THE FRIAR'S TALE.

THE PROLOGUE.

This worthy limitour, this noble Frere,

He made always a manner louring cheer* *countenance

Upon the Sompnour; but for honesty* *courtesy

No villain word as yet to him spake he:

But at the last he said unto the Wife:

"Dame," quoth he, "God give you right good life,

Ye have here touched, all so may I the,* *thrive

In school matter a greate difficulty.

Ye have said muche thing right well, I say;

But, Dame, here as we ride by the way,

Us needeth not but for to speak of game,

And leave authorities, in Godde's name,

To preaching, and to school eke of clergy.

But if it like unto this company,

I will you of a Sompnour tell a game;

Pardie, ye may well knowe by the name,

That of a Sompnour may no good be said;

I pray that none of you be *evil paid;* *dissatisfied*

A Sompnour is a runner up and down

With mandements* for fornicatioun, *mandates, summonses*

And is y-beat at every towne's end."

Then spake our Host; "Ah, sir, ye should be hend* *civil, gentle

And courteous, as a man of your estate;

In company we will have no debate:

Tell us your tale, and let the Sompnour be."

"Nay," quoth the Sompnour, "let him say by me

What so him list; when it comes to my lot,

By God, I shall him quiten* every groat! *pay him off

I shall him telle what a great honour

It is to be a flattering limitour

And his office I shall him tell y-wis".

Our Host answered, "Peace, no more of this."

And afterward he said unto the frere,

"Tell forth your tale, mine owen master dear."

THE TALE.

Whilom* there was dwelling in my country *once on a time

An archdeacon, a man of high degree,

That boldely did execution,

In punishing of fornication,

Of witchecraft, and eke of bawdery,

Of defamation, and adultery,

Of churche-reeves,* and of testaments, *churchwardens

Of contracts, and of lack of sacraments,

And eke of many another manner* crime, *sort of

Which needeth not rehearsen at this time,

Of usury, and simony also;

But, certes, lechours did he greatest woe;

They shoulde singen, if that they were hent;* *caught

And smale tithers were foul y-shent,* *troubled, put to shame

If any person would on them complain;

There might astert them no pecunial pain.

For smalle tithes, and small offering,

He made the people piteously to sing;

For ere the bishop caught them with his crook,

They weren in the archedeacon's book;

Then had he, through his jurisdiction,

Power to do on them correction.

He had a Sompnour ready to his hand,

A slier boy was none in Engleland;

For subtlely he had his espiaille,* *espionage

That taught him well where it might aught avail.

He coulde spare of lechours one or two,

To teache him to four and twenty mo'.

For, — though this Sompnour wood* be as a hare, — *furious, mad

To tell his harlotry I will not spare,

For we be out of their correction,

They have of us no jurisdiction,

Ne never shall have, term of all their lives.

"Peter; so be the women of the stives,"* *stews

Quoth this Sompnour, "y-put out of our cure."* *care

"Peace, with mischance and with misaventure,"

Our Hoste said, "and let him tell his tale.

Now telle forth, and let the Sompnour gale,* *whistle; bawl

Nor spare not, mine owen master dear."

This false thief, the Sompnour (quoth the Frere),

Had always bawdes ready to his hand,

As any hawk to lure in Engleland,

That told him all the secrets that they knew, —

For their acquaintance was not come of new;

They were his approvers* privily. *informers

He took himself at great profit thereby:

His master knew not always what he wan.* *won

Withoute mandement, a lewed* man *ignorant

He could summon, on pain of Christe's curse,

And they were inly glad to fill his purse,

And make him greate feastes at the nale.* *alehouse

And right as Judas hadde purses smale,* *small

And was a thief, right such a thief was he,

His master had but half *his duety.* *what was owing him*

He was (if I shall give him his laud)

A thief, and eke a Sompnour, and a bawd.

And he had wenches at his retinue,

That whether that Sir Robert or Sir Hugh,

Or Jack, or Ralph, or whoso that it were

That lay by them, they told it in his ear.

Thus were the wench and he of one assent;

And he would fetch a feigned mandement,

And to the chapter summon them both two,

And pill* the man, and let the wenche go. *plunder, pluck

Then would he say, "Friend, I shall for thy sake

Do strike thee out of oure letters blake;* *black

Thee thar* no more as in this case travail; *need

I am thy friend where I may thee avail."

Certain he knew of bribers many mo'

Than possible is to tell in yeare's two:

For in this world is no dog for the bow,

That can a hurt deer from a whole know,

Bet* than this Sompnour knew a sly lechour, *better

Or an adult'rer, or a paramour:

And, for that was the fruit of all his rent,

Therefore on it he set all his intent.

And so befell, that once upon a day.

This Sompnour, waiting ever on his prey,

Rode forth to summon a widow, an old ribibe,

Feigning a cause, for he would have a bribe.

And happen'd that he saw before him ride

A gay yeoman under a forest side:

A bow he bare, and arrows bright and keen,

He had upon a courtepy* of green, *short doublet

A hat upon his head with fringes blake.* *black

"Sir," quoth this Sompnour, "hail, and well o'ertake."

"Welcome," quoth he, "and every good fellaw;

Whither ridest thou under this green shaw?"* shade

Saide this yeoman; "wilt thou far to-day?"

This Sompnour answer'd him, and saide, "Nay.

Here faste by," quoth he, "is mine intent

To ride, for to raisen up a rent,

That longeth to my lorde's duety."

"Ah! art thou then a bailiff?" "Yea," quoth he.

He durste not for very filth and shame

Say that he was a Sompnour, for the name.

"De par dieux," quoth this yeoman, "leve* brother, *dear

Thou art a bailiff, and I am another.

I am unknowen, as in this country.

Of thine acquaintance I will praye thee,

And eke of brotherhood, if that thee list.* *please

I have gold and silver lying in my chest;

If that thee hap to come into our shire,

All shall be thine, right as thou wilt desire."

"Grand mercy,"* quoth this Sompnour, "by my faith." *great thanks

Each in the other's hand his trothe lay'th,

For to be sworne brethren till they dey.* *die

In dalliance they ride forth and play.

This Sompnour, which that was as full of jangles,* *chattering

As full of venom be those wariangles,* * butcher-birds

And ev'r inquiring upon every thing,

"Brother," quoth he, "where is now your dwelling,

Another day if that I should you seech?"* *seek, visit

This yeoman him answered in soft speech;

Brother," quoth he, "far in the North country,

Where as I hope some time I shall thee see

Ere we depart I shall thee so well wiss,* *inform

That of mine house shalt thou never miss."

Now, brother," quoth this Sompnour, "I you pray,

Teach me, while that we ride by the way,

(Since that ye be a bailiff as am I,)

Some subtilty, and tell me faithfully

For mine office how that I most may win.

And *spare not* for conscience or for sin, *conceal nothing*

But, as my brother, tell me how do ye."

Now by my trothe, brother mine," said he,

As I shall tell to thee a faithful tale:

My wages be full strait and eke full smale;

My lord is hard to me and dangerous,* *niggardly

And mine office is full laborious;

And therefore by extortion I live,

Forsooth I take all that men will me give.

Algate* by sleighte, or by violence, *whether

From year to year I win all my dispence;

I can no better tell thee faithfully."

Now certes," quoth this Sompnour, "so fare* I; *do

I spare not to take, God it wot,

*But if* it be too heavy or too hot. *unless*

What I may get in counsel privily,

No manner conscience of that have I.

N'ere* mine extortion, I might not live, *were it not for

For of such japes* will I not be shrive.** *tricks **confessed

Stomach nor conscience know I none;

I shrew* these shrifte-fathers** every one. *curse **confessors

Well be we met, by God and by St Jame.

But, leve brother, tell me then thy name,"

Quoth this Sompnour. Right in this meane while

This yeoman gan a little for to smile.

"Brother," quoth he, "wilt thou that I thee tell?

I am a fiend, my dwelling is in hell,

And here I ride about my purchasing,

To know where men will give me any thing.

*My purchase is th' effect of all my rent* *what I can gain is my

Look how thou ridest for the same intent sole revenue*

To winne good, thou reckest never how,

Right so fare I, for ride will I now

Into the worlde's ende for a prey."

"Ah," quoth this Sompnour, "benedicite! what say y'?

I weened ye were a yeoman truly. *thought

Ye have a manne's shape as well as I

Have ye then a figure determinate

In helle, where ye be in your estate?"* *at home

"Nay, certainly," quoth he, there have we none,

But when us liketh we can take us one,

Or elles make you seem* that we be shape *believe

Sometime like a man, or like an ape;

Or like an angel can I ride or go;

It is no wondrous thing though it be so,

A lousy juggler can deceive thee.

And pardie, yet can I more craft* than he." *skill, cunning

"Why," quoth the Sompnour, "ride ye then or gon

In sundry shapes and not always in one?"

"For we," quoth he, "will us in such form make.

As most is able our prey for to take."

"What maketh you to have all this labour?"

"Full many a cause, leve Sir Sompnour,"

Saide this fiend. "But all thing hath a time;

The day is short and it is passed prime,

And yet have I won nothing in this day;

I will intend* to winning, if I may, *apply myself

And not intend our thinges to declare:

For, brother mine, thy wit is all too bare

To understand, although I told them thee.

*But for* thou askest why laboure we: *because*

For sometimes we be Godde's instruments

And meanes to do his commandements,

When that him list, upon his creatures,

In divers acts and in divers figures:

Withoute him we have no might certain,

If that him list to stande thereagain.* *against it

And sometimes, at our prayer have we leave

Only the body, not the soul, to grieve:

Witness on Job, whom that we did full woe,

And sometimes have we might on both the two, —

This is to say, on soul and body eke,

And sometimes be we suffer'd for to seek

Upon a man and do his soul unrest

And not his body, and all is for the best,

When he withstandeth our temptation,

It is a cause of his salvation,

Albeit that it was not our intent

He should be safe, but that we would him hent.* *catch

And sometimes be we servants unto man,

As to the archbishop Saint Dunstan,

And to th'apostle servant eke was I."

"Yet tell me," quoth this Sompnour, "faithfully,

Make ye you newe bodies thus alway

Of th' elements?" The fiend answered, "Nay:

Sometimes we feign, and sometimes we arise

With deade bodies, in full sundry wise,

And speak as reas'nably, and fair, and well,

As to the Pythoness did Samuel:

And yet will some men say it was not he.

I *do no force of* your divinity. *set no value upon*

But one thing warn I thee, I will not jape,* jest

Thou wilt *algates weet* how we be shape: *assuredly know*

Thou shalt hereafterward, my brother dear,

Come, where thee needeth not of me to lear.* *learn

For thou shalt by thine own experience

*Conne in a chair to rede of this sentence,* *learn to understand

Better than Virgil, while he was alive, what I have said*

Or Dante also. Now let us ride blive,* *briskly

For I will holde company with thee,

Till it be so that thou forsake me."

"Nay," quoth this Sompnour, "that shall ne'er betide.

I am a yeoman, that is known full wide;

My trothe will I hold, as in this case;

For though thou wert the devil Satanas,

My trothe will I hold to thee, my brother,

As I have sworn, and each of us to other,

For to be true brethren in this case,

And both we go *abouten our purchase.* *seeking what we

Take thou thy part, what that men will thee give, may pick up*

And I shall mine, thus may we bothe live.

And if that any of us have more than other,

Let him be true, and part it with his brother."

"I grante," quoth the devil, "by my fay."

And with that word they rode forth their way,

And right at th'ent'ring of the towne's end,

To which this Sompnour shope* him for to wend,** *shaped **go

They saw a cart, that charged was with hay,

Which that a carter drove forth on his way.

Deep was the way, for which the carte stood:

The carter smote, and cried as he were wood,* *mad

"Heit Scot! heit Brok! what, spare ye for the stones?

The fiend (quoth he) you fetch body and bones,

As farforthly* as ever ye were foal'd, *sure

So muche woe as I have with you tholed.* *endured

The devil have all, horses, and cart, and hay."

The Sompnour said, "Here shall we have a prey,"

And near the fiend he drew, *as nought ne were,* *as if nothing

Full privily, and rowned* in his ear: were the matter*

"Hearken, my brother, hearken, by thy faith, *whispered

Hearest thou not, how that the carter saith?

Hent* it anon, for he hath giv'n it thee, *seize

Both hay and cart, and eke his capels* three." *horses

"Nay," quoth the devil, "God wot, never a deal,* whit

It is not his intent, trust thou me well;

Ask him thyself, if thou not trowest* me, *believest

Or elles stint* a while and thou shalt see." *stop

The carter thwack'd his horses on the croup,

And they began to drawen and to stoop.

"Heit now," quoth he; "there, Jesus Christ you bless,

And all his handiwork, both more and less!

That was well twight,* mine owen liart,** boy, *pulled **grey

I pray God save thy body, and Saint Loy!

Now is my cart out of the slough, pardie."

"Lo, brother," quoth the fiend, "what told I thee?

Here may ye see, mine owen deare brother,

The churl spake one thing, but he thought another.

Let us go forth abouten our voyage;

Here win I nothing upon this carriage."

When that they came somewhat out of the town,

This Sompnour to his brother gan to rown;

"Brother," quoth he, "here wons* an old rebeck, *dwells

That had almost as lief to lose her neck.

As for to give a penny of her good.

I will have twelvepence, though that she be wood,* *mad

Or I will summon her to our office;

And yet, God wot, of her know I no vice.

But for thou canst not, as in this country,

Winne thy cost, take here example of me."

This Sompnour clapped at the widow's gate:

"Come out," he said, "thou olde very trate;* *trot

I trow thou hast some friar or priest with thee."

"Who clappeth?" said this wife; "benedicite,

God save you, Sir, what is your sweete will?"

"I have," quoth he, "of summons here a bill.

Up* pain of cursing, looke that thou be *upon

To-morrow before our archdeacon's knee,

To answer to the court of certain things."

"Now Lord," quoth she, "Christ Jesus, king of kings,

So wisy* helpe me, *as I not may.* *surely *as I cannot*

I have been sick, and that full many a day.

I may not go so far," quoth she, "nor ride,

But I be dead, so pricketh it my side.

May I not ask a libel, Sir Sompnour,

And answer there by my procuratour

To such thing as men would appose* me?" *accuse

"Yes," quoth this Sompnour, "pay anon, let see,

Twelvepence to me, and I will thee acquit.

I shall no profit have thereby but lit:* *little

My master hath the profit and not I.

Come off, and let me ride hastily;

Give me twelvepence, I may no longer tarry."

"Twelvepence!" quoth she; "now lady Sainte Mary

So wisly* help me out of care and sin, *surely

This wide world though that I should it win,

No have I not twelvepence within my hold.

Ye know full well that I am poor and old;

*Kithe your almes* upon me poor wretch." *show your charity*

"Nay then," quoth he, "the foule fiend me fetch,

If I excuse thee, though thou should'st be spilt."* *ruined

"Alas!" quoth she, "God wot, I have no guilt."

"Pay me," quoth he, "or, by the sweet Saint Anne,

As I will bear away thy newe pan

For debte, which thou owest me of old, —

When that thou madest thine husband cuckold, —

I paid at home for thy correction."

"Thou liest," quoth she, "by my salvation;

Never was I ere now, widow or wife,

Summon'd unto your court in all my life;

Nor never I was but of my body true.

Unto the devil rough and black of hue

Give I thy body and my pan also."

