a vesture
 Which that men clepe a cote-armure,
 Enbrowded wonderliche ryche,
 Although they nere nought ylyche.
 But noght nyl I, so mote y thryve,
1330 Ben aboute to dyscryve
 Alle these armes that ther weren,
 That they thus on her cotes beren,
 For hyt to me were impossible;
 Men myghte make of hem a bible
 Twenty foot thykke, as y trowe.
 For certeyn, whoso koude iknowe
 Myghte ther alle the armes seen
 Of famous folk that han ybeen
 In Auffrike, Europe, and Asye,
1340 Syth first began the chevalrie.
 Loo, how shulde I now telle al thys?
 Ne of the halle eke what nede is
 To tellen yow that every wal
 Of hit, and flor, and roof, and al
 Was plated half a foote thikke
 Of gold, and that nas nothyng wikke,
 But for to prove in alle wyse,
 As fyn as ducat in Venyse,
 Of which to lite al in my pouche is.
1350 And they were set as thik of nouchis
 Ful of the fynest stones faire
 That men rede in the Lapidaire,
 As grasses growen in a mede.
 But hit were al to longe to rede
 The names, and therfore I pace.
 But in this lusty and ryche place
 That Fames halle called was,
 Ful moche prees of folk ther nas,
 Ne crowdyng for to mochil prees.
1360 But al on hye, above a dees,
 Sitte in a see imperiall,
 That mad was of a rubee all,
 Which that a carbuncle ys ycalled,
 Y saugh, perpetually ystalled,
 A femynyne creature,
 That never formed by Nature
 Nas such another thing yseye.
 For alther-first, soth for to seye,
 Me thoughte that she was so lyte
1370 That the lengthe of a cubite
 Was lengere than she semed be.
 But thus sone in a whyle she
 Hir tho so wonderliche streighte
 That with hir fet she erthe reighte,
 And with hir hed she touched hevene,
 Ther as shynen sterres sevene,
 And therto eke, as to my wit,
 I saugh a gretter wonder yit,
 Upon her eyen to beholde;
1380 But certeyn y hem never tolde,
 For as feele eyen hadde she
 As fetheres upon foules be,
 Or weren on the bestes foure
 That Goddis trone gunne honoure,
 As John writ in th' Apocalips.
 Hir heer, that oundy was and crips,
 As burned gold hyt shoon to see;
 And soth to tellen, also she
 Had also fele upstondyng eres
1390 And tonges, as on bestes heres;
 And on hir fet woxen saugh Y
 Partriches wynges redely.
 But Lord, the perry and the richesse
 I saugh sittyng on this godesse!
 And Lord, the hevenyssh melodye
 Of songes ful of armonye
 I herde aboute her trone ysonge,
 That al the paleys-walles ronge.
 So song the myghty Muse, she
1400 That cleped ys Caliope,
 And hir eighte sustren eke,
 That in her face semen meke;
 And ever mo, eternally,
 They songe of Fame, as thoo herd y:
 "Heryed be thou and thy name,
 Goddesse of Renoun or of Fame!"
 Tho was I war, loo, atte laste,
 As I myne eyen gan up caste,
 That thys ylke noble quene
1410 On her shuldres gan sustene
 Bothe th' armes and the name
 Of thoo that hadde large fame:
 Alexander and Hercules,
 That with a sherte hys lyf les.
 And thus fond y syttynge this goddesse
 In nobley, honour, and rychesse;
 Of which I stynte a while now,
 Other thing to tellen yow.
 Tho saugh I stonde on eyther syde,
1420 Streight doun to the dores wide,
 Fro the dees, many a peler
 Of metal that shoon not ful cler;
 But though they nere of no rychesse,
 Yet they were mad for gret noblesse,
 And in hem hy and gret sentence;
 And folk of digne reverence,
 Of which I wil yow telle fonde,
 Upon the piler saugh I stonde.
 Alderfirst, loo, ther I sigh
1430 Upon a piler stonde on high,
 That was of led and yren fyn,
 Hym of secte saturnyn,
 The Ebrayk Josephus the olde,
 That of Jewes gestes tolde;
 And he bar on hys shuldres hye
 The fame up of the Jewerye.
 And by hym stoden other sevene,
 Wise and worthy for to nevene,
 To helpen him bere up the charge,
1440 Hyt was so hevy and so large.
 And for they writen of batayles,
 As wel as other olde mervayles,
 Therfor was, loo, thys piler
 Of which that I yow telle her,
 Of led and yren bothe, ywys,
 For yren Martes metal ys,
 Which that god is of bataylle;
 And the led, withouten faille,
 Ys, loo, the metal of Saturne,
1450 That hath a ful large whel to turne.
 Thoo stoden forth on every rowe
 Of hem which that I koude knowe,
 Though I hem noght be ordre telle,
 To make yow to longe to duelle,
 These of whiche I gynne rede.
 There saugh I stonden, out of drede,
 Upon an yren piler strong
 That peynted was al endelong
 With tigres blod in every place,
1460 The Tholosan that highte Stace,
 That bar of Thebes up the fame
 Upon his shuldres, and the name
 Also of cruel Achilles.
 And by him stood, withouten les,
 Ful wonder hy on a piler
 Of yren, he, the gret Omer;
 And with him Dares and Tytus
 Before, and eke he Lollius,
 And Guydo eke de Columpnis,
1470 And Englyssh Gaufride eke, ywis;
 And ech of these, as have I joye,
 Was besy for to bere up Troye.
 So hevy therof was the fame
 That for to bere hyt was no game.
 But yet I gan ful wel espie,
 Betwex hem was a litil envye.
 Oon seyde that Omer made lyes,
 Feynynge in hys poetries,
 And was to Grekes favorable;
1480 Therfor held he hyt but fable.
 Tho saugh I stonde on a piler,
 That was of tynned yren cler,
 The Latyn poete Virgile,
 That bore hath up a longe while
 The fame of Pius Eneas.
 And next hym on a piler was,
 Of coper, Venus clerk Ovide,
 That hath ysowen wonder wide
 The grete god of Loves name.
1490 And ther he bar up wel hys fame
 Upon this piler, also hye
 As I myghte see hyt with myn ye;
 For-why this halle, of which I rede,
 Was woxen on highte, length, and brede,
 Wel more be a thousand del
 Than hyt was erst, that saugh I wel.
 Thoo saugh I on a piler by,
 Of yren wroght ful sternely,
 The grete poete daun Lucan,
1500 And on hys shuldres bar up than,
 As high as that y myghte see,
 The fame of Julius and Pompe.
 And by him stoden alle these clerkes
 That writen of Romes myghty werkes,
 That yf y wolde her names telle,
 Al to longe most I dwelle.
 And next him on a piler stood
 Of soulfre, lyk as he were wood,
 Daun Claudian, the sothe to telle,
1510 That bar up al the fame of helle,
 Of Pluto, and of Proserpyne,
 That quene ys of the derke pyne.
 What shulde y more telle of this?
 The halle was al ful, ywys,
 Of hem that writen olde gestes
 As ben on trees rokes nestes;
 But hit a ful confus matere
 Were alle the gestes for to here
 That they of write, or how they highte.
1520 But while that y beheld thys syghte,
 I herde a noyse aprochen blyve,
 That ferde as been don in an hive
 Ayen her tyme of out-fleynge;
 Ryght such a maner murmurynge,
 For al the world, hyt semed me.
 Tho gan I loke aboute and see
 That ther come entryng into the halle
 A ryght gret companye withalle,
 And that of sondry regiouns,
1530 Of alleskynnes condiciouns
 That dwelle in erthe under the mone,
 Pore and ryche. And also sone
 As they were come in to the halle,
 They gonne doun on knees falle
 Before this ilke noble quene,
 And seyde, "Graunte us, lady shene,
 Ech of us of thy grace a bone!"
 And somme of hem she graunted sone,
 And somme she werned wel and faire,
1540 And some she graunted the contraire
 Of her axyng outterly.
 But thus I seye yow, trewely,
 What her cause was, y nyste.
 For of this folk ful wel y wiste
 They hadde good fame ech deserved,
 Although they were dyversly served;
 Ryght as her suster, dame Fortune,
 Ys wont to serven in comune.
 Now herke how she gan to paye
1550 That gonne her of her grace praye;
 And yit, lo, al this companye
 Seyden sooth, and noght a lye.
 "Madame," seyde they, "we be
 Folk that here besechen the
 That thou graunte us now good fame,
 And let our werkes han that name.
 In ful recompensacioun
 Of good werkes, yive us good renoun."
 "I werne yow hit," quod she anon;
1560 "Ye gete of me good fame non,
 Be God, and therfore goo your wey."
 "Allas," quod they, "and welaway!
 Telle us what may your cause be."
 "For me lyst hyt noght," quod she;
 "No wyght shal speke of yow, ywis,
 Good ne harm, ne that ne this."
 And with that word she gan to calle
 Her messager, that was in halle,
 And bad that he shulde faste goon,
1570 Upon peyne to be blynd anon,
 For Eolus the god of wynde --
 "In Trace, ther ye shal him fynde,
 And bid him bringe his clarioun,
 That is ful dyvers of his soun,
 And hyt is cleped Clere Laude,
 With which he wont is to heraude
 Hem that me list ypreised be.
 And also bid him how that he
 Brynge his other clarioun,
1580 That highte Sklaundre in every toun,
 With which he wont is to diffame
 Hem that me liste, and do hem shame."
 This messager gan faste goon,
 And found where in a cave of ston,
 In a contree that highte Trace,
 This Eolus, with harde grace,
 Held the wyndes in distresse,
 And gan hem under him to presse,
 That they gonne as beres rore,
1590 He bond and pressed hem so sore.
 This messager gan faste crie,
 "Rys up," quod he, "and faste hye,
 Til thou at my lady be;
 And tak thy clariouns eke with the,
 And sped the forth." And he anon
 Tok to a man that highte Triton
 Hys clarions to bere thoo,
 And let a certeyn wynd to goo,
 That blew so hydously and hye
1600 That hyt ne lefte not a skye
 In alle the welken long and brod.
 This Eolus nowhere abod
 Til he was come to Fames fet,
 And eke the man that Triton het;
 And ther he stod, as stille as stoon.
 And her-withal ther come anoon
 Another huge companye
 Of goode folk, and gunne crie,
 "Lady, graunte us now good fame,
1610 And lat oure werkes han that name
 Now in honour of gentilesse,
 And also God your soule blesse!
 For we han wel deserved hyt,
 Therfore is ryght that we ben quyt."
 "As thryve I," quod she, "ye shal faylle!
 Good werkes shal yow noght availle
 To have of me good fame as now.
 But wite ye what? Y graunte yow
 That ye shal have a shrewed fame,
1620 And wikkyd loos, and worse name,
 Though ye good loos have wel deserved.
 Now goo your wey, for ye be served.
 And thou, dan Eolus, let see,
 Tak forth thy trumpe anon," quod she,
 "That is ycleped Sklaundre lyght,
 And blow her loos, that every wight
 Speke of hem harm and shrewednesse
 In stede of good and worthynesse.
 For thou shalt trumpe alle the contrayre
1630 Of that they han don wel or fayre."
 "Allas," thoughte I, "what aventures
 Han these sory creatures!
 For they, amonges al the pres,
 Shul thus be shamed gilteles.
 But what, hyt moste nedes be."
 What dide this Eolus, but he
 Tok out hys blake trumpe of bras,
 That fouler than the devel was,
 And gan this trumpe for to blowe,
1640 As al the world shulde overthrowe,
 That thrughout every regioun
 Wente this foule trumpes soun,
 As swifte as pelet out of gonne
 Whan fyr is in the poudre ronne.
 And such a smoke gan out wende
 Out of his foule trumpes ende,
 Blak, bloo, grenyssh, swartish red,
 As doth where that men melte led,
 Loo, al on high fro the tuel.
1650 And therto oo thing saugh I wel,
 That the ferther that hit ran,
 The gretter wexen hit began,
 As dooth the ryver from a welle,
 And hyt stank as the pit of helle.
 Allas, thus was her shame yronge,
 And gilteles, on every tonge!
 Tho come the thridde companye,
 And gunne up to the dees to hye,
 And doun on knes they fille anon,
1660 And seyde, "We ben everychon
 Folk that han ful trewely
 Deserved fame ryghtfully,
 And praye yow, hit mote be knowe
 Ryght as hit is, and forth yblowe."
 "I graunte," quod she, "for me list
 That now your goode werkes be wist,
 And yet ye shul han better loos,
 Right in dispit of alle your foos,
 Than worthy is, and that anoon.
1670 Lat now," quod she, "thy trumpe goon,
 Thou Eolus, that is so blak;
 And out thyn other trumpe tak
 That highte Laude, and blow yt soo
 That thrugh the world her fame goo
 Al esely, and not to faste,
 That hyt be knowen atte laste."
 "Ful gladly, lady myn," he seyde;
 And out hys trumpe of gold he brayde
 Anon, and sette hyt to his mouth,
1680 And blew it est, and west, and south,
 And north, as lowde as any thunder,
 That every wight hath of hit wonder,
 So brode hyt ran or than hit stente.
 And, certes, al the breth that wente
 Out of his trumpes mouth it smelde
 As men a pot of bawme helde
 Among a basket ful of roses.
 This favour dide he til her loses.
 And ryght with this y gan aspye,
1690 Ther come the ferthe companye --
 But certeyn they were wonder fewe --
 And gunne stonden in a rewe,
 And seyden, "Certes, lady bryght,
 We han don wel with al our myght,
 But we ne kepen have no fame.
 Hyde our werkes and our name,
 For Goddys love; for certes we
 Han certeyn doon hyt for bounte,
 And for no maner other thing."
1700 "I graunte yow alle your askyng,"
 Quod she; "let your werkes be ded."
 With that aboute y clew myn hed,
 And saugh anoon the fifte route
 That to this lady gunne loute,
 And doun on knes anoon to falle;
 And to hir thoo besoughten alle
 To hide her goode werkes ek,
 And seyden they yeven noght a lek
 For fame ne for such renoun;
1710 For they for contemplacioun
 And Goddes love hadde ywrought,
 Ne of fame wolde they nought.
 "What?" quod she, "and be ye wood?
 And wene ye for to doo good,
 And for to have of that no fame?
 Have ye dispit to have my name?
 Nay, ye shul lyven everychon!
 Blow thy trumpes, and that anon,"
 Quod she, "thou Eolus, y hote,
1720 And ryng this folkes werk be note,
 That al the world may of hyt here."
 And he gan blowe her loos so clere
 In his golden clarioun
 That thrugh the world wente the soun
 Also kenely and eke so softe;
 But atte last hyt was on-lofte.
 Thoo come the sexte companye,
 And gunne faste on Fame crie.
 Ryght verraily in this manere
1730 They seyden: "Mercy, lady dere!
 To tellen certeyn as hyt is,
 We han don neither that ne this,
 But ydel al oure lyf ybe.
