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firili  be  umtrxs  and  Antonyms  of  the  English  Language. 

'  "C8,  Ppeta.  and   Contrasted.     By  the  late  Ven.  C.  J.  Smith,   M.A. 
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Synonyms  Discriminated.  A  Catalogue  of  Synonymous 
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ing, &c.  Illustrated  by  Quotations  from  Standard  Writers.  By  the 
late  Ven.  C.  J.  Smith,  M.A.     Demy  8vo.     168. 

A  Biographical  Dictionary.   By  Thompson  Coopkb,  F.S.A., 
Editor  of  "  Men  of  the  Time,"  and  Joint  Editor  of  "  AtheusB  Canta- 
brigienses."     1  vol.     8vo.     128. 
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kehalf  put  forth  by  its  editor." — British,  Quaiierly  Review. 

A  Biographical  and  Critical  Dictionary  of  Painters 

and  Engravers.     With  a  List  of  Ciphers,  Monograms,  and  Marka. 
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A  Supplement  of  Recent  and  Living   Painters.    By 

Henry  Ottley.    128. 

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/r  H<  '^^ 


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POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


GEOFFREY  CHAUCER, 


VOLUMK    I. 


y  (T  B  ^  U  cT  c?  n. 

p  OfGvui  liAV  til  mc «>->  fi\|yO  I'vflviKlT^  . 
||  f  rttrc^  ynit<  <»tlnv  ui<u  in  KUKuil^-iiiuK-i 

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I    ov  inVv<iMitiii'c  iiuUMjct'ti  I'lmftniS^  - 


POETICAL  AVORKS 


CtBOFFEEY    CHAUCEE; 


WITH    POKMS   FORMERLY   PRINTED   WITH   HIS 
OR  ATTRIBUTED  TO  HIM. 


EDITED,    WITH    A    ME3I01K,    IIY 

EGBERT  BELL. 

revised   euition,  ly   four    volumes. 

with   a    peeliminary   essay    by 
Rev.  W.  W.  SKEAT,  M.A. 

Volume  I. 


LONDON: 

GEORGE  BKLL  AND  SONS,  YORK  STREET, 

COVENT   GARDEN. 

1878. 


LI  iNDUX  : 

PRINTED    BY    WILLIAM    CLOWES    AW   SONS, 

BXAMtuKll    STUliKT    AND   CKAltlXO    CHoSS. 


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V. 


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CONTENTS   OF   THE   FIRST   VOLUME. 


PAGE 

Preliminary  Essay  by  the  Rev.  W.  W.  Skeat,  M.A.  1 

Memoir  of  Geoffrey  Chaucer 13 

Introduction  to  the  Poems 39 

Poems — The  Canterbury  Tales: 

The  Prologue '.     .      .  73 

The  Knightes  Tale .  m 

The  Prologe  of  the  Myller       ....  18-! 

The  Milleres  Tale 191 

The  Prologe  of  the  Reeve 216 

The  Reeves  Tale 219 

The  Cokes  Prologe 235 

The  Cokes  Tale 23(5 

The  Cokes  Tale  of  Gamelyn       ....  238 

The  Man  of  Eawes  Prologe        ....  267 

The  Man  of  Lawes  Tale 271 

The  Prologe  of  the  Wyf  of  Bathe     .      .  306 

The  Wyf  of  Bathes  Tale 334 

The  Prologs  of  the  Frere 349 

The  Freres  Tale 350 

The  Sompnoures  Prologe 364 

The  Sompnoures  Tale 3C5 

The  Clkrk  of  Oxenfordes  Prologe       .     .  386 

The  Clerk  es  Tale 388 

The  Prologe  of  the  Marchaundks  Tal'e    .  422 

The  Marchaundes  Tale 424 

The  Squyeres  Prologe 461 

The  Squyeres  Tale 462 

The  Frankeleynes  Prologe 486 

The  Fbankeleynes  Tale  .....  488 


The  notes  signed  S.,  T.,  and  W.,  are  respectively  from  Speght's  and 
Tyrwlaitt's  editions  of  Chaucer,  and  Mr.  T.  Wright's  edition  of  tlie  Harleian 
5IS.  (7JJ4)  of  The  Canterbury  Tales.  Those  added  to  this  edition  are 
included  in  brackets. 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 

BY  THE  REV.  W.  W.   SKEAT,  M.A. 


In  preparing  a  reprint  of  the  edition  of  Chaucer's 
■works,  usually  known  as  Bell's  edition,  and  originally 
included  in  the  series  of  Bell's  annotated  editions  of 
the  English  Poets,  it  seemed  advisable  to  consider 
what  improvements  could  best  be  made  in  order  to 
add  to  the  convenience  and  value  of  the  Avork.  1 
have  ventured  to  suggest,  in  particular,  that  many 
of  the  poems  might  be  re-arranged,  iso  as  to  show 
more  clearly  which  are  the  genuine  works  of  the 
poet,  and  which  are  the  poems  that  are  probably,  and 
in  most  cases  decidedly,  spurious.  The  Advertise- 
ment to  the  former  i.-sue  contained  the  following- 
notice  : — '•  This  edition  of  Chaucer's  works  includes 
all  the  poems  which  appear  entitled,  from  internal  or 
external  evidence,  to  be  considered  genuine  ;"  but 
it  includes,  as  a  fact,  a  considerable  number  which 
are  now  positively  known  to  be  spurious.  It  did  not 
seem  advisable,  however,  to  omit  these,  because 
several  of  them  are  of  considerable  interes^t  and 
value,  and  are  worth  having  in  an  accessible  form  ; 
besides  which,  they  have  so  frequently  been  cited 
as  Chaucer's,  that  their  absence  would  be  a  practical 
inconvenience.  Indeed,  a  little  consideration  will 
show  that  many  of  them  crept  into  the  old  editions 
of  Chaucer's  woiks  because  they  seemed  to  be  woith 
preserving,  and  because  to  include  them  in  those 
editions  was  the  easiest  way  of  doing  so.  To  such 
vou  I.  B 


7 


2  PRELIMIKAIIY 

an  extent  was  this  principle  carried,  that  poems  were 
even  included  in  the  old  editions  that  weie  positively 
known,  at  the  time,  to  be  by  other  authors.  Thus 
in  the  edition  of  156 1 ,  now  before  me,  the  title  runs — 
'  Chaucer's  Woorkes,  with  diuers  Addicions,  Newlie 
Prynted  by  Ihon  Kyngston,  1561.'  Amongst  these 
"  divers  additions,"  we  find,  at  fol.  cccxxx.,  back,  a 
poem  entitled  '  Ihon  Gower,  vnto  the  noble  King 
Henry  the  iiij.'  At  fol.  cccxxxii.,  back,  is  '  A  saiyng 
of  dan  Ihon,'  i.e.,  of  Dan  John  Lydgate.  At  fol. 
cccxxxiv.,  back,  is  '  Scogan  vnto  tlie  Lordes  and 
Gentilmen  of  the  Kiiiges  house,'  in  which  he  speaks 
of  "  my  maister  Chaucer,  God  his  soule  saue ;"  and 
in  the  course  of  the  poem  he  quotes  the  three  ex- 
cellent stanzas  which  compose  Chaucer's  poem  of 
'  Gentilesso.'  At  fol.  cccxxxvij,  is  '  A  balade  of  good 
counseile,  translated  out  of  Latin  verses  in-to  En- 
gliishe,  by  dan  Ihon  lidgat  cleped  the  monke  of  Buri,' 
But  the  most  remarkable  addition  is  the  whole  of 
the  long  poem  known  as  '  Lydgate's  Storie  of  Thebes,' 
in  three  books.  Similar  i-emarks  apply  to  other 
editions,  and  it  is  well  to  bear  in  mind  that  many  of 
them  include  pieces  which  not  only  are  not  Chaucer's, 
but  were  never  supposed  to  be  so  at  any  time  what- 
ever. The  practical  conclusion  to  be  drawn  is,  .of 
course,  that  the  occurrence  of  a  poem  in  an  old 
edition  of  Chaucer  is  no  certain  proof  that  it  was 
considered  genuine  even  at  the  time  of  its  first 
insertion  ;  and  if  critics  would  but  understand  this, 
it  would  consideiably  clear  the  way,  and  render  the 
consideration  of  the  genuineness  of  the  various  poems 
an  easy  task.  Indeed,  when  once  prejudices  and  pre- 
conceptions are  jiut  aside,  the  task  becomes,  as  I  have 
said,  an  easy  one ;  and  we  arrive  at  the  right  results 
readily  enough,  with  but  small  chance  of  error.  It 
is  easy  to  go  right  in  a  matter  when  we  have  not 
first  been  taught  wrongly ;  and  I  suppose  that  few 
leaders   will   find    any   difficulty   in   accepting   the 


ESSAY.  3 

results  I  shall  give  below,  excepting  such  as  have 
imbibed  wrong  notions  from  various  text-books,  and 
prefer  to  cling  to  them  instead  of  looking  at  the 
questions  for  themselves. 

By  way  of  convenience,  I  first  give  here  the  brief 
list  of  the  early  editions  of  Chaucer,  which  I  have 
already  printed  once  before,  in  my  edition  of  Chaucer's 
'  Treatise  on  the  Astrolabe,'  p.  xxvi. 

1.  Edition  by  Win.  Tliynne,  London,  lo32.     Folio. 

2.  Reprinted,  with  additional  matter,  London,  1.542.     Folio. 

3.  Keprinted,  with  the  matter  re-arranged,  London,  no  date, 

about  155L     Folio. 

4.  Eeprinted,  ivifh  large  additions  by  John  Stowe,  London, 

]5()L     Folio. 

5.  Reprinted,    irilh    additions   and,   alterations    by    Thomas 

Speght,  London,  1598.     Folio. 

6.  Reprinted,  with  further  additions  and  alterations  by  Thomas 

Speght,  Lon<ion,  1GU2.     Folio. 