And when the devil heard her curse so

Upon her knees, he said in this mannere;

"Now, Mabily, mine owen mother dear,

Is this your will in earnest that ye say?"

"The devil," quoth she, "so fetch him ere he dey,* *die

And pan and all, but* he will him repent." *unless

"Nay, olde stoat,* that is not mine intent," *polecat

Quoth this Sompnour, "for to repente me

For any thing that I have had of thee;

I would I had thy smock and every cloth."

"Now, brother," quoth the devil, "be not wroth;

Thy body and this pan be mine by right.

Thou shalt with me to helle yet tonight,

Where thou shalt knowen of our privity* *secrets

More than a master of divinity."

And with that word the foule fiend him hent.* *seized

Body and soul, he with the devil went,

Where as the Sompnours have their heritage;

And God, that maked after his image

Mankinde, save and guide us all and some,

And let this Sompnour a good man become.

Lordings, I could have told you (quoth this Frere),

Had I had leisure for this Sompnour here,

After the text of Christ, and Paul, and John,

And of our other doctors many a one,

Such paines, that your heartes might agrise,* *be horrified

Albeit so, that no tongue may devise,* — *relate

Though that I might a thousand winters tell, —

The pains of thilke* cursed house of hell *that

But for to keep us from that cursed place

Wake we, and pray we Jesus, of his grace,

So keep us from the tempter, Satanas.

Hearken this word, beware as in this case.

The lion sits *in his await* alway *on the watch*

To slay the innocent, if that he may.

Disposen aye your heartes to withstond

The fiend that would you make thrall and bond;

He may not tempte you over your might,

For Christ will be your champion and your knight;

And pray, that this our Sompnour him repent

Of his misdeeds ere that the fiend him hent.* *seize

****

THE SOMPNOUR'S TALE.

THE PROLOGUE.

The Sompnour in his stirrups high he stood,

Upon this Friar his hearte was so wood,* *furious

That like an aspen leaf he quoke* for ire: *quaked, trembled

"Lordings," quoth he, "but one thing I desire;

I you beseech, that of your courtesy,

Since ye have heard this false Friar lie,

As suffer me I may my tale tell

This Friar boasteth that he knoweth hell,

And, God it wot, that is but little wonder,

Friars and fiends be but little asunder.

For, pardie, ye have often time heard tell,

How that a friar ravish'd was to hell

In spirit ones by a visioun,

And, as an angel led him up and down,

To shew him all the paines that there were,

In all the place saw he not a frere;

Of other folk he saw enough in woe.

Unto the angel spake the friar tho;* *then

'Now, Sir,' quoth he, 'have friars such a grace,

That none of them shall come into this place?'

'Yes' quoth the angel; 'many a millioun:'

And unto Satanas he led him down.

'And now hath Satanas,' said he, 'a tail

Broader than of a carrack is the sail.

Hold up thy tail, thou Satanas,' quoth he,

'Shew forth thine erse, and let the friar see

Where is the nest of friars in this place.'

And *less than half a furlong way of space* *immediately*

Right so as bees swarmen out of a hive,

Out of the devil's erse there gan to drive

A twenty thousand friars *on a rout.* *in a crowd*

And throughout hell they swarmed all about,

And came again, as fast as they may gon,

And in his erse they creeped every one:

He clapt his tail again, and lay full still.

This friar, when he looked had his fill

Upon the torments of that sorry place,

His spirit God restored of his grace

Into his body again, and he awoke;

But natheless for feare yet he quoke,

So was the devil's erse aye in his mind;

That is his heritage, *of very kind* *by his very nature*

God save you alle, save this cursed Frere;

My prologue will I end in this mannere.

THE TALE.

Lordings, there is in Yorkshire, as I guess,

A marshy country called Holderness,

In which there went a limitour about

To preach, and eke to beg, it is no doubt.

And so befell that on a day this frere

Had preached at a church in his mannere,

And specially, above every thing,

Excited he the people in his preaching

To trentals, and to give, for Godde's sake,

Wherewith men mighte holy houses make,

There as divine service is honour'd,

Not there as it is wasted and devour'd,

Nor where it needeth not for to be given,

As to possessioners, that may liven,

Thanked be God, in wealth and abundance.

"Trentals," said he, "deliver from penance

Their friendes' soules, as well old as young,

Yea, when that they be hastily y-sung, —

Not for to hold a priest jolly and gay,

He singeth not but one mass in a day.

"Deliver out," quoth he, "anon the souls.

Full hard it is, with flesh-hook or with owls* *awls

To be y-clawed, or to burn or bake:

Now speed you hastily, for Christe's sake."

And when this friar had said all his intent,

With qui cum patre forth his way he went,

When folk in church had giv'n him what them lest;* *pleased

He went his way, no longer would he rest,

With scrip and tipped staff, *y-tucked high:* *with his robe tucked

In every house he gan to pore* and pry, up high* *peer

And begged meal and cheese, or elles corn.

His fellow had a staff tipped with horn,

A pair of tables* all of ivory, *writing tablets

And a pointel* y-polish'd fetisly,** *pencil **daintily

And wrote alway the names, as he stood;

Of all the folk that gave them any good,

Askaunce* that he woulde for them pray. *see note

"Give us a bushel wheat, or malt, or rey,* *rye

A Godde's kichel,* or a trip** of cheese, *little cake **scrap

Or elles what you list, we may not chese;* *choose

A Godde's halfpenny, or a mass penny;

Or give us of your brawn, if ye have any;

A dagon* of your blanket, leve dame, *remnant

Our sister dear, — lo, here I write your name,—

Bacon or beef, or such thing as ye find."

A sturdy harlot* went them aye behind, *manservant

That was their hoste's man, and bare a sack,

And what men gave them, laid it on his back

And when that he was out at door, anon

He *planed away* the names every one, *rubbed out*

That he before had written in his tables:

He served them with nifles* and with fables. — *silly tales

"Nay, there thou liest, thou Sompnour," quoth the Frere.

"Peace," quoth our Host, "for Christe's mother dear;

Tell forth thy tale, and spare it not at all."

"So thrive I," quoth this Sompnour, "so I shall." —

So long he went from house to house, till he

Came to a house, where he was wont to be

Refreshed more than in a hundred places

Sick lay the husband man, whose that the place is,

Bed-rid upon a couche low he lay:

*"Deus hic,"* quoth he; "O Thomas friend, good day," *God be here*

Said this friar, all courteously and soft.

"Thomas," quoth he, "God *yield it you,* full oft *reward you for*

Have I upon this bench fared full well,

Here have I eaten many a merry meal."

And from the bench he drove away the cat,

And laid adown his potent* and his hat, *staff

And eke his scrip, and sat himself adown:

His fellow was y-walked into town

Forth with his knave,* into that hostelry *servant

Where as he shope* him that night to lie. *shaped, purposed

"O deare master," quoth this sicke man,

"How have ye fared since that March began?

I saw you not this fortenight and more."

"God wot," quoth he, "labour'd have I full sore;

And specially for thy salvation

Have I said many a precious orison,

And for mine other friendes, God them bless.

I have this day been at your church at mess,* *mass

And said sermon after my simple wit,

Not all after the text of Holy Writ;

For it is hard to you, as I suppose,

And therefore will I teach you aye the glose.* *gloss, comment

Glosing is a full glorious thing certain,

For letter slayeth, as we clerkes* sayn. *scholars

There have I taught them to be charitable,

And spend their good where it is reasonable.

And there I saw our dame; where is she?"

"Yonder I trow that in the yard she be,"

Saide this man; "and she will come anon."

"Hey master, welcome be ye by Saint John,"

Saide this wife; "how fare ye heartily?"

This friar riseth up full courteously,

And her embraceth *in his armes narrow,* *closely

And kiss'th her sweet, and chirketh as a sparrow

With his lippes: "Dame," quoth he, "right well,

As he that is your servant every deal.* *whit

Thanked be God, that gave you soul and life,

Yet saw I not this day so fair a wife

In all the churche, God so save me,"

"Yea, God amend defaultes, Sir," quoth she;

"Algates* welcome be ye, by my fay." *always

"Grand mercy, Dame; that have I found alway.

But of your greate goodness, by your leave,

I woulde pray you that ye not you grieve,

I will with Thomas speak *a little throw:* *a little while*

These curates be so negligent and slow

To grope tenderly a conscience.

In shrift* and preaching is my diligence *confession

And study in Peter's wordes and in Paul's;

I walk and fishe Christian menne's souls,

To yield our Lord Jesus his proper rent;

To spread his word is alle mine intent."

"Now by your faith, O deare Sir," quoth she,

"Chide him right well, for sainte charity.

He is aye angry as is a pismire,* *ant

Though that he have all that he can desire,

Though I him wrie* at night, and make him warm, *cover

And ov'r him lay my leg and eke mine arm,

He groaneth as our boar that lies in sty:

Other disport of him right none have I,

I may not please him in no manner case."

"O Thomas, *je vous dis,* Thomas, Thomas, *I tell you*

This *maketh the fiend,* this must be amended. *is the devil's work*

Ire is a thing that high God hath defended,* *forbidden

And thereof will I speak a word or two."

"Now, master," quoth the wife, "ere that I go,

What will ye dine? I will go thereabout."

"Now, Dame," quoth he, "je vous dis sans doute,

Had I not of a capon but the liver,

And of your white bread not but a shiver,* *thin slice

And after that a roasted pigge's head,

(But I would that for me no beast were dead,)

Then had I with you homely suffisance.

I am a man of little sustenance.

My spirit hath its fost'ring in the Bible.

My body is aye so ready and penible* *painstaking

To wake,* that my stomach is destroy'd. *watch

I pray you, Dame, that ye be not annoy'd,

Though I so friendly you my counsel shew;

By God, I would have told it but to few."

"Now, Sir," quoth she, "but one word ere I go;

My child is dead within these weeke's two,

Soon after that ye went out of this town."

"His death saw I by revelatioun,"

Said this friar, "at home in our dortour.* *dormitory

I dare well say, that less than half an hour

Mter his death, I saw him borne to bliss

In mine vision, so God me wiss.* *direct

So did our sexton, and our fermerere,* *infirmary-keeper

That have been true friars fifty year, —

They may now, God be thanked of his love,

Make their jubilee, and walk above.

And up I rose, and all our convent eke,

With many a teare trilling on my cheek,

Withoute noise or clattering of bells,

Te Deum was our song, and nothing else,

Save that to Christ I bade an orison,

Thanking him of my revelation.

For, Sir and Dame, truste me right well,

Our orisons be more effectuel,

And more we see of Christe's secret things,

Than *borel folk,* although that they be kings. *laymen*

We live in povert', and in abstinence,

And borel folk in riches and dispence

Of meat and drink, and in their foul delight.

We have this worlde's lust* all in despight** * pleasure **contempt

Lazar and Dives lived diversely,

And diverse guerdon* hadde they thereby. *reward

Whoso will pray, he must fast and be clean,

And fat his soul, and keep his body lean

We fare as saith th' apostle; cloth* and food *clothing

Suffice us, although they be not full good.

The cleanness and the fasting of us freres

Maketh that Christ accepteth our prayeres.

Lo, Moses forty days and forty night

Fasted, ere that the high God full of might

Spake with him in the mountain of Sinai:

With empty womb* of fasting many a day *stomach

Received he the lawe, that was writ

With Godde's finger; and Eli, well ye wit,* *know

In Mount Horeb, ere he had any speech

With highe God, that is our live's leech,* *physician, healer

He fasted long, and was in contemplance.

Aaron, that had the temple in governance,

And eke the other priestes every one,

Into the temple when they shoulde gon

To praye for the people, and do service,

They woulde drinken in no manner wise

No drinke, which that might them drunken make,

But there in abstinence pray and wake,

Lest that they died: take heed what I say —

But* they be sober that for the people pray — *unless

Ware that, I say — no more: for it sufficeth.

Our Lord Jesus, as Holy Writ deviseth,* *narrates

Gave us example of fasting and prayeres:

Therefore we mendicants, we sely* freres, *simple, lowly

Be wedded to povert' and continence,

To charity, humbless, and abstinence,

To persecution for righteousness,

To weeping, misericorde,* and to cleanness. *compassion

And therefore may ye see that our prayeres

(I speak of us, we mendicants, we freres),

Be to the highe God more acceptable

Than youres, with your feastes at your table.

From Paradise first, if I shall not lie,

Was man out chased for his gluttony,

And chaste was man in Paradise certain.

But hark now, Thomas, what I shall thee sayn;

I have no text of it, as I suppose,

But I shall find it in *a manner glose;* *a kind of comment*

That specially our sweet Lord Jesus

Spake this of friars, when he saide thus,

'Blessed be they that poor in spirit be'

And so forth all the gospel may ye see,

Whether it be liker our profession,

Or theirs that swimmen in possession;

Fy on their pomp, and on their gluttony,

And on their lewedness! I them defy.

Me thinketh they be like Jovinian,

Fat as a whale, and walking as a swan;

All vinolent* as bottle in the spence;** *full of wine **store-room

Their prayer is of full great reverence;

When they for soules say the Psalm of David,

Lo, 'Buf' they say, Cor meum eructavit.

Who follow Christe's gospel and his lore* *doctrine

But we, that humble be, and chaste, and pore,* *poor

Workers of Godde's word, not auditours?* *hearers

Therefore right as a hawk *upon a sours* *rising*

Up springs into the air, right so prayeres

Of charitable and chaste busy freres

*Make their sours* to Godde's eares two. *rise*

Thomas, Thomas, so may I ride or go,

And by that lord that called is Saint Ive,

*N'ere thou our brother, shouldest thou not thrive;* *see note *

In our chapiter pray we day and night

To Christ, that he thee sende health and might,

Thy body for to *wielde hastily.* *soon be able to move freely*

"God wot," quoth he, "nothing thereof feel I;

So help me Christ, as I in fewe years

Have spended upon *divers manner freres* *friars of various sorts*

Full many a pound, yet fare I ne'er the bet;* *better

Certain my good have I almost beset:* *spent

Farewell my gold, for it is all ago."* *gone

The friar answer'd, "O Thomas, dost thou so?

What needest thou diverse friars to seech?* *seek

What needeth him that hath a perfect leech,* *healer

To seeken other leeches in the town?

Your inconstance is your confusioun.

Hold ye then me, or elles our convent,

To praye for you insufficient?

Thomas, that jape* it is not worth a mite; *jest

Your malady is *for we have too lite.* *because we have

Ah, give that convent half a quarter oats; too little*

And give that convent four and twenty groats;

And give that friar a penny, and let him go!

Nay, nay, Thomas, it may no thing be so.

What is a farthing worth parted on twelve?

Lo, each thing that is oned* in himselve *made one, united

Is more strong than when it is y-scatter'd.

Thomas, of me thou shalt not be y-flatter'd,

Thou wouldest have our labour all for nought.

The highe God, that all this world hath wrought,

Saith, that the workman worthy is his hire

Thomas, nought of your treasure I desire

As for myself, but that all our convent

To pray for you is aye so diligent:

And for to builde Christe's owen church.

Thomas, if ye will learne for to wirch,* *work

Of building up of churches may ye find

If it be good, in Thomas' life of Ind.

Ye lie here full of anger and of ire,

With which the devil sets your heart on fire,

And chide here this holy innocent

Your wife, that is so meek and patient.

And therefore trow* me, Thomas, if thee lest,** *believe **please

Ne strive not with thy wife, as for the best.