 But natheles yet preye we
 That we mowe han as good a fame,
 And gret renoun and knowen name,
 As they that han doon noble gestes,
 And acheved alle her lestes,
 As wel of love as other thyng.
1740 Al was us never broche ne ryng,
 Ne elles noght, from wymmen sent,
 Ne ones in her herte yment
 To make us oonly frendly chere,
 But myghten temen us upon bere;
 Yet lat us to the peple seme
 Suche as the world may of us deme
 That wommen loven us for wod.
 Hyt shal doon us as moche good,
 And to oure herte as moche avaylle
1750 To countrepese ese and travaylle,
 As we had wonne hyt with labour;
 For that is dere boght honour
 At regard of oure grete ese.
 And yet thou most us more plese:
 Let us be holden eke therto
 Worthy, wise, and goode also,
 And riche, and happy unto love.
 For Goddes love, that sit above,
 Thogh we may not the body have
1760 Of wymmen, yet, so God yow save,
 Leet men gliwe on us the name --
 Sufficeth that we han the fame."
 "I graunte," quod she, "be my trouthe!
 Now, Eolus, withouten slouthe,
 Tak out thy trumpe of gold, let se,
 And blow as they han axed me,
 That every man wene hem at ese,
 Though they goon in ful badde lese."
 This Eolus gan hit so blowe
1770 That thrugh the world hyt was yknowe.
 Thoo come the seventh route anoon,
 And fel on knees everychoon,
 And seyde, "Lady, graunte us sone
 The same thing, the same bone,
 That [ye] this nexte folk han doon."
 "Fy on yow," quod she, "everychon!
 Ye masty swyn, ye ydel wrechches,
 Ful of roten, slowe techches!
 What? False theves! Wher ye wolde
1780 Be famous good, and nothing nolde
 Deserve why, ne never ye roughte?
 Men rather yow to hangen oughte!
 For ye be lyke the sweynte cat
 That wolde have fissh; but wostow what?
 He wolde nothing wete his clowes.
 Yvel thrift come to your jowes,
 And eke to myn, if I hit graunte,
 Or do yow favour, yow to avaunte!
 Thou Eolus, thou kyng of Trace,
1790 Goo blowe this folk a sory grace,"
 Quod she, "anon; and wostow how?
 As I shal telle thee ryght now.
 Sey: `These ben they that wolde honour
 Have, and do noskynnes labour,
 Ne doo no good, and yet han lawde;
 And that men wende that bele Isawde
 Ne coude hem noght of love werne,
 And yet she that grynt at a querne
 Ys al to good to ese her herte.'"
1800 This Eolus anon up sterte,
 And with his blake clarioun
 He gan to blasen out a soun
 As lowde as beloweth wynd in helle;
 And eke therwith, soth to telle,
 This soun was so ful of japes,
 As ever mowes were in apes.
 And that wente al the world aboute,
 That every wight gan on hem shoute
 And for to lawghe as they were wod,
1810 Such game fonde they in her hod.
 Tho come another companye,
 That had ydoon the trayterye,
 The harm, the grettest wikkednesse
 That any herte kouth. gesse;
 And prayed her to han good fame,
 And that she nolde doon hem no shame,
 But yeve hem loos and good renoun,
 And do hyt blowe in a clarioun.
 "Nay, wis," quod she, "hyt were a vice.
1820 Al be ther in me no justice,
 Me lyste not to doo hyt now,
 Ne this nyl I not graunte yow."
 Tho come ther lepynge in a route,
 And gunne choppen al aboute
 Every man upon the crowne,
 That al the halle gan to sowne,
 And seyden: "Lady, leef and dere,
 We ben suche folk as ye mowe here.
 To tellen al the tale aryght,
1830 We ben shrewes, every wyght,
 And han delyt in wikkednesse,
 As goode folk han in godnesse;
 And joye to be knowen shrewes,
 And ful of vice and wikked thewes;
 Wherefore we praye yow, a-rowe,
 That oure fame such be knowe
 In alle thing ryght as hit ys."
 "Y graunte hyt yow," quod she, "ywis.
 But what art thow that seyst this tale,
1840 That werest on thy hose a pale,
 And on thy tipet such a belle?"
 "Madame," quod he, "soth to telle,
 I am that ylke shrewe, ywis,
 That brende the temple of Ysidis
 In Athenes, loo, that citee."
 "And wherfor didest thou so?" quod she.
 "By my thrift," quod he, "madame,
 I wolde fayn han had a fame,
 As other folk hadde in the toun,
1850 Although they were of gret renoun
 For her vertu and for her thewes.
 Thoughte y, as gret a fame han shrewes,
 Though hit be for shrewednesse,
 As goode folk han for godnesse;
 And sith y may not have that oon,
 That other nyl y noght forgoon.
 And for to gette of Fames hire,
 The temple sette y al afire.
 Now do our loos be blowen swithe,
1860 As wisly be thou ever blythe!"
 "Gladly," quod she; "thow Eolus,
 Herestow not what they prayen us?"
 "Madame, yis, ful wel," quod he,
 "And I wil trumpen it, parde!"
 And tok his blake trumpe faste,
 And gan to puffen and to blaste,
 Til hyt was at the worldes ende.
 With that y gan aboute wende,
 For oon that stood ryght at my bak,
1870 Me thoughte, goodly to me spak,
 And seyde, "Frend, what is thy name?
 Artow come hider to han fame?"
 "Nay, for sothe, frend," quod y;
 "I cam noght hyder, graunt mercy,
 For no such cause, by my hed!
 Sufficeth me, as I were ded,
 That no wight have my name in honde.
 I wot myself best how y stonde;
 For what I drye, or what I thynke,
1880 I wil myselven al hyt drynke,
 Certeyn, for the more part,
 As fer forth as I kan myn art."
 "But what doost thou here than?" quod he.
 Quod y, "That wyl y tellen the,
 The cause why y stonde here:
 Somme newe tydynges for to lere,
 Somme newe thinges, y not what,
 Tydynges, other this or that,
 Of love or suche thynges glade.
1890 For certeynly, he that me made
 To comen hyder, seyde me,
 Y shulde bothe here and se
 In this place wonder thynges;
 But these be no suche tydynges
 As I mene of." "Noo?" quod he.
 And I answered, "Noo, parde!
 For wel y wiste ever yit,
 Sith that first y hadde wit,
 That somme folk han desired fame
1900 Diversly, and loos, and name.
 But certeynly, y nyste how
 Ne where that Fame duelled, er now,
 And eke of her descripcioun,
 Ne also her condicioun,
 Ne the ordre of her dom,
 Unto the tyme y hidder com."
 "[Whych] than be, loo, these tydynges,
 That thou now [thus] hider brynges,
 That thou hast herd?" quod he to me;
1910 "But now no fors, for wel y se
 What thou desirest for to here.
 Com forth and stond no lenger here,
 And y wil thee, withouten drede,
 In such another place lede
 Ther thou shalt here many oon."
 Tho gan I forth with hym to goon
 Out of the castel, soth to seye.
 Tho saugh y stonde in a valeye,
 Under the castel, faste by,
1920 An hous, that Domus Dedaly,
 That Laboryntus cleped ys,
 Nas mad so wonderlych, ywis,
 Ne half so queyntelych ywrought.
 And ever mo, as swyft as thought,
 This queynte hous aboute wente,
 That never mo hyt stille stente.
 And therout com so gret a noyse
 That, had hyt stonden upon Oyse,
 Men myghte hyt han herd esely
1930 To Rome, y trowe sikerly.
 And the noyse which that I herde,
 For al the world ryght so hyt ferde
 As dooth the rowtynge of the ston
 That from th' engyn ys leten gon.
 And al thys hous of which y rede
 Was mad of twigges, falwe, rede,
 And grene eke, and somme weren white,
 Swiche as men to these cages thwite,
 Or maken of these panyers,
1940 Or elles [hottes] or dossers;
 That, for the swough and for the twygges,
 This hous was also ful of gygges,
 And also ful eke of chirkynges,
 And of many other werkynges;
 And eke this hous hath of entrees
 As fele as of leves ben in trees
 In somer, whan they grene been;
 And on the roof men may yet seen
 A thousand holes, and wel moo,
1950 To leten wel the soun out goo.
 And be day, in every tyde,
 Been al the dores opened wide,
 And be nyght echon unshette;
 Ne porter ther is noon to lette
 No maner tydynges in to pace.
 Ne never rest is in that place
 That hit nys fild ful of tydynges,
 Other loude or of whisprynges;
 And over alle the houses angles
1960 Ys ful of rounynges and of jangles
 Of werres, of pes, of mariages,
 Of reste, of labour, of viages,
 Of abood, of deeth, of lyf,
 Of love, of hate, acord, of stryf,
 Of loos, of lore, and of wynnynges,
 Of hele, of seknesse, of bildynges,
 Of faire wyndes, and of tempestes,
 Of qwalm of folk, and eke of bestes;
 Of dyvers transmutacions
1970 Of estats, and eke of regions;
 Of trust, of drede, of jelousye,
 Of wit, of wynnynge, of folye;
 Of plente, and of gret famyne,
 Of chepe, of derthe, and of ruyne;
 Of good or mys governement,
 Of fyr, and of dyvers accident.
 And loo, thys hous, of which I write,
 Syker be ye, hit nas not lyte,
 For hyt was sixty myle of lengthe.
1980 Al was the tymber of no strengthe,
 Yet hit is founded to endure
 While that hit lyst to Aventure,
 That is the moder of tydynges,
 As the see of welles and of sprynges;
 And hyt was shapen lyk a cage.
 "Certys," quod y, "in al myn age,
 Ne saugh y such an hous as this."
 And as y wondred me, ywys,
 Upon this hous, tho war was y
1990 How that myn egle faste by
 Was perched hye upon a stoon;
 And I gan streghte to hym gon,
 And seyde thus: "Y preye the
 That thou a while abide me,
 For Goddis love, and lete me seen
 What wondres in this place been;
 For yit, paraunter, y may lere
 Som good theron, or sumwhat here
 That leef me were, or that y wente."
2000 "Petre, that is myn entente,"
 Quod he to me; "therfore y duelle.
 But certeyn, oon thyng I the telle,
 That but I bringe the therinne,
 Ne shalt thou never kunne gynne
 To come into hyt, out of doute,
 So faste hit whirleth, lo, aboute.
 But sith that Joves, of his grace,
 As I have seyd, wol the solace
 Fynally with these thinges,
2010 Unkouthe syghtes and tydynges,
 To passe with thyn hevynesse,
 Such routhe hath he of thy distresse,
 That thou suffrest debonairly --
 And wost thyselven outtirly
 Disesperat of alle blys,
 Syth that Fortune hath mad amys
 The [fruit] of al thyn hertys reste
 Languisshe and eke in poynt to breste --
 That he, thrugh hys myghty merite,
2020 Wol do the an ese, al be hyt lyte,
 And yaf in expres commaundement,
 To which I am obedient,
 To further the with al my myght,
 And wisse and teche the aryght
 Where thou maist most tidynges here.
 Shaltow here anoon many oon lere."
 With this word he ryght anoon
 Hente me up bytweene hys toon,
 And at a wyndowe yn me broghte,
2030 That in this hous was, as me thoghte --
 And therwithalle, me thoughte hit stente,
 And nothing hyt aboute wente --
 And me sette in the flor adoun.
 But which a congregacioun
 Of folk, as I saugh rome aboute,
 Some wythin and some wythoute,
 Nas never seen, ne shal ben eft;
 That, certys, in the world nys left
 So many formed be Nature,
2040 Ne ded so many a creature;
 That wel unnethe in that place
 Hadde y a fote-brede of space.
 And every wight that I saugh there
 Rouned everych in others ere
 A newe tydynge prively,
 Or elles tolde al openly
 Ryght thus, and seyde: "Nost not thou
 That ys betyd, lo, late or now?"
 "No," quod he, "telle me what."
2050 And than he tolde hym this and that,
 And swor therto that hit was soth --
 "Thus hath he sayd," and "Thus he doth,"
 "Thus shal hit be," "Thus herde y seye,"
 "That shal be founde," "That dar I leye" --
 That al the folk that ys alyve
 Ne han the kunnynge to discryve
 The thinges that I herde there,
 What aloude, and what in ere.
 But al the wondermost was this:
2060 Whan oon had herd a thing, ywis,
 He com forth ryght to another wight,
 And gan him tellen anon-ryght
 The same that to him was told,
 Or hyt a forlong way was old,
 But gan somwhat for to eche
 To this tydynge in this speche
 More than hit ever was.
 And nat so sone departed nas
 Tho fro him, that he ne mette
2070 With the thridde; and or he lette
 Any stounde, he told him als;
 Were the tydynge soth or fals,
 Yit wolde he telle hyt natheles,
 And evermo with more encres
 Than yt was erst. Thus north and south
 Wente every tydyng fro mouth to mouth,
 And that encresing ever moo,
 As fyr ys wont to quyke and goo
 From a sparke spronge amys,
2080 Til al a citee brent up ys.
 And whan that was ful yspronge,
 And woxen more on every tonge
 Than ever hit was, [hit] wente anoon
 Up to a wyndowe out to goon;
 Or, but hit myghte out there pace,
 Hyt gan out crepe at som crevace,
 And flygh forth faste for the nones.
 And somtyme saugh I thoo at ones
 A lesyng and a sad soth sawe,
2090 That gonne of aventure drawe
 Out at a wyndowe for to pace;
 And, when they metten in that place,
 They were achekked bothe two,
 And neyther of hem moste out goo
 For other, so they gonne crowde,
 Til ech of hem gan crien lowde,
 "Lat me go first!" "Nay, but let me!
 And here I wol ensuren the,
 Wyth the nones that thou wolt do so,
2100 That I shal never fro the go,
 But be thyn owne sworen brother!
 We wil medle us ech with other,
 That no man, be they never so wrothe,
 Shal han on [of us] two, but bothe
 At ones, al besyde his leve,
 Come we a-morwe or on eve,
 Be we cried or stille yrouned."
 Thus saugh I fals and soth compouned
 Togeder fle for oo tydynge.
2110 Thus out at holes gunne wringe
 Every tydynge streght to Fame,
 And she gan yeven ech hys name,
 After hir disposicioun,
 And yaf hem eke duracioun,
 Somme to wexe and wane sone,
 As doth the faire white mone,
 And let hem goon. Ther myghte y seen
 Wynged wondres faste fleen,
 Twenty thousand in a route,
2120 As Eolus hem blew aboute.
 And, Lord, this hous in alle tymes
 Was ful of shipmen and pilgrimes,
 With scrippes bret-ful of lesinges,
 Entremedled with tydynges,
 And eek allone be hemselve.