7.  Reprinted,  ivith  slirjld  additions,  London,  1687.      Folio. 

8.  Reprinted,  with  additions  and  great  alterations  in  spelling, 

&L\,  by  Jolni  Urry,  Loudon,  1721.     Folio. 

The  above  list  shows,  at  a  glance,  how  Chaucer 
has  grown,  and  suggests,  at  the  same  time,  that  the 
simplest  way  of  ascertaining  which  poems  are  leally 
Chaucer's  is  to  consider  each  poem  separately  (1)  by 
the  external  eviilence  other  than  the  fact  of  its  ap- 
pearance in  an  old  edition  ;  and  (2)  by  the  internal 
evidence  critically  applied  ;  one  qualification  for  the 
critic  being  an  intimate  knowledge  of  Middle-English 
grammar. 

There  is  one  piece  which  I  shall  dispose  of  at  once, 
viz.,  the  long  prose  piece  known  as  '  The  Testament 
of  Love,'  from  which  "  a  tissue  of  romantic  ad- 
venture has  been  drafted  into  the  life  of  the  poet," 
The  fact  is,  simply,  that  it  is,  on  the  face  of  it,  not 
Chaucer's,  and,  consequently,  that  the  various  par- 
ticulars in  his  biography,  which  are  founded  upon 
it,  are  really  particulaisin  the  biography  of  somebody 
else ;    if,   indeed,  they    be  not   purposely    fictitious, 


4  PRELIMINARY 

It  is  easy  to  see  how  this  piece  was  inserted  into 
Chaucer's  works,  and  we  may  even  be  thaukfal  to 
the  old   editors   who  thus  pieserved  it  for  us.     It 
was  worth  printing,   and  had  a  certain  connection 
with    the   poet;   as   thus.      Chaucer   made   a   prose 
translation  of  Boethius  on  the  '  Consolation  of  Philo- 
sophy,' which  has  lately  been   edited  anew  for  the 
Early  English  Text  Society,  with    great  care    and 
skill,  by  Dr.    Morris.     This   piece  relates   how  the 
author   (i.e.,  Boethius  in  the  original)  was    pining 
in  prison,    but   was   consoled   by   Philosophv.    who 
appeared  to  him  in  the  form  of  a  beautiful  and  gentle 
woman,  and  reasoned  with  him  on  the  dispensations 
of  divine   providence.      Now    '  The    Testament    of 
Love'  is  a  direct  imitation  of  this,  probably  by  one 
of  Chaucer's  pupils.     The  author  likewise  describes 
himself  as  pining  in  prison,   but  as  consoled   by  a 
goodly  lady,  named  Love,  who  alternately  reproves 
and  comforts   him,  exactly  as  Philosophy  reproved 
and    comforted  Boethius.      A   good    account   of  the 
general  contents  of  the  piece  will  be  found  in  Prof, 
Morley's  'English  Writers/  ii-   268.     Prof.   Morley 
does,  indeed,  speak  of  the  work  as   "  Chaucer's,"  but 
he  is  reduced,  at  p.  274,  to  reject  all  previous  inrer- 
])retations   of  the  "  piece  of  autobiography."     But, 
surely,  on  the  face  of  it,  it  is  an  odd  thing  that  a  man 
should   take  to  parodying  his  own   work  after  this 
fashion;  and  it  is,  moreover,  extremely  difficult  to 
see  how  any  person  can  read  a  certain  passage  in  the 
Testament  (unless  he  has  unconquerable  preposses- 
sions), without  seeing  its  incompatibility  with  the 
supposition  that  Chaucer  wrote  in  such  terms  about 
himself.     In  the  Third  Book,  Love  talks  thus  to  the 
prisoner  ;  I  modernise  the  spelling.     '*  Quoth  Love, 
I  shall  tell  thee,  this  lesson  to  learn  ;  mine  own  true 
servant,   the    nolle   lyliilosophical*    poet    in    English, 

*  i.e.,    the    translator    of    Boethius     on    the     '  Consolation  of 
Philosophy.' 


ESSAT.  0 

which  evermoro  hiiu  Lnsieth  and  tiavaileth  riglit 
Kore,  my  name  to  increase,  wht-refore  all  that  will 
[i.e.  wish]  me  good  owe  [i.e.  ought]  to  do  him  worship 
and  reverence  both,  trnhj  his  Letter  nor  his  peer  in  school 
of  my  rules  could  I  never  Jind:  He,  quoth  she,  in  a 
treatise  that  he  made  of  my  servant  Troilus,  hath 
this  matter  touched,  and  at  the  full  this  question 
assoiled  [resolved,  explained].  Certainly  his  noble 
sayings  can  I  not  amend:  in  goodness  of  gentle 
manly  speech,  without  any  manner  of  nicety  of 
'  starieres '  (sir)  imagination,  in  wit  and  in  good 
reason  of  sentence,  he  passeth  all  other  mahers,'"  &c. 
This  is  plain  English ;  the  author  says  that,  not 
heing  able  to  write  on  a  certain  topic  as  well  as 
Chaucer,  who  is  the  greatest  of  all  poets,  he  thinks 
he  had  better  let  that  matter  alone. 

The  really  interesting  point  is  to  observe  that  the 
author  seems  to  speak  of  Chaucer  as  if  he  were  still 
living,  a  considciati<in  which  helps  us  to  date  the 
composition  at  a  little  before  a.d.  1400,  a  conclusion 
which  exactly  agrees  with  the  internal  evidence. 
If  we  were  asked  to  believe  that  it  was  written  by 
Occleve,  there  would  be  nothing  much  to  urge  against 
such  a  theory ;  but  to  attribute  it  to  Chaucer  him- 
self is  manii'estly  preposterous.  I  can  only  suppose 
that  the  wording  of  the  above  quotation  has  not 
been  previously  sufficiently  considered.  We  are 
thus  clear  of  '  The  Testament  of  Love,'  and  of  all  the 
difficulties  in  which  its  snp[iosed  references  to 
Chaucer's  own  life  and  circumstances  would  in- 
volve us. 

Passing  on  to  the  consideration  of  other  pieces,  we 
have  really  quite  sufficient,  and  indeed  almost 
superfluous  evidence  as  to  most  of  them.  "We  find 
at  the  outset  that  such  poems  as  '  The  Canterbury 
Tales,'  '  Troilus  and  Criseyde,'  '  The  House  of  Fame,' 
'The  Death  of  Blanche  the  Duehesse,'  'The  Parlia- 
ment of  Foulcs,'  and  'The  Legend  of  Good  Women,' 


6  PRELIMINARY 

are  all  acknowledged  by  himself;  and  the  internal 
evidence  not  only  at  once  confirms  their  genuineness, 
but  affords  us  plentiful  information  as  to  style, 
dialect,  grammar,  prosody,  and  rimes,  such  as  may 
help  us  to  judge  the  more  confidently  as  to  his  other 
supposed  works.  He  also  clearl}'  acknowledges  the 
two  prose  treatises,  viz. :  the  translation  of  Boethius, 
and  the  treatise  on  the  Astrolabe  ;  and,  when  we 
have  included  these,  we  alread}'  feel  sure  as  to  all 
his  principal  productions.  To  these  we  may  add 
such  as  are  attributed  to  liim  on  good  MS.  authority, 
and  as  to  which  there  has  never  been  any  doubt, 
viz. :  the  poem  called  Chaucer's  '  A.B.C.,'  attributed 
to  him  in  some  verses  extant  in  MS.  Cotton, 
Yitellius,  C.  xiii.,  leaf  255  ;  the  '  Complaint  to  Pite,' 
"  made  by  Geffrey  Chancier  the  aui-eat  poete,"  as  is 
said  at  the  head  of  the  copy  in  MS.  Harl.  78,  leaf 
HO;  'The  Complaint  of  Mars,'  "made  by  Geffrey 
(.'haucier  at  the  comandement  of  the  i-enomed  and 
excellent  Prynce  my  lord  the  due  John  of  Lancastre," 
as  said  in  MS.  Trin.  Coll.  Camb.  E.  3,  20,  p.  130; 
'  The  Complaint  of  Venus,'  which  belongs  to  the 
foregoing,  though  written  at  a  later  period;  the 
poem  called  '  Anelida  and  Arcite,'  written  by  the 
author  of  '  The  Knight's  Tale,'  but  at  an  early 
period,  and  subsequentl}'  made  use  of  to  furnish 
some  lines  both  in  that  tale  and  in  'The  Squire's 
Tale ; '  and  a  few  other  minor  poems,  as  to  which 
there  has  never  been  any  doubt.  The  following  is 
a  complete  list  of  Chaucer's  works,  in  an  (approxi- 
matel}')  chronological  order,  which  I  have  mainly 
taken  from  Mr.  FiirnivaU's  'Trial  Forewords,'  pub- 
lished for  the  Chaucer  Society  in  1871. 

Chaucer's  '  A.B.C.,'  or  '  La  Priere  de  Nosfro  Dame.' 

'  Comi)leyiite  to  Pite ; '  soiautimes  called  '  The  Compleynte  of 

the  Deth  of  Pite.' 
♦Deth  of  Biaunche;'    otherwise  called  'Tiie  Booke  of  the 

Duchesse ; '  written  a.d.  1369. 


ESSAY,  7 

('Lyf  of  Scinte  Cooile;'   aftcrwarils  iiisortefl  into  tlie   '  Can- 

terlmry  Tali's,'  ;i.s  'The  Stcoiiil  Nun's  Talc') 
•The  rarlciiicnl  ut'  Foulfs,'  or  •  The  Assembly  oi"  Foules.' 
'  Tlio  Cniniilaint  of  Mars.' 
'  Anchda  and  Arcite.' 
'Boethius   de   Consolatione    Phih)S0phi8e; '    a   translation    in 

piOdC. 

'The  Former  Apjo,  or  '^Etas  Prima;'  jirintrd  at  p.  ISO  of 
Dr.  Morris's  edition  of  the  tran.slation  of  IJoetiiius.  It  is  a 
poetii'al  wrsion  i'rom  Boitliins.  entitled  '  Gliaucer  vpou  this 
fyfte  mctur  of  the  seeond  book.' 