And bear this word away now, by thy faith,

Touching such thing, lo, what the wise man saith:

'Within thy house be thou no lion;

To thy subjects do none oppression;

Nor make thou thine acquaintance for to flee.'

And yet, Thomas, eftsoones* charge I thee, *again

Beware from ire that in thy bosom sleeps,

Ware from the serpent, that so slily creeps

Under the grass, and stingeth subtilly.

Beware, my son, and hearken patiently,

That twenty thousand men have lost their lives

For striving with their lemans* and their wives. *mistresses

Now since ye have so holy and meek a wife,

What needeth you, Thomas, to make strife?

There is, y-wis,* no serpent so cruel, *certainly

When men tread on his tail nor half so fell,* *fierce

As woman is, when she hath caught an ire;

Very* vengeance is then all her desire. *pure, only

Ire is a sin, one of the greate seven,

Abominable to the God of heaven,

And to himself it is destruction.

This every lewed* vicar and parson *ignorant

Can say, how ire engenders homicide;

Ire is in sooth th' executor* of pride. *executioner

I could of ire you say so muche sorrow,

My tale shoulde last until to-morrow.

And therefore pray I God both day and ight,

An irous* man God send him little might. *passionate

It is great harm, and certes great pity

To set an irous man in high degree.

"Whilom* there was an irous potestate,** *once **judge

As saith Senec, that during his estate* *term of office

Upon a day out rode knightes two;

And, as fortune would that it were so,

The one of them came home, the other not.

Anon the knight before the judge is brought,

That saide thus; 'Thou hast thy fellow slain,

For which I doom thee to the death certain.'

And to another knight commanded he;

'Go, lead him to the death, I charge thee.'

And happened, as they went by the way

Toward the place where as he should dey,* *die

The knight came, which men weened* had been dead *thought

Then thoughte they it was the beste rede* *counsel

To lead them both unto the judge again.

They saide, 'Lord, the knight hath not y-slain

His fellow; here he standeth whole alive.'

'Ye shall be dead,' quoth he, 'so may I thrive,

That is to say, both one, and two, and three.'

And to the firste knight right thus spake he:

'I damned thee, thou must algate* be dead: *at all events

And thou also must needes lose thine head,

For thou the cause art why thy fellow dieth.'

And to the thirde knight right thus he sayeth,

'Thou hast not done that I commanded thee.'

And thus he did do slay them alle three.

Irous Cambyses was eke dronkelew,* *a drunkard

And aye delighted him to be a shrew.* *vicious, ill-tempered

And so befell, a lord of his meinie,* *suite

That loved virtuous morality,

Said on a day betwixt them two right thus:

'A lord is lost, if he be vicious.

[An irous man is like a frantic beast,

In which there is of wisdom *none arrest*;] *no control*

And drunkenness is eke a foul record

Of any man, and namely* of a lord. *especially

There is full many an eye and many an ear

*Awaiting on* a lord, he knows not where. *watching

For Godde's love, drink more attemperly:* *temperately

Wine maketh man to lose wretchedly

His mind, and eke his limbes every one.'

'The reverse shalt thou see,' quoth he, 'anon,

And prove it by thine own experience,

That wine doth to folk no such offence.

There is no wine bereaveth me my might

Of hand, nor foot, nor of mine eyen sight.'

And for despite he dranke muche more

A hundred part* than he had done before, *times

And right anon this cursed irous wretch

This knighte's sone let* before him fetch, *caused

Commanding him he should before him stand:

And suddenly he took his bow in hand,

And up the string he pulled to his ear,

And with an arrow slew the child right there.

'Now whether have I a sicker* hand or non?'** *sure **not

Quoth he; 'Is all my might and mind agone?

Hath wine bereaved me mine eyen sight?'

Why should I tell the answer of the knight?

His son was slain, there is no more to say.

Beware therefore with lordes how ye play,* *use freedom

Sing placebo; and I shall if I can,

*But if* it be unto a poore man: *unless

To a poor man men should his vices tell,

But not t' a lord, though he should go to hell.

Lo, irous Cyrus, thilke* Persian, *that

How he destroy'd the river of Gisen,

For that a horse of his was drowned therein,

When that he wente Babylon to win:

He made that the river was so small,

That women mighte wade it *over all.* *everywhere

Lo, what said he, that so well teache can,

'Be thou no fellow to an irous man,

Nor with no wood* man walke by the way, *furious

Lest thee repent;' I will no farther say.

"Now, Thomas, leve* brother, leave thine ire, *dear

Thou shalt me find as just as is as squire;

Hold not the devil's knife aye at thine heaat;

Thine anger doth thee all too sore smart;* *pain

But shew to me all thy confession."

"Nay," quoth the sicke man, "by Saint Simon

I have been shriven* this day of my curate; *confessed

I have him told all wholly mine estate.

Needeth no more to speak of it, saith he,

But if me list of mine humility."

"Give me then of thy good to make our cloister,"

Quoth he, "for many a mussel and many an oyster,

When other men have been full well at ease,

Hath been our food, our cloister for to rese:* *raise, build

And yet, God wot, unneth* the foundement** *scarcely **foundation

Performed is, nor of our pavement

Is not a tile yet within our wones:* *habitation

By God, we owe forty pound for stones.

Now help, Thomas, for *him that harrow'd hell,* *Christ

For elles must we oure bookes sell,

And if ye lack our predication,

Then goes this world all to destruction.

For whoso from this world would us bereave,

So God me save, Thomas, by your leave,

He would bereave out of this world the sun

For who can teach and worken as we conne?* *know how to do

And that is not of little time (quoth he),

But since Elijah was, and Elisee,* *Elisha

Have friars been, that find I of record,

In charity, y-thanked be our Lord.

Now, Thomas, help for sainte charity."

And down anon he set him on his knee,

The sick man waxed well-nigh wood* for ire, *mad

He woulde that the friar had been a-fire

With his false dissimulation.

"Such thing as is in my possession,"

Quoth he, "that may I give you and none other:

Ye say me thus, how that I am your brother."

"Yea, certes," quoth this friar, "yea, truste well;

I took our Dame the letter of our seal"

"Now well," quoth he, "and somewhat shall I give

Unto your holy convent while I live;

And in thine hand thou shalt it have anon,

On this condition, and other none,

That thou depart* it so, my deare brother, *divide

That every friar have as much as other:

This shalt thou swear on thy profession,

Withoute fraud or cavillation."* *quibbling

"I swear it," quoth the friar, "upon my faith."

And therewithal his hand in his he lay'th;

"Lo here my faith, in me shall be no lack."

"Then put thine hand adown right by my back,"

Saide this man, "and grope well behind,

Beneath my buttock, there thou shalt find

A thing, that I have hid in privity."

"Ah," thought this friar, "that shall go with me."

And down his hand he launched to the clift,* *cleft

In hope for to finde there a gift.

And when this sicke man felte this frere

About his taile groping there and here,

Amid his hand he let the friar a fart;

There is no capel* drawing in a cart, *horse

That might have let a fart of such a soun'.

The friar up start, as doth a wood* lioun: *fierce

"Ah, false churl," quoth he, "for Godde's bones,

This hast thou in despite done for the nones:* *on purpose

Thou shalt abie* this fart, if that I may." *suffer for

His meinie,* which that heard of this affray, *servants

Came leaping in, and chased out the frere,

And forth he went with a full angry cheer* *countenance

And fetch'd his fellow, there as lay his store:

He looked as it were a wilde boar,

And grounde with his teeth, so was he wroth.

A sturdy pace down to the court he go'th,

Where as there wonn'd* a man of great honour, *dwelt

To whom that he was always confessour:

This worthy man was lord of that village.

This friar came, as he were in a rage,

Where as this lord sat eating at his board:

Unnethes* might the friar speak one word, *with difficulty

Till at the last he saide, "God you see."* *save

This lord gan look, and said, "Ben'dicite!

What? Friar John, what manner world is this?

I see well that there something is amiss;

Ye look as though the wood were full of thieves.

Sit down anon, and tell me what your grieve* is, *grievance, grief

And it shall be amended, if I may."

"I have," quoth he, "had a despite to-day,

God *yielde you,* adown in your village, *reward you

That in this world is none so poor a page,

That would not have abominatioun

Of that I have received in your town:

And yet ne grieveth me nothing so sore,

As that the olde churl, with lockes hoar,

Blasphemed hath our holy convent eke."

"Now, master," quoth this lord, "I you beseek" —

"No master, Sir," quoth he, "but servitour,

Though I have had in schoole that honour.

God liketh not, that men us Rabbi call

Neither in market, nor in your large hall."

*"No force,"* quoth he; "but tell me all your grief." *no matter*

Sir," quoth this friar, "an odious mischief

This day betid* is to mine order and me, *befallen

And so par consequence to each degree

Of holy churche, God amend it soon."

"Sir," quoth the lord, "ye know what is to doon:* *do

*Distemp'r you not,* ye be my confessour. *be not impatient*

Ye be the salt of th' earth, and the savour;

For Godde's love your patience now hold;

Tell me your grief." And he anon him told

As ye have heard before, ye know well what.

The lady of the house aye stiller sat,

Till she had hearde what the friar said,

"Hey, Godde's mother;" quoth she, "blissful maid,

Is there ought elles? tell me faithfully."

"Madame," quoth he, "how thinketh you thereby?"

"How thinketh me?" quoth she; "so God me speed,

I say, a churl hath done a churlish deed,

What should I say? God let him never the;* *thrive

His sicke head is full of vanity;

I hold him in *a manner phrenesy."* *a sort of frenzy*

"Madame," quoth he, "by God, I shall not lie,

But I in other wise may be awreke,* *revenged

I shall defame him *ov'r all there* I speak; *wherever

This false blasphemour, that charged me

To parte that will not departed be,

To every man alike, with mischance."

The lord sat still, as he were in a trance,

And in his heart he rolled up and down,

"How had this churl imaginatioun

To shewe such a problem to the frere.

Never ere now heard I of such mattere;

I trow* the Devil put it in his mind. *believe

In all arsmetrik* shall there no man find, *arithmetic

Before this day, of such a question.

Who shoulde make a demonstration,

That every man should have alike his part

As of the sound and savour of a fart?

O nice* proude churl, I shrew** his face. *foolish **curse

Lo, Sires," quoth the lord, "with harde grace,

Who ever heard of such a thing ere now?

To every man alike? tell me how.

It is impossible, it may not be.

Hey nice* churl, God let him never the.** *foolish **thrive

The rumbling of a fart, and every soun',

Is but of air reverberatioun,

And ever wasteth lite* and lite* away; *little

There is no man can deemen,* by my fay, *judge, decide

If that it were departed* equally. *divided

What? lo, my churl, lo yet how shrewedly* *impiously, wickedly

Unto my confessour to-day he spake;

I hold him certain a demoniac.

Now eat your meat, and let the churl go play,

Let him go hang himself a devil way!"

Now stood the lorde's squier at the board,

That carv'd his meat, and hearde word by word

Of all this thing, which that I have you said.

"My lord," quoth he, "be ye not *evil paid,* *displeased*

I coulde telle, for a gowne-cloth,* *cloth for a gown*

To you, Sir Friar, so that ye be not wrot,

How that this fart should even* dealed be *equally

Among your convent, if it liked thee."

"Tell," quoth the lord, "and thou shalt have anon

A gowne-cloth, by God and by Saint John."

"My lord," quoth he, "when that the weather is fair,

Withoute wind, or perturbing of air,

Let* bring a cart-wheel here into this hall, cause*

But looke that it have its spokes all;

Twelve spokes hath a cart-wheel commonly;

And bring me then twelve friars, know ye why?

For thirteen is a convent as I guess;

Your confessor here, for his worthiness,

Shall *perform up* the number of his convent. *complete*

Then shall they kneel adown by one assent,

And to each spoke's end, in this mannere,

Full sadly* lay his nose shall a frere; *carefully, steadily

Your noble confessor there, God him save,

Shall hold his nose upright under the nave.

Then shall this churl, with belly stiff and tought* *tight

As any tabour,* hither be y-brought; *drum

And set him on the wheel right of this cart

Upon the nave, and make him let a fart,

And ye shall see, on peril of my life,

By very proof that is demonstrative,

That equally the sound of it will wend,* *go

And eke the stink, unto the spokes' end,

Save that this worthy man, your confessour'

(Because he is a man of great honour),

Shall have the firste fruit, as reason is;

The noble usage of friars yet it is,

The worthy men of them shall first be served,

And certainly he hath it well deserved;

He hath to-day taught us so muche good

With preaching in the pulpit where he stood,

That I may vouchesafe, I say for me,

He had the firste smell of fartes three;

And so would all his brethren hardily;

He beareth him so fair and holily."

The lord, the lady, and each man, save the frere,

Saide, that Jankin spake in this mattere

As well as Euclid, or as Ptolemy.

Touching the churl, they said that subtilty

And high wit made him speaken as he spake;

He is no fool, nor no demoniac.

And Jankin hath y-won a newe gown;

My tale is done, we are almost at town.

****

THE CLERK'S TALE.

THE PROLOGUE.

" S ir Clerk of Oxenford," our Hoste said,

"Ye ride as still and coy, as doth a maid

That were new spoused, sitting at the board:

This day I heard not of your tongue a word.

I trow ye study about some sophime:* *sophism

But Solomon saith, every thing hath time.

For Godde's sake, be of *better cheer,* *livelier mien*

It is no time for to study here.

Tell us some merry tale, by your fay;* *faith

For what man that is entered in a play,

He needes must unto that play assent.

But preache not, as friars do in Lent,

To make us for our olde sinnes weep,

Nor that thy tale make us not to sleep.

Tell us some merry thing of aventures.

Your terms, your coloures, and your figures,

Keep them in store, till so be ye indite

High style, as when that men to kinges write.

Speake so plain at this time, I you pray,

That we may understande what ye say."

This worthy Clerk benignely answer'd;

"Hoste," quoth he, "I am under your yerd,* *rod

Ye have of us as now the governance,

And therefore would I do you obeisance,

As far as reason asketh, hardily:* *boldly, truly

I will you tell a tale, which that I

Learn'd at Padova of a worthy clerk,

As proved by his wordes and his werk.

He is now dead, and nailed in his chest,

I pray to God to give his soul good rest.

Francis Petrarc', the laureate poet,

Highte* this clerk, whose rhetoric so sweet *was called

Illumin'd all Itale of poetry,

As Linian did of philosophy,

Or law, or other art particulere:

But death, that will not suffer us dwell here

But as it were a twinkling of an eye,

Them both hath slain, and alle we shall die.

"But forth to tellen of this worthy man,

That taughte me this tale, as I began,

I say that first he with high style inditeth

(Ere he the body of his tale writeth)

A proem, in the which describeth he

Piedmont, and of Saluces the country,

And speaketh of the Pennine hilles high,

That be the bounds of all West Lombardy:

And of Mount Vesulus in special,

Where as the Po out of a welle small

Taketh his firste springing and his source,

That eastward aye increaseth in his course

T'Emilia-ward, to Ferraro, and Venice,

The which a long thing were to devise.* *narrate

And truely, as to my judgement,

Me thinketh it a thing impertinent,* *irrelevant

Save that he would conveye his mattere:

But this is the tale, which that ye shall hear."

THE TALE.

*Pars Prima.* *First Part*

There is, right at the west side of Itale,

Down at the root of Vesulus the cold,

A lusty* plain, abundant of vitaille;* *pleasant **victuals

There many a town and tow'r thou may'st behold,

That founded were in time of fathers old,

And many another delectable sight;

And Saluces this noble country hight.