 O, many a thousand tymes twelve
 Saugh I eke of these pardoners,
 Currours, and eke messagers,
 With boystes crammed ful of lyes
2130 As ever vessel was with lyes.
 And as I alther-fastest wente
 About, and dide al myn entente
 Me for to pleyen and for to lere,
 And eke a tydynge for to here,
 That I had herd of som contre
 That shal not now be told for me --
 For hit no nede is, redely;
 Folk kan synge hit bet than I;
 For al mot out, other late or rathe,
2140 Alle the sheves in the lathe --
 I herde a gret noyse withalle
 In a corner of the halle,
 Ther men of love-tydynges tolde,
 And I gan thiderward beholde;
 For I saugh rennynge every wight
 As faste as that they hadden myght,
 And everych cried, "What thing is that?"
 And somme sayde, "I not never what."
 And whan they were alle on an hepe,
2150 Tho behynde begunne up lepe,
 And clamben up on other faste,
 And up the nose and yen kaste,
 And troden fast on others heles,
 And stampen, as men doon aftir eles.
 Atte laste y saugh a man,
 Which that y [nevene] nat ne kan;
 But he semed for to be
 A man of gret auctorite. . . .

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Other Works

Anelida and Arcite

 Thou ferse god of armes, Mars the rede,
 That in the frosty contre called Trace,
 Within thy grisly temple ful of drede
 Honoured art as patroun of that place;
 With thy Bellona, Pallas, ful of grace,
 Be present and my song contynue and guye;
 At my begynnyng thus to the I crye.
 For hit ful depe is sonken in my mynde,
 With pitous hert in Englyssh to endyte
10 This olde storie, in Latyn which I fynde,
 Of quene Anelida and fals Arcite,
 That elde, which that al can frete and bite,
 As hit hath freten mony a noble storie,
 Hath nygh devoured out of oure memorie.
 Be favorable eke, thou Polymya,
 On Parnaso that with thy sustres glade,
 By Elycon, not fer from Cirrea,
 Singest with vois memorial in the shade,
 Under the laurer which that may not fade,
20 And do that I my ship to haven wynne.
 First folowe I Stace, and after him Corynne.
 When Theseus with werres longe and grete
 The aspre folk of Cithe had overcome,
 With laurer corouned, in his char gold-bete,
 Hom to his contre-houses is he come,
 For which the peple, blisful al and somme,
 So cryeden that to the sterres hit wente,
 And him to honouren dide al her entente.
 Beforn this duk, in signe of victorie,
30 The trompes come, and in his baner large
 The ymage of Mars, and in tokenyng of glorie
 Men myghte sen of tresour many a charge,
 Many a bright helm, and many a spere and targe,
 Many a fresh knyght, and many a blysful route,
 On hors, on fote, in al the feld aboute.
 Ipolita his wif, the hardy quene
 Of Cithia, that he conquered hadde,
 With Emelye her yonge suster shene,
 Faire in a char of gold he with him ladde,
40 That al the ground about her char she spradde
 With brightnesse of the beaute in her face,
 Fulfilled of largesse and of alle grace.
 With his tryumphe and laurer-corouned thus,
 In al the flour of Fortunes yevynge,
 Let I this noble prince Theseus
 Toward Athenes in his wey rydinge,
 And founde I wol in shortly for to bringe
 The slye wey of that I gan to write,
 Of quene Anelida and fals Arcite.
50 Mars, which that through his furious cours of ire,
 The olde wrathe of Juno to fulfille,
 Hath set the peples hertes bothe on fire
 Of Thebes and Grece, everich other to kille
 With blody speres, ne rested never stille,
 But throng now her, now ther, among hem bothe,
 That everych other slough, so were they wrothe.
 For when Amphiorax and Tydeus,
 Ipomedon, Parthonope also
 Were ded, and slayn proude Campaneus,
60 And when the wrecched Thebans, bretheren two,
 Were slayn, and kyng Adrastus hom ago,
 So desolat stod Thebes and so bare
 That no wight coude remedie of his fare.
 And when the olde Creon gan espye
 How that the blood roial was broght a-doun,
 He held the cite by his tyrannye
 And dyde the gentils of that regioun
 To ben his frendes and wonnen in the toun.
 So, what for love of him and what for awe,
70 The noble folk were to the toun idrawe.
 Among al these Anelida, the quene
 Of Ermony, was in that toun dwellynge,
 That fairer was then is the sonne shene.
 Thurghout the world so gan her name springe
 That her to seen had every wyght likynge,
 For, as of trouthe, is ther noon her lyche
 Of al the women in this worlde riche.
 Yong was this quene, of twenty yer of elde,
 Of mydel stature, and of such fairenesse
80 That Nature had a joye her to behelde;
 And for to speken of her stidfastnesse,
 She passed hath Penelope and Lucresse;
 And shortly, yf she shal be comprehended,
 In her ne myghte no thing been amended.
 This Theban knyght Arcite eke, soth to seyn,
 Was yong and therwithal a lusty knyght,
 But he was double in love and no thing pleyn,
 And subtil in that craft over any wyght,
 And with his kunnyng wan this lady bryght;
90 For so ferforth he gan her trouthe assure
 That she him trusted over any creature.
 What shuld I seyn? She loved Arcite so
 That when that he was absent any throwe,
 Anon her thoghte her herte brast a-two;
 For in her sight to her he bar hym lowe,
 So that she wende have al his hert yknowe;
 But he was fals; hit nas but feyned chere --
 As nedeth not to men such craft to lere.
 But nevertheles ful mykel besynesse
100 Had he er that he myghte his lady wynne,
 And swor he wolde dyen for distresse
 Or from his wit he seyde he wolde twynne.
 Alas, the while! For hit was routhe and synne
 That she upon his sorowes wolde rewe;
 But nothing thinketh the fals as doth the trewe.
 Her fredom fond Arcite in such manere
 That al was his that she hath, moche or lyte;
 Ne to no creature made she chere
 Ferther then that hit lyked to Arcite.
110 Ther nas no lak with which he myghte her wite;
 She was so ferforth yeven hym to plese
 That al that lyked hym hit dyde her ese.
 Ther nas to her no maner lettre sent
 That touched love, from any maner wyght,
 That she ne shewed hit him er hit was brent;
 So pleyn she was and dide her fulle myght
 That she nyl hiden nothing from her knyght,
 Lest he of any untrouthe her upbreyde.
 Withoute bode his heste she obeyde.
120 And eke he made him jelous over here,
 That what that any man had to her seyd
 Anoon he wolde preyen her to swere
 What was that word or make him evel apaid.
 Then wende she out of her wyt have breyd;
 But al this nas but sleght and flaterie;
 Withoute love he feyned jelousye.
 And al this tok she so debonerly
 That al his wil her thoghte hit skilful thing,
 And ever the lenger she loved him tendirly
130 And dide him honour as he were a kyng.
 Her herte was to him wedded with a ring;
 So ferforth upon trouthe is her entente
 That wher he gooth her herte with him wente.
 When she shal ete, on him is so her thoght
 That wel unnethe of mete tok she kep;
 And when that she was to her reste broght,
 On him she thoghte alwey til that she slep;
 When he was absent, prevely she wep:
 Thus lyveth feire Anelida the quene
140 For fals Arcite, that dide her al this tene.
 This fals Arcite, of his newfanglenesse,
 For she to him so lowly was and trewe,
 Tok lesse deynte of her stidfastnesse
 And saw another lady, proud and newe,
 And ryght anon he cladde him in her hewe --
 Wot I not whethir in white, rede, or grene --
 And falsed fair Anelida the quene.
 But neverthelesse, gret wonder was hit noon
 Thogh he were fals, for hit is kynde of man
150 Sith Lamek was, that is so longe agoon,
 To ben in love as fals as evere he can;
 He was the firste fader that began
 To loven two, and was in bigamye,
 And he found tentes first, but yf men lye.
 This fals Arcite, sumwhat moste he feyne,
 When he wex fals, to covere his traitorie,
 Ryght as an hors that can both bite and pleyne,
 For he bar her on honde of trecherie,
 And swor he coude her doublenesse espie,
160 And al was falsnes that she to him mente.
 Thus swor this thef, and forth his way he wente.
 Alas, what herte myght enduren hit,
 For routhe and wo, her sorwe for to telle?
 Or what man hath the cunnyng or the wit?
 Or what man mighte within the chambre dwelle,
 Yf I to him rehersen sholde the helle
 That suffreth fair Anelida the quene
 For fals Arcite, that dide her al this tene.
 She wepith, waileth, swowneth pitously;
170 To grounde ded she falleth as a ston;
 Craumpyssheth her lymes crokedly;
 She speketh as her wit were al agon;
 Other colour then asshen hath she noon;
 Non other word speketh she, moche or lyte,
 But `Merci, cruel herte myn, Arcite!'
 And thus endureth til that she was so mat
 That she ne hath foot on which she may sustene,
 But forth languisshing evere in this estat,
 Of which Arcite hath nouther routhe ne tene.
180 His herte was elleswhere, newe and grene,
 That on her wo ne deyneth him not to thinke;
 Him rekketh never wher she flete or synke.
 His newe lady holdeth him so narowe
 Up by the bridil, at the staves ende,
 That every word he dredeth as an arowe;
 Her daunger made him bothe bowe and bende,
 And as her liste, made him turne or wende,
 For she ne graunted him in her lyvynge
 No grace whi that he hath lust to singe,
190 But drof hym forth. Unnethe liste her knowe
 That he was servaunt unto her ladishippe;
 But lest that he were proud, she held him lowe.
 Thus serveth he withoute fee or shipe;
 She sent him now to londe, now to shippe;
 And for she yaf him daunger al his fille,
 Therfor she hadde him at her owne wille.
 Ensample of this, ye thrifty wymmen alle,
 Take her of Anelida and Arcite,
 That for her liste him `dere herte' calle
200 And was so meke, therfor he loved her lyte.
 The kynde of mannes herte is to delyte
 In thing that straunge is, also God me save!
 For what he may not gete, that wolde he have.
 Now turne we to Anelida ageyn,
 That pyneth day be day in langwisshinge,
 But when she saw that her ne gat no geyn,
 Upon a day, ful sorowfully wepinge,
 She caste her for to make a compleynynge,
 And of her owne hond she gan hit write,
210 And sente hit to her Theban knyght, Arcite.
 So thirleth with the poynt of remembraunce
 The swerd of sorowe, ywhet with fals plesaunce,
 Myn herte, bare of blis and blak of hewe,
 That turned is in quakyng al my daunce,
 My surete in awhaped countenaunce,
 Sith hit availeth not for to ben trewe;
 For whoso trewest is, hit shal hir rewe
 That serveth love and doth her observaunce
 Alwey til oon, and chaungeth for no newe.
220 I wot myself as wel as any wight,
 For I loved oon with al myn herte and myght,
 More then myself an hundred thousand sithe,
 And called him myn hertes lif, my knyght,
 And was al his, as fer as hit was ryght;
 And when that he was glad, then was I blithe,
 And his disese was my deth as swithe;
 And he ayein his trouthe hath me plyght
 For evermore, his lady me to kythe.
 Now is he fals, alas, and causeles,
230 And of my wo he is so routheles
 That with a word him list not ones deyne
 To bringe ayen my sorowful herte in pes,
 For he is caught up in another les.
 Ryght as him list, he laugheth at my peyne,
 And I ne can myn herte not restreyne
 For to love him alwey neveretheles;
 And of al this I not to whom me pleyne.
 And shal I pleyne -- alas, the harde stounde! --
 Unto my foo that yaf myn herte a wounde
240 And yet desireth that myn harm be more?
 Nay, certis, ferther wol I never founde
 Non other helpe, my sores for to sounde.
 My destinee hath shapen hit so ful yore;
 I wil non other medecyne ne lore;
 I wil ben ay ther I was ones bounde.
 That I have seid, be seid for evermore!
 Alas! Wher is become your gentilesse,
 Youre wordes ful of plesaunce and humblesse,
 Youre observaunces in so low manere,
250 And your awayting and your besynesse
 Upon me, that ye calden your maistresse,
 Your sovereyne lady in this world here?
 Alas! Is ther now nother word ne chere
 Ye vouchen sauf upon myn hevynesse?
 Alas! Youre love, I bye hit al to dere.
 Now, certis, swete, thogh that ye
 Thus causeles the cause be
 Of my dedly adversyte,
 Your manly resoun oghte hit to respite
260 To slen your frend, and namely me,
 That never yet in no degre
 Offended yow, as wisly He
 That al wot, out of wo my soule quyte!
 But for I shewed yow, Arcite,
 Al that men wolde to me write,
 And was so besy yow to delyte --
 Myn honor save -- meke, kynde, and fre,
 Therfor ye put on me this wite,
 And of me rekke not a myte,
270 Thogh that the swerd of sorwe byte
 My woful herte through your cruelte.
 My swete foo, why do ye so, for shame?
 And thenke ye that furthered be your name
 To love a newe, and ben untrewe? Nay!
 And putte yow in sclaunder now and blame,
 And do to me adversite and grame,
 That love yow most -- God, wel thou wost -- alway?
 Yet come ayein, and yet be pleyn som day,
 And than shal this, that now is mys, be game,
280 And al foryive, while that I lyve may.
 Lo, herte myn, al this is for to seyne
 As whether shal I preye or elles pleyne?
 Which is the wey to doon yow to be trewe?
 For either mot I have yow in my cheyne
 Or with the deth ye mote departe us tweyne;
 Ther ben non other mene weyes newe.
 For God so wisly upon my soule rewe,
 As verrayly ye sleen me with the peyne;
 That may ye se unfeyned of myn hewe.
290 For thus ferforth have I my deth y-soght?
 Myself I mordre with my privy thoght;
 For sorowe and routhe of your unkyndenesse
 I wepe, I wake, I faste; al helpeth noght;
 I weyve joye that is to speke of oght,
 I voyde companye, I fle gladnesse.
 Who may avaunte her beter of hevynesse
 Then I? And to this plyte have ye me broght,
 Withoute gilt -- me nedeth no witnesse.
 And shal I preye, and weyve womanhede? --
300 Nay! Rather deth then do so foul a dede! --
 And axe merci, gilteles -- what nede?
 And yf I pleyne what lyf that I lede,
 Yow rekketh not; that knowe I, out of drede;
 And if that I to yow myne othes bede
 For myn excuse, a skorn shal be my mede.
 Your chere floureth, but it wol not sede;
 Ful longe agoon I oghte have taken hede.
 For thogh I hadde yow to-morowe ageyn,
 I myghte as wel holde Aperill fro reyn
310 As holde yow, to make yow be stidfast.
 Almyghty God, of trouthe sovereyn,
 Wher is the trouthe of man? Who hath hit slayn?
 Who that hem loveth, she shal hem fynde as fast
 As in a tempest is a roten mast.
 Is that a tame best that is ay feyn
 To fleen away when he is lest agast?
 Now merci, swete, yf I mysseye!
 Have I seyd oght amys, I preye?
 I noot; my wit is al aweye.