•Troilus  and  Criseyde.' 

'  Chaueer's  words  to  his  scrivener  Adam.' 

'The  House  of  Faine  ; '  about  a.d.  1384. 

•  The  Legend  of  Good   Women ; '    the  earliest  work  in  the 

metre  known  as  tlu;  '•  heroic  couplet." 
'The  Cai.terbury  Tales  ;'  about  a.d.  1;!86. 

•  Good  Counseil  of  Chaucer ; '   or  '  Truth,'  or  '  Flo  from  the 

Pres ; '  said  to  have  been  his  last  work,  and,  if  so,  to  be  put 

lower  down. 
'  Moder  of  God,  and  Virgin  Undefouled.' 
'  Two  Proverbes'  (eight  linos  only,  with  sixteen  spurious  and 

unconntcted  lines  somotiuics  ajipended). 
'A  Treatise  on  the  Astrolabe;'  A.v.  1391 ;  in  prose. 
'  The  Complaint  of  Venus.' 
'Lenvoy  to  iScdgan.' 
'  Lenvoy  to  Bukton.' 

•  Gentilesse  : '  a  poem  quoted  in  full  by  Scogan. 

'  Lacke  of  Stedfa>tnesse  ;'  or,  'A  Ballad  sent  to  King  Richard ;' 

al)out  A.D.  1I>'J7. 
'Ballade  do  Visage  saunz  Peinture;'  also,  incorrectly,  called 

'A  Ballade  of  the  Village  (sic   without  Painting.' 
'Compleint  to  his  Purse;'  a.d.  1399, 

Besides  the  above,  we  know  of  at  least  four  works 
that  are  now  h)st.  These  are  (1)  'Origenes  upon 
the  Magdalene,' mentioned  in  the  prologue  to  'The 
Legend  of  Good  Women,'  for  which  a  poein  by 
another  author,  entitled  a  '  Lamentation  of  i\Iary 
Magdalen,'  was  substituted  in  the  old  editions,  owing 
to  a  certain  similarity  in  the  title  :  (2)  'Tlie  Bonk  of 
the  Lion,'  mentioned  near  the  end  of  '  The  Parson's 
Tale  ; '  (3)  a  translation  of  Pope  Innocent's  treatise, 
'  De  Miseria  Conditionis  Humana? ;'  this  is  mentioned 


8  PRELIMINARY 


in  the  Cambridge  MS.  of  'The  Legend  of  Goocl 
'Women,'  which  contains  a  passage  somewhat  dif- 
ferent from  the  printed  copies  ;  and  (4)  a  translation 
of  '  The  Romaunt  of  the  Rose ; '  on  which  see  some 
further  remarks  below. 

The  above  works  are  all  undoubtedly  and  admit- 
tedly Chaucer's;  and  it  is  to  be  remembered  that 
the  evidence  in  their  favour  is  double,  viz.  external 
and  internal.  For  other  works  (which  is  the  strong 
part  of  the  case)  the  supposed  evidence  breaks 
down  doubly;  for  whilst  the  internal  evidence 
against  them  is  weighty,  the  external  evidence 
in  their  favour  fails  at  the  same  time.  It  is  this 
circumstance  which  renders  it  so  easy  to  draw  up  a 
correct  list. 

Of  the  remaining  poems  which  have  been  admitted 
into  most  editions,  and  are  to  be  found  in  the  present 
one,  the  most  remarkable  and  valuable  is  '  The 
Romaunt  of  the  Rose.'  Chaucer  tells  us  himself 
that  he  translated  the  French  poem  so  called  ;  and 
there  is  extant,  in  a  MS.  at  Glasgow,  a  considerable 
fiagment  of  a  translation  which  was  made  in  the  four- 
teenth century,  and  which  I  believe  can  be  shown  to 
have  been  originally  comi)o.sed  in  a  dialect  ]nuch  more 
northern  than  that  of  London.  The  early  editors, 
coming  across  this  translation,  naturally  enough 
concluded  that  it  was  Chaucer's,  but  there  is,  in  fact, 
nothing  to  connect  it  with  him  externally.  It  is 
not  marked  as  his  in  the  ]\LS. ;  and  a  considerable 
portion  of  it  is  deficient,  so  that  it  does  not  contain, 
e.g.,  tho  passage  which  Chaucer  copies  in  his 
'  Uoc-toures  Tale'  (see  Tyrwhitt's  note  to  Cant.  Ta. 
12,074),  nor  yet  that  which  he  copies  in  his  story  of 
Kero  in  the  '  Menkes  Tale.'  And  when  it  comes  to 
be  examined  carefully,  it  presents,  to  those  who  have 
eyes  to  see,  and  who  are  sufficiently  acquainted  with 
Middle-English  to  apprehend,  such  clear  and  con- 
sistent evidences  of  an  original  northern  origin,  as  to 


ESSAY.  9 

settle  the  qnestinn  beyond  all  doubt.*  To  whicb 
may  bo  added  that  it  transgiesses,  over  and  over 
again,  the  laws  of  Chaucer's  prosody  as  obtained  from 
his  genuine  works,  and  contains  several  rimes  such 
as  he  never  employs.f  In  a  word,  the  particular 
translation  of  the  liomaunt  which  we  now  possess, 
and  which  we  must  value  because  it  is  all  we  have, 
is  hi/  another  hand. 

'  The  Complaynt  of  the  Black  Knight,'  or  '  Com- 
jjlaynt  of  a  Loveres  Life'  is  now  known,  on  MS. 
autiiority,  to  be  Lydgate's;  and  the  critic  who 
knows  Lj^dgate's  style  will  not  dispute  this.  The 
leferences  in  it  to  Chaucer's  '  Legend  of  Good  Women,' 
and  to  '  Arcite  and  Palemoun '  are  not  without  their 
special  interest. 

'  The  Cuckow  and  Nightingale '  was  no  doubt 
inserted  amongst  Chaucer's  works  because  the  first 
two  lines  coincide  with  two  lines  in  '  The  Knight's 
Tale.'  There  is  nothing  else  to  connect  the  poem 
with  Chaucer,  and  the  evidence  fiom  the  rimes  is 
against  it.  It  comes,  however,  much  nearer  to 
Chaucer's  style  than  most  of  the  spurious  poems. 

•  The  Flower  and  the  Leaf  purports  to  have  been 
written  by  a  woman,  and  no  doubt  was  so;  the 
language  is  so  clearly  tliat  of  the  fifteenth  century 
(and  not  very  early  in  the  century  either),  that  it  is 
impossible  to  connect  it  with  Chaucer,  It  contradicts 
the  laws  of  prosody,  and  of  rime,  as  deduced  from 
his  genuine  works.  The  riming  of  "  pleasure  "  with 
'•  desire  "  in  stanza  seventeen,  is  enough  to  make  the 
most  credulous  person  pause  and  reflect.  Still  it  is, 
on  its  own  merits,  a  pretty  poem  enough. 

The  poem  entitled  *  Chaucer's  Dream '    is  absent 

*  I  have  made,  lor  my  own  use,  a  considerable  list  of  rimes  in 
the  Romaunt  which  agree,  not  with  those  in  Chaucer,  but  with 
those  in  Barbour's  Bruce! 

t  I  give  one  example.  Tliorc  (there)  is  rimed  with  more. 
Chaucer  writes  ther,  more,  which  cannot  rime.  Barbour  writes 
thar,  mar,  a  perfect  rime.     See  R.  R.,  1853. 


1 0  PHELIMINART 

from  the  four  earliest  editions.  It  was  first  printed 
in  15(18,  so  that  there  is,  of  course,  no  authority  for 
connecting  it  with  Chaucer  beyond  the  title  ;  and 
the  title  merely  means,  if  rightly  understood,  that  it 
is  an  attempt  (and  an  unsuccessful  one)  to  imitate 
Chaucer's  style  and  language.  The  author  says  that 
it  is  "  in  evil  English,"  and  calls  himself  "  a  sleepy 
writer;"  but  it  is,  on  its  own  merits,  not  so  "evil 
written  "  after  all.  One  curious  characteristic  is  the 
astounding  length  of  the  sentences.  There  is  no  full 
stop  in  some  editions,  before  the  end  of  the  seventieth 
line ;  and  the  reader  who  is  curious  in  this  matter 
may  find  plenty  of  similar  examples.  It  is  needless 
to  say  that  it  is  not  Chaucer's,  l3ut  an  imitation  of 
hira.  The  final  e,  so  common  in  Chaucer,  is  here 
very  rare,  and  the  language  is  that  of  the  fifteenth, 
not  of  the  fourteenth  century. 

Of  all  the  pieces  attributed  to  Chaucer,  none  are 
so  utterly  unlike  him  as  '  The  Court  of  Love.'  The 
language  can  scarcely  be  said  to  belong  even  to  the 
fifteenth  century,  but  belongs  rather  to  the  reign  of 
Henry  the  VIII.,  or  even  later.  It  is  known,  too, 
how  it  came  to  be  inserted  into  the  much  containing 
and  singularly  comprehensive  volume  which  bears 
the  title  above-mentioned,  viz.,  '  Chaucer's  Woorkes, 
with  diuers  Addicions.'  It  first  appeared  in  the 
edition  of  1561,  when  John  Stowe,  who  was  casting 
about  for  what  he'  might  include  in  his  edition, 
came  across  a  copy  of  it,  which  now  happens  to  be 
bcnind  up  with  a  copy  of  '  The  Legend  of  Good 
\Vomen,'  and  may  have  been  similarly  bound  up  in 
his  days ;  whereupon  he  straightway  inserted  it. 
Fortunately,  the  very  MS.  in  question  is  still  pre- 
served in  Trinity  College,  Cambridge  (marked  E.  3, 
19),  and  wo  can  tell  for  ourselves,  by  inspection,  that 
it  is  unconnected  with  the  Chaucer  poems,  and  not 
to  be  dated  at  all  earlier,  but  rather  considerably 
later    than  a.D.   1500,  which  is  also   the  date  with 


ESSAY.  1 1 

which  the  language  of  the  poem  is  found  to  cor- 
respond. 