A marquis whilom lord was of that land,

As were his worthy elders* him before, *ancestors

And obedient, aye ready to his hand,

Were all his lieges, bothe less and more:

Thus in delight he liv'd, and had done yore,* *long

Belov'd and drad,* through favour of fortune, *held in reverence

Both of his lordes and of his commune.* *commonalty

Therewith he was, to speak of lineage,

The gentilest y-born of Lombardy,

A fair person, and strong, and young of age,

And full of honour and of courtesy:

Discreet enough his country for to gie,* *guide, rule

Saving in some things that he was to blame;

And Walter was this younge lordes name.

I blame him thus, that he consider'd not

In time coming what might him betide,

But on his present lust* was all his thought, *pleasure

And for to hawk and hunt on every side;

Well nigh all other cares let he slide,

And eke he would (that was the worst of all)

Wedde no wife for aught that might befall.

Only that point his people bare so sore,

That flockmel* on a day to him they went, *in a body

And one of them, that wisest was of lore

(Or elles that the lord would best assent

That he should tell him what the people meant,

Or elles could he well shew such mattere),

He to the marquis said as ye shall hear.

"O noble Marquis! your humanity

Assureth us and gives us hardiness,

As oft as time is of necessity,

That we to you may tell our heaviness:

Accepte, Lord, now of your gentleness,

What we with piteous heart unto you plain,* *complain of

And let your ears my voice not disdain.

"All* have I nought to do in this mattere *although

More than another man hath in this place,

Yet forasmuch as ye, my Lord so dear,

Have always shewed me favour and grace,

I dare the better ask of you a space

Of audience, to shewen our request,

And ye, my Lord, to do right *as you lest.* *as pleaseth you*

"For certes, Lord, so well us like you

And all your work, and ev'r have done, that we

Ne coulde not ourselves devise how

We mighte live in more felicity:

Save one thing, Lord, if that your will it be,

That for to be a wedded man you lest;

Then were your people *in sovereign hearte's rest.* *completely

"Bowe your neck under the blissful yoke

Of sovereignty, and not of service,

Which that men call espousal or wedlock:

And thinke, Lord, among your thoughtes wise,

How that our dayes pass in sundry wise;

For though we sleep, or wake, or roam, or ride,

Aye fleeth time, it will no man abide.

"And though your greene youthe flow'r as yet,

In creepeth age always as still as stone,

And death menaceth every age, and smit* *smiteth

In each estate, for there escapeth none:

And all so certain as we know each one

That we shall die, as uncertain we all

Be of that day when death shall on us fall.

"Accepte then of us the true intent,* *mind, desire

That never yet refused youre hest,* *command

And we will, Lord, if that ye will assent,

Choose you a wife, in short time at the lest,* *least

Born of the gentilest and of the best

Of all this land, so that it ought to seem

Honour to God and you, as we can deem.

"Deliver us out of all this busy dread,* *doubt

And take a wife, for highe Godde's sake:

For if it so befell, as God forbid,

That through your death your lineage should slake,* *become extinct

And that a strange successor shoulde take

Your heritage, oh! woe were us on live:* *alive

Wherefore we pray you hastily to wive."

Their meeke prayer and their piteous cheer

Made the marquis for to have pity.

"Ye will," quoth he, "mine owen people dear,

To that I ne'er ere* thought constraine me. *before

I me rejoiced of my liberty,

That seldom time is found in rnarriage;

Where I was free, I must be in servage!* *servitude

"But natheless I see your true intent,

And trust upon your wit, and have done aye:

Wherefore of my free will I will assent

To wedde me, as soon as e'er I may.

But whereas ye have proffer'd me to-day

To choose me a wife, I you release

That choice, and pray you of that proffer cease.

"For God it wot, that children often been

Unlike their worthy elders them before,

Bounte* comes all of God, not of the strene** *goodness

Of which they be engender'd and y-bore: **stock, race

I trust in Godde's bounte, and therefore

My marriage, and mine estate and rest,

I *him betake;* he may do as him lest. *commend to him

"Let me alone in choosing of my wife;

That charge upon my back I will endure:

But I you pray, and charge upon your life,

That what wife that I take, ye me assure

To worship* her, while that her life may dure, *honour

In word and work both here and elleswhere,

As she an emperore's daughter were.

"And farthermore this shall ye swear, that ye

Against my choice shall never grudge* nor strive. *murmur

For since I shall forego my liberty

At your request, as ever may I thrive,

Where as mine heart is set, there will I live

And but* ye will assent in such mannere, *unless

I pray you speak no more of this mattere."

With heartly will they sworen and assent

To all this thing, there said not one wight nay:

Beseeching him of grace, ere that they went,

That he would grante them a certain day

Of his espousal, soon as e'er he rnay,

For yet always the people somewhat dread* *were in fear or doubt

Lest that the marquis woulde no wife wed.

He granted them a day, such as him lest,

On which he would be wedded sickerly,* *certainly

And said he did all this at their request;

And they with humble heart full buxomly,* *obediently

Kneeling upon their knees full reverently,

Him thanked all; and thus they have an end

Of their intent, and home again they wend.

And hereupon he to his officers

Commanded for the feaste to purvey.* *provide

And to his privy knightes and squiers

Such charge he gave, as him list on them lay:

And they to his commandement obey,

And each of them doth all his diligence

To do unto the feast all reverence.

*Pars Secunda* *Second Part*

Not far from thilke* palace honourable, *that

Where as this marquis shope* his marriage, *prepared; resolved on

There stood a thorp,* of sighte delectable, *hamlet

In which the poore folk of that village

Hadde their beastes and their harbourage,* *dwelling

And of their labour took their sustenance,

After the earthe gave them abundance.

Among this poore folk there dwelt a man

Which that was holden poorest of them all;

But highe God sometimes sende can

His grace unto a little ox's stall;

Janicola men of that thorp him call.

A daughter had he, fair enough to sight,

And Griseldis this younge maiden hight.

But for to speak of virtuous beauty,

Then was she one the fairest under sun:

Full poorely y-foster'd up was she;

No *likerous lust* was in her heart y-run; *luxurious pleasure*

Well ofter of the well than of the tun

She drank, and, for* she woulde virtue please *because

She knew well labour, but no idle ease.

But though this maiden tender were of age;

Yet in the breast of her virginity

There was inclos'd a *sad and ripe corage;* *steadfast and mature

And in great reverence and charity spirit*

Her olde poore father foster'd she.

A few sheep, spinning, on the field she kept,

She woulde not be idle till she slept.

And when she homeward came, she would bring

Wortes,* and other herbes, times oft, *plants, cabbages

The which she shred and seeth'd for her living,

And made her bed full hard, and nothing soft:

And aye she kept her father's life on loft* *up, aloft

With ev'ry obeisance and diligence,

That child may do to father's reverence.

Upon Griselda, this poor creature,

Full often sithes* this marquis set his eye, *times

As he on hunting rode, paraventure:* *by chance

And when it fell that he might her espy,

He not with wanton looking of folly

His eyen cast on her, but in sad* wise *serious

Upon her cheer* he would him oft advise;** *countenance **consider

Commending in his heart her womanhead,

And eke her virtue, passing any wight

Of so young age, as well in cheer as deed.

For though the people have no great insight

In virtue, he considered full right

Her bounte,* and disposed that he would *goodness

Wed only her, if ever wed he should.

The day of wedding came, but no wight can

Telle what woman that it shoulde be;

For which marvail wonder'd many a man,

And saide, when they were in privity,

"Will not our lord yet leave his vanity?

Will he not wed? Alas, alas the while!

Why will he thus himself and us beguile?"

But natheless this marquis had *done make* *caused to be made*

Of gemmes, set in gold and in azure,

Brooches and ringes, for Griselda's sake,

And of her clothing took he the measure

Of a maiden like unto her stature,

And eke of other ornamentes all

That unto such a wedding shoulde fall.* *befit

The time of undern* of the same day *evening

Approached, that this wedding shoulde be,

And all the palace put was in array,

Both hall and chamber, each in its degree,

Houses of office stuffed with plenty

There may'st thou see of dainteous vitaille,* *victuals, provisions

That may be found, as far as lasts Itale.

This royal marquis, richely array'd,

Lordes and ladies in his company,

The which unto the feaste were pray'd,

And of his retinue the bach'lery,

With many a sound of sundry melody,

Unto the village, of the which I told,

In this array the right way did they hold.

Griseld' of this (God wot) full innocent,

That for her shapen* was all this array, *prepared

To fetche water at a well is went,

And home she came as soon as e'er she may.

For well she had heard say, that on that day

The marquis shoulde wed, and, if she might,

She fain would have seen somewhat of that sight.

She thought, "I will with other maidens stand,

That be my fellows, in our door, and see

The marchioness; and therefore will I fand* *strive

To do at home, as soon as it may be,

The labour which belongeth unto me,

And then I may at leisure her behold,

If she this way unto the castle hold."

And as she would over the threshold gon,

The marquis came and gan for her to call,

And she set down her water-pot anon

Beside the threshold, in an ox's stall,

And down upon her knees she gan to fall,

And with sad* countenance kneeled still, *steady

Till she had heard what was the lorde's will.

The thoughtful marquis spake unto the maid

Full soberly, and said in this mannere:

"Where is your father, Griseldis?" he said.

And she with reverence, *in humble cheer,* *with humble air*

Answered, "Lord, he is all ready here."

And in she went withoute longer let* *delay

And to the marquis she her father fet.* *fetched

He by the hand then took the poore man,

And saide thus, when he him had aside:

"Janicola, I neither may nor can

Longer the pleasance of mine hearte hide;

If that thou vouchesafe, whatso betide,

Thy daughter will I take, ere that I wend,* *go

As for my wife, unto her life's end.

"Thou lovest me, that know I well certain,

And art my faithful liegeman y-bore,* *born

And all that liketh me, I dare well sayn

It liketh thee; and specially therefore

Tell me that point, that I have said before, —

If that thou wilt unto this purpose draw,

To take me as for thy son-in-law."

This sudden case* the man astonied so, *event

That red he wax'd, abash'd,* and all quaking *amazed

He stood; unnethes* said he wordes mo', *scarcely

But only thus; "Lord," quoth he, "my willing

Is as ye will, nor against your liking

I will no thing, mine owen lord so dear;

Right as you list governe this mattere."

"Then will I," quoth the marquis softely,

"That in thy chamber I, and thou, and she,

Have a collation;* and know'st thou why? *conference

For I will ask her, if her will it be

To be my wife, and rule her after me:

And all this shall be done in thy presence,

I will not speak out of thine audience."* *hearing

And in the chamber while they were about

The treaty, which ye shall hereafter hear,

The people came into the house without,

And wonder'd them in how honest mannere

And tenderly she kept her father dear;

But utterly Griseldis wonder might,

For never erst* ne saw she such a sight. *before

No wonder is though that she be astoned,* *astonished

To see so great a guest come in that place,

She never was to no such guestes woned;* *accustomed, wont

For which she looked with full pale face.

But shortly forth this matter for to chase,* *push on, pursue

These are the wordes that the marquis said

To this benigne, very,* faithful maid. *true

"Griseld'," he said, "ye shall well understand,

It liketh to your father and to me

That I you wed, and eke it may so stand,

As I suppose ye will that it so be:

But these demandes ask I first," quoth he,

"Since that it shall be done in hasty wise;

Will ye assent, or elles you advise?* *consider

"I say this, be ye ready with good heart

To all my lust,* and that I freely may, *pleasure

As me best thinketh, *do you* laugh or smart, *cause you to*

And never ye to grudge,* night nor day, *murmur

And eke when I say Yea, ye say not Nay,

Neither by word, nor frowning countenance?

Swear this, and here I swear our alliance."

Wond'ring upon this word, quaking for dread,

She saide; "Lord, indigne and unworthy

Am I to this honour that ye me bede,* *offer

But as ye will yourself, right so will I:

And here I swear, that never willingly

In word or thought I will you disobey,

For to be dead; though me were loth to dey."* *die

"This is enough, Griselda mine," quoth he.

And forth he went with a full sober cheer,

Out at the door, and after then came she,

And to the people he said in this mannere:

"This is my wife," quoth he, "that standeth here.

Honoure her, and love her, I you pray,

Whoso me loves; there is no more to say."

And, for that nothing of her olde gear

She shoulde bring into his house, he bade

That women should despoile* her right there; *strip

Of which these ladies were nothing glad

To handle her clothes wherein she was clad:

But natheless this maiden bright of hue

From foot to head they clothed have all new.

Her haires have they comb'd that lay untress'd* *loose

Full rudely, and with their fingers small

A crown upon her head they have dress'd,

And set her full of nouches great and small:

Of her array why should I make a tale?

Unneth* the people her knew for her fairness, *scarcely

When she transmuted was in such richess.

The marquis hath her spoused with a ring

Brought for the same cause, and then her set

Upon a horse snow-white, and well ambling,

And to his palace, ere he longer let* *delayed

With joyful people, that her led and met,

Conveyed her; and thus the day they spend

In revel, till the sunne gan descend.

And, shortly forth this tale for to chase,

I say, that to this newe marchioness

God hath such favour sent her of his grace,

That it ne seemed not by likeliness

That she was born and fed in rudeness, —

As in a cot, or in an ox's stall, —

But nourish'd in an emperore's hall.

To every wight she waxen* is so dear *grown

And worshipful, that folk where she was born,

That from her birthe knew her year by year,

*Unnethes trowed* they, but durst have sworn, *scarcely believed*

That to Janicol' of whom I spake before,

She was not daughter, for by conjecture

Them thought she was another creature.

For though that ever virtuous was she,

She was increased in such excellence

Of thewes* good, y-set in high bounte, *qualities

And so discreet, and fair of eloquence,

So benign, and so digne* of reverence, *worthy

And coulde so the people's heart embrace,

That each her lov'd that looked on her face.

Not only of Saluces in the town

Published was the bounte of her name,

But eke besides in many a regioun;

If one said well, another said the same:

So spread of here high bounte the fame,

That men and women, young as well as old,

Went to Saluces, her for to behold.

Thus Walter lowly, — nay, but royally,-

Wedded with fortn'ate honestete,* *virtue

In Godde's peace lived full easily

At home, and outward grace enough had he:

And, for he saw that under low degree

Was honest virtue hid, the people him held

A prudent man, and that is seen full seld'.* *seldom

Not only this Griseldis through her wit

*Couth all the feat* of wifely homeliness, *knew all the duties*

But eke, when that the case required it,

The common profit coulde she redress:

There n'as discord, rancour, nor heaviness

In all the land, that she could not appease,

And wisely bring them all in rest and ease

Though that her husband absent were or non,* *not

If gentlemen or other of that country,

Were wroth,* she woulde bringe them at one, *at feud

So wise and ripe wordes hadde she,

And judgement of so great equity,

That she from heaven sent was, as men wend,* *weened, imagined

People to save, and every wrong t'amend

Not longe time after that this Griseld'

Was wedded, she a daughter had y-bore;

All she had lever* borne a knave** child, *rather **boy

Glad was the marquis and his folk therefore;

For, though a maiden child came all before,

She may unto a knave child attain

By likelihood, since she is not barren.