320 I fare as doth the song of Chaunte-pleure;
 For now I pleyne, and now I pleye;
 I am so mased that I deye;
 Arcite hath born awey the keye
 Of al my world, and my good aventure.
 For in this world nis creature
 Wakynge in more discomfiture
 Then I, ne more sorowe endure.
 And yf I slepe a furlong wey or tweye,
 Then thynketh me that your figure
330 Before me stont, clad in asure,
 To profren eft and newe assure
 For to be trewe, and merci me to preye.
 The longe nyght this wonder sight I drye,
 And on the day for thilke afray I dye,
 And of al this ryght noght, iwis, ye reche.
 Ne nevere mo myn yen two be drie,
 And to your routhe, and to your trouthe, I crie.
 But welawey! To fer be they to feche;
 Thus holdeth me my destinee a wreche.
340 But me to rede out of this drede, or guye,
 Ne may my wit, so weyk is hit, not streche.
 Then ende I thus, sith I may do no more.
 I yeve hit up for now and evermore,
 For I shal never eft putten in balaunce
 My sekernes, ne lerne of love the lore.
 But as the swan, I have herd seyd ful yore,
 Ayeins his deth shal singen his penaunce,
 So singe I here my destinee or chaunce,
 How that Arcite Anelida so sore
350 Hath thirled with the poynt of remembraunce.
 When that Anelida, this woful quene,
 Hath of her hand ywriten in this wise,
 With face ded, betwixe pale and grene,
 She fel a-swowe; and sith she gan to rise,
 And unto Mars avoweth sacrifise
 Withinne the temple, with a sorowful chere,
 That shapen was as ye shal after here....??

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Other Works

The Parliament of Fowls

 The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne,
 Th' assay so hard, so sharp the conquerynge,
 The dredful joye alwey that slit so yerne:
 Al this mene I by Love, that my felynge
 Astonyeth with his wonderful werkynge
 So sore, iwis, that whan I on hym thynke
 Nat wot I wel wher that I flete or synke.
 For al be that I knowe nat Love in dede,
 Ne wot how that he quiteth folk here hyre,
10 Yit happeth me ful ofte in bokes reede
 Of his myrakles and his crewel yre.
 There rede I wel he wol be lord and syre;
 I dar nat seyn, his strokes been so sore,
 But "God save swich a lord!" -- I can na moore.
 Of usage -- what for lust and what for lore --
 On bokes rede I ofte, as I yow tolde.
 But wherfore that I speke al this? Nat yoore
 Agon it happede me for to beholde
 Upon a bok, was write with lettres olde,
20 And therupon, a certeyn thing to lerne,
 The longe day ful faste I redde and yerne.
 For out of olde feldes, as men seyth,
 Cometh al this newe corn from yer to yere,
 And out of olde bokes, in good feyth,
 Cometh al this newe science that men lere.
 But now to purpos as of this matere:
 To rede forth hit gan me so delite
 That al that day me thoughte but a lyte.
 This bok of which I make mencioun
30 Entitled was al ther, as I shal telle:
 "Tullyus of the Drem of Scipioun."
 Chapitres sevene it hadde, of hevene and helle
 And erthe, and soules that therinne dwelle,
 Of whiche, as shortly as I can it trete,
 Of his sentence I wol yow seyn the greete.
 Fyrst telleth it, whan Scipion was come
 In Affrike, how he meteth Massynisse,
 That hym for joie in armes hath inome;
 Thanne telleth [it] here speche and al the blysse
40 That was betwix hem til the day gan mysse,
 And how his auncestre, Affrycan so deere,
 Gan in his slep that nyght to hym apere.
 Thanne telleth it that, from a sterry place,
 How Affrycan hath hym Cartage shewed,
 And warnede hym beforn of al his grace,
 And seyde hym what man, lered other lewed,
 That lovede commune profyt, wel ithewed,
 He shulde into a blysful place wende
 There as joye is that last withouten ende.
50 Thanne axede he if folk that here been dede
 Han lyf and dwellynge in another place.
 And Affrican seyde, "Ye, withouten drede,"
 And that oure present worldes lyves space
 Nis but a maner deth, what wey we trace;
 And rightful folk shul gon, after they dye,
 To hevene; and shewede hym the Galaxye.
 Thanne shewede he hym the lytel erthe that here is,
 At regard of the hevenes quantite;
 And after shewede he hym the nyne speres;
60 And after that the melodye herde he
 That cometh of thilke speres thryes thre,
 That welle is of musik and melodye
 In this world here, and cause of armonye.
 Than bad he hym, syn erthe was so lyte,
 And dissevable and ful of harde grace,
 That he ne shulde hym in the world delyte.
 Thanne tolde he hym, in certeyn yeres space
 That every sterre shulde come into his place
 Ther it was first, and al shulde out of mynde
70 That in this world is don of al mankynde.
 Thanne preyede hym Scipion to telle hym al
 The wey to come into that hevene blisse.
 And he seyde, "Know thyself first immortal,
 And loke ay besyly thow werche and wysse
 To commune profit, and thow shalt not mysse
 To comen swiftly to that place deere
 That ful of blysse is and of soules cleere.
 "But brekers of the lawe, soth to seyne,
 And likerous folk, after that they ben dede,
80 Shul whirle aboute th' erthe alwey in peyne,
 Tyl many a world be passed, out of drede,
 And than, foryeven al hir wikked dede,
 Than shul they come into that blysful place,
 To which to comen God the sende his grace."
 The day gan faylen, and the derke nyght,
 That reveth bestes from here besynesse,
 Berafte me my bok for lak of lyght,
 And to my bed I gan me for to dresse,
 Fulfyld of thought and busy hevynesse;
90 For bothe I hadde thyng which that I nolde,
 And ek I ne hadde that thyng that I wolde.
 But fynally my spirit at the laste,
 For wery of my labour al the day,
 Tok reste, that made me to slepe faste;
 And in my slep I mette, as that I lay,
 How Affrican, ryght in the selve aray
 That Scipion hym say byfore that tyde,
 Was come and stod right at my beddes syde.
 The wery huntere, slepynge in his bed,
100 To wode ayeyn his mynde goth anon;
 The juge dremeth how his plees been sped;
 The cartere dremeth how his cart is gon;
 The riche, of gold; the knyght fyght with his fon;
 The syke met he drynketh of the tonne;
 The lovere met he hath his lady wonne.
 Can I not seyn if that the cause were
 For I hadde red of Affrican byforn
 That made me to mete that he stod there;
 But thus seyde he: "Thow hast the so wel born
110 In lokynge of myn olde bok totorn,
 Of which Macrobye roughte nat a lyte,
 That sumdel of thy labour wolde I quyte."
 Cytherea, thow blysful lady swete,
 That with thy fyrbrond dauntest whom the lest
 And madest me this sweven for to mete,
 Be thow myn helpe in this, for thow mayst best!
 As wisly as I sey the north-north-west,
 Whan I began my sweven for to write,
 So yif me myght to ryme, and endyte!
120 This forseyde Affrican me hente anon
 And forth with hym unto a gate broughte,
 Ryght of a park walled with grene ston;
 And over the gate, with lettres large iwroughte,
 There were vers iwriten, as me thoughte,
 On eyther half, of ful gret difference,
 Of which I shal yow seyn the pleyn sentence:
 "Thorgh me men gon into that blysful place
 Of hertes hele and dedly woundes cure;
 Thorgh me men gon unto the welle of grace,
130 There grene and lusty May shal evere endure.
 This is the wey to al good aventure.
 Be glad, thow redere, and thy sorwe of-caste;
 Al open am I -- passe in, and sped thee faste!"
 "Thorgh me men gon," than spak that other side,
 "Unto the mortal strokes of the spere
 Of which Disdayn and Daunger is the gyde,
 Ther nevere tre shal fruyt ne leves bere.
 This strem yow ledeth to the sorweful were
 There as the fish in prysoun is al drye;
140 Th' eschewing is only the remedye!"
 These vers of gold and blak iwriten were,
 Of whiche I gan astoned to beholde.
 For with that oon encresede ay my fere
 And with that other gan myn herte bolde;
 That oon me hette, that other dide me colde;
 No wit hadde I, for errour, for to chese
 To entre or flen, or me to save or lese.
 Right as betwixen adamauntes two
 Of evene myght, a pece of yren set
150 Ne hath no myght to meve to ne fro --
 For what that oon may hale, that other let --
 Ferde I, that nyste whether me was bet
 To entre or leve, til Affrycan, my gide,
 Me hente and shof in at the gates wide,
 And seyde, "It stondeth writen in thy face,
 Thyn errour, though thow telle it not to me;
 But dred the not to come into this place,
 For this writyng nys nothyng ment bi the,
 Ne by non but he Loves servaunt be:
160 For thow of love hast lost thy tast, I gesse,
 As sek man hath of swete and bytternesse.
 "But natheles, although that thow be dul,
 Yit that thow canst not do, yit mayst thow se.
 For many a man that may nat stonde a pul
 Yet liketh hym at wrastlyng for to be,
 And demen yit wher he do bet or he.
 And if thow haddest connyng for t' endite,
 I shal the shewe mater of to wryte."
 With that myn hand in his he tok anon,
170 Of which I confort caughte, and wente in faste.
 But, Lord, so I was glad and wel begoon!
 For overal where that I myne eyen caste
 Were trees clad with leves that ay shal laste,
 Ech in his kynde, of colour fresh and greene
 As emeraude, that joye was to seene.
 The byldere ok, and ek the hardy asshe;
 The piler elm, the cofre unto carayne;
 The boxtre pipere, holm to whippes lashe;
 The saylynge fyr; the cipresse, deth to playne;
180 The shetere ew; the asp for shaftes pleyne;
 The olyve of pes, and eke the dronke vyne;
 The victor palm, the laurer to devyne.
 A gardyn saw I ful of blosmy bowes
 Upon a ryver, in a grene mede,
 There as swetnesse everemore inow is,
 With floures white, blewe, yelwe, and rede,
 And colde welle-stremes, nothyng dede,
 That swymmen ful of smale fishes lighte,
 With fynnes rede and skales sylver bryghte.
190 On every bow the bryddes herde I synge,
 With voys of aungel in here armonye;
 Some besyede hem here bryddes forth to brynge;
 The litel conyes to here pley gonne hye;
 And ferther al aboute I gan aspye
 The dredful ro, the buk, the hert and hynde,
 Squyrels, and bestes smale of gentil kynde.
 Of instruments of strenges in acord
 Herde I so pleye a ravyshyng swetnesse,
 That God, that makere is of al and lord,
200 Ne herde nevere beter, as I gesse.
 Therwith a wynd, unnethe it myghte be lesse,
 Made in the leves grene a noyse softe
 Acordaunt to the foules song alofte.
 Th' air of that place so attempre was
 That nevere was grevaunce of hot ne cold.
 There wex ek every holsom spice and gras;
 No man may there waxe sek ne old;
 Yit was there joye more a thousandfold
 Than man can telle; ne nevere wolde it nyghte,
210 But ay cler day to any mannes syghte.
 Under a tre, besyde a welle, I say
 Cupide, oure lord, his arwes forge and file;
 And at his fet his bowe al redy lay;
 And Wille, his doughter, temprede al this while
 The hevedes in the welle, and with hire wile
 She couchede hem, after they shulde serve
 Some for to sle, and some to wounde and kerve.
 Tho was I war of Plesaunce anon-ryght,
 And of Aray, and Lust, and Curteysie,
220 And of the Craft that can and hath the myght
 To don by force a wyght to don folye --
 Disfigurat was she, I nyl nat lye;
 And by hymself, under an ok, I gesse,
 Saw I Delyt, that stod with Gentilesse.
 I saw Beute withouten any atyr,
 And Youthe, ful of game and jolyte;
 Foolhardynesse, Flaterye, and Desyr,
 Messagerye, and Meede, and other thre --
 Here names shul not here be told for me --
230 And upon pilers greete of jasper longe
 I saw a temple of bras ifounded stronge.
 Aboute the temple daunsedyn alwey
 Women inowe, of whiche some ther weere
 Fayre of hemself, and some of hem were gay;
 In kertels, al dishevele, wente they there:
 That was here offyce alwey, yer by yeere.
 And on the temple, of dowves white and fayre
 Saw I syttynge many an hundred peyre.
 Byfore the temple-dore ful soberly
240 Dame Pees sat, with a curtyn in hire hond,
 And by hire syde, wonder discretly,
 Dame Pacience syttynge there I fond,
 With face pale, upon an hil of sond;
 And aldernext, withinne and ek withoute,
 Byheste and Art, and of here folk a route.
 Withinne the temple, of sykes hoote as fyr
 I herde a swogh that gan aboute renne,
 Whiche sikes were engendered with desyr,
 That maden every auter for to brenne
250 Of newe flaume; and wel espyed I thenne
 That al the cause of sorwes that they drye
 Cam of the bittere goddesse Jelosye.
 The god Priapus saw I, as I wente,
 Withinne the temple in sovereyn place stonde,
 In swich aray as whan the asse hym shente
 With cri by nighte, and with hys sceptre in honde.
 Ful besyly men gonne assaye and fonde
 Upon his hed to sette, of sondry hewe,
 Garlondes ful of freshe floures newe.
260 And in a prive corner in disport
 Fond I Venus and hire porter Richesse,
 That was ful noble and hautayn of hyre port --
 Derk was that place, but afterward lightnesse
 I saw a lyte, unnethe it myghte be lesse --
 And on a bed of gold she lay to reste,
 Til that the hote sonne gan to weste.
 Hyre gilte heres with a golden thred
 Ibounden were, untressed as she lay,
 And naked from the brest unto the hed
270 Men myghte hire sen; and, sothly for to say,
 The remenaunt was wel kevered to my pay,
 Ryght with a subtyl coverchef of Valence --
 Ther was no thikkere cloth of no defense.
 The place yaf a thousand savours sote,
 And Bachus, god of wyn, sat hire besyde,
 And Ceres next, that doth of hunger boote,
 And, as I seyde, amyddes lay Cypride,
 To whom on knees two yonge folk ther cryde
 To ben here helpe. But thus I let hire lye,
280 And ferther in the temple I gan espie
 That, in dispit of Dyane the chaste,
 Ful many a bowe ibroke heng on the wal
 Of maydenes swiche as gonne here tymes waste
 In hyre servyse; and peynted overal
 Ful many a story, of which I touche shal
 A fewe, as of Calyxte and Athalante,
 And many a mayde of which the name I wante.
 Semyramis, Candace, and Hercules,
 Biblis, Dido, Thisbe, and Piramus,
290 Tristram, Isaude, Paris, and Achilles,
 Eleyne, Cleopatre, and Troylus,
 Silla, and ek the moder of Romulus:
 Alle these were peynted on that other syde,
 And al here love, and in what plyt they dyde.
 Whan I was come ayeyn into the place
 That I of spak, that was so sote and grene,
 Forth welk I tho myselven to solace.