In  fact,  he  was  misled,  and  we  can  tell  how ;  so  that 
the  matter  is  scarce  v\orth  further  discussion.  There 
is  not,  and  never  was,  more  reason  for  inserting  it 
among  Chaucer's  poems,  than  there  is  reason  for 
inserting  Ireland's  Vortigern  among  Shakespeare's 
plays  ;  yet  it  is  somewhat  strange  that  this  poem 
has  l)een  clung  to  hy  some  readers  and  writers  with 
great  tenacity,  chiefly  because  it  contains  the  not 
very  valuable  allusion  wherein  the  author  declares 
that,  at  eighteen  years  of  age  he  was  a  young  man, 
and  in  another  passage  says  his  name  was  "  I'iiilo- 
genet."  and  that  he  was  "  of  Cambridge  clerk  ;  "  from 
which  it  seems  to  have  been  assumed  that  he  miist 
be  identified  with  Chaucer,  because  the  latter  speaks 
of  Trumpington,  not  far  from  the  same  famous  town. 
It  seems  to  have  escaped  observation  that  there  have 
been,  at  various  times,  a  good  many  "  clerks "  at 
"  Cambridge."  The  internal  evidence  against  the 
poem,  which  hardly  contains  one  clear  example  of 
the  use  of  the  final  e  which  so  abounds  in  Chaucer, 
is  simply  overwhelming. 

The  piece  called  the  '  Virelai '  contains  no  final  e. 
It  belongs  to  the  fifteenth  century.  It  was  inserted 
merely  because  Chaucer  said  that  he  once  wrote 
'  virelaies ;'  (see  '  Legend  of  Good  Women,'  vol.  iii. 
p.  3;^»3  ;   also  Franklin's  tale,  p.  495,  helmv). 

The  few  other  poems,  such  as  'A  Goodly  Ballad,' 
'  A  Praise  of  Women,'  '  Prosperity,'  '  Leaulte  vaut 
Eichesse,'  '  Three  Eoundels,'  and  Chaucer's  '  Pro- 
phecy,' are  of  small  importance. 

In  the  prescTit  edition,  an  attempt  has  been  made 
to  bring  all  the  spurious  or  doubtful  poems  together 
into  one  volume.  They  proved,  however,  to  be  more 
than  sufficient  to  fill  the  fourth  volume,  so  tliat  one 
of  them,  viz.,  '  Chaucer's  Dream,'  has  found  its  way 
to  the  end  of  the  third  volume.     There  is  not  much 


12  PRELIMINARY    ESSAY. 

fear  of  its  being  mistaken  for  Chaucer's,*  so  that  the 
line  has  thus  been  drawn  with  sufficient  sharpness. 
The  advantage  of  separating  the  true  fiom  the 
spurious  poems  is  so  obvious,  that  I  hope  the  reader 
will  be  pleased  with  the  result. 

In  a  few  places  where  newer  information  has  sug- 
gested emendations  in  the  notes  to  the  former  edition 
(which  were  wiitten  by  Mr.  Jephson),  such  slight 
corrections  as  were  feasible  have  been  made.  All 
for  which  I  am  responsible  are  marked  with  my 
initials.  In  the  main,  with  the  exception  of  the  re- 
arrangement, and  some  necessar}^  corrections  in  '  The 
Life  of  Chaucer '  in  vol.  i.,  tlie  edition  remains  the 
same  as  when  completed  by  Mr.  Jephson,  under  the 
supervision  of  Mr.  Eobert  Bell. 

*  Mr.  Fiirnivall  speaks  of  "  '  Chaucer's  Dreme,'  which  one  cmtld 
swear,  after  reading  it,  was  not  Chaucer's :  the  thing  is  impossible  ;" 
'Trial  Forewords,'  ji.  6, 


GEOFFREY    CHAUCER. 

1328 — 1400. 


Remembering  how  little  is  known  of  Shakespeare  and  his 
contemporaries,  we  cannot  be  surprised  at  the  scantiness  ot 
the  information  we  possess  concerning  Chaucer,  who  flou- 
rished two  hundred  years  before  the  Elizabethan  period. 
When  we  consider,  indeed,  the  remoteness  of  his  age,  and  the 
long  interval  of  darkness  that  followed,  it  becomes  rather 
matter  for  surprise  that  we  should  possess  so  much.  This 
information  is  derived  from  two  sources  :  authentic  documents, 
and  certain  passages  in  Chaucer's  writings,  supposed  to  con- 
tain allusions  to  his  own  life.'  The  materials  collected  from 
the  latter  source  are,  of  course,  purely  conjectural.  Some  of 
Chaucer's  biographers  accept  them  without  hesitation — others 
exclude  them  altogether.^     In  the  following  outline,  the  infe- 


'  The^  allusions  occur  in  The  I'oiirt  of  Low,  and  Vie.  Testament  of  Love 
[whicU  are  however  no  longer  regarded  as  Chaucer's. — \V.  W.  S.]. 

■■i  The  principal  biographers  of  Chaucer  are — i.  Lcland.  a.  Speght, 
1593.  3.  Urry,  1731.  This  biography  was  not  written  by  Urry, 
having  been  prefixed  to  tlie  folio  after  liis  death  ;  but  liis  name  is  used 
in  referring  to  it,  to  identify  the  edition.  4.  Tyrwliitt,  1775-8. 
5.  Godwin,  i8o3.  6.  Sir  N.  II.  Kicolas,  184S.  Of  these,  the  Urst  three 
are,  upon  the  whole,  the  least  reliable  for  facts.  Leland,  who  lived 
nearest  to  Chaucer's  time,  and  whose  commission  of  investigation  in 
the  archives  of  the  religious  houses  opened  up  much  general  informa- 
tion, abounds  in  mistakes.  Speght  deals  largely  in  statements  un- 
sustained  by  proofs.  Urry,  who  exhibits  pains  in  the  structure  of  his 
narrative,  blends  the  speculative  and  the  true  in  such  a  way  as  to 
render  his  labours  comparatively  valueless.  Tyrwliitt  was  the  lirst 
who  reduced  the  biography  to  the  few  historical  items  tliat  were 
capable  of  documentary  veriiication  rejecting  all  the  rest.  Godwin 
added  several  new  particulars ;  but  his  voluminous  work  is  so 
overlaid  with  conjectural  matter  that  it  cannot  be  eon.sulted  with 
aafety,  except  for  its  criticisms,  which  exhibit  taste  and  dlscriminatiou- 


14  GEOFFREY    CHArCER. 

rences  that  have  been  drawn  from  the  works  of  Chaucer  are 
carefully  distinguished  from  the  facts  that  are  supported  by 
historical  evidence ;  and  the  grounds  are  stated  which  either 
sntitle  them  to  notice,  or  justify  their  rejection. 

The  birth,  birth-place,  parentage,  and  education  of  Geoifrey 
Chaucer  are  involved  in  obscurity.  According  to  a  tradition, 
which  cannot  now  be  traced  to  its  origin,  he  was  born  in 
1328.  Leland,  his  first  biographer,  speaks  of  him  throughout 
as  if  he  were  born  much  later ;  which  would  seem  to  be  con- 
fii-med  by  a  deposition  made  by  Chaucer  himself  in  1386, 
when  he  was  cited  as  a  witness  in  a  cause  of  chivalry  between 
Lord  Scrope  and  Sir  Richard  Gi'osvenor.  In  this  document, 
Chaucer  avers  that  he  was  then  of  the  age  of  '  40  and 
upwards,'  which  would  fix  his  birth  about  1343  or  1344; 
but  as  the  depositions  of  the  other  witnesses  on  the  same 
occasion  are  extremely  lax  and  inaccurate  respecting  their 
ages,  the  averment  can  be  considered  only  as  a  matter  of 
form,  not  intended  to  convey  any  more  definite  term  than 
that  the  witness  was,  more  or  less,  upwards  of  forty.  Sir 
Harris  Kicolas  shows  that  the  deposition  is  not  to  be  relied 
upon,  in  consequence  of  the  remarkable  mistakes  made  in  the 
ages  of  other  deponents, '  some  of  whom  are  stated  to  have  been 
ten,  and  others  even  twenty  years  younger  than  they  really 
were.'  We  know  by  the  inscription  on  Chaucer's  tomb, 
erected  in  1556  by  Nicholas  Brigham,  a  poet  and  man  of 
erudition,  that  he  died  in  1400 ;  and,  as  we  learn  incidentally 
from  his  own  writings,  and  those  of  Gower  and  Occleve,' 


The  biography  by  Sir  N.  Harris  Nicolas  is  the  most  complete  and 
authentic.  Sir  Harris  strictly  confines  liis  narrative  to  facts  extracted 
from  the  public  records,  many  of  which  hail  escaped  his  predecessors, 
and  points  out  clciirly  tlie  erroneous  inferences  and  suppositious  that 
had  been  <lrawn  from  Chaucer's  writings. 