*Pars Tertia.* *Third Part*

There fell, as falleth many times mo',

When that his child had sucked but a throw,* little while

This marquis in his hearte longed so

To tempt his wife, her sadness* for to know, *steadfastness

That he might not out of his hearte throw

This marvellous desire his wife t'asssay;* *try

Needless,* God wot, he thought her to affray.** *without cause

**alarm, disturb

He had assayed her anough before,

And found her ever good; what needed it

Her for to tempt, and always more and more?

Though some men praise it for a subtle wit,

But as for me, I say that *evil it sit* *it ill became him*

T'assay a wife when that it is no need,

And putte her in anguish and in dread.

For which this marquis wrought in this mannere:

He came at night alone there as she lay,

With sterne face and with full troubled cheer,

And saide thus; "Griseld'," quoth he "that day

That I you took out of your poor array,

And put you in estate of high nobless,

Ye have it not forgotten, as I guess.

"I say, Griseld', this present dignity,

In which that I have put you, as I trow* *believe

Maketh you not forgetful for to be

That I you took in poor estate full low,

For any weal you must yourselfe know.

Take heed of every word that I you say,

There is no wight that hears it but we tway.* *two

"Ye know yourself well how that ye came here

Into this house, it is not long ago;

And though to me ye be right lefe* and dear, *loved

Unto my gentles* ye be nothing so: *nobles, gentlefolk

They say, to them it is great shame and woe

For to be subject, and be in servage,

To thee, that born art of small lineage.

"And namely* since thy daughter was y-bore *especially

These wordes have they spoken doubteless;

But I desire, as I have done before,

To live my life with them in rest and peace:

I may not in this case be reckeless;

I must do with thy daughter for the best,

Not as I would, but as my gentles lest.* *please

"And yet, God wot, this is full loth* to me: *odious

But natheless withoute your weeting* *knowing

I will nought do; but this will I," quoth he,

"That ye to me assenten in this thing.

Shew now your patience in your working,

That ye me hight* and swore in your village *promised

The day that maked was our marriage."

When she had heard all this, she not amev'd* *changed

Neither in word, in cheer, nor countenance

(For, as it seemed, she was not aggriev'd);

She saide; "Lord, all lies in your pleasance,

My child and I, with hearty obeisance

Be youres all, and ye may save or spill* *destroy

Your owen thing: work then after your will.

"There may no thing, so God my soule save,

*Like to* you, that may displease me: *be pleasing*

Nor I desire nothing for to have,

Nor dreade for to lose, save only ye:

This will is in mine heart, and aye shall be,

No length of time, nor death, may this deface,

Nor change my corage* to another place." *spirit, heart

Glad was the marquis for her answering,

But yet he feigned as he were not so;

All dreary was his cheer and his looking

When that he should out of the chamber go.

Soon after this, a furlong way or two,

He privily hath told all his intent

Unto a man, and to his wife him sent.

A *manner sergeant* was this private* man, *kind of squire*

The which he faithful often founden had *discreet

In thinges great, and eke such folk well can

Do execution in thinges bad:

The lord knew well, that he him loved and drad.* *dreaded

And when this sergeant knew his lorde's will,

Into the chamber stalked he full still.

"Madam," he said, "ye must forgive it me,

Though I do thing to which I am constrain'd;

Ye be so wise, that right well knowe ye

*That lordes' hestes may not be y-feign'd;* *see note *

They may well be bewailed and complain'd,

But men must needs unto their lust* obey; *pleasure

And so will I, there is no more to say.

"This child I am commanded for to take."

And spake no more, but out the child he hent* *seized

Dispiteously,* and gan a cheer** to make *unpityingly **show, aspect

As though he would have slain it ere he went.

Griseldis must all suffer and consent:

And as a lamb she sat there meek and still,

And let this cruel sergeant do his will

Suspicious* was the diffame** of this man, *ominous **evil reputation

Suspect his face, suspect his word also,

Suspect the time in which he this began:

Alas! her daughter, that she loved so,

She weened* he would have it slain right tho,** *thought **then

But natheless she neither wept nor siked,* *sighed

Conforming her to what the marquis liked.

But at the last to speake she began,

And meekly she unto the sergeant pray'd,

So as he was a worthy gentle man,

That she might kiss her child, ere that it died:

And in her barme* this little child she laid, *lap, bosom

With full sad face, and gan the child to bless,* *cross

And lulled it, and after gan it kiss.

And thus she said in her benigne voice:

Farewell, my child, I shall thee never see;

But since I have thee marked with the cross,

Of that father y-blessed may'st thou be

That for us died upon a cross of tree:

Thy soul, my little child, I *him betake,* *commit unto him*

For this night shalt thou dien for my sake.

I trow* that to a norice** in this case *believe **nurse

It had been hard this ruthe* for to see: *pitiful sight

Well might a mother then have cried, "Alas!"

But natheless so sad steadfast was she,

That she endured all adversity,

And to the sergeant meekely she said,

"Have here again your little younge maid.

"Go now," quoth she, "and do my lord's behest.

And one thing would I pray you of your grace,

*But if* my lord forbade you at the least, *unless*

Bury this little body in some place,

That neither beasts nor birdes it arace."* *tear

But he no word would to that purpose say,

But took the child and went upon his way.

The sergeant came unto his lord again,

And of Griselda's words and of her cheer* *demeanour

He told him point for point, in short and plain,

And him presented with his daughter dear.

Somewhat this lord had ruth in his mannere,

But natheless his purpose held he still,

As lordes do, when they will have their will;

And bade this sergeant that he privily

Shoulde the child full softly wind and wrap,

With alle circumstances tenderly,

And carry it in a coffer, or in lap;

But, upon pain his head off for to swap,* *strike

That no man shoulde know of his intent,

Nor whence he came, nor whither that he went;

But at Bologna, to his sister dear,

That at that time of Panic'* was Countess, *Panico

He should it take, and shew her this mattere,

Beseeching her to do her business

This child to foster in all gentleness,

And whose child it was he bade her hide

From every wight, for aught that might betide.

The sergeant went, and hath fulfill'd this thing.

But to the marquis now returne we;

For now went he full fast imagining

If by his wife's cheer he mighte see,

Or by her wordes apperceive, that she

Were changed; but he never could her find,

But ever-in-one* alike sad** and kind. *constantly **steadfast

As glad, as humble, as busy in service,

And eke in love, as she was wont to be,

Was she to him, in every *manner wise;* *sort of way*

And of her daughter not a word spake she;

*No accident for no adversity* *no change of humour resulting

Was seen in her, nor e'er her daughter's name from her affliction*

She named, or in earnest or in game.

*Pars Quarta* *Fourth Part*

In this estate there passed be four year

Ere she with childe was; but, as God wo'ld,

A knave* child she bare by this Waltere, *boy

Full gracious and fair for to behold;

And when that folk it to his father told,

Not only he, but all his country, merry

Were for this child, and God they thank and hery.* *praise

When it was two year old, and from the breast

Departed* of the norice, on a day *taken, weaned

This marquis *caughte yet another lest* *was seized by yet

To tempt his wife yet farther, if he may. another desire*

Oh! needless was she tempted in as say;* *trial

But wedded men *not connen no measure,* *know no moderation*

When that they find a patient creature.

"Wife," quoth the marquis, "ye have heard ere this

My people *sickly bear* our marriage; *regard with displeasure*

And namely* since my son y-boren is, *especially

Now is it worse than ever in all our age:

The murmur slays mine heart and my corage,

For to mine ears cometh the voice so smart,* *painfully

That it well nigh destroyed hath mine heart.

"Now say they thus, 'When Walter is y-gone,

Then shall the blood of Janicol' succeed,

And be our lord, for other have we none:'

Such wordes say my people, out of drede.* *doubt

Well ought I of such murmur take heed,

For certainly I dread all such sentence,* *expression of opinion

Though they not *plainen in mine audience.* *complain in my hearing*

"I woulde live in peace, if that I might;

Wherefore I am disposed utterly,

As I his sister served ere* by night, *before

Right so think I to serve him privily.

This warn I you, that ye not suddenly

Out of yourself for no woe should outraie;* *become outrageous, rave

Be patient, and thereof I you pray."

"I have," quoth she, "said thus, and ever shall,

I will no thing, nor n'ill no thing, certain,

But as you list; not grieveth me at all

Though that my daughter and my son be slain

At your commandement; that is to sayn,

I have not had no part of children twain,

But first sickness, and after woe and pain.

"Ye be my lord, do with your owen thing

Right as you list, and ask no rede of me:

For, as I left at home all my clothing

When I came first to you, right so," quoth she,

"Left I my will and all my liberty,

And took your clothing: wherefore I you pray,

Do your pleasance, I will your lust* obey. *will

"And, certes, if I hadde prescience

Your will to know, ere ye your lust* me told, *will

I would it do withoute negligence:

But, now I know your lust, and what ye wo'ld,

All your pleasance firm and stable I hold;

For, wist I that my death might do you ease,

Right gladly would I dien you to please.

"Death may not make no comparisoun

Unto your love." And when this marquis say* *saw

The constance of his wife, he cast adown

His eyen two, and wonder'd how she may

In patience suffer all this array;

And forth he went with dreary countenance;

But to his heart it was full great pleasance.

This ugly sergeant, in the same wise

That he her daughter caught, right so hath he

(Or worse, if men can any worse devise,)

Y-hent* her son, that full was of beauty: *seized

And ever-in-one* so patient was she, *unvaryingly

That she no cheere made of heaviness,

But kiss'd her son, and after gan him bless.

Save this she prayed him, if that he might,

Her little son he would in earthe grave,* *bury

His tender limbes, delicate to sight,

From fowles and from beastes for to save.

But she none answer of him mighte have;

He went his way, as him nothing ne raught,* *cared

But to Bologna tenderly it brought.

The marquis wonder'd ever longer more

Upon her patience; and, if that he

Not hadde soothly knowen therebefore

That perfectly her children loved she,

He would have ween'd* that of some subtilty, *thought

And of malice, or for cruel corage,* *disposition

She hadde suffer'd this with sad* visage. *steadfast, unmoved

But well he knew, that, next himself, certain

She lov'd her children best in every wise.

But now of women would I aske fain,

If these assayes mighte not suffice?

What could a sturdy* husband more devise *stern

To prove her wifehood and her steadfastness,

And he continuing ev'r in sturdiness?

But there be folk of such condition,

That, when they have a certain purpose take,

Thiey cannot stint* of their intention, *cease

But, right as they were bound unto a stake,

They will not of their firste purpose slake:* *slacken, abate

Right so this marquis fully hath purpos'd

To tempt his wife, as he was first dispos'd.

He waited, if by word or countenance

That she to him was changed of corage:* *spirit

But never could he finde variance,

She was aye one in heart and in visage,

And aye the farther that she was in age,

The more true (if that it were possible)

She was to him in love, and more penible.* *painstaking in devotion

For which it seemed thus, that of them two

There was but one will; for, as Walter lest,* *pleased

The same pleasance was her lust* also; *pleasure

And, God be thanked, all fell for the best.

She shewed well, for no worldly unrest,

A wife as of herself no thinge should

Will, in effect, but as her husbaud would.

The sland'r of Walter wondrous wide sprad,

That of a cruel heart he wickedly,

For* he a poore woman wedded had, *because

Had murder'd both his children privily:

Such murmur was among them commonly.

No wonder is: for to the people's ear

There came no word, but that they murder'd were.

For which, whereas his people therebefore

Had lov'd him well, the sland'r of his diffame* *infamy

Made them that they him hated therefore.

To be a murd'rer is a hateful name.

But natheless, for earnest or for game,

He of his cruel purpose would not stent;

To tempt his wife was set all his intent.

When that his daughter twelve year was of age,

He to the Court of Rome, in subtle wise

Informed of his will, sent his message,* *messenger

Commanding him such bulles to devise

As to his cruel purpose may suffice,

How that the Pope, for his people's rest,

Bade him to wed another, if him lest.* *wished

I say he bade they shoulde counterfeit

The Pope's bulles, making mention

That he had leave his firste wife to lete,* *leave

To stinte* rancour and dissension *put an end to

Betwixt his people and him: thus spake the bull,

The which they have published at full.

The rude people, as no wonder is,

Weened* full well that it had been right so: *thought, believed

But, when these tidings came to Griseldis.

I deeme that her heart was full of woe;

But she, alike sad* for evermo', *steadfast

Disposed was, this humble creature,

Th' adversity of fortune all t' endure;

Abiding ever his lust and his pleasance,

To whom that she was given, heart and all,

As *to her very worldly suffisance.* *to the utmost extent

But, shortly if this story tell I shall, of her power*

The marquis written hath in special

A letter, in which he shewed his intent,

And secretly it to Bologna sent.

To th' earl of Panico, which hadde tho* *there

Wedded his sister, pray'd he specially

To bringe home again his children two

In honourable estate all openly:

But one thing he him prayed utterly,

That he to no wight, though men would inquere,

Shoulde not tell whose children that they were,

But say, the maiden should y-wedded be

Unto the marquis of Saluce anon.

And as this earl was prayed, so did he,

For, at day set, he on his way is gone

Toward Saluce, and lorde's many a one

In rich array, this maiden for to guide, —

Her younge brother riding her beside.

Arrayed was toward* her marriage *as if for

This freshe maiden, full of gemmes clear;

Her brother, which that seven year was of age,

Arrayed eke full fresh in his mannere:

And thus, in great nobless, and with glad cheer,

Toward Saluces shaping their journey,

From day to day they rode upon their way.

*Pars Quinta.* *Fifth Part*

*Among all this,* after his wick' usage, *while all this was

The marquis, yet his wife to tempte more going on*

To the uttermost proof of her corage,

Fully to have experience and lore* *knowledge

If that she were as steadfast as before,

He on a day, in open audience,

Full boisterously said her this sentence:

"Certes, Griseld', I had enough pleasance

To have you to my wife, for your goodness,

And for your truth, and for your obeisance,

Not for your lineage, nor for your richess;

But now know I, in very soothfastness,

That in great lordship, if I well advise,

There is great servitude in sundry wise.

"I may not do as every ploughman may:

My people me constraineth for to take

Another wife, and cryeth day by day;

And eke the Pope, rancour for to slake,

Consenteth it, that dare I undertake:

And truely, thus much I will you say,

My newe wife is coming by the way.

"Be strong of heart, and *void anon* her place; *immediately vacate*

And thilke* dower that ye brought to me, *that

Take it again, I grant it of my grace.

Returne to your father's house," quoth he;

"No man may always have prosperity;

With even heart I rede* you to endure *counsel

The stroke of fortune or of aventure."

And she again answer'd in patience:

"My Lord," quoth she, "I know, and knew alway,

How that betwixte your magnificence

And my povert' no wight nor can nor may

Make comparison, it *is no nay;* *cannot be denied*

I held me never digne* in no mannere *worthy

To be your wife, nor yet your chamberere.* *chamber-maid

"And in this house, where ye me lady made,

(The highe God take I for my witness,

And all so wisly* he my soule glade),** *surely **gladdened

I never held me lady nor mistress,

But humble servant to your worthiness,

And ever shall, while that my life may dure,

Aboven every worldly creature.

"That ye so long, of your benignity,

Have holden me in honour and nobley,* *nobility

Where as I was not worthy for to be,

That thank I God and you, to whom I pray

Foryield* it you; there is no more to say: *reward

Unto my father gladly will I wend,* *go

And with him dwell, unto my lifes end,

"Where I was foster'd as a child full small,

Till I be dead my life there will I lead,

A widow clean in body, heart, and all.