 Tho was I war wher that ther sat a queene
 That, as of lyght the somer sonne shene
300 Passeth the sterre, right so over mesure
 She fayrer was than any creature.
 And in a launde, upon an hil of floures,
 Was set this noble goddesse Nature.
 Of braunches were here halles and here boures
 Iwrought after here cast and here mesure;
 Ne there nas foul that cometh of engendrure
 That they ne were prest in here presence
 To take hire dom and yeve hire audyence.
 For this was on Seynt Valentynes day,
310 Whan every foul cometh there to chese his make,
 Of every kynde that men thynke may,
 And that so huge a noyse gan they make
 That erthe, and eyr, and tre, and every lake
 So ful was that unethe was there space
 For me to stonde, so ful was al the place.
 And right as Aleyn, in the Pleynt of Kynde,
 Devyseth Nature of aray and face,
 In swich aray men myghte hire there fynde.
 This noble emperesse, ful of grace,
320 Bad every foul to take his owne place,
 As they were woned alwey fro yer to yeere,
 Seynt Valentynes day, to stonden theere.
 That is to seyn, the foules of ravyne
 Weere hyest set, and thanne the foules smale
 That eten, as hem Nature wolde enclyne,
 As worm or thyng of which I telle no tale;
 And water-foul sat lowest in the dale;
 But foul that lyveth by sed sat on the grene,
 And that so fele that wonder was to sene.
330 There myghte men the royal egle fynde,
 That with his sharpe lok perseth the sonne,
 And othere egles of a lowere kynde,
 Of whiche that clerkes wel devyse conne.
 Ther was the tiraunt with his fetheres donne
 And grey -- I mene the goshauk that doth pyne
 To bryddes for his outrageous ravyne.
 The gentyl faucoun, that with his feet distrayneth
 The kynges hand; the hardy sperhauk eke,
 The quayles foo; the merlioun, that payneth
340 Hymself ful ofte the larke for to seke;
 There was the douve with hire yen meke;
 The jelous swan, ayens his deth that syngeth.
 The oule ek, that of deth the bode bryngeth.
 The crane, the geaunt, with his trompes soun;
 The thef, the chough; and ek the janglynge pye;
 The skornynge jay; the eles fo, heroun;
 The false lapwynge, ful of trecherye;
 The stare, that the conseyl can bewrye;
 The tame ruddok, and the coward kyte;
350 The kok, that orloge is of thorpes lyte;
 The sparwe, Venus sone; the nyghtyngale,
 That clepeth forth the grene leves newe;
 The swalwe, mortherere of the foules smale
 That maken hony of floures freshe of hewe;
 The wedded turtil, with hire herte trewe;
 The pekok, with his aungels fetheres bryghte;
 The fesaunt, skornere of the cok by nyghte;
 The waker goos; the cukkow ever unkynde;
 The popynjay, ful of delicasye;
360 The drake, stroyere of his owene kynde;
 The stork, the wrekere of avouterye;
 The hote cormeraunt of glotenye;
 The raven wys; the crowe with vois of care;
 The throstil old; the frosty feldefare.
 What shulde I seyn? Of foules every kynde
 That in this world han fetheres and stature
 Men myghten in that place assembled fynde
 Byfore the noble goddesse Nature,
 And ech of hem dide his besy cure
370 Benygnely to chese or for to take,
 By hire acord, his formel or his make.
 But to the poynt: Nature held on hire hond
 A formel egle, of shap the gentilleste
 That evere she among hire werkes fond,
 The moste benygne and the goodlieste.
 In hire was everi vertu at his reste,
 So ferforth that Nature hireself hadde blysse
 To loke on hire, and ofte hire bek to kysse.
 Nature, the vicaire of the almyghty Lord,
380 That hot, cold, hevy, lyght, moyst, and dreye
 Hath knyt by evene noumbres of acord,
 In esy voys began to speke and seye,
 "Foules, tak hed of my sentence, I preye,
 And for youre ese, in fortheryng of youre nede,
 As faste as I may speke, I wol yow speede.
 "Ye knowe wel how, Seynt Valentynes day,
 By my statut and thorgh my governaunce,
 Ye come for to cheese -- and fle youre wey --
 Youre makes, as I prike yow with plesaunce;
390 But natheles, my ryghtful ordenaunce
 May I nat lete for al this world to wynne,
 That he that most is worthi shal begynne.
 "The tersel egle, as that ye knowe wel,
 The foul royal, above yow in degre,
 The wyse and worthi, secre, trewe as stel,
 Which I have formed, as ye may wel se,
 In every part as it best liketh me --
 It nedeth not his shap yow to devyse --
 He shal first chese and speken in his gyse.
400 "And after hym by ordre shul ye chese,
 After youre kynde, everich as yow lyketh,
 And, as youre hap is, shul ye wynne or lese.
 But which of yow that love most entriketh,
 God sende hym hire that sorest for hym syketh!"
 And therwithal the tersel gan she calle,
 And seyde, "My sone, the choys is to the falle.
 "But natheles, in this condicioun
 Mot be the choys of everich that is heere,
 That she agre to his eleccioun,
410 Whoso he be that shulde be hire feere.
 This is oure usage alwey, fro yer to yeere,
 And whoso may at this tyme have his grace
 In blisful tyme he cam into this place!"
 With hed enclyned and with humble cheere
 This royal tersel spak, and tariede noght:
 "Unto my soverayn lady, and not my fere,
 I chese, and chese with wil, and herte, and thought,
 The formel on youre hond, so wel iwrought,
 Whos I am al, and evere wol hire serve,
420 Do what hire lest, to do me lyve or sterve;
 "Besekynge hire of merci and of grace,
 As she that is my lady sovereyne;
 Or let me deye present in this place.
 For certes, longe may I nat lyve in payne,
 For in myn herte is korven every veyne.
 Havynge reward only to my trouthe,
 My deere herte, have on my wo som routhe.
 "And if that I be founde to hyre untrewe,
 Disobeysaunt, or wilful necligent,
430 Avauntour, or in proces love a newe,
 I preye to yow this be my jugement:
 That with these foules I be al torent,
 That ilke day that evere she me fynde
 To hir untrewe, or in my gilt unkynde.
 "And syn that non loveth hire so wel as I,
 Al be she nevere of love me behette,
 Thanne oughte she be myn thourgh hire mercy,
 For other bond can I non on hire knette.
 Ne nevere for no wo ne shal I lette
440 To serven hire, how fer so that she wende;
 Say what yow list, my tale is at an ende."
 Ryght as the freshe, rede rose newe
 Ayeyn the somer sonne coloured is,
 Ryght so for shame al wexen gan the hewe
 Of this formel, whan she herde al this;
 She neyther answerde wel, ne seyde amys,
 So sore abasht was she, tyl that Nature
 Seyde, "Doughter, drede yow nought, I yow assure."
 Another tersel egle spak anon,
450 Of lower kynde, and seyde, "That shal nat be!
 I love hire bet than ye don, by Seint John,
 Or at the leste I love hire as wel as ye,
 And lenger have served hire in my degre;
 And if she shulde have loved for long lovynge,
 To me allone hadde be the guerdonynge.
 "I dar ek seyn, if she me fynde fals,
 Unkynde, janglere, or rebel any wyse,
 Or jelous, do me hangen by the hals!
 And, but I bere me in hire servyse
460 As wel as that my wit can me suffyse,
 From poynt in poynt, hyre honour for to save,
 Take she my lif and al the good I have!"
 The thridde tercel egle answerde tho,
 "Now, sires, ye seen the lytel leyser heere;
 For every foul cryeth out to ben ago
 Forth with his make, or with his lady deere;
 And ek Nature hireself ne wol not heere,
 For taryinge here, not half that I wolde seye;
 And but I speke, I mot for sorwe deye.
470 "Of long servyse avaunte I me nothing;
 But as possible is me to deye to-day
 For wo as he that hath ben languysshyng
 This twenty wynter, and wel happen may;
 A man may serven bet and more to pay
 In half a yer, although it were no moore,
 Than som man doth that hath served ful yoore.
 "I seye not this by me, for I ne can
 Don no servyse that may my lady plese;
 But I dar seyn, I am hire treweste man
480 As to my dom, and faynest wolde hire ese.
 At shorte wordes, til that deth me sese
 I wol ben heres, whether I wake or wynke,
 And trewe in al that herte may bethynke."
 Of al my lyf, syn that day I was born,
 So gentil ple in love or other thyng
 Ne herde nevere no man me beforn --
 Who that hadde leyser and connyng
 For to reherse hire chere and hire spekyng;
 And from the morwe gan this speche laste
490 Tyl dounward went the sonne wonder faste.
 The noyse of foules for to ben delyvered
 So loude rong, "Have don, and lat us wende!"
 That wel wende I the wode hadde al to-shyvered.
 "Com of!" they criede, "allas, ye wol us shende!
 Whan shal youre cursede pletynge have an ende?
 How sholde a juge eyther parti leve
 For ye or nay withouten any preve?"
 The goos, the cokkow, and the doke also
 So cryede, "Kek kek! kokkow! quek quek!" hye,
500 That thourgh myne eres the noyse wente tho.
 The goos seyde, "Al this nys not worth a flye!
 But I can shape herof a remedie,
 And I wol seye my verdit fayre and swythe
 For water-foul, whoso be wroth or blythe!"
 "And I for worm-foul," seyde the fol kokkow,
 "For I wol of myn owene autorite,
 For comune spede, take on the charge now,
 For to delyvere us is gret charite."
 "Ye may abyde a while yit, parde!"
510 Quod the turtel, "If it be youre wille
 A wight may speke, hym were as fayr be stylle.
 "I am a sed-foul, oon the unworthieste,
 That wot I wel, and litel of connynge.
 But bet is that a wyghtes tonge reste
 Than entermeten hym of such doinge,
 Of which he neyther rede can ne synge;
 And whoso hit doth ful foule hymself acloyeth,
 For office uncommytted ofte anoyeth."
 Nature, which that alwey hadde an ere
520 To murmur of the lewednesse behynde,
 With facound voys seyde, "Hold youre tonges there!
 And I shal sone, I hope, a conseyl fynde
 Yow to delyvere, and fro this noyse unbynde:
 I juge, of every folk men shul oon calle
 To seyn the verdit for yow foules alle."
 Assented were to this conclusioun
 The briddes alle; and foules of ravyne
 Han chosen fyrst, by pleyn eleccioun,
 The tercelet of the faucoun to diffyne
530 Al here sentence, and as him lest, termyne;
 And to Nature hym gonne to presente,
 And she accepteth hym with glad entente.
 The terslet seyde thanne in this manere:
 "Ful hard were it to preve by resoun
 Who loveth best this gentil formel heere;
 For everych hath swich replicacioun
 That non by skilles may be brought adoun.
 I can not se that argumentes avayle:
 Thanne semeth it there moste be batayle."
540 "Al redy!" quod these egles tercels tho.
 "Nay, sires," quod he, "if that I durste it seye,
 Ye don me wrong, my tale is not ido!
 For, sires -- ne taketh not agref I preye --
 It may not gon as ye wolde in this weye;
 Oure is the voys that han the charge in honde,
 And to the juges dom ye moten stonde.
 "And therfore pes! I seye, as to my wit,
 Me wolde thynke how that the worthieste
 Of knyghthod, and lengest had used it,
550 Most of estat, of blod the gentilleste,
 Were sittyngest for hire, if that hir leste;
 And of these thre she wot hireself, I trowe,
 Which that he be, for it is light to knowe."
 The water-foules han here hedes leid
 Togedere, and of a short avysement,
 Whan everych hadde his large golee seyd,
 They seyden sothly, al by oon assent,
 How that the goos, with here facounde gent,
 "That so desyreth to pronounce oure nede,
560 Shal telle oure tale," and preyede "God hire spede!"
 And for these water-foules tho began
 The goos to speke, and in hire kakelynge
 She seyde, "Pes! Now tak kep every man,
 And herkeneth which a resoun I shal forth brynge!
 My wit is sharp; I love no taryinge;
 I seye I rede hym, though he were my brother,
 But she wol love hym, lat hym love another!"
 "Lo, here a parfit resoun of a goos!"
 Quod the sperhauk; "Nevere mot she thee!
570 Lo, swich it is to have a tonge loos!
 Now parde, fol, yit were it bet for the
 Han holde thy pes than shewed thy nycete.
 It lyth nat in his wit, ne in his wille,
 But soth is seyd, `a fol can not be stille.'"
 The laughter aros of gentil foules alle,
 And right anon the sed-foul chosen hadde
 The turtle trewe, and gonne hire to hem calle,
 And preyeden hire to seyn the sothe sadde
 Of this matere, and axede what she radde.
580 And she answerde that pleynly hire entente
 She wolde shewe, and sothly what she mente.
 "Nay, God forbede a lovere shulde chaunge!"
 The turtle seyde, and wex for shame al red,
 "Though that his lady everemore be straunge,
 Yit lat hym serve hire ever, til he be ded.
 Forsothe, I preyse nat the goses red;
 `For, though she deyede, I wolde non other make;
 I wol ben hires, til that the deth me take.'"
 "Wel bourded," quod the doke, "by myn hat!
590 That men shulde loven alwey causeles!
 Who can a resoun fynde or wit in that?
 Daunseth he murye that is myrtheles?
 Who shulde recche of that is recheles?"
 "Ye queke," seyde the goos, "ful wel and fayre!
 There been mo sterres, God wot, than a payre!"
 "Now fy, cherl!" quod the gentil tercelet,
 "Out of the donghil cam that word ful right!
 Thow canst nat seen which thyng is wel beset!
 Thow farst by love as oules don by lyght:
600 The day hem blent, ful wel they se by nyght.
 Thy kynde is of so low a wrechednesse
 That what love is, thow canst nouther seen ne gesse."
 Tho gan the kokkow putte hym forth in pres
 For foul that eteth worm, and seyde blyve: --
 "So I," quod he, "may have my make in pes,
 I reche nat how longe that ye stryve.
 Lat ech of hem be soleyn al here lyve!
 This is my red, syn they may nat acorde;
 This shorte lessoun nedeth nat recorde."
610 "Ye, have the glotoun fild inow his paunche,
 Thanne are we wel!" seyde the merlioun;
 "Thow mortherere of the heysoge on the braunche
 That broughte the forth, thow reufullest glotoun!
 Lyve thow soleyn, wormes corupcioun,
 For no fors is of lak of thy nature!
 Go, lewed be thow whil the world may dure!"
 "Now pes," quod Nature, "I comaunde heer!
 For I have herd al youre opynyoun,
 And in effect yit be we nevere the neer.
620 But fynally, this is my conclusioun,
 That she hireself shal han hir eleccioun
 Of whom hire lest; whoso be wroth or blythe,
 Hym that she cheest, he shal hire han as swithe.