'  That  Cliaucer  liad  attained  a  considerable  age  at  the  time  of  his 
death  is  placed  beyond  doubt  by  decisive  testimonies.  Gower,  in 
1392-3.  speaks  of  him  as  being  'now  in  his  dayes  old;'  Occleve, 
lamenting  liis  death,  apostrophises  him — 'O  maister  deere  and  fadir 
reverent ;'  teims,  says  Sir  Harris  Nicolas,  '  long  used  to  indicate 
respect  for  age,  and  for  superiority  in  any  pursuit  or  science  ;'  Chaucer 
alludes  to  himself  as  being  '  olde  and  unlusty  :'  and  Leland  says  that 


GEOKKEEY    CUAUCEB.  15 

that  ho  lived  to  an  advanced  aj;!;c,  there  is  some  probability,  if 
no  exact  authority  in  favour  of  the  earlier  date.* 

A  passage  iu  The  Testament  of  Love  is  su2:)poscd  to  deter- 
mine tlie  city  of  London  as  his  birth-place,  and  would  be 
conclusive  of  the  fact  if  other  particulars,  drawn  from  the 
same  source  and  proved  to  be  erroneous,  had  not  thrown 
suspicion  upon  the  authority.^    Of  his  family  almost  nothing 


he  '  lived  to  the  period  of  j;rey  hairs,  and  at  length  found  old  age  liis 
greatest  disease.'  The  well-lvnowu  iMjrtrait,  painted  by  Occleve  from 
memory  (llarl.  MS.  4866),  agrees  witli  tliese  de-criptions,  and  represents 
Chaucer  with  grey  liair  and  beard,  and  feature-:  bearing  evident  traces  of 
old  age.  In  another  portrait,  lound  in  an  early,  if  not  contemporary,  copy 
of  Occleve's  poems  in  the  Koyal  MS.  17,  D.  vi..  he  also  appears  very  old, 
holding,  as  in  ( )ccleve'9  portrait,  a  string  of  beads  in  his  left  hand. 

'  'Tlie  birth  of  Chaucer  in  1528,'  observes  Tyrwhitt,  'has  been  settled, 
1  suiipose,  from  some  inscription  on  his  tombstone,  signifying  that  he  died 
in  1400,  at  the  age  of  72.'  Tliis  'supposition  '  has  been  adopted  as  a  matter 
of  fact  by  Mr.  Singer  and  others ;  but  tliere  is  no  evidence  whatever  iu 
support  of  it.  No  record  of  such  an  inscription  has  been  discovered. 
The  date  of  ij28  w.is  first  stated  in  print  by  Speglit,  but  upon  what 
grounds  does  not  appear.  In  the  deposition  made  by  Chaucer  iu  ij86, 
he  says  that  he  had  then  borne  arms  for  twenty-seven  years.  This 
l)laces  the  commencement  of  liis  military  career  in  tlie  year  IJ59,  when, 
a.ssnming  him  to  have  been  born  in  i  j28,  he  w:us  thirty-one  years  of  age. 
As  mo-t  men  uho  bore  arms  entered  the  profession  at  a  much  earlier  age, 
the  fact  tends  to  discredit  the  date  of  his  birth  assigned  by  Speght,  although 
the  inference  c;innot  Lie  considered  conclusive.  On  the  other  hand,  the  age 
indicated  by  the  deixjsltion  is  it-elf  clL^credited  by  several  circumstances. 
If,  a«  is  generally  assumed,  Chaucer  produced  his  Parliament  0/  Birds  iu 
IJ58,  we  nmst  believe,  according  to  the  deposition,  that  he  vvTote  them 
when  he  was  not  more  than  fourteen  or  fifteen.  [Or  rather  seventeen  or 
eiiihteen  :  Chaucer's  statement  that  he  was  of  the  age  of  forty  and  upwards 
in  i}86  is  good  evidence  that  he  was  born  about  1540.  The  tradition  that 
he  was  born  in  ij28  has  no  authenticity,  aud  does  not  agree  with  the 
known  facts.— W.  W.  S.] 

2  rke  Testament  0/  l.ove  is  an  allegory  written  in  prose,  the  heroine  of 
which  is  a  lady  nametl  Marguerite,  who,  notwithstanding  that  the  author 
typifies  her  as  a  jiearl,  and  gives  us  to  understand  also  tliat  the  name  is 
intended  to  represent  grace,  virtue,  wisdom,  and  lioly  church,  is  neverthe- 
less addressed  throughout  as  a  woman,  to  whom  the  writer  offers  up  his 
lioniage  with  a  vivacity  that  cannot  be  mistaken  for  tlie  expression  of  a 
merely  spiritual  sentiment.  The  ingenuity  that  extracted  from  this  mystical 
comjx)sition  a  clue  to  a  series  of  incidents  which  tlie  most  careful  examina- 
tion will  fail  to  detect  in  what  the  author  himself  calls  the  'wimples 
a-.id  folds'  of  the  allegory,  is,  perhaps,  without  a  parallel.  The  real 
signilication  veiled  under  all  this  elalwrate  devotion— if  it  have  any  other 
signification  than  that  wiiich  the  title  of  the  piece  very  plainly  conveys — 
may  be  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  at  this  distance  of  time,  to  determine; 


16  GEOFFREY    CHAUCER. 

is  known ;  and  it  would  be  idle  to  repeat  the  speculations 
that  have  been  raised  upon  several  persons  of  his  name'  who 
lived  in  the  early  part  of  the  fourteenth  century.  Leland 
asserts  that  he  was  of  noble  family ;  Speght  thinks  that  he 
was  the  son  of  a  certain  vintner  who  lived  at  the  corner  of 
Kirton-lane,  and  left  all  his  property  to  the  church ;  Pitt 
says  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  knight ;  Hearne,  that  he  was  a 
merchant;  and  Urry  conjectures  that  he  was  the  son  of  one 
John  Chaucer,  who  attended  Edward  III.  to  Flanders  and 
Cologne.  It  is  certain  that  he  received  the  education  of  a 
gentleman;  and  it  is  no  less  certain  that  his  family  were 
neither  noble  nor  distinguished,  although  there  is  suificient 
reason  to  conclude  that  they  were  wealthy  and  respectable. 

It  has  been  inferred  from  an  allusion  in  The  Canterhury 
Tales  that  he  was  educated  at  Cambridge.  Leland  says  he 
was  of  Oxford,  and  that  he  finished  his  studies  at  Paris.''' 
Other  biographers  reconcile  these  statements  by  supposing 


but  there  can  be  no  doubt  tliat,  whatever  it  means,  it  does  not  mean  a 
confession  of  circumstantial  persoual  details,  and  tliat  ttie  most  conclu-^ive 
evidence  against  tlie  inferences  drawn  from  'lite  Testament  of  Love  is  fur- 
nislied  by  The  Testament  of  Low  itself.  [This  treatise  is  not  Chaucer's,  but 
written  by  an  admirer  (probably  a  pupil)  of  his.  The  pa.«sage  in  wliich  he 
is  so  highly  praised  seems  to  imply  that  he  was  still  alive.— W.  W.  S.] 

1  Urry  says  that  the  name  (variously  giveu  as  Cliaucier,  Chaucieris, 
Chaussier,  Chausir,  &c.)  is  originally  French,  and  signifies  a  shoemaker. 
Tyrwhitt  says  that  it  rather  means  un  faiseur  de  cliausses  ou  culottiers, 
and  that,  according  to  the  old  spelling,  Chaucessir,  it  might  be  derived 
from  Chavfecire,  an  office  which  still  exists  under  the  title  of  chafewax. 
[It  is  now  known  that  his  father  John  Chaucer  was  a  vintner  in  Thames 
Street;  that  his  mother's  name  was  Agnes ;  that  his  grandfather's  was 
Richard,  and  his  grandmother's  Maria.  This  JIaria  was  twice  married, 
her  tirst  husband  being  named  TIeroun  or  Heyroun,  whose  will  is  dated 
April  7,  i!49,  his  executor  being  his  half-brother  John  Chaucer,  the  poet's 
father.— W.W.  .S.l 

2  Tyrwhitt  is  hardly  just  to  Leland  in  saying  that  he  assigns  Chaucer's 
education  to  Oxford  'without  a  shadow  of  proof.'  lie  may  have  had 
grounds  for  the  supposition,  and  probably  had,  although  he  did  not  stiite 
them.  Godwin  discovers,  in  the  dotlicjition  of  Troilus  and  Crcseide  to  Gower 
and  Strode,  both  supposed  to  have  been  educated  at  Oxford,  a  reason  for 
believing  that  Chaucer  became  acquaintwl  witli  them  there,  the  poem 
being  one  of  his  juvenile  works.  If  L(>land  is  to  be  credited,  however,  he 
made  (Jower's  aciiuaintance,  not  at  Oxford,  but  in  the  Inns  of  Court. 
Iceland's  story  of  Chaucer's  travels  into  France  to  complete  his  education 
is  entirely  rejected  by  Tyrwhitt. 


GEOFFKEY    OHAUCEB.  17 

that  Chaucer  was  of  both  universities ;  but  Sir  Harris 
Nicolas  observes  that  '  there  is  no  proof,  however  likely  it 
may  be,  that  he  belonged  to  either.' 

Under  whatever  auspices,  or  in  whatever  place,  Chancer 
studied,  the  extent  of  his  acquirements  is  abundantly  testified 
by  his  works  and  the  evidence  of  his  contemporaries.  He  was 
well  acquainted  with  divinity  and  philosophy  and  the  scho- 
lastic learning  of  his  age,  and  displays  in  numerous  passages  an 
intimate  knowledge  of  astronomy  and  of  most  of  the  sciences 
as  far  as  they  were  then  known  or  cultivated.  He  is  said  to 
have  originally  selected  the  law  as  his  profession,  and  to  have 
been  a  member  of  the  Inner  Temple,  where  upon  one  occasion 
he  was  fined  two  shillings  for  beating  a  Franciscan  friar  in 
Fleet-street.^  The  statement,  however,  should  be  received 
with  caution,  as  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  lawyers  were 
not  admitted  to  the  Temple  till  long  after  Chaucer  had 
devoted  himself  to  other  employments.^ 

Although  it  is  impossible  to  trace  the  chronology  of 
Chaucer's  poems  with  any  approach  to  certainty,  there  can- 
not be  much  hesitation  in  assuming  the  Troilus  and  Cresekle 
to  have  been  among  his  earliest  productions.  It  is  placed 
first  in  the  enumeration  of  his  works  by  Lydgate,  who  ex- 
pressly assigns  it  to  his  youth ;  a  statement  better  entitled 
to  credit  than  the  announcement  by  the  same  authority  that 
it  was  translated  from  '  a  booke  which  is  called  Trophcy  or 


•  This  anecdote  is  related  by  Speght  on  the  authority  of  Mr.  Buckley, 
who,  he  says,  had  seen  the  rocord  of  it  in  the  Inner  Temple.  Leland 
corroborates  the  fact  of  Chaucer  having  studied  in  'the  colleges  of  llie 
law)'ers,'  but,  as  usual,  with  a  singular  contusion  of  dates,  assigning  the 
period  to  the  latter  end  of  the  reign  of  Richard  II.,  when  Chaucer  w;is  not 
only  an  old  man,  but  otherwise  provided  for,  and  extre.i:ely  unlikely  to 
begin  the  study  of  the  law. 