For since I gave to you my maidenhead,

And am your true wife, it is no dread,* *doubt

God shielde* such a lordes wife to take *forbid

Another man to husband or to make.* *mate

"And of your newe wife, God of his grace

So grant you weal and all prosperity:

For I will gladly yield to her my place,

In which that I was blissful wont to be.

For since it liketh you, my Lord," quoth she,

"That whilom weren all mine hearte's rest,

That I shall go, I will go when you lest.

"But whereas ye me proffer such dowaire

As I first brought, it is well in my mind,

It was my wretched clothes, nothing fair,

The which to me were hard now for to find.

O goode God! how gentle and how kind

Ye seemed by your speech and your visage,

The day that maked was our marriage!

"But sooth is said, — algate* I find it true, *at all events

For in effect it proved is on me, —

Love is not old as when that it is new.

But certes, Lord, for no adversity,

To dien in this case, it shall not be

That e'er in word or work I shall repent

That I you gave mine heart in whole intent.

"My Lord, ye know that in my father's place

Ye did me strip out of my poore weed,* *raiment

And richely ye clad me of your grace;

To you brought I nought elles, out of dread,

But faith, and nakedness, and maidenhead;

And here again your clothing I restore,

And eke your wedding ring for evermore.

"The remnant of your jewels ready be

Within your chamber, I dare safely sayn:

Naked out of my father's house," quoth she,

"I came, and naked I must turn again.

All your pleasance would I follow fain:* *cheerfully

But yet I hope it be not your intent

That smockless* I out of your palace went. *naked

"Ye could not do so dishonest* a thing, *dishonourable

That thilke* womb, in which your children lay, *that

Shoulde before the people, in my walking,

Be seen all bare: and therefore I you pray,

Let me not like a worm go by the way:

Remember you, mine owen Lord so dear,

I was your wife, though I unworthy were.

"Wherefore, in guerdon* of my maidenhead, *reward

Which that I brought and not again I bear,

As vouchesafe to give me to my meed* *reward

But such a smock as I was wont to wear,

That I therewith may wrie* the womb of her *cover

That was your wife: and here I take my leave

Of you, mine owen Lord, lest I you grieve."

"The smock," quoth he, "that thou hast on thy back,

Let it be still, and bear it forth with thee."

But well unnethes* thilke word he spake, *with difficulty

But went his way for ruth and for pity.

Before the folk herselfe stripped she,

And in her smock, with foot and head all bare,

Toward her father's house forth is she fare.* *gone

The folk her follow'd weeping on her way,

And fortune aye they cursed as they gon:* *go

But she from weeping kept her eyen drey,* *dry

Nor in this time worde spake she none.

Her father, that this tiding heard anon,

Cursed the day and time, that nature

Shope* him to be a living creature. *formed, ordained

For, out of doubt, this olde poore man

Was ever in suspect of her marriage:

For ever deem'd he, since it first began,

That when the lord *fulfill'd had his corage,* *had gratified his whim*

He woulde think it were a disparage* *disparagement

To his estate, so low for to alight,

And voide* her as soon as e'er he might. *dismiss

Against* his daughter hastily went he *to meet

(For he by noise of folk knew her coming),

And with her olde coat, as it might be,

He cover'd her, full sorrowfully weeping:

But on her body might he it not bring,

For rude was the cloth, and more of age

By dayes fele* than at her marriage. *many

Thus with her father for a certain space

Dwelled this flow'r of wifely patience,

That neither by her words nor by her face,

Before the folk nor eke in their absence,

Ne shewed she that her was done offence,

Nor of her high estate no remembrance

Ne hadde she, *as by* her countenance. *to judge from*

No wonder is, for in her great estate

Her ghost* was ever in plein** humility; *spirit **full

No tender mouth, no hearte delicate,

No pomp, and no semblant of royalty;

But full of patient benignity,

Discreet and prideless, aye honourable,

And to her husband ever meek and stable.

Men speak of Job, and most for his humbless,

As clerkes, when them list, can well indite,

Namely* of men; but, as in soothfastness, *particularly

Though clerkes praise women but a lite,* *little

There can no man in humbless him acquite

As women can, nor can be half so true

As women be, *but it be fall of new.* *unless it has lately

come to pass*

*Pars Sexta* *Sixth Part*

From Bologn' is the earl of Panic' come,

Of which the fame up sprang to more and less;

And to the people's eares all and some

Was know'n eke, that a newe marchioness

He with him brought, in such pomp and richess

That never was there seen with manne's eye

So noble array in all West Lombardy.

The marquis, which that shope* and knew all this, *arranged

Ere that the earl was come, sent his message* *messenger

For thilke poore sely* Griseldis; *innocent

And she, with humble heart and glad visage,

Nor with no swelling thought in her corage,* *mind

Came at his hest,* and on her knees her set, *command

And rev'rently and wisely she him gret.* *greeted

"Griseld'," quoth he, "my will is utterly,

This maiden, that shall wedded be to me,

Received be to-morrow as royally

As it possible is in my house to be;

And eke that every wight in his degree

Have *his estate* in sitting and service, *what befits his

And in high pleasance, as I can devise. condition*

"I have no women sufficient, certain,

The chambers to array in ordinance

After my lust;* and therefore would I fain *pleasure

That thine were all such manner governance:

Thou knowest eke of old all my pleasance;

Though thine array be bad, and ill besey,* *poor to look on

*Do thou thy devoir at the leaste way."* * do your duty in the

quickest manner*

"Not only, Lord, that I am glad," quoth she,

"To do your lust, but I desire also

You for to serve and please in my degree,

Withoute fainting, and shall evermo':

Nor ever for no weal, nor for no woe,

Ne shall the ghost* within mine hearte stent** *spirit **cease

To love you best with all my true intent."

And with that word she gan the house to dight,* *arrange

And tables for to set, and beds to make,

And *pained her* to do all that she might, *she took pains*

Praying the chambereres* for Godde's sake *chamber-maids

To hasten them, and faste sweep and shake,

And she the most serviceable of all

Hath ev'ry chamber arrayed, and his hall.

Aboute undern* gan the earl alight, *afternoon

That with him brought these noble children tway;

For which the people ran to see the sight

Of their array, so *richely besey;* *rich to behold*

And then *at erst* amonges them they say, *for the first time*

That Walter was no fool, though that him lest* *pleased

To change his wife; for it was for the best.

For she is fairer, as they deemen* all, *think

Than is Griseld', and more tender of age,

And fairer fruit between them shoulde fall,

And more pleasant, for her high lineage:

Her brother eke so fair was of visage,

That them to see the people hath caught pleasance,

Commending now the marquis' governance.

"O stormy people, unsad* and ev'r untrue, *variable

And undiscreet, and changing as a vane,

Delighting ev'r in rumour that is new,

For like the moon so waxe ye and wane:

Aye full of clapping, *dear enough a jane,* *worth nothing *

Your doom* is false, your constance evil preveth,** *judgment **proveth

A full great fool is he that you believeth."

Thus saide the sad* folk in that city, *sedate

When that the people gazed up and down;

For they were glad, right for the novelty,

To have a newe lady of their town.

No more of this now make I mentioun,

But to Griseld' again I will me dress,

And tell her constancy and business.

Full busy was Griseld' in ev'ry thing

That to the feaste was appertinent;

Right nought was she abash'd* of her clothing, *ashamed

Though it were rude, and somedeal eke to-rent;* *tattered

But with glad cheer* unto the gate she went *expression

With other folk, to greet the marchioness,

And after that did forth her business.

With so glad cheer* his guestes she receiv'd *expression

And so conningly* each in his degree, *cleverly, skilfully

That no defaulte no man apperceiv'd,

But aye they wonder'd what she mighte be

That in so poor array was for to see,

And coude* such honour and reverence; *knew, understood

And worthily they praise her prudence.

In all this meane while she not stent* *ceased

This maid, and eke her brother, to commend

With all her heart in full benign intent,

So well, that no man could her praise amend:

But at the last, when that these lordes wend* *go

To sitte down to meat, he gan to call

Griseld', as she was busy in the hall.

"Griseld'," quoth he, as it were in his play,

"How liketh thee my wife, and her beauty?"

"Right well, my Lord," quoth she, "for, in good fay,* *faith

A fairer saw I never none than she:

I pray to God give you prosperity;

And so I hope, that he will to you send

Pleasance enough unto your lives end.

"One thing beseech I you, and warn also,

That ye not pricke with no tormenting

This tender maiden, as ye have done mo:* *me

For she is foster'd in her nourishing

More tenderly, and, to my supposing,

She mighte not adversity endure

As could a poore foster'd creature."

And when this Walter saw her patience,

Her gladde cheer, and no malice at all,

And* he so often had her done offence, *although

And she aye sad* and constant as a wall, *steadfast

Continuing ev'r her innocence o'er all,

The sturdy marquis gan his hearte dress* *prepare

To rue upon her wifely steadfastness.

"This is enough, Griselda mine," quoth he,

"Be now no more *aghast, nor evil paid,* *afraid, nor displeased*

I have thy faith and thy benignity

As well as ever woman was, assay'd,

In great estate and poorely array'd:

Now know I, deare wife, thy steadfastness;"

And her in arms he took, and gan to kiss.

And she for wonder took of it no keep;* *notice

She hearde not what thing he to her said:

She far'd as she had start out of a sleep,

Till she out of her mazedness abraid.* *awoke

"Griseld'," quoth he, "by God that for us died,

Thou art my wife, none other I have,

Nor ever had, as God my soule save.

"This is thy daughter, which thou hast suppos'd

To be my wife; that other faithfully

Shall be mine heir, as I have aye dispos'd;

Thou bare them of thy body truely:

At Bologna kept I them privily:

Take them again, for now may'st thou not say

That thou hast lorn* none of thy children tway. *lost

"And folk, that otherwise have said of me,

I warn them well, that I have done this deed

For no malice, nor for no cruelty,

But to assay in thee thy womanhead:

And not to slay my children (God forbid),

But for to keep them privily and still,

Till I thy purpose knew, and all thy will."

When she this heard, in swoon adown she falleth

For piteous joy; and after her swooning,

She both her younge children to her calleth,

And in her armes piteously weeping

Embraced them, and tenderly kissing,

Full like a mother, with her salte tears

She bathed both their visage and their hairs.

O, what a piteous thing it was to see

Her swooning, and her humble voice to hear!

"Grand mercy, Lord, God thank it you," quoth she,

That ye have saved me my children dear;

Now reck* I never to be dead right here; *care

Since I stand in your love, and in your grace,

No *force of* death, nor when my spirit pace.* *no matter for* *pass

"O tender, O dear, O young children mine,

Your woeful mother *weened steadfastly* *believed firmly*

That cruel houndes, or some foul vermine,

Had eaten you; but God of his mercy,

And your benigne father tenderly

Have *done you keep:"* and in that same stound* *caused you to

All suddenly she swapt** down to the ground. be preserved*

*hour **fell

And in her swoon so sadly* holdeth she *firmly

Her children two, when she gan them embrace,

That with great sleight* and great difficulty *art

The children from her arm they can arace,* *pull away

O! many a tear on many a piteous face

Down ran of them that stoode her beside,

Unneth'* aboute her might they abide. *scarcely

Walter her gladdeth, and her sorrow slaketh:* *assuages

She riseth up abashed* from her trance, *astonished

And every wight her joy and feaste maketh,

Till she hath caught again her countenance.

Walter her doth so faithfully pleasance,

That it was dainty for to see the cheer

Betwixt them two, since they be met in fere.* *together

The ladies, when that they their time sey,* *saw

Have taken her, and into chamber gone,

And stripped her out of her rude array,

And in a cloth of gold that brightly shone,

And with a crown of many a riche stone

Upon her head, they into hall her brought:

And there she was honoured as her ought.

Thus had this piteous day a blissful end;

For every man and woman did his might

This day in mirth and revel to dispend,

Till on the welkin* shone the starres bright: *firmament

For more solemn in every mannes sight

This feaste was, and greater of costage,* *expense

Than was the revel of her marriage.

Full many a year in high prosperity

Lived these two in concord and in rest;

And richely his daughter married he

Unto a lord, one of the worthiest

Of all Itale; and then in peace and rest

His wife's father in his court he kept,

Till that the soul out of his body crept.

His son succeeded in his heritage,

In rest and peace, after his father's day:

And fortunate was eke in marriage,

All* he put not his wife in great assay: *although

This world is not so strong, it *is no nay,* *not to be denied*

As it hath been in olde times yore;

And hearken what this author saith, therefore;

This story is said, not for that wives should

Follow Griselda in humility,

For it were importable* though they would; *not to be borne

But for that every wight in his degree

Shoulde be constant in adversity,

As was Griselda; therefore Petrarch writeth

This story, which with high style he inditeth.

For, since a woman was so patient

Unto a mortal man, well more we ought

Receiven all in gree* that God us sent. good-will

*For great skill is he proved that he wrought:* *see note *

But he tempteth no man that he hath bought,

As saith Saint James, if ye his 'pistle read;

He proveth folk all day, it is no dread.* *doubt

And suffereth us, for our exercise,

With sharpe scourges of adversity

Full often to be beat in sundry wise;

Not for to know our will, for certes he,

Ere we were born, knew all our frailty;

And for our best is all his governance;

Let us then live in virtuous sufferance.

But one word, lordings, hearken, ere I go:

It were full hard to finde now-a-days

In all a town Griseldas three or two:

For, if that they were put to such assays,

The gold of them hath now so bad allays* *alloys

With brass, that though the coin be fair *at eye,* *to see*

It woulde rather break in two than ply.* *bend

For which here, for the Wife's love of Bath, —

Whose life and all her sex may God maintain

In high mast'ry, and elles were it scath,* — *damage, pity

I will, with lusty hearte fresh and green,

Say you a song to gladden you, I ween:

And let us stint of earnestful mattere.

Hearken my song, that saith in this mannere.

L'Envoy of Chaucer.

"Griseld' is dead, and eke her patience,

And both at once are buried in Itale:

For which I cry in open audience,

No wedded man so hardy be t' assail

His wife's patience, in trust to find

Griselda's, for in certain he shall fail.

"O noble wives, full of high prudence,

Let no humility your tongues nail:

Nor let no clerk have cause or diligence

To write of you a story of such marvail,

As of Griselda patient and kind,

Lest Chichevache you swallow in her entrail.

"Follow Echo, that holdeth no silence,

But ever answereth at the countertail;* *counter-tally

Be not bedaffed* for your innocence, *befooled

But sharply take on you the governail;* *helm

Imprinte well this lesson in your mind,

For common profit, since it may avail.

"Ye archiwives,* stand aye at defence, *wives of rank

Since ye be strong as is a great camail,* *camel

Nor suffer not that men do you offence.

And slender wives, feeble in battail,

Be eager as a tiger yond in Ind;

Aye clapping as a mill, I you counsail.

"Nor dread them not, nor do them reverence;

For though thine husband armed be in mail,

The arrows of thy crabbed eloquence

Shall pierce his breast, and eke his aventail;

In jealousy I rede* eke thou him bind, *advise

And thou shalt make him couch* as doth a quail. *submit, shrink

"If thou be fair, where folk be in presence

Shew thou thy visage and thine apparail:

If thou be foul, be free of thy dispence;

To get thee friendes aye do thy travail:

Be aye of cheer as light as leaf on lind,* *linden, lime-tree

And let him care, and weep, and wring, and wail."