 "For sith it may not here discussed be
 Who loveth hire best, as seyde the tercelet,
 Thanne wol I don hire this favour, that she
 Shal han right hym on whom hire herte is set,
 And he hire that his herte hath on hire knet:
 Thus juge I, Nature, for I may not lye;
630 To non estat I have non other ye.
 "But as for counseyl for to chese a make,
 If I were Resoun, thanne wolde I
 Conseyle yow the royal tercel take,
 As seyde the tercelet ful skylfully,
 As for the gentilleste and most worthi,
 Which I have wrought so wel to my plesaunce
 That to yow hit oughte to been a suffisaunce."
 With dredful vois the formel hire answerde,
 "My rightful lady, goddesse of Nature!
640 Soth is that I am evere under youre yerde,
 As is everich other creature,
 And mot be youres whil my lyf may dure;
 And therfore graunteth me my firste bone,
 And myn entente I wol yow sey right sone."
 "I graunte it yow," quod she; and right anon
 This formel egle spak in this degre:
 "Almyghty queen, unto this yer be don,
 I axe respit for to avise me,
 And after that to have my choys al fre.
650 This al and som that I wol speke and seye;
 Ye gete no more, although ye do me deye!
 "I wol nat serve Venus ne Cupide,
 Forsothe as yit, by no manere weye."
 "Now, syn it may non otherwise betyde,"
 Quod Nature, "heere is no more to seye.
 Thanne wolde I that these foules were aweye,
 Ech with his make, for taryinge lengere heere!"
 And seyde hem thus, as ye shul after here.
 "To yow speke I, ye tercelets," quod Nature,
660 "Beth of good herte, and serveth alle thre.
 A yer is nat so longe to endure,
 And ech of yow peyne him in his degre
 For to do wel, for, God wot, quyt is she
 Fro yow this yer; what after so befalle,
 This entremes is dressed for yow alle."
 And whan this werk al brought was to an ende,
 To every foul Nature yaf his make
 By evene acord, and on here way they wende.
 And, Lord, the blisse and joye that they make!
670 For ech of hem gan other in wynges take,
 And with here nekkes ech gan other wynde,
 Thankynge alwey the noble goddesse of kynde.
 But fyrst were chosen foules for to synge,
 As yer by yer was alwey hir usaunce
 To synge a roundel at here departynge,
 To don Nature honour and plesaunce.
 The note, I trowe, imaked was in Fraunce,
 The wordes were swiche as ye may heer fynde,
 The nexte vers, as I now have in mynde.
680 "Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe,
 That hast thes wintres wedres overshake,
 And driven away the longe nyghtes blake!
 "Saynt Valentyn, that art ful hy on-lofte,
 Thus syngen smale foules for thy sake:
 Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe,
 That hast thes wintres wedres overshake.
 "Wel han they cause for to gladen ofte,
 Sith ech of hem recovered hath hys make,
 Ful blissful mowe they synge when they wake:
690 Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe,
 That hast thes wintres wedres overshake,
 And driven away the longe nyghtes blake!"
 And with the shoutyng, whan the song was do
 That foules maden at here flyght awey,
 I wok, and othere bokes tok me to,
 To reede upon, and yit I rede alwey.
 I hope, ywis, to rede so som day
 That I shal mete som thyng for to fare
 The bet, and thus to rede I nyl nat spare.

---

Boece

Book 1

 Allas! I wepynge, am constreyned to bygynnen
 vers of sorwful matere, that whilom in florysschyng
 studie made delitable ditees. For
 lo, rendynge muses of poetes enditen to me
 thynges to ben writen, and drery vers of wretchidnesse
 weten my face with verray teres. At
 the leeste, no drede ne myghte overcomen
 tho muses, that thei ne were felawes, and folwyden
 my wey (that is to seyn, whan
10 I was exiled). They that weren glorie of
 my youthe, whilom weleful and grene,
 conforten nowe the sorwful wyerdes of me, olde
 man. For eelde is comyn unwarly uppon me,
 hasted by the harmes that Y have, and sorwe
 hath comandid his age to ben in me. Heeris hore
 arn schad overtymeliche upon myn heved, and
 the slakke skyn trembleth of myn emptid body.
 Thilke deth of men is weleful that ne comyth
 noght in yeeris that ben swete, but
20 cometh to wrecches often yclepid. Allas,
 allas! With how deef an ere deth, cruwel,
 turneth awey fro wrecches and nayteth to
 closen wepynge eien. Whil Fortune, unfeithful,
 favourede me with lyghte goodes, the sorwful
 houre (that is to seyn, the deth) hadde almoost
 dreynt myn heved. But now, for Fortune
 cloudy hath chaunged hir deceyvable
 chere to meward, myn unpietous lif draweth
 along unagreable duellynges in me. O ye,
30 my frendes, what or wherto avaunted ye
 me to be weleful? For he that hath fallen stood
 noght in stedefast degre.
 In the mene while that I, stille, recordede
 these thynges with myself and merkid my weply
 compleynte with office of poyntel, I saw,
 stondynge aboven the heghte of myn heved, a
 womman of ful greet reverence by semblaunt,
 hir eien brennynge and cleer-seynge over the
 comune myghte of men; with a lifly colour
 and with swich vigour and strengthe that it ne
 myghte nat ben emptid, al were it so
10 that sche was ful of so greet age that men
 ne wolden nat trowen in no manere that
 sche were of our elde. The stature of hire was
 of a doutous jugement, for somtyme sche constreyned
 and schronk hirselven lik to the comune
 mesure of men, and somtyme it semede
 that sche touchede the hevene with the heghte
 of here heved. And whan sche hef hir heved
 heyere, sche percede the selve hevene so that
 the sighte of men lokynge was in ydel.
20 Hir clothes weren makid of right delye
 thredes and subtil craft of perdurable matere;
 the whiche clothes sche hadde woven with
 hir owene handes, as I knew wel aftir by hirselve
 declarynge and schewynge to me. The
 beaute [of] the whiche clothes a derknesse of a
 forleten and despised elde hadde duskid and
 dirked, as it is wont to dirken besmokede
 ymages. In the nethereste hem or bordure of
 thise clothes, men redden ywoven in a
30 Grekissch P (that signifieth the lif actif);
 and aboven that lettre, in the heieste
 bordure, a Grekyssh T (that signifieth the lif
 contemplatif). And bytwixen thise two lettres
 ther were seyn degrees nobly ywrought in
 manere of laddres, by whiche degrees men
 myghten clymben fro the nethereste lettre to the
 uppereste. Natheles handes of some men hadden
 korve that cloth by violence and by
 strengthe, and everich man of hem hadde
40 boren awey swiche peces as he myghte
 geten. And forsothe this forseide womman bar
 smale bokis in hir right hand, and in hir left hand
 sche bar a ceptre.
 And whan she saughe thise poetical muses
 aprochen aboute my bed and enditynge wordes
 to my wepynges, sche was a litil amoeved, and
 glowede with cruel eighen. "Who," quat sche,
 "hath suffred aprochen to this sike man thise
 comune strompettis of swich a place that
50 men clepen the theatre? The whiche nat
 oonly ne asswagen noght his sorwes with
 none remedies, but thei wolden fedyn and
 noryssen hym with sweete venym. Forsothe
 thise ben tho that with thornes and prikkynges
 of talentz or affeccions, whiche that ne bien
 nothyng fructifyenge nor profitable, destroyen
 the corn plentyvous of fruytes of resoun. For
 thei holden hertes of men in usage, but thei
 delyvre noght folk fro maladye. But yif ye
60 muses hadden withdrawen fro me with
 youre flateries any unkunnynge and unprofitable
 man, as men ben wont to fynde
 comonly among the peple, I wolde wene suffre
 the lasse grevosly; forwhi, in swych an unprofitable
 man, myne ententes weren nothyng
 endamaged. But ye withdrawen me this man,
 that hath ben noryssed in the studies or scoles of
 Eliaticis and Achademycis in Grece. But goth
 now rather awey, ye mermaydenes, whiche
70 that ben swete til it be at the laste, and
 suffreth this man to ben cured and heeled
 by myne muses (that is to seyn, by noteful
 sciences)."
 And thus this companye of muses, iblamed,
 casten wrothly the chere dounward to the erthe,
 and, schewynge by rednesse hir schame, thei
 passeden sorwfully the thresschefold. And I, of
 whom the sighte, ploungid in teeres, was dirked
 so that Y ne myghte noght knowen what
80 that womman was of so imperial auctorite,
 I wax al abayssched and astoned, and caste
 my syghte doun to the erthe, and bygan stille for
 to abide what sche woolde doon aftirward. Tho
 com sche ner and sette her doun uppon the
 uttereste corner of my bed; and sche, byholdynge
 my chere that was cast to the erthe
 hevy and grevous of wepynge, compleynede
 with thise wordis that I schal seyn the perturbacion thought.
 "Allas! How the thought of this man, dreynt
 in overthrowynge depnesse, dulleth and forleteth
 his propre clernesse, myntynge to gon into
 foreyne dirknesses as ofte as his anoyos
 bysynes waxeth withoute mesure, that is
 dryven with werldly wyndes. This man, that
 whilom was fre, to whom the hevene was
 opyn and knowen, and was wont to gon in
 hevenliche pathes, and saughe the lyghtnesse
10 of the rede sonne, and saughe the
 sterres of the coolde mone, and whiche
 sterre in hevene useth wandrynge recourses
 iflyt by diverse speeris -- this man, overcomere,
 hadde comprehendid al this by nombre (of
 acontynge in astronomye). And, over this, he
 was wont to seken the causes whennes the sounynge
 wyndes moeven and bysien the smothe
 watir of the see; and what spirit turneth the
 stable hevene; and why the sterre ariseth
20 out of the rede est, to fallen in the westrene
 wawes; and what attemprith the lusty
 houres of the firste somer sesoun, that highteth
 and apparaileth the erthe with rosene
 floures; and who maketh that plentyvous
 autumpne in fulle [yere] fletith with hevy
 grapes. And eek this man was wont to tellen
 the diverse causes of nature that weren yhidd.
 Allas! Now lyth he emptid of lyght of his
 thoght, and his nekke is pressyd with hevy
30 cheynes, and bereth his chere enclyned
 adoun for the grete weyghte, and is constreyned
 to loken on the fool erthe!"
 "But tyme is now," quod sche, "of medicyne
 more than of compleynte." Forsothe thanne
 sche, entendynge to meward with al the lookynge
 of hir eien, seyde: "Art nat thou he,"
 quod sche, "that whilom, norissched with my
 melk and fostred with myne metes, were escaped
 and comyn to corage of a parfit man?
 Certes I yaf the swiche armures that, yif thou
 thiselve ne haddest first cast hem awey,
10 they schulden han defended the in sekernesse
 that mai nat ben overcomyn. Knowestow
 me nat? Why arttow stille? Is it for
 schame or for astonynge? It were me levere
 that it were for schame, but it semeth me that
 astonynge hath oppresside the." And whan sche
 say me nat oonly stille but withouten office
 of tunge and al dowmbe, sche leyde hir hand
 sooftly uppon my breest and seide: "Here nys
 no peril," quod sche; "he is fallen into a
20 litargye, whiche that is a comune seknesse
 to hertes that been desceyved. He hath a
 litil foryeten hymselve, but certes he schal
 lightly remembren hymself yif so be that he
 hath knowen me or now; and that he may so
 doon, I will wipe a litil his eien that ben
 dirked by the cloude of mortel thynges." Thise
 woordes seide sche, and with the lappe of hir
 garnement yplited in a frownce sche dryede
 myn eien, that weren fulle of the wawes of wepynges.
 Thus, whan that nyght was discussed and
 chased awey, dirknesses forleten me, and to
 myn eien repeyred ayen hir firste strengthe.
 And ryght by ensaumple as the sonne is hydd
 whan the sterres ben clustred (that is to seyn,
 whan sterres ben covered with cloudes) by
 a swyft wynd that hyghte Chorus, and that
 the firmament stant dirked with wete plowngy
 cloudes; and that the sterres nat apeeren
10 upon hevene, so that the nyght semeth
 sprad upon erthe: yif thanne the wynde that
 hyghte Boreas, isent out of the kaves of the
 cuntre of Trace, betith this nyght (that is to
 seyn, chaseth it awey) and discovereth the
 closed day, thanne schyneth Phebus ischaken
 with sodeyn light and smyteth with his beemes
 in merveylynge eien.
 Ryght so, and noon other wise, the cloudes
 of sorwe dissolved and doon awey, I took hevene,
 and resceyved mynde to knowe the face
 of my fisycien; so that [whan] [that] I sette myne
 eien on hir and fastned my lookynge, I byholde
 my noryce, Philosophie, in whoos houses I
 hadde conversed and hauntyd fro my youthe;
 and I seide thus: "O thou maystresse of alle
 vertues, descended from the sovereyne
10 sete, whi arttow comen into this solitarie
 place of myn exil? Artow comen for thou
 art maad coupable with me of false blames?"
 "O," quod sche, "my nory, schulde I forsake
 the now, and schulde I nat parten with the by
 comune travaile the charge that thow hast
 suffred for envye of my name? Certes it nere nat
 leveful ne syttynge thyng to Philosophie to leten
 withouten companye the weye of hym that is
 innocent. Schulde I thanne redowte my
20 blame and agrysen as though ther were
 byfallen a newe thyng? For trowestow that
 Philosophie be now alderferst assailed in periles
 by folk of wykkide maneris? Have I noght
 stryven with ful greet strif in old tyme, byfor the
 age of my Plato, ayens the foolhardynesse
 of folye? And eek, the same Plato lyvynge, his
 mayster Socrates desserved victorie of unryghtful
 deth in my presence. The heritage of
 the whiche Socrates (the heritage is to
30 seyn the doctryne of the whiche Socrates
 in his opinyoun of felicite, that I clepe
 welefulnesse) whan that the peple of Epycuriens
 and Stoyciens and manye othere enforceden
 hem to gon ravyssche everyche man for his part
 (that is to seyn, that everych of hem wolde
 drawen to the deffense of his opinyoun the
 wordes of Socrates), they as in partye of hir
 preye todrowen me, cryinge and debatyng
 ther-ayens, and korven and torente my
40 clothes that I hadde woven with myn
 handes; and with tho cloutes that thei
 hadden arased out of my clothes thei wenten
 awey wenynge that I hadde gon with hem every
 del. In whiche Epycuriens and Stoyciens for as
 myche as ther semede some traces or steppes of
 myn abyte, the folie of men wenynge tho
 Epycuryens and Stoyciens my familiers pervertede
 some thurw the errour of the wikkide
 or unkunnynge multitude of hem.
50 (This is to seyn, that for they semeden
 philosophres thei weren pursuyed to the
 deth and slayn.)