-  'I'hynne.  who  coniijiled  the  first  complete  edition  of  Chaucer's  works, 
says  that  'the  lawyers  were  not  of  the  Temple  till  the  latter  parte  ot  the 
reygne  of  Edward  III.,  at  wliich  time  Chaucer  was  a  grave  manne.  liolden 
in  greate  credyt,  and  employed  in  embas.sye.'  \Vlieii  Kd ward  III.  died, 
Chaucer  was  forty-nine  years  of  ago.  assuming  that  he  was  born  in  i}23. 
Mr.  Singer  observes  that  if  it  could  be  proved  that  Chaucer  w;ts  a  nieiiilxT 
of  the  Inner  Temple,  "it  would  be  sufficient  evidiMice  of  his  birth  and 
fortune,  for  only  young  men  of  noUle  aud  opulent  families  could  support 
the  expense  uf  tUis  luu.' 

VOL.  I.  C 


18  CLOIFRET    CHAUCKB. 

than  Chaucer's  own  singular  declaration  that  his  original 
was  a  Latin  author  '  called  LoUius,'  No  such  book  or  author 
has  ever  been  discovered  to  have  existed ;  and  the  substance 
of  the  poem,  which  Chaucer  amplified  and  altered,  is  to  be 
found  in  the  Fllostrato  of  Boccaccio.^ 

The  date  of  Tlie  Assembly  of  Fowls,  or,  as  it  is  elsewhere 
called.  The  Parliament  of  Birds,  may  be  referred  to  the  year 
1358,  upon  the  supposition,  which  appears  to  be  generally 
admitted,  that  it  was  composed  with  reference  to  the 
intended  marriage  between  John  of  Gaunt  and  Blanche  of 
Lancaster,  which  took  place  in  1359,  and  which  the  lady  is 
represented  in  the  j^oem  as  deferring  for  a  twelvemonth.* 
From  this  circumstance  also  we  gather  the  not  unimportant 
fact  that  at  this  time  Chaucer  was  on  terms  of  intimacy  with 
John  of  Graunt.  The  poem  called  Chaucer's  Dreant,  was 
formerly  supposed  to  have  been  written  un  the  occasion  of 
the  nuptials.^ 

The  first  authentic  notice  of  Chaucer  occurs  in  1359,  when 
it  appears,  upon  his  own  authority,  that  he  served  under 

1  TjTwhitt  conlesses  himself  unable  to  explain  '  how  Boccaccio  should 
have  acquired  the  name  of  LoUius,  and  the  FUostrato  the  title  of  Tmphe;' 
but  Godwin  sees  no  difficulty  in  the  case,  and  thinks  it '  absurd  to  dispute 
the  existence'  of  Lollius,  of  whom  lie  avowedly  knows  nothing  himselt. 

[After  all,  the  simplest  solution  of  these  riddles  is  to  cut  the  knot  by  tlie 
supposition  that  they  liave  no  real  answer.  Like  all  other  JlicUUe-Englisli 
writere,  Chaucer  adduces  his  authorities  in  the  vaguest  manner,  merely 
citing  the  names  of  authors  who  were  supposed  to  have  written  on  t  ,e 
subject.  Tlie  statement  of  Lydgate  is  borrowed  from  the  words  '.«eith 
Troi)liee'  in  Chaucer's  jMoukcs  Tale,  Hercules,  st.  j  (see  vol.  ii.  p.  191). 
01  this  apocryphal  author  notliing  is  known  beyond  the  remark  'ille 
vates  Chaldeorum  Tropheus,'  in  the  margin  of  the  EUesmere  31;?. ;  and  he 
probably  never  existed.  As  to  Lollius,  tJie  right  solution  is  doubtless  tliat 
of  Dr.  Latham,  viz.  that  a  misconception  of  the  sense  of  Horace's  line — 
'Trojaui  belli  scriptorem,  miixhue  LoUi'  (^lipist.  i.  2.  i) — led  to  tlie  iiutiou 
tliat  Lollius  was  a  writer  on  the  Trojan  war !  And  the  mere  notion  was 
quite  enough  to  cause  him  to  be  cited  accordingly.— W.  W.  S.] 

-  Tlie  lemale  eagle  wooed  by  the  three  '  tercels' is  made  to  ask  for  a 
year's  respite.    See  the  i)oein,  vol.  ii.  p.  ^6$ : 

' .  .  .  unto  tliis  yere  be  done 
I  aske  respite  for  10  avisen  mee; 
Aud  after  that  to  have  my  choice  al  free.' 

-  [It  is  certain  that  tlie  poem  called  The  nrcam  is  not  Chaucer's,  but  is  of 
later  date.  The  mistake  arose  from  confusion  with  iha  bvok  0/  the 
Duchiiss.    See  vol.  iii.  p.  437,  el  scj.— W.  W.  S.j 


GEOFFIIEY    CHAUCER.  19 

Edward  III.  in  the  expedition  against  France,  upon  which 
occasion  he  was  made  prisoner.  At  this  period  he  is  described 
as  being  '  of  a  fair  and  beautiful  complexion,  his  lips  full  and 
red,  his  size  of  a  just  medium,  and  his  port  and  air  graceful 
and  majestic.''  It  is  curious  that  in  this  year,  1359,  wlien 
Chaucer  was  a  prisoner  in  France,  Godwin  confident  I3'  assumes 
that  he  was  residing  at  Woodstock;  and  cites,  in  support  of 
this  opinion,  some  descriptive  passages  wliich,  he  thinhs, 
'  sufficiently  answer  to  the  geograpliy  of  Woodstoclc-park.' 
Whether  Chaucer  ever  resided  at  Woodstock,  as  most  of  his 
biographers  assert,  cannot  be  determined,  for  there  is  no  proof 
of  the  fact;  but  it  is  evident  that  he  could  not  have  resided 
there  in  1359." 

'  This  description  is  given  by  Urry  from  a  portrait  of  Chaucer, 
painted  at  the  age  of  tliirty,  and  then  (I'^O  in  tlie  possession  of 
George  Greenwood,  of  Cliasluton,  in  Gloucestersliire,  Esq.  Tlie  por- 
trait is  also  mentioned  by  Giainger.  Sir  Man-is  Nicolas  has  collected 
an  account  of  all  the  known  authentic  portraits.  That,  by  Occleve, 
already  alluded  to,  is  the  best  yet  disco\ered.  It  represents  Chaucer 
with  his  grey  beard  bi-foiked,  in  a  dark-coloured  dress  and  hood,  a 
black  case,  containing  a  knife  or  pen-case,  in  Ids  vest,  his  right  hand 
extended,  and  a  string  of  beads  in  his  left.  The  portrait,  also  previ- 
ously mentioned,  in  Occleve's  poems,  is  a  full-length,  in  bl.ick  vest, 
hood,  stockings,  and  pointed  boots.  A  third  portrait,  in  The  Canttr- 
bury  Tales,  Lansd.  MS.  85 1,  dating  within  twenty  years  of  the 
poet's  deatli,  is  a  small  full-length  inserted  in  the  initial  letter  of  th'^ 
volume,  in  a  long  grey  gown,  red  stockings,  and  black  shoes  fastened 
with  sandals.  Here  the  head  is  bare,  and  the  hair  closely  cut.  Sir 
Harris  >'icolas  refers  to  other  portraits;  but  these  appear  to  be  the 
most  authentic. 

*  Endless  discussions  migJit  be  raised  on  such  passages  as  Godwin 
cites,  leaving  the  question  in  the  end  exactly  where  it  was  in  the 
beginning.  iMore  consideration  is  due  to  the  authentic  statement  that  a 
house,  still  denominated  in  deeds  and  legal  instruments  as  '  Chaucer's 
house,'  adjoins  the  iirincipal  entrance  of  Woodstock-park.  But  even 
the  speculation  which  this  fact  would  seem  to  warrant  is  set  aside  by 
Sir  Harris  Nicolas,  who  obseives  th.it  this  house  '  was  more  probably 
the  house  of  Thomas  Chaucer,  to  whom  the  JIanor  of  Woodstock  was 
granted  by  Henry  the  Fourth,  ten  years  after  the  poet's  death."  Tlu.'t 
is  the  earliest  evidence  extant  of  any  connection  of  the  name  of 
Chaucer  with  Woodstock.  It  is  possible,  no  doubt,  that  the  poet  at 
some  time  resided  at  Woodstock,  and  that,  conseiiuently,  it  might 
have  been  selected  as  a  gii't  to  the  son;  but  this  kind  of  inference, 
whatever  show  of  probability  it  may  carry,  cannot  be  allowed  to 
possess  any  historical  weight.  Speght  tells  us  that  the  square  stone 
house  near  the  park  gate    ;allcd  Chaucer's  house,  was  passed  under 