****

THE MERCHANT'S TALE.

THE PROLOGUE.l

"Weeping and wailing, care and other sorrow,

I have enough, on even and on morrow,"

Quoth the Merchant, "and so have other mo',

That wedded be; I trow* that it be so; *believe

For well I wot it fareth so by me.

I have a wife, the worste that may be,

For though the fiend to her y-coupled were,

She would him overmatch, I dare well swear.

Why should I you rehearse in special

Her high malice? she is *a shrew at all.* *thoroughly, in

There is a long and large difference everything wicked*

Betwixt Griselda's greate patience,

And of my wife the passing cruelty.

Were I unbounden, all so may I the,* *thrive

I woulde never eft* come in the snare. *again

We wedded men live in sorrow and care;

Assay it whoso will, and he shall find

That I say sooth, by Saint Thomas of Ind,

As for the more part; I say not all, —

God shielde* that it shoulde so befall. *forbid

Ah! good Sir Host, I have y-wedded be

These moneths two, and more not, pardie;

And yet I trow* that he that all his life *believe

Wifeless hath been, though that men would him rive* *wound

Into the hearte, could in no mannere

Telle so much sorrow, as I you here

Could tellen of my wife's cursedness."* *wickedness

"Now," quoth our Host, "Merchant, so God you bless,

Since ye so muche knowen of that art,

Full heartily I pray you tell us part."

"Gladly," quoth he; "but of mine owen sore,

For sorry heart, I telle may no more."

THE TALE.l

Whilom there was dwelling in Lombardy

A worthy knight, that born was at Pavie,

In which he liv'd in great prosperity;

And forty years a wifeless man was he,

And follow'd aye his bodily delight

On women, where as was his appetite,

As do these fooles that be seculeres.

And, when that he was passed sixty years,

Were it for holiness, or for dotage,

I cannot say, but such a great corage* *inclination

Hadde this knight to be a wedded man,

That day and night he did all that he can

To espy where that he might wedded be;

Praying our Lord to grante him, that he

Mighte once knowen of that blissful life

That is betwixt a husband and his wife,

And for to live under that holy bond

With which God firste man and woman bond.

"None other life," said he, "is worth a bean;

For wedlock is so easy, and so clean,

That in this world it is a paradise."

Thus said this olde knight, that was so wise.

And certainly, as sooth* as God is king, *true

To take a wife it is a glorious thing,

And namely* when a man is old and hoar, *especially

Then is a wife the fruit of his treasor;

Then should he take a young wife and a fair,

On which he might engender him an heir,

And lead his life in joy and in solace;* *mirth, delight

Whereas these bachelors singen "Alas!"

When that they find any adversity

In love, which is but childish vanity.

And truely it sits* well to be so, *becomes, befits

That bachelors have often pain and woe:

On brittle ground they build, and brittleness

They finde when they *weene sickerness:* *think that there

They live but as a bird or as a beast, is security*

In liberty, and under no arrest;* *check, control

Whereas a wedded man in his estate

Liveth a life blissful and ordinate,

Under the yoke of marriage y-bound;

Well may his heart in joy and bliss abound.

For who can be so buxom* as a wife? *obedient

Who is so true, and eke so attentive

To keep* him, sick and whole, as is his make?** *care for **mate

For weal or woe she will him not forsake:

She is not weary him to love and serve,

Though that he lie bedrid until he sterve.* *die

And yet some clerkes say it is not so;

Of which he, Theophrast, is one of tho:* *those

*What force* though Theophrast list for to lie? *what matter*

"Take no wife," quoth he, "for husbandry,* *thrift

As for to spare in household thy dispence;

A true servant doth more diligence

Thy good to keep, than doth thine owen wife,

For she will claim a half part all her life.

And if that thou be sick, so God me save,

Thy very friendes, or a true knave,* *servant

Will keep thee bet than she, that *waiteth aye *ahways waits to

After thy good,* and hath done many a day." inherit your property*

This sentence, and a hundred times worse,

Writeth this man, there God his bones curse.

But take no keep* of all such vanity, *notice

Defy* Theophrast, and hearken to me. *distrust

A wife is Godde's gifte verily;

All other manner giftes hardily,* *truly

As handes, rentes, pasture, or commune,* *common land

Or mebles,* all be giftes of fortune, *furniture

That passen as a shadow on the wall:

But dread* thou not, if plainly speak I shall, *doubt

A wife will last, and in thine house endure,

Well longer than thee list, paraventure.* *perhaps

Marriage is a full great sacrament;

He which that hath no wife, I hold him shent;* *ruined

He liveth helpless, and all desolate

(I speak of folk *in secular estate*): *who are not

And hearken why, I say not this for nought, — of the clergy*

That woman is for manne's help y-wrought.

The highe God, when he had Adam maked,

And saw him all alone belly naked,

God of his greate goodness saide then,

Let us now make a help unto this man

Like to himself; and then he made him Eve.

Here may ye see, and hereby may ye preve,* *prove

That a wife is man s help and his comfort,

His paradise terrestre and his disport.

So buxom* and so virtuous is she, *obedient, complying

They muste needes live in unity;

One flesh they be, and one blood, as I guess,

With but one heart in weal and in distress.

A wife? Ah! Saint Mary, ben'dicite,

How might a man have any adversity

That hath a wife? certes I cannot say

The bliss the which that is betwixt them tway,

There may no tongue it tell, or hearte think.

If he be poor, she helpeth him to swink;* *labour

She keeps his good, and wasteth never a deal;* *whit

All that her husband list, her liketh* well; *pleaseth

She saith not ones Nay, when he saith Yea;

"Do this," saith he; "All ready, Sir," saith she.

O blissful order, wedlock precious!

Thou art so merry, and eke so virtuous,

And so commended and approved eke,

That every man that holds him worth a leek

Upon his bare knees ought all his life

To thank his God, that him hath sent a wife;

Or elles pray to God him for to send

A wife, to last unto his life's end.

For then his life is set in sickerness,* *security

He may not be deceived, as I guess,

So that he work after his wife's rede;* *counsel

Then may he boldely bear up his head,

They be so true, and therewithal so wise.

For which, if thou wilt worken as the wise,

Do alway so as women will thee rede. * *counsel

Lo how that Jacob, as these clerkes read,

By good counsel of his mother Rebecc'

Bounde the kiddes skin about his neck;

For which his father's benison* he wan. *benediction

Lo Judith, as the story telle can,

By good counsel she Godde's people kept,

And slew him, Holofernes, while he slept.

Lo Abigail, by good counsel, how she

Saved her husband Nabal, when that he

Should have been slain. And lo, Esther also

By counsel good deliver'd out of woe

The people of God, and made him, Mardoche,

Of Assuere enhanced* for to be. *advanced in dignity

There is nothing *in gree superlative* *of higher esteem*

(As saith Senec) above a humble wife.

Suffer thy wife's tongue, as Cato bit;* *bid

She shall command, and thou shalt suffer it,

And yet she will obey of courtesy.

A wife is keeper of thine husbandry:

Well may the sicke man bewail and weep,

There as there is no wife the house to keep.

I warne thee, if wisely thou wilt wirch,* *work

Love well thy wife, as Christ loveth his church:

Thou lov'st thyself, if thou lovest thy wife.

No man hateth his flesh, but in his life

He fost'reth it; and therefore bid I thee

Cherish thy wife, or thou shalt never the.* *thrive

Husband and wife, what *so men jape or play,* *although men joke

Of worldly folk holde the sicker* way; and jeer* *certain

They be so knit there may no harm betide,

And namely* upon the wife's side. * especially

For which this January, of whom I told,

Consider'd hath within his dayes old,

The lusty life, the virtuous quiet,

That is in marriage honey-sweet.

And for his friends upon a day he sent

To tell them the effect of his intent.

With face sad,* his tale he hath them told: *grave, earnest

He saide, "Friendes, I am hoar and old,

And almost (God wot) on my pitte's* brink, *grave's

Upon my soule somewhat must I think.

I have my body foolishly dispended,

Blessed be God that it shall be amended;

For I will be certain a wedded man,

And that anon in all the haste I can,

Unto some maiden, fair and tender of age;

I pray you shape* for my marriage * arrange, contrive

All suddenly, for I will not abide:

And I will fond* to espy, on my side, *try

To whom I may be wedded hastily.

But forasmuch as ye be more than,

Ye shalle rather* such a thing espy

Than I, and where me best were to ally.

But one thing warn I you, my friendes dear,

I will none old wife have in no mannere:

She shall not passe sixteen year certain.

Old fish and younge flesh would I have fain.

Better," quoth he, "a pike than a pickerel,* *young pike

And better than old beef is tender veal.

I will no woman thirty year of age,

It is but beanestraw and great forage.

And eke these olde widows (God it wot)

They conne* so much craft on Wade's boat, *know

*So muche brooke harm when that them lest,* *they can do so much

That with them should I never live in rest. harm when they wish*

For sundry schooles make subtle clerkes;

Woman of many schooles half a clerk is.

But certainly a young thing men may guy,* *guide

Right as men may warm wax with handes ply.* *bend,mould

Wherefore I say you plainly in a clause,

I will none old wife have, right for this cause.

For if so were I hadde such mischance,

That I in her could have no pleasance,

Then should I lead my life in avoutrie,* *adultery

And go straight to the devil when I die.

Nor children should I none upon her getten:

Yet *were me lever* houndes had me eaten *I would rather*

Than that mine heritage shoulde fall

In strange hands: and this I tell you all.

I doubte not I know the cause why

Men shoulde wed: and farthermore know I

There speaketh many a man of marriage

That knows no more of it than doth my page,

For what causes a man should take a wife.

If he ne may not live chaste his life,

Take him a wife with great devotion,

Because of lawful procreation

Of children, to th' honour of God above,

And not only for paramour or love;

And for they shoulde lechery eschew,

And yield their debte when that it is due:

Or for that each of them should help the other

In mischief,* as a sister shall the brother, *trouble

And live in chastity full holily.

But, Sires, by your leave, that am not I,

For, God be thanked, I dare make avaunt,* *boast

I feel my limbes stark* and suffisant *strong

To do all that a man belongeth to:

I wot myselfe best what I may do.

Though I be hoar, I fare as doth a tree,

That blossoms ere the fruit y-waxen* be; *grown

The blossomy tree is neither dry nor dead;

I feel me now here hoar but on my head.

Mine heart and all my limbes are as green

As laurel through the year is for to seen.* *see

And, since that ye have heard all mine intent,

I pray you to my will ye would assent."

Diverse men diversely him told

Of marriage many examples old;

Some blamed it, some praised it, certain;

But at the haste, shortly for to sayn

(As all day* falleth altercation *constantly, every day

Betwixte friends in disputation),

There fell a strife betwixt his brethren two,

Of which that one was called Placebo,

Justinus soothly called was that other.

Placebo said; "O January, brother,

Full little need have ye, my lord so dear,

Counsel to ask of any that is here:

But that ye be so full of sapience,

That you not liketh, for your high prudence,

To waive* from the word of Solomon. *depart, deviate

This word said he unto us every one;

Work alle thing by counsel, — thus said he, —

And thenne shalt thou not repente thee

But though that Solomon spake such a word,

Mine owen deare brother and my lord,

So wisly* God my soule bring at rest, *surely

I hold your owen counsel is the best.

For, brother mine, take of me this motive; * *advice, encouragement

I have now been a court-man all my life,

And, God it wot, though I unworthy be,

I have standen in full great degree

Aboute lordes of full high estate;

Yet had I ne'er with none of them debate;

I never them contraried truely.

I know well that my lord can* more than I; *knows

What that he saith I hold it firm and stable,

I say the same, or else a thing semblable.

A full great fool is any counsellor

That serveth any lord of high honour

That dare presume, or ones thinken it;

That his counsel should pass his lorde's wit.

Nay, lordes be no fooles by my fay.

Ye have yourselfe shewed here to day

So high sentence,* so holily and well *judgment, sentiment

That I consent, and confirm *every deal* *in every point*

Your wordes all, and your opinioun

By God, there is no man in all this town

Nor in Itale, could better have y-said.

Christ holds him of this counsel well apaid.* *satisfied

And truely it is a high courage

Of any man that stopen* is in age, *advanced

To take a young wife, by my father's kin;

Your hearte hangeth on a jolly pin.

Do now in this matter right as you lest,

For finally I hold it for the best."

Justinus, that aye stille sat and heard,

Right in this wise to Placebo answer'd.

"Now, brother mine, be patient I pray,

Since ye have said, and hearken what I say.

Senec, among his other wordes wise,

Saith, that a man ought him right well advise,* *consider

To whom he gives his hand or his chattel.

And since I ought advise me right well

To whom I give my good away from me,

Well more I ought advise me, pardie,

To whom I give my body: for alway

I warn you well it is no childe's play

To take a wife without advisement.

Men must inquire (this is mine assent)

Whe'er she be wise, or sober, or dronkelew,* *given to drink

Or proud, or any other ways a shrew,

A chidester,* or a waster of thy good, *a scold

Or rich or poor; or else a man is wood.* *mad

Albeit so, that no man finde shall

None in this world, that *trotteth whole in all,* *is sound in

No man, nor beast, such as men can devise,* every point* *describe

But nathehess it ought enough suffice

With any wife, if so were that she had

More goode thewes* than her vices bad: * qualities

And all this asketh leisure to inquere.

For, God it wot, I have wept many a tear

Full privily, since I have had a wife.

Praise whoso will a wedded manne's life,

Certes, I find in it but cost and care,

And observances of all blisses bare.

And yet, God wot, my neighebours about,

And namely* of women many a rout,** *especially **company

Say that I have the moste steadfast wife,

And eke the meekest one, that beareth life.

But I know best where wringeth* me my shoe, *pinches

Ye may for me right as you like do

Advise you, ye be a man of age,

How that ye enter into marriage;

And namely* with a young wife and a fair, * especially

By him that made water, fire, earth, air,

The youngest man that is in all this rout* *company

Is busy enough to bringen it about

To have his wife alone, truste me:

Ye shall not please her fully yeares three,

This is to say, to do her full pleasance.

A wife asketh full many an observance.

I pray you that ye be not *evil apaid."* *displeased*

"Well," quoth this January, "and hast thou said?

Straw for thy Senec, and for thy proverbs,

I counte not a pannier full of herbs

Of schoole termes; wiser men than thou,

As thou hast heard, assented here right now

To my purpose: Placebo, what say ye?"

"I say it is a cursed* man," quoth he, *ill-natured, wicked

"That letteth* matrimony, sickerly." *hindereth

And with that word they rise up suddenly,

And be assented fully, that he should

Be wedded when him list, and where he would.

High fantasy and curious business

From day to day gan in the soul impress* *imprint themselves

Of January about his marriage

Many a fair shape, and many a fair visage

There passed through his hearte night by night.

As whoso took a mirror polish'd bright,

And set it in a common market-place,

Then should he see many a figure pace

By his mirror; and in the same wise

Gan January in his thought devise

Of maidens, which that dwelte him beside:

He wiste not where that he might abide.* *stay, fix his choice

For if that one had beauty in her face,

Another stood so in the people's grace

For her sadness* and her benignity, *sedateness

That of the people greatest voice had she:

And some were rich and had a badde name.

But natheless, betwixt earnest and game,

He at the last appointed him on one,

And let all others from his hearte gon,

And chose her of his own authority;

For love is blind all day, and may not see.