 "So yif thou ne hast noght knowen the
 exilynge of Anaxogore, ne the empoisonynge of
 Socrates, ne the turmentz of Zeno, for they
 weren straungiers, yit myghtestow han knowen
 the Senecciens and the Canyos and the Soranas,
 of whiche folk the renoun is neyther over-oold
 ne unsollempne. The whiche men nothyng
60 elles ne broght hem to the deeth but oonly
 for thei weren enformyd of myne maneris,
 and semyde moost unlyk to the studies of
 wykkid folk. And forthi thou oughtest noght to
 wondren thoughe that I, in the byttere see of this
 lif, be fordryven with tempestes blowynge
 aboute, in the whiche this is my moste purpoos,
 that is to seyn to displesen to wikkide men. Of
 whiche schrewes al be the oost nevere so greet,
 it es to despise; for it nys nat governyd with
70 no ledere (of resoun), but it es ravyssched
 oonly by fleetynge errour folyly and
 lyghtly; and yif they somtyme, makynge an oost
 ayens us, assayle us as strengere, our ledere
 draweth togidre his richesses into his tour, and
 they ben ententyf aboute sarpleris or sachelis,
 unprofitable for to taken. But we that ben heghe
 above, syker fro alle tumolte and wood noyse,
 warnstoryd and enclosed in swiche a palys
 whider as that chaterynge or anoyinge
80 folye ne may nat atayne, we scorne swyche
 ravyneres and henteres of fouleste thynges.
 "Whoso it be that is cleer of vertue, sad and
 wel ordynat of lyvynge, that hath put under
 fote the proude wierdes, and loketh upryght
 upon either fortune, he may holden his chere
 undesconfited. The rage ne the manaces of the
 see, commoevynge or chasynge upward hete
 fro the botme, ne schal nat moeve that man.
 Ne the unstable mowntaigne that highte Visevus,
 that writhith out thurw his brokene
10 chemeneyes smokynge fieres, ne the wey of
 thonderleit, that is wont to smyten hye
 toures, ne schal nat moeve that man. Wharto
 thanne, o wrecches, drede ye tirauntz that ben
 wode and felenous withouten ony strengthe?
 Hope aftir no thyng, ne drede nat; and so
 schaltow desarmen the ire of thilke unmyghty
 tiraunt. But whoso that, qwakynge, dredeth
 or desireth thyng that nys noght stable of his
 ryght, that man that so dooth hath cast
20 awey his scheeld, and is remoeved from
 his place, and enlaceth hym in the cheyne
 with whiche he mai ben drawen.
 "Felistow," quod sche, "thise thynges, and
 entren thei aughte in thy corage? Artow like
 an asse to the harpe? Why wepistow, why
 spillestow teeris? Yif thou abidest after helpe
 of thi leche, the byhoveth discovre thy
 wownde."
 Tho I, that hadde gaderyd strengthe in my
 corage, answeride and seide: "And nedeth it
 yit," quod I, "of rehersynge or of ammonicioun?
10 And scheweth it nat ynoghe by
 hymselve the scharpnesse of Fortune, that
 waxeth wood ayens me? Ne moeveth it nat
 the to seen the face or the manere of this place?
 Is this the librarye which that thou haddest
 chosen for a ryght certein sege to the in myn
 hous, there as thow disputedest ofte with me
 of the sciences of thynges touchynge dyvinyte
 and mankynde? Was thanne myn habit
 swiche as it is now? Was my face or my
20 chere swyche as now whan I soghte with
 the the secretis of nature, whan thow enformedest
 my maneris and the resoun of al my
 lif to the ensaumple of the ordre of hevene? Is
 noght this the gerdouns that I referre to the, to
 whom I have ben obeisaunt?
 "Certes thou confermedest by the mouth of
 Plato this sentence, that is to seyn that comune
 thynges or comunalites weren blisful yif they
 that hadden studied al fully to wysdom
30 governeden thilke thynges; or elles yif it so
 befille that the governours of comunalites
 studieden to geten wysdom. Thou seidest eek by
 the mouth of the same Plato that it was a
 necessarie cause wise men to taken and desire
 the governance of comune thynges, for that the
 governementz of cites, ilefte in the handes of
 felonous turmentours citezeens, ne schulde
 noght bryngen in pestilence ande destruccioun
 to good folk. And therfore I, folwynge
40 thilke auctorite, desired to putten forth in
 execucion and in acte of comune administracioun
 thilk thynges that I hadde lernyd
 of the among my secre restyng-whiles.
 "Thow and God, that putte the in the
 thoughtes of wise folk, ben knowynge with me
 that nothyng ne brought me to maistrie or
 dignyte but the comune studie of alle goodnesse.
 And therof cometh it that bytwixen
 wikkid folk and me han ben grevous
50 discordes, that ne myghte nat ben relessed
 by preyeris; for this liberte hath the fredom
 of conscience, that the wraththe of more myghty
 folk hath alwey ben despised of me for savacioun
 of right. How ofte have I resisted and withstonden
 thilke man that highte Connigaste, that
 made alwey assawtes ayens the propre fortunes
 of pore feble folk! How ofte eek have I put of
 or cast out hym Trygwille, provoste of the
 kyngis hous, bothe of the wronges that he
60 hadde bygunne to doon, and ek fully
 performed! How ofte have I covered and
 defended by the auctorite of me put ayens perils
 (that is to seyn, put myn auctorite in peril for)
 the wrecche pore folk, that the covetise of
 straungiers unpunyschid tormentyde alwey with
 myseses and grevances out of nombre! Nevere
 man ne drow me yit fro right to wrong. Whan
 I say the fortunes and the richesses of the peple
 of the provinces ben harmed or amenuced
70 outher be pryve ravynes or by comune
 tributz or cariages, as sory was I as they
 that suffriden the harm. (Glosa. Whan that
 Theodoric, the kyng of Gothes, in a dere yeer,
 hadde his gerneeris ful of corn, and comaundede
 that no man schulde byen no coorn til
 his corn were soold, and that at a grevous dere
 prys, Boece withstood that ordenaunce and
 overcome it, knowynge al this the kyng hymselve.
 Coempcioun is to seyn comune
80 achat or beyinge togidre, that were establissed
 upon the peple by swich a
 manere imposicioun, as whoso boughte a
 busschel corn, he most yyve the kyng the fyfte
 part.) Textus. Whan it was in the sowre hungry
 tyme, ther was establissed or cryed grevous and
 unplitable coempcioun, that men sayen wel it
 schulde gretly tormenten and endamagen al the
 provynce of Campayne, I took stryf ayens the
 provost of the pretorie for comune profit;
90 and, the kyng knowynge of it, Y overcom
 it, so that the coempcioun ne was nat axid
 ne took effect. Paulyn, a conseiller of Rome, the
 richesses of the whiche Paulyn the howndes of
 the paleys (that is to seyn, the officeres) wolden
 han devoured by hope and covetyse, yit drowe
 I hym out of the jowes of hem that gapeden. And
 for as moche as the peyne of the accusacioun
 ajugid byforn ne schulde noght sodeynli henten
 ne punyssche wrongfully Albyn, a
100 conseiller of Rome, I putte me ayens the
 hates and indignacions of the accusour
 Cyprian. Is it nat thanne inoghe isene that I have
 purchaced grete discordes ayens myself? But I
 oughte be the more asseured ayens alle othere
 folk, that for the love of rightwisnesse I ne
 reservede nevere nothyng to myselve to hemward
 of the kyngis halle, by whiche I were the
 more syker. But thurw tho same accusours accusynge
 I am condempned.
110 "Of the nombre of whiche accusours,
 oon Basilius, that whilom was chased out of
 the kyngis servyse, is now compelled in accusynge
 of my name for nede of foreyne moneye.
 Also Opilion and Gaudencius han accused me,
 al be it so that the justise regal hadde whilom
 demed hem bothe to gon into exil for hir trecheries
 and frawdes withouten nombre, to whiche
 juggement they nolden nat obeye, but defendeden
 hem by the sikernesse of holi
120 houses (that is to seyn, fledden into
 seyntewarie); and whan this was aperceyved
 to the kyng, he comandide that, but they
 voydide the cite of Ravenne by certeyn day
 assigned, that men scholde marken hem on the
 forheved with an hoot iren and chasen hem out
 of towne. Now what thyng semyth myghte ben
 likned to this cruelte? For certes thilke same day
 was resceyved the accusynge of myn name by
 thilke same accusours. What may ben seyd
130 herto? Hath my studie and my kunnynge
 disserved thus? Or elles the forseyde
 dampnacioun of me -- made that hem ryghtfulle
 accusours or no? Was noght Fortune
 aschamed of this? Certes, al hadde noght
 Fortune ben aschamed that innocence was
 accused, yit oughte sche han hadde schame of
 the fylthe of myn accusours.
 "But axestow in somme of what gylt I am
 accused? Men seyn that I wolde saven
140 the companye of the senatours. And
 desirestow to heren in what manere? I am
 accused that I schulde han disturbed the
 accusour to beren lettres, by whiche he scholde
 han maked the senatours gylty ayens the kynges
 real majeste. O Maystresse, what demestow of
 this? Schal I forsake this blame, that Y ne be no
 schame to the? Certes I have wolde it (that is to
 seyn, the savacioun of the senat), ne I schal
 nevere letten to wilne it. And that I
150 confesse and am aknowe; but the entente of
 the accusour to ben distorbed schal cese.
 For schal I clepe it thanne a felonye or a synne
 that I have desired the savacioun of the ordre of
 the senat? And certes yit hadde thilke same senat
 don by me thurw hir decretz and hir jugementz
 as thoughe it were a synne and a felonye (that
 is to seyn, to wilne the savacioun of hem). But
 folye, that lyeth alwey to hymselve, may noght
 chaunge the merite of thynges, ne I trowe
160 nat by the jugement of Socrates that it were
 leveful to me to hide the sothe ne assente
 to lesynges.
 "But certes, how so evere it be of this, I putte
 it to gessen or prisen to the jugement of the and
 of wys folk. Of whiche thyng al the ordenaunce
 and the sothe, for as moche as folk that been to
 comen aftir our dayes schullen knowen it, I have
 put it in scripture and in remembraunce. For
 touchynge the lettres falsly maked, by
170 whiche lettres I am accused to han hoped
 the fredom of Rome, what aperteneth me
 to speken therof? Of whiche lettres the fraude
 hadde ben schewed apertely, yif I hadde had
 liberte for to han used and ben at the confessioun
 of myn accusours, the whiche thyng in
 alle nedes hath greet strengthe. For what other
 fredom mai men hopen? Certes I wolde that som
 other fredom myghte ben hoped; I wolde
 thanne han answeryd by the wordys of a
180 man that hyghte Canyus. For whan he was
 accused by Gaius Cesar, Germaynes sone,
 that he was knowynge and consentynge of a
 conjuracioun ymaked ayens hym, this Canyus
 answeride thus: `Yif I hadde wyst it, thou
 haddest noght wyst it.'
 "In whiche thyng sorwe hath noght so dullid
 my wyt that I pleyne oonly that schrewed folk
 apparailen felonyes ayens vertu; but I wondre
 gretly how that thei may performe thynges
190 that thei han hoped for to doon. Forwhy to
 wylne schrewydnesse -- that cometh peraventure
 of our defaute; but it is lyk a monstre
 and a merveyle how that, in the presente
 sight of God, may ben acheved and performed
 swiche thynges as every felonous man
 hath conceyved in his thoght ayens innocentz.
 For whiche thynge oon of thy familiers
 noght unskilfully axed thus: `Yif God
 is, whennes comen wikkide thyngis? And
200 yif God ne is, whennes comen gode
 thynges?' But al hadde it ben leveful that
 felonous folk, that now desiren the blood and
 the deeth of alle gode men and ek of al the senat,
 han wilned to gon destroyen me, whom they han
 seyn alwey bataylen and defenden gode men
 and eek al the senat, yit hadde I nought
 disservyd of the faderes (that is to seyn, of
 the senatours) that they schulden wilne my
 destruccioun.
210 "Thow remembrest wel, as I gesse, that
 whan I wolde doon or seyn any thyng,
 thow thiselve alwey present reuledest me. [And]
 [wel] [thow] [remembrest] at the cite of Verone,
 whan that the kyng, gredy of comune slaughtre,
 caste hym to transporten upon al the ordre of the
 senat the gilt of his real majeste, of the whiche
 gilt that Albyn was accused, with how gret
 sykernesse of peril to me defended I al the senat!
 Thow woost wel that I sey sooth, ne
220 I n' avawntede me nevere in preysynge
 of myselve. For alwey whan any wyght
 resceyveth precious renoun in avauntynge
 hymselve of his werkes, he amenuseth the secre
 of his conscience. But now thow mayst wel seen
 to what eende I am comen for myn innocence;
 I resceyve peyne of fals felonye for guerdoun of
 verrai vertue. And what opene confessioun of
 felonye hadde evere juges so accordaunt in
 cruelte (that is to seyn, as myn accusynge
230 hath. that either errour of mannys wit, or
 elles condicion of fortune, that is uncerteyn
 to alle mortel folk, ne submyttede some of hem
 (that is to seyn, that it ne enclynede som juge
 to have pite or compassioun)? For althoughe I
 hadde ben accused that I wolde brenne holi
 houses and straungle preestis with wykkid
 sweerd, or that I hadde greythed deth to alle
 gode men, algates the sentence scholde han
 punysshed me present, confessed or convict.
240 But now I am remuwed fro the cite of
 Rome almest fyve hundred thowsand paas,
 I am withoute deffense dampnyd to proscripcion
 and to the deth for the studie and
 bountes that I have doon to the senat. But, O,
 wel ben thei wurthy of meryte (as who seith,
 nay), ther myghte nevere yit noon of hem ben
 convicte of swiche a blame as myn is. Of whiche
 trespas myne accusours sayen ful wel the
 dignete; the whiche dignyte, for thei
250 wolden derken it with medlynge of some
 felonye, they bare me on hande and lieden
 that I hadde pollut and defouled my conscience
 with sacrilegie for covetise of dignyte. And
 certes thou thiselve, that art plaunted in me,
 chacedest out of the sege of my corage alle
 covetise of mortel thynges, ne sacrilege ne
 hadde no leve to han a place in me byforn
 thyne eien. For thow droppiddest every day
 in myn eris and in my thought thilke
260 comaundement of Pictagoras, that is to
 seyn, men schal serven to God and noght
 to goddes. Ne it was noght convenient ne no
 nede to taken help of the fouleste spiritz -- I,
 that thow hast ordeyned and set in swiche
 excellence, that thou makedest me lyk to God.
 And over this, the right clene secre chaumbre of
 myn hous (that is to seyn, my wif), and the
 companye of myne honeste freendes, and
 my wyves fadir, as wel holi as worthy to
270 ben reverenced thurw his owene dedes,
 defenden me fro alle suspecioun of swiche
 blame. But O malice! For they that accusen me
 taken of the, Philosophie, feith of so greet
 blame, for they trowen that I have had affinyte
 to malefice or enchauntement, bycause that I am
 replenysshid and fulfild with thy techynges, and
 enformed of thi maneris. And thus it suffiseth nat
 oonly that thi reverence ne avayle me nat, but yif
 that thow of thy free wil rather be
280 blemessched with myne offencioun.