c  2 


20  GEOFFREY    CHAUCER. 

At  what  time  Chaucer  returned  to  England  has  not  been 
ascertained.  It  is  probable  that  he  was  ransomed  on  the 
conclusion  of  the  peace  of  Chartres  in  1360,  as  there  is 
ground  for  supposing  that  his  marriage  took  place  in  that 
year.'  Amongst  the  persons  brought  over  to  England  in  her 
retinue  by  Queen  Philippa  in  1328  was  Sir  Payne  Eoet,  a 
native  of  Hainault,  and  Guienne  King  of  Arms.  This 
gentleman  had  two  daughters :  Katherine,  who  entered  the 
service  of  the  Duchess  Blanche,  the  first  consort  of  John  of 
Gaunt,  Duke  of  Lancaster;  and  a  younger  daughter,  Phi- 
lippa,- who  was  taken  into  the  royal  household  as  one  of  the 
maids  of  honour.  To  this  lady  (who  has  been  confounded  by 
some  writers  with  Philippa  PIcard,  also  one  of  the  maids  of 
honour)  Chaucer  was  married;  an  alliance  that  subsequently 
brought  him  Into  the  most  intimate  relations  with  John  of 
Gaunt.  In  September,  1366,  the  Queen  granted  an  annual 
pension  of  ten  marks  to  Philippa  Chaucer,  which  was  con- 
tinued to  her  by  the  King  after  her  Majesty's  death  in 
1369;  when,  being  no  longer  in  the  royal  household,  she 
became  attached  to  the  person  of  the  Duchess  Constance, 
the  second  consort  of  John  of  Gaunt.  In  the  Interval  her 
sister  Katherine,  having  married  Sir  Hugh  Swynford,  a  Lin- 
colnshire knight,  and  become  a  widow,  had  returned  to  the 
Duke's  service  in  the  capacity  of  governess  to  the  children  of 
his  former  Duchess.  While  she  was  in  this  situation, 
Katherine  Swynford  is  supposed  to  have  yielded  to  the  soli- 


that  name  by  Queen  Elizabeth  to  the  tenant  who  then  held  it;  and  we 
learn  Irom  Urry  that  in  his  time  there  was  a  printed  copy  of  Chaucer'!) 
works,  with  a  Latin  inscription  on  the  first  page,  chained  in  tlie 
parlour. 

'  Tliis  is  the  date  given  by  Tyrwliitt,  but  without  reference  to  any 
authority.  Sir  Harris  Nicolas  shows  that  the  marriage  must  have 
taken  place  at  least  before  September,  i  366. 

-  Tlie  name  of  Philippa  was  at  that  time  much  used  in  Hainault, '  in 
regard,"  as  one  of  the  old  biographers  says,  '  of  its  being  tlie  Queen's 
name.'  Sir  Harris  Nicolas  thinks  it  not  unlikely  that  this  lady's  bap- 
tismal name  was  given  to  her  from  being  the  Queen's  god-daiighter.  He 
hpeaks  of  her  as  being  older  than  her  sister  Katherine.  The  earlj 
biographers,  with  greater  probability,  describe  her  as  being  younger. 


GEOFFREY    CHAUCER.  21 

citations  of  the  Duke,  wlio  first  made  her  his  mistress,  and 
afterwards  maiTied  lier.  The  Duke's  regard  I'or  Chaucer  and 
his  wife  was  evinced  by  substantial  gifts.  In  1372,  he  con- 
ferred upon  Pliilippa  Chaucer  a  pension  of  lol.  per  annum; 
and  on  dilferent  occasions  presented  her  with  valuable  pre- 
sents, besides  bestowing  other  marks  of  his  favour  and 
protection  on  her  husband  and  cliildren. 

In  1367,  Chaucer  was  made  one  of  the  valets  of  the  King's 
chamber;  and  in  the  same  year  the  King  granted  him  an 
annual  salary  of  twenty  marks  for  life,  till  he  should  be  other- 
wise provided  for,  under  the  designation  of '  dilectus  Valettus 
noster,'  which  Selden  says  'was  conferred  on  young  heirs 
designed  to  be  knighted,  or  young  gentlemen  of  great  descent 
or  quality.''  Chaucer  appears  to  have  been  absent  from  Eng- 
land, on  the  King's  service,  in  the  summer  of  1370 ;  and 
towards  the  end  of  1372  he  was  joined  in  a  commission  with 
two  citizens  of  Genoa,  for  the  purpose  of  determining  upon 
an  English  port  where  a  Genoese  commercial  establishment 
might  be  formed.  An  advance  of  661.  13*.  4d.  having  been 
made  to  him  on  the  ist  of  December,  on  account  of  his 
expenses,  he  is  supposed  to  have  left  England  immediately 
after ;  and  all  that  is  actually  kno\\m  of  his  mission,  observes 
Sir  Harris  Nicolas,  di'awing  his  information  from  the  entries 
in  the  Issue  Rolls,  is  that  he  visited  Florence  and  Genoa,  and 
that  he  certainly  returned  to  England  before  the  22nd  No- 
vember, 1373,  on  which  day  he  received  his  pension  in 
person. 

It  was  during  his  visit  to  Italy  on  this  occasion  that 
Chaucer  is  said  to  have  visited  Petrarch  at  Padua,  a  suppo- 
sition derived  from  a  passage  in  tlie  Prologue  to  the  Clerk 
of  Oxenford's    Tale,  in  which  the   narrator   says  that  he 

1  There  is  much  confusion  in  tlie  early  biographies  in  this  matter. 
ITrry  says  that  Cliancer  was  soon  alter  made  Gentleman  of  tlie  King's 
Privy  Chamber,  that  an  adclilional  pension  of  twenty  marks  waa 
bestowed  U|iun  liini,  and  tliat  lie  was  siibsecjuenlly  apjjointed  Shield- 
bearer  to  the  l\in^.  The  whole  of  these  statements  appear  to  have 
originated  in  the  grant  and  appointment  above-mentioned,  whicti 
aloue  is  sustained  by  evidence. 


22  GEOFFREY   CHAUCER. 

'learned'  the  tale  of  Griselda  from  a  'worthy  clerk'  at 
Padua,  '  Fraunceis  Petrark,  the  laureat  poete.'  If  Chaucer 
had  made  this  statement  in  his  own  person,  which,  un- 
doubtedly, the  structure  oiTJie  Canierhiiry  Tales  afforded  him 
the  opportunity  of  doing,  there  could  he  no  grounds  for  any 
discussion  as  to  its  truth ;  but  having  made  it  through  the 
medium  of  a  fictitious  character,  and  not  in  his  own  person,  the 
fact  of  such  an  interview  having  ever  taken  place  has  been 
called  mto  question.  Whether  the  reasoning  founded  upon 
the  manner  in  which  Chaucer  thought  fit  to  co*imunicate 
the  tale  is  sufficiently  satisfactory  to  discredit  the  source  to 
which  he  refers  it,  every  reader  must  he  considered  competent 
to  decide  for  himself.  Upon  this  point,  however,  it  may  be 
M'cll  to  observe  that  a  distinction  should  be  drawn  between 
that  which  is  given  as  fiction  and  that  wdiich  is  stated  as 
reality;  and  that  when  Chaucer  alludes  to  a  real  pei'son  in 
the  introduction  to  the  story,  he  so  far  departs  from  the  dra- 
matic assumption  maintained  in  the  rest  of  the  prologue.  As  it 
is  clear  that  the  Clerk  of  Oxenford,  being  purely  an  imaginary 
personage,  could  not  have  learned  the  story  at  Padua  from 
Petrarch,  the  difficulty  becomes  narrowed  to  a  choice  of  two 
very  obvious  alternatives: — we  must  believe  either  that  the 
whole  statement  is  an  invention,  for  which  no  intelligible 
reason  can  be  assigned,  and  which  is,  certainly,  on  the  face  of 
it  improbable ;  or  that  Chaucer  himself  obtained  the  story 
from  Petrarch. 

Several  chcumstances  tend  to  strengthen  this  latter  con- 
clusion, which  acquhes  additional  force  from  the  absence  of  a 
single  particle  of  evidence  against  it.  Petrarch  was  at 
Ai'qua,  near  Padua,  when  Chaucer  is  known  to  have  been  at 
Florence.  There  was  nothing  to  prevent  Chaucer  from  visit- 
ing Petrarch ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  extremely  likely 
that  he  would  have  desired  such  a  meeting.  That  his 
visit  to  Padua  should  not  be  found  recorded  in  the  Issue 
PfcoUs  cannot  be  alleged  as  a  ground  of  doubt,  because  the 
PkoUs  mention  none  of  the  places  he  visited  except  Florence 
and  Genoa,  to  which  cities  he  appears  to  have  gone  on  the 


GEOFFREY    CHAUCER.  23 

business  of  his  mission.  The  time  when  Petrarch  made  tho 
Latin  translation  oi'the  tak^ol'  Grisclda  from  i\\c  Decameron 
(wliich  transkition  is  supposed  to  have  furnished  Chaucer 
with  the  htory),  cannot  be  iixed  with  precision ;  but  it  is 
needless  to  enter  upon  a  discussion  of  dales  which  are  not 
disputed,  for  the  purpose  of  showing  that  the  translation  was 
made  before  the  period  of  the  supposed  meeting.  If  Sir 
Harris  Nicolas's  opinion  that  Chaucer  was  not  acquainted 
with  Italian  (an  opinion  which  most  readers  of  Chaucer's 
poetry  will  agree  with  Mr.  Wriglit  in  rejecting),  could  be 
admitted  to  be  well-founded,  it  would  help  still  further  to 
sustain  the  inference  that  Chaucer  did  not  get  the  story  from 
the  Decameron ,\)\\i  from  a  Latin  source,  and,  therefore,  most 
probably,  from  Petrarch's  translation.  But  it  is  not  necessary 
to  establish  this  inference  in  order  to  support  the  supposition 
that  he  procured  the  story  from  Petrarch.  It  does  not  seem 
very  certain  from  the  language  of  the  Clerk  that  he  obtained 
it  from  a  translation,  or  from  a  writing  of  any  kind,  but 
rather  from  word  of  mouth.  He  tells  us  distinctly  enough 
that  he  '  learned'  it  of  a  '  worthy  clerk,'  and  again  that  '  this 
worthy  man  taught'  him  the  tale.  It  is  true  that  towards 
the  conclusion  of  the  tale  he  tells  us  that  Pi^trarch  '  writeth 
this  storie,'  a  circumstance  which  does  not  invalidate  the  pre- 
sumption that  Chaucer  may  have  learned  it  orally  from 
Petrarch.  Upon  this  point,  a  note  (which  has  escaped  the 
vigilance  of  Chaucer's  biographers)  made  by  Petrarch  upon 
his  translation,  may  be  thought  to  possess  some  interest. 
Petrarch  observes,  in  reference  to  the  story  of  G-risehla,  that 
*  he  had  heard  it  many  years  before' — that  is,  before  Boccaccio 
had  made  it  the  subject  of  one  of  the  novels  of  the  Decameron. 
As  it  thus  appears  that  he  was  well  acquainted  with  the 
story,  which  was,  in  all  probability,  a  popular  legend,  he 
might  consequently  have  related  the  substance  of  it  to 
Chaucer,  before  he  had  made  his  translation  of  the  novel,  or 
before  he  had  even  seen  the  Decameron.  The  allusion  by 
the  Clerk  of  Oxentbrd  to  the  fact  that  Petrarch  had  written 
the  story,  does  not  necessarily  imply  that  Chaucer  received  it 