And when that he was into bed y-brought,

He pourtray'd in his heart and in his thought

Her freshe beauty, and her age tender,

Her middle small, her armes long and slender,

Her wise governance, her gentleness,

Her womanly bearing, and her sadness.* *sedateness

And when that he *on her was condescended,* *had selected her*

He thought his choice might not be amended;

For when that he himself concluded had,

He thought each other manne' s wit so bad,

That impossible it were to reply

Against his choice; this was his fantasy.

His friendes sent he to, at his instance,

And prayed them to do him that pleasance,

That hastily they would unto him come;

He would abridge their labour all and some:

Needed no more for them to go nor ride,

*He was appointed where he would abide.* *he had definitively

Placebo came, and eke his friendes soon, made his choice*

And *alderfirst he bade them all a boon,* *first of all he asked

That none of them no arguments would make a favour of them*

Against the purpose that he had y-take:

Which purpose was pleasant to God, said he,

And very ground of his prosperity.

He said, there was a maiden in the town,

Which that of beauty hadde great renown;

All* were it so she were of small degree, *although

Sufficed him her youth and her beauty;

Which maid, he said, he would have to his wife,

To lead in ease and holiness his life;

And thanked God, that he might have her all,

That no wight with his blisse parte* shall; *have a share

And prayed them to labour in this need,

And shape that he faile not to speed:

For then, he said, his spirit was at ease.

"Then is," quoth he, "nothing may me displease,

Save one thing pricketh in my conscience,

The which I will rehearse in your presence.

I have," quoth he, "heard said, full yore* ago, *long

There may no man have perfect blisses two,

This is to say, on earth and eke in heaven.

For though he keep him from the sinne's seven,

And eke from every branch of thilke tree,

Yet is there so perfect felicity,

And so great *ease and lust,* in marriage, *comfort and pleasure*

That ev'r I am aghast,* now in mine age *ashamed, afraid

That I shall head now so merry a life,

So delicate, withoute woe or strife,

That I shall have mine heav'n on earthe here.

For since that very heav'n is bought so dear,

With tribulation and great penance,

How should I then, living in such pleasance

As alle wedded men do with their wives,

Come to the bliss where Christ *etern on live is?* *lives eternally*

This is my dread;* and ye, my brethren tway, *doubt

Assoile* me this question, I you pray." *resolve, answer

Justinus, which that hated his folly,

Answer'd anon right in his japery;* *mockery, jesting way

And, for he would his longe tale abridge,

He woulde no authority* allege, *written texts

But saide; "Sir, so there be none obstacle

Other than this, God of his high miracle,

And of his mercy, may so for you wirch,* *work

That, ere ye have your rights of holy church,

Ye may repent of wedded manne's life,

In which ye say there is no woe nor strife:

And elles God forbid, *but if* he sent *unless

A wedded man his grace him to repent

Well often, rather than a single man.

And therefore, Sir, *the beste rede I can,* *this is the best counsel

Despair you not, but have in your memory, that I know*

Paraventure she may be your purgatory;

She may be Godde's means, and Godde's whip;

And then your soul shall up to heaven skip

Swifter than doth an arrow from a bow.

I hope to God hereafter ye shall know

That there is none so great felicity

In marriage, nor ever more shall be,

That you shall let* of your salvation; *hinder

So that ye use, as skill is and reason,

The lustes* of your wife attemperly,** *pleasures **moderately

And that ye please her not too amorously,

And that ye keep you eke from other sin.

My tale is done, for my wit is but thin.

Be not aghast* hereof, my brother dear, *aharmed, afraid

But let us waden out of this mattere,

The Wife of Bath, if ye have understand,

Of marriage, which ye have now in hand,

Declared hath full well in little space;

Fare ye now well, God have you in his grace."

And with this word this Justin' and his brother

Have ta'en their leave, and each of them of other.

And when they saw that it must needes be,

They wroughte so, by sleight and wise treaty,

That she, this maiden, which that *Maius hight,* *was named May*

As hastily as ever that she might,

Shall wedded be unto this January.

I trow it were too longe you to tarry,

If I told you of every *script and band* *written bond*

By which she was feoffed in his hand;

Or for to reckon of her rich array

But finally y-comen is the day

That to the churche bothe be they went,

For to receive the holy sacrament,

Forth came the priest, with stole about his neck,

And bade her be like Sarah and Rebecc'

In wisdom and in truth of marriage;

And said his orisons, as is usage,

And crouched* them, and prayed God should them bless, *crossed

And made all sicker* enough with holiness. *certain

Thus be they wedded with solemnity;

And at the feaste sat both he and she,

With other worthy folk, upon the dais.

All full of joy and bliss is the palace,

And full of instruments, and of vitaille, * *victuals, food

The moste dainteous* of all Itale. *delicate

Before them stood such instruments of soun',

That Orpheus, nor of Thebes Amphioun,

Ne made never such a melody.

At every course came in loud minstrelsy,

That never Joab trumped for to hear,

Nor he, Theodomas, yet half so clear

At Thebes, when the city was in doubt.

Bacchus the wine them skinked* all about. *poured

And Venus laughed upon every wight

(For January was become her knight,

And woulde both assaye his courage

In liberty, and eke in marriage),

And with her firebrand in her hand about

Danced before the bride and all the rout.

And certainly I dare right well say this,

Hymeneus, that god of wedding is,

Saw never his life so merry a wedded man.

Hold thou thy peace, thou poet Marcian,

That writest us that ilke* wedding merry *same

Of her Philology and him Mercury,

And of the songes that the Muses sung;

Too small is both thy pen, and eke thy tongue

For to describen of this marriage.

When tender youth hath wedded stooping age,

There is such mirth that it may not be writ;

Assay it youreself, then may ye wit* *know

If that I lie or no in this mattere.

Maius, that sat with so benign a cheer,* *countenance

Her to behold it seemed faerie;

Queen Esther never look'd with such an eye

On Assuere, so meek a look had she;

I may you not devise all her beauty;

But thus much of her beauty tell I may,

That she was hike the bright morrow of May

Full filled of all beauty and pleasance.

This January is ravish'd in a trance,

At every time he looked in her face;

But in his heart he gan her to menace,

That he that night in armes would her strain

Harder than ever Paris did Helene.

But natheless yet had he great pity

That thilke night offende her must he,

And thought, "Alas, O tender creature,

Now woulde God ye mighte well endure

All my courage, it is so sharp and keen;

I am aghast* ye shall it not sustene. *afraid

But God forbid that I did all my might.

Now woulde God that it were waxen night,

And that the night would lasten evermo'.

I would that all this people were y-go."* *gone away

And finally he did all his labour,

As he best mighte, saving his honour,

To haste them from the meat in subtle wise.

The time came that reason was to rise;

And after that men dance, and drinke fast,

And spices all about the house they cast,

And full of joy and bliss is every man,

All but a squire, that highte Damian,

Who carv'd before the knight full many a day;

He was so ravish'd on his lady May,

That for the very pain he was nigh wood;* *mad

Almost he swelt* and swooned where he stood, *fainted

So sore had Venus hurt him with her brand,

As that she bare it dancing in her hand.

And to his bed he went him hastily;

No more of him as at this time speak I;

But there I let him weep enough and plain,* *bewail

Till freshe May will rue upon his pain.

O perilous fire, that in the bedstraw breedeth!

O foe familiar,* that his service bedeth!** *domestic **offers

O servant traitor, O false homely hewe,* *servant

Like to the adder in bosom shy untrue,

God shield us alle from your acquaintance!

O January, drunken in pleasance

Of marriage, see how thy Damian,

Thine owen squier and thy boren* man, *born

Intendeth for to do thee villainy:* *dishonour, outrage

God grante thee thine *homehy foe* t' espy. *enemy in the household*

For in this world is no worse pestilence

Than homely foe, all day in thy presence.

Performed hath the sun his arc diurn,* *daily

No longer may the body of him sojourn

On the horizon, in that latitude:

Night with his mantle, that is dark and rude,

Gan overspread the hemisphere about:

For which departed is this *lusty rout* *pleasant company*

From January, with thank on every side.

Home to their houses lustily they ride,

Where as they do their thinges as them lest,

And when they see their time they go to rest.

Soon after that this hasty* January *eager

Will go to bed, he will no longer tarry.

He dranke hippocras, clarre, and vernage

Of spices hot, to increase his courage;

And many a lectuary* had he full fine, *potion

Such as the cursed monk Dan Constantine

Hath written in his book *de Coitu;* *of sexual intercourse*

To eat them all he would nothing eschew:

And to his privy friendes thus said he:

"For Godde's love, as soon as it may be,

Let *voiden all* this house in courteous wise." *everyone leave*

And they have done right as he will devise.

Men drinken, and the travers* draw anon; *curtains

The bride is brought to bed as still as stone;

And when the bed was with the priest y-bless'd,

Out of the chamber every wight him dress'd,

And January hath fast in arms y-take

His freshe May, his paradise, his make.* *mate

He lulled her, he kissed her full oft;

With thicke bristles of his beard unsoft,

Like to the skin of houndfish,* sharp as brere** *dogfish **briar

(For he was shav'n all new in his mannere),

He rubbed her upon her tender face,

And saide thus; "Alas! I must trespace

To you, my spouse, and you greatly offend,

Ere time come that I will down descend.

But natheless consider this," quoth he,

"There is no workman, whatsoe'er he be,

That may both worke well and hastily:

This will be done at leisure perfectly.

It is *no force* how longe that we play; *no matter*

In true wedlock coupled be we tway;

And blessed be the yoke that we be in,

For in our actes may there be no sin.

A man may do no sinne with his wife,

Nor hurt himselfe with his owen knife;

For we have leave to play us by the law."

Thus labour'd he, till that the day gan daw,

And then he took a sop in fine clarre,

And upright in his bedde then sat he.

And after that he sang full loud and clear,

And kiss'd his wife, and made wanton cheer.

He was all coltish, full of ragerie * *wantonness

And full of jargon as a flecked pie.

The slacke skin about his necke shaked,

While that he sang, so chanted he and craked.* *quavered

But God wot what that May thought in her heart,

When she him saw up sitting in his shirt

In his night-cap, and with his necke lean:

She praised not his playing worth a bean.

Then said he thus; "My reste will I take

Now day is come, I may no longer wake;

And down he laid his head and slept till prime.

And afterward, when that he saw his time,

Up rose January, but freshe May

Helde her chamber till the fourthe day,

As usage is of wives for the best.

For every labour some time must have rest,

Or elles longe may he not endure;

This is to say, no life of creature,

Be it of fish, or bird, or beast, or man.

Now will I speak of woeful Damian,

That languisheth for love, as ye shall hear;

Therefore I speak to him in this manneare.

I say. "O silly Damian, alas!

Answer to this demand, as in this case,

How shalt thou to thy lady, freshe May,

Telle thy woe? She will alway say nay;

Eke if thou speak, she will thy woe bewray; * *betray

God be thine help, I can no better say.

This sicke Damian in Venus' fire

So burned that he died for desire;

For which he put his life *in aventure,* *at risk*

No longer might he in this wise endure;

But privily a penner* gan he borrow, *writing-case

And in a letter wrote he all his sorrow,

In manner of a complaint or a lay,

Unto his faire freshe lady May.

And in a purse of silk, hung on his shirt,

He hath it put, and laid it at his heart.

The moone, that at noon was thilke* day *that

That January had wedded freshe May,

In ten of Taure, was into Cancer glided;

So long had Maius in her chamber abided,

As custom is unto these nobles all.

A bride shall not eaten in the ball

Till dayes four, or three days at the least,

Y-passed be; then let her go to feast.

The fourthe day complete from noon to noon,

When that the highe masse was y-done,

In halle sat this January, and May,

As fresh as is the brighte summer's day.

And so befell, how that this goode man

Remember'd him upon this Damian.

And saide; "Saint Mary, how may this be,

That Damian attendeth not to me?

Is he aye sick? or how may this betide?"

His squiers, which that stoode there beside,

Excused him, because of his sickness,

Which letted* him to do his business: *hindered

None other cause mighte make him tarry.

"That me forthinketh,"* quoth this January *grieves, causes

"He is a gentle squier, by my truth; uneasiness

If that he died, it were great harm and ruth.

He is as wise, as discreet, and secre',* *secret, trusty

As any man I know of his degree,

And thereto manly and eke serviceble,

And for to be a thrifty man right able.

But after meat, as soon as ever I may

I will myself visit him, and eke May,

To do him all the comfort that I can."

And for that word him blessed every man,

That of his bounty and his gentleness

He woulde so comforten in sickness

His squier, for it was a gentle deed.

"Dame," quoth this January, "take good heed,

At after meat, ye with your women all

(When that ye be in chamb'r out of this hall),

That all ye go to see this Damian:

Do him disport, he is a gentle man;

And telle him that I will him visite,

*Have I nothing but rested me a lite:* *when only I have rested

And speed you faste, for I will abide me a little*

Till that ye sleepe faste by my side."

And with that word he gan unto him call

A squier, that was marshal of his hall,

And told him certain thinges that he wo'ld.

This freshe May hath straight her way y-hold,

With all her women, unto Damian.

Down by his beddes side sat she than,* *then

Comforting him as goodly as she may.

This Damian, when that his time he say,* *saw

In secret wise his purse, and eke his bill,

In which that he y-written had his will,

Hath put into her hand withoute more,

Save that he sighed wondrous deep and sore,

And softely to her right thus said he:

"Mercy, and that ye not discover me:

For I am dead if that this thing be kid."* *discovered

The purse hath she in her bosom hid,

And went her way; ye get no more of me;

But unto January come is she,

That on his bedde's side sat full soft.

He took her, and he kissed her full oft,

And laid him down to sleep, and that anon.

She feigned her as that she muste gon

There as ye know that every wight must need;

And when she of this bill had taken heed,

She rent it all to cloutes* at the last, *fragments

And in the privy softely it cast.

Who studieth* now but faire freshe May? *is thoughtful

Adown by olde January she lay,

That slepte, till the cough had him awaked:

Anon he pray'd her strippe her all naked,

He would of her, he said, have some pleasance;

And said her clothes did him incumbrance.

And she obey'd him, be her *lefe or loth.* *willing or unwilling*

But, lest that precious* folk be with me wroth, *over-nice

How that he wrought I dare not to you tell,

Or whether she thought it paradise or hell;

But there I let them worken in their wise

Till evensong ring, and they must arise.

Were it by destiny, or aventure,* * chance

Were it by influence, or by nature,

Or constellation, that in such estate

The heaven stood at that time fortunate

As for to put a bill of Venus' works

(For alle thing hath time, as say these clerks),

To any woman for to get her love,

I cannot say; but greate God above,

That knoweth that none act is causeless,

*He deem* of all, for I will hold my peace. *let him judge*

But sooth is this, how that this freshe May

Hath taken such impression that day

Of pity on this sicke Damian,

That from her hearte she not drive can

The remembrance for *to do him ease.* *to satisfy

"Certain," thought she, "whom that this thing displease his desire*

I recke not, for here I him assure,

To love him best of any creature,

Though he no more haddee than his shirt."

Lo, pity runneth soon in gentle heart.

Here may ye see, how excellent franchise* *generosity

In women is when they them *narrow advise.* *closely consider*

Some tyrant is, — as there be many a one, —

That hath a heart as hard as any stone,

Which would have let him sterven* in the place *die

Well rather than have granted him her grace;

And then rejoicen in her cruel pride.

And reckon not to be a homicide.