 "But certes, to the harmes that I have,
 ther bytideth yit this encrees of harm, that the
 gessynge and the jugement of moche folk ne
 loken nothyng to the desertes of thynges, but
 oonly to the aventure of fortune; and jugen
 that oonly swiche thynges ben purveied of
 God, whiche that temporel welefulnesse
 commendeth. (Glose. As thus: that yif a
 wyght have prosperite, he is a good man
290 and worthy to han that prosperite; and
 whoso hath adversite, he is a wikkid
 man, and God hath forsake hym, and he is
 worthy to han that adversite. This is the
 opinyoun of some folk.) Textus. And therof
 cometh that good gessynge, first of alle thynge,
 forsaketh wrecches. Certes it greveth me to
 thynke ryght now the diverse sentences that the
 peple seith of me. And thus moche I seie, that
 the laste charge of contrarious fortune is
300 this: that whan eny blame is leid upon a
 caytif, men wenen that he hath desservyd
 that he suffreth. And I, that am put awey fro
 gode men, and despoyled of dignytes, and
 defouled of myn name by gessynge, have
 suffride torment for my gode dedes. Certes me
 semyth that I se the felonous covynes of wykkid
 men habounden in joye and in gladnesse; and I
 se that every lorel schapeth hym to fynde out
 newe fraudes for to accuse good folk; and
310 I se that goode men [lien] overthrowen for
 drede of my peril, and every luxurious
 turmentour dar doon alle felonye unpunysschyd,
 and ben excited therto by yiftes; and
 innocentz ne ben noght oonly despoiled of
 sikernesse, but of defense; and therfore me lyst manere:
 "O thow makere of the wheel that bereth
 the sterres, whiche that art festnyd to thi perdurable
 chayer, and turnest the hevene with a
 ravysschynge sweighe, and constreynest the
 sterres to suffren thi lawe; so that the moone
 somtyme, schynynge with hir fulle hornes metynge
 with alle the beemes of the sonne hir
 brothir, hideth the sterres that ben lasse; and
 somtyme, whan the moone pale with hir
10 derke hornes aprocheth the sonne, leeseth
 hir lyghtes; and that the eve sterre, Hesperus,
 whiche that in the first tyme of the nyght
 bryngeth forth hir colde arysynges, cometh eft
 ayen hir used cours, and is pale by the morwe
 at rysynge of the sonne, and is thanne clepid
 Lucyfer! Thow restreynest the day by schortere
 duellynge in the tyme of coold wynter that
 maketh the leeves falle. Thow devydest the
 swyfte tydes of the nyght, whan the hote
20 somer is comen. Thy myghte attempreth
 the variauntz sesouns of the yer, so that
 Zephirus, the debonere wynd, bryngeth ayen
 in the first somer sesoun the leeves that the
 wynd that hyghte Boreas hath reft awey in
 autumpne (that is to seie, in the laste ende of
 somer); and the seedes that the sterre that
 highte Arcturus saugh ben waxen heye cornes
 whan the sterre Syrius eschaufeth hem. Ther
 nys no thyng unbounde from his olde lawe,
30 ne forleteth the werk of his propre estat.
 "O thou governour, governynge alle
 thynges by certein ende, whi refusestow oonly
 to governe the werkes of men by duwe manere?
 Why suffrestow that slydynge Fortune turneth
 so grete enterchaungynges of thynges? So
 that anoyous peyne, that scholde duweliche
 punysche felons, punysscheth innocentz; and
 folk of wikkide maneres sitten in heie chayeres;
 and anoyinge folk treden, and that unrightfully,
40 on the nekkes of holi men; and
 vertu, cleer and schynynge naturely, is
 hidde in derke derknesses; and the rightful man
 bereth the blame and the peyne of the feloun; ne
 the forswerynge ne the fraude covered and
 kembd with a false colour, ne anoieth nat to
 schrewes? The whiche schrewes, whan hem list
 to usen hir strengthe, they rejoyssen hem to
 putten undir hem the sovereyne kynges, whiche
 that peple withouten nombre dreden. O
50 thou, what so evere thou be that knyttest
 alle boondes of thynges, loke on thise
 wrecchide erthes. We men, that ben noght a foul
 partie, but a fair partie of so greet a werk, we
 ben turmented in this see of fortune. Thow
 governour, withdraughe and restreyne the
 ravysschynge flodes, and fastne and ferme thise
 erthes stable with thilke boond by whiche thou
 governest the hevene that is so large."
 Whan I hadde with a contynuel sorwe
 sobbyd or borken out thise thynges, sche, with
 hir cheere pesible and nothyng amoeved with
 my compleyntes, seide thus: "Whan I saugh
 the," quod sche, "sorwful and wepynge, I
 wiste anoon that thow were a wrecche and
 exiled; but I wyste nevere how fer thyn exil
 was yif thy tale ne hadde schewid it me. But
 certes, al be thow fer fro thy cuntre, thou
10 n' art nat put out of it, but thow hast fayled
 of thi weye and gon amys. And yif thou
 hast levere for to wene that thow be put out
 of thy cuntre, thanne hastow put out thyselve
 rather than ony other wyght hath. For no
 wyght but thyselve ne myghte nevere han doon
 that to the. For yif thow remembre of what
 cuntre thow art born, it nys nat governed by
 emperoures, ne by governement of multitude,
 as weren the cuntrees of hem of Atthenes;
20 but o lord and o kyng, and that is God, that
 is lord of thi cuntre, whiche that rejoisseth
 hym of the duellynge of his citezeens, and nat
 for to putten hem in exil; of the whiche lord
 it is a sovereyn fredom to ben governed by the
 brydel of hym and obeye to his justice. Hastow
 foryeten thilke ryghte oolde lawe of thi citee, in
 the whiche cite it es ordeyned and establysschid
 that what wyght that hath levere
 founden therin his sete or his hous than
30 elleswhere, he may nat ben exiled by no
 ryght fro that place? For whoso that is
 contened inwith the palys and the clos of
 thilke cite, ther nys no drede that he mai deserve
 to ben exiled; but who that leteth the
 wil for to enhabyten there, he forleteth also
 to deserve to ben citezen of thilke cite. So that
 I seie that the face of this place ne moeveth
 me noght so mochel as thyn owene face, ne
 I ne axe nat rather the walles of thy librarye,
40 apparayled and wrought with yvory
 and with glas, than after the sete of thi
 thought, in whiche I put noght whilom bookes,
 but I putte that that maketh bokes wurthy
 of prys or precyous, that is to seyn the sentence
 of my bookes.
 "And certeynly of thy dessertes bystowed in
 comune good thow hast seyd soth, but after the
 multitude of thy gode dedes thou hast seyd
 fewe. And of the honestete or of the falsnesse
50 of thynges that ben opposed ayens
 the, thow hast remembred thynges that ben
 knowen to alle folk. And of the felonyes and
 fraudes of thyn accusours, it semeth the have
 touched it for sothe ryghtfully and schortly, al
 myghten tho same thynges betere and more
 plentevously ben couth in the mouth of the
 peple that knoweth al this. Thow hast eek
 blamed gretly and compleyned of the wrongdede
 of the senat, and thow hast sorwyd
60 for my blame, and thow hast wepen for
 the damage of thi renoun that is apayred;
 and thi laste sorwe eschaufede ayens Fortune,
 and compleyndest that guerdouns ne ben nat
 eveneliche yolden to the dessertes of folk. And
 in the lattre eende of thy wode muse, thow
 preydest that thilke pees that governeth the
 hevene schulde governe the erthe.
 "But for that many [turbacions] of affeccions
 han assailed the, and sorwe and ire and
70 wepynge todrawen the diversely, as thou
 art now feble of thought, myghtyere remedies
 ne schullen noght yit touchen the. For
 wyche we wol usen somdel lyghtere medicynes,
 so that thilke passiouns that ben waxen hard in
 swellynge by perturbacions flowynge into thy
 thought, mowen waxen esy and softe to resceyven
 the strengthe of a more myghty and
 more egre medicyne, by an esyere touchynge.
 "Whan that the hevy sterre of the Cancre
 eschaufeth by the bemes of Phebus (that is to
 seyn, whan that Phebus the sonne is in the
 sygne of the Cancre), whoso yeveth thanne
 largely his seedes to the feeldes that refusen
 to resceyven hem, lat hym gon, begiled of trust
 that he hadde to his corn, to accornes of okes.
 Yif thow wolt gadere vyolettes, ne go thow
 nat to the purpre wode whan the feeld,
10 chirkynge, agryseth of cold by the felnesse
 of the wynd that hyghte Aquilon. Yif thou
 desirest or wolt usen grapes, ne seek thou nat
 with a glotonos hand to streyne and presse the
 stalkes of the vyne in the first somer sesoun;
 for Bachus, the god of wyn, hath rather yyven
 his yiftes to autumpne (the lattere ende of
 somer). God tokneth and assigneth the tymes,
 ablynge hem to hir propre offices, ne he ne suffreth
 nat the stowndes whiche that hymself
20 hath devyded and constreyned to ben
 imedled togidre. And forthy he that forleteth
 certein ordenaunce of doynge by overthrowynge
 wey, he hath no glad issue or ende of his
 werkes.
 "First wiltow suffre me to touche and assaye
 th' estaat of thi thought by a fewe demaundes,
 so that I may understande what be the manere
 of thi curacioun?"
 "Axe me," quod I, "at thi wille what thou
 wolt, and I schal answere." Tho seyde sche
 thus: "Whethir wenestow," quod sche, "that
 this world be governed by foolyssche happes
 and fortunows, or elles wenestow that ther
10 be inne it ony governement of resoun?"
 "Certes," quod I, "I ne trowe nat in no
 manere that so certeyn thynges schulden be
 moeved by fortunows [folie]; but I woot wel
 that God, makere and maister, is governour of
 his werk, ne nevere nas yit day that myghte
 putte me out of the sothnesse of that sentence."
 "So it is," quod sche, "for the same thyng
 songe thow a litil herebyforn, and bywayledest
 and byweptest, that oonly men weren
20 put out of the cure of God; for of alle othere
 thynges thou ne doutedest the nat that they
 nere governed by resoun. But owgh! I wondre
 gretly, certes, whi that thou art sik, syn that
 thow art put in so holsome a sentence. But lat
 us seken deppere; I conjecte that ther lakketh
 Y not what. But sey me this: syn that thow
 ne doutest noght that this world be governed
 by God, with whiche governayles takestow
 heede that it is governed?"
30 "Unnethes," quod I, "knowe I the sentence
 of thy questioun, so that I ne may
 nat yit answeren to thy demandes."
 "I nas nat desseyved," quod sche, "that ther
 ne faileth somwhat, by whiche the maladye of
 perturbacion is crept into thi thought, so as
 [by] the strengthe of the palys chynynge
 [and] open. But sey me this: remembrestow
 what is the ende of thynges, and whider that
 the entencion of alle kende tendeth?"
40 "I have herd tolde it somtyme," quod I,
 "but drerynesse hath dulled my memorie."
 "Certes," quod sche, "thou wost wel whennes
 that alle thynges bien comen and proceded?"
 "I woot wel," quod I, and answerede that
 God is bygynnynge of al.
 "And how may this be," quod sche, "that,
 syn thow knowest the bygynnynge of thynges,
 that thow ne knowest nat what is the eende
 of thynges? But swiche ben the customes
50 of perturbaciouns, and this power they han,
 that they mai moeve a man from his place
 (that is to seyn, fro the stabelnesse and perfeccion
 of his knowynge); but certes, thei mai nat
 al arrace hym, ne aliene hym in al. But I wolde
 that thou woldest answere to this: Remembrestow
 that thow art a man?"
 Boece. "Whi schulde I nat remembren that?"
 quod I.
 Philosophie. "Maystow noght telle me
60 thanne," quod sche, "what thyng is a man?"
 "Axestow me nat," quod I, "whethir
 that I [woot wel that I] be a resonable mortel
 beste? I woot wel, and I confesse wel that I am
 it."
 "Wystestow nevere yit that thow were ony
 othir thyng?" quod sche.
 "No," quod I.
 "Now woot I," quod sche, "other cause of thi
 maladye, and that ryght greet: thow hast
70 left for to knowen thyselve what thou art.
 Thurw whiche I have pleynly fownde the
 cause of thi maladye, or elles the entree of
 recoverynge of thyn hele. For-why, for thow art
 confunded with foryetynge of thiself, forthi
 sorwestow that thow art exiled [and] [despoyled]
 of thy propre goodes; and for thow ne woost
 what is the eende of thynges, forthy demestow
 that felonus and wikkide men ben myghty and
 weleful; and for thow hast foryeten by
80 whiche governementz the werld is governed,
 forthy weenestow that thise mutacions
 of fortunes fleten withouten governour.
 Thise ben grete causes, noght oonly to
 maladye, but certes gret causes to deth. But I
 thanke the auctour and the makere of hele, that
 nature hath nat al forleten the. I have gret
 noryssynges of thyn hele, and that is, the sothe
 sentence of governance of the werld, that thou
 bylevest that the governynge of it nis nat
90 subgit ne underput to the folye of thise
 happes aventurous, but to the resoun of
 God. And therfore doute the nothing, for of this
 litel spark thine heet of liif schal shine.
 "But for as moche as it is nat tyme yet of
 fastere remedies, and the nature of thoughtes
 desceyved is this, that, as ofte as they casten awey
 sothe opynyouns, they clothen hem in false
 opynyouns, of the whiche false opynyouns the
 derknesse of perturbacion waxeth up, that
100 confowndeth the verray insyghte -- [that]
 derknesse schal I assaie somwhat to maken
 thynne and wayk by lyghte and meneliche
 remedies; so that, aftir that the derknesse of
 desceyvynge desyrynges is doon away, thow
 mowe knowe the schynynge of verraye light.
 "The sterres, covred with blake cloudes, ne
 owen yeten adoun no lyght. Yif the truble
 wynd that hyghte Auster, turnynge and walwynge
 the see, edleth the heete (that is to
 seyn, the boylynge up fro the bote), the
 wawes, that whilo weren clere as glas and
 lyk to the fayre bryghte dayes, withstande
 anon the syghtes of en by the filthe and
 ordure that is resolved. And the fleetynge
10 stree, that royleth doun diversely fro heye
 ontaygnes, is areestid and resisted ofte
 tye by the encountrynge of a stoon that is
 departed and fallen fro soe roche. And forthy,
 yif thou wolt loken and deen soth with cleer
 lyght, and hoolden the weye with a ryght path,
 weyve thow joie, dryf fro the drede, flee thow
 hope, ne lat no sorwe aproche (that is to seyn,
 lat non of thise foure passiouns overcoen the
 or blenden the). For cloudy and derk is
20 thilke thoght, and bownde with bridelis,
 where as thise thynges reignen."

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