24  GEOFFREY    CHAUCER. 

in  that  shape;  because  The  Canterbury  Tales  were  not  com- 
posed till  many  years  after  Petrarch's  death,  when  the  trans- 
lation must  have  been  generally  known.'  The  omission,  also, 
of  all  notice  of  Boccaccio,  to  whom  Chaucer  had  been  largely 
indebted,  not  only  in  The  Canterbury  Talcs,  but  upon  other 
occasions,  although  not  in  itself  conclusive,  is,  at  least,  a  sug- 
gestive element  in  the  case.  If  Petrarch  had  communicated 
the  story  as  having  derived  it  himself  from  Boccaccio,  it  may 
be  presumed  that  Chaucer  would  have  made  some  reference 
to  its  original  source.  That  he  has  not  acknowledged  his 
obligations  to  Boccaccio  elsewhere  is  nothing  to  the  purpose ; 
for  in  those  instances  he  makes  no  acknowledgment  whatever, 
while  here  he  goes  out  of  his  way  to  make  an  explicit  avowal 
of  his  authority. 

The  only  object  of  sifting  such  points  as  these  is  to  exhaust 
the  speculations  that  present  themselves  in  the  course  of  the 
inquiry,  and  to  reduce  a  question  of  some  literary  interest  to 
its  exact  limits.  The  result  is  clear  and  simple.  There  are 
no  proofs  that  Chaucer  and  Petrarch  met  at  Padua ;  nor  ib 
there,  on  the  other  hand,  any  constructive  or  collateral  evi- 
dence, as  to  time,  place,  or  circumstances,  to  show  that  such 
a  meeting  was  impossible,  or  even  unlikely.  The  fact  rests 
altogether  on  Chaucer's  own  testimony,  given  in  the  person 
of  the  Clerk  of  Oxenford,  and  the  precision  of  that  testimony 
should  not  be  overlooked  in  weighing  the  amount  of  credit  to 
which  it  is  entitled.  The  Clerk  does  not  say  in  general  terms 
that  he  obtained  the  story  from  Petrarch,  but  that  he  learned 
it  from  him  at  Padua.  A  statement  so  particular  carries  at 
all  events  the  appearance  of  being  intended  to  apply  to  an 
actual  occurrence,  and  not  to  a  fictitious  incident. 

The  death  of  the  Duchess  Blanche  in  1369  supplied 
Chaucer  with  the  subject  of  his  poem  called  The  Booh  of  the 
Duchess,  known  in  the  early  editions  by  the  less  appropriate 


'  Tetrarch  died  in  July,  i  3"+,  and  the  earliest  date  atisigned  to  Tht 
Canterbury  Tales  is  subsequent  to  1  386. 


OEOFFREV    CHAUCER.  25 

title  of  TJie  Dream  of  Chaucer.  Mr.  Godwin  thinks  that, 
from  the  tenor  of  tin's  poem,  'we  may  conclude  with  cei-tainty 
that  Chaucer  was  unmarried  when  he  wrote  it;'  a  fact  in 
which  he  is  confirmed  by  the  discovery  that  Philippa  Picard, 
who,  he  says,  was  'unquestionably'  the  wife  of  Chaucer, 
received  a  pension  from  the  King  in  her  maiden  name  in 
1370,  and,  therefore,  could  not  have  been  married  to  Chaucer 
till  afterwards.  This  is  a  characteristic  sample  of  the  errors 
into  which  the  imaginative  biographers  of  Chaucer  have 
fallen  ;  errors  which  they  frequently  endeavour  to  support  by 
trains  of  reasoning  that  commit  tliem  to  .still  more  extrava- 
gant hypotheses.  Thus,  in  order  to  account  for  the  singular 
circumstance  of  the  daughter  of  Sir  Payne  Roet  not  bearing 
her  father's  name,  Mr.  Godwin  informs  us  that  it  was  very 
common  in  France  for  persons  to  have  '  two'  surnames  (which 
there  is  no  evidence  whatever  to  show  was  the  case  with  the 
lady  in  question),  and  tliat,  consequently,  brothers  and  sisters 
'often  exhibited  in  their  ordinary  signatures  no  token  of 
relationship.'  It  is  almost  superfluous  to  observe  that  this 
statement,  whatever  it  may  be  otherwise  worth,  is  only  a 
waste  of  ingenious  speculation  in  reference  to  the  Roetfamilv, 
who  were  natives  of  Germany,  and,  therefore,  not  governed 
by  the  customs  of  France.  Believing  that  he  had  found  in 
Chaucer's  poems  some  grounds  for  the  opinion  that  the  poet 
had  been  ten  years  a  suitor  to  this  Pliilippa  Picard,  Mr. 
Godwin  thinks  it  necessary  to  explain  why  she  did  not  marry 
him  sooner;  and  then  he  proceeds  to  assign  the  reason.  He 
takes  it  for  granted  that  she  could  not  have  been  indifferent 
to  the  pretensions  of  so  accomplished  a  lover ;  '  but,'  he  adds, 
not  in  the  language  of  inference  or  supposition,  but  as  if  it 
were  an  ascertained  fact,  '  she  could  not  resolve  to  quit  the 
service  of  her  royal  mistress.'  The  'main  topic  of  her 
objection,'  however,  having  been  removed  by  the  death  of  the 
Queen,  Mr.  Godwin  tells  us  that  '  their  nuptials  were  cele- 
brated as  soon  as  the  general  laws  of  decorum,  and  tlie  idejw 
of  I'emalb  delicacy,  would  allow  1' 


26  GEOFFREY   CHAUCER. 

Tlie  next  authentic  notice  of  Chaucer  occuis  in  a  writ 
dated  23rd  April,  1374,  granting  him  a  pitcher  of  wine  dailj-,' 
afterwards  commuted  into  a  money  payment."  In  the  same 
year  he  was  appointed  Comptroller  of  the  Customs  in  the 
Port  of  London,  under  strict  conditions  that  he  was  to  write 
the  rolls  of  his  office  with  his  own  hand,  to  be  constantly  pre- 
sent, and  to  perform  all  the  duties  in  person,  and  not  by 
deputy.^  At  the  same  time  the  pension  of  10^.,  which  the 
Duke  of  Lancaster  had  conferred  upon  the  poet's  wife  two 
years  before,  was  converted  into  an  annuity  to  both,  to  be 
held  for  life  by  the  survivor,  and  to  be  paid  out  of  the 
revenues  of  the  Savoy.  In  1375,  Chaucer  obtained  a  grant  of 
the  lands  and  custody  of  the  son  and  heir  of  Edmond  Staple- 
gate,  of  Bilsynton,  in  Kent  ;■*  and  also  the  custody  of  five 
'  solidates'  of  rent  in  Solys,  in  Kent,  a  matter  of  little  pecu- 
niary value.' 

Soon  afterwards  we  find  Chau(;er  employed  on  two  secret 
missions;  in  1376  in  the  'comitiva,'  or  retinue,  of  Sir  John 
Burley;  and  in  .1377  in  association  with  Sir  Thomas  Percy 
(afterwards  Earl  of  Worcester),  with  whom  he  proceeded  to 
Flanders.     The  objects  of  these  missions  are  not  recorded; 


'  This  grant  has  given  occasion  to  a  variety  of  speculations  as  to 
the  circumstances  under  wliich  it  took  place ;  but  they  may  be  dis- 
missed as  having  no  more  claim  to  credit  than  Speght's  report  of 
Chaucer  having  been  present  in  Slilan  vith  Petrarch,  at  the  Duke  of 
Clarence's  marriage,  in  1 368 — a  circumstance  of  which  no  proof  of  any 
kind  can  be  adduced. 

-  The  money  value  of  the  grant  may  be  estimated  from  the  amount 
received  in  payment  of  the  wine  for  a  period  of  eight  months  from 
October,  i  376,  to  .June,  1377 — "jl.  zs.  6^d.;  a  large  sum  at  that  period. 

3  None  of  the  rolls  in  the  handwriting  of  Chaucer  are  known  to 
exist ;  and  tlie  only  record  that  has  been  traced  having  relation  ta 
his  office  is  a  grant  to  Iiim,  in  1376,  of  a  sum  of  7ii.  4s.  6d.,  being  a  fine 
levied  on  one  John  Kent,  of  London,  for  shipping  some  wool  to 
Dordrecht  witliout  paying  the  duty,  the  attempted  fraud  having  been 
apparently  brouglit  to  light  by  the  vigilance  of  Chaucer. 

''  It  appears  that  this  was  a  lucrative  guardianship,  tlie  sum  of  104?. 
having  been  paid  to  Chaucer  for  the  wardship  and  marriage  of  the 
minor. 

*  A  'solidate,'  according  to  Blount,  was  as  much  land  as  was  worth 
a  shilling  annually :  but  Sir  Ilurris  Kicolas  thinks  there  is  great  doubt 
nr  to  its  precise  value. 


GEOFFREY   CHAUCER.  27 

bat  it  is  stated  by  Froissart  that  in  the  February  of  the 
latter  year  he  was  joined  with  Sir  Guichard  d' Angle  (after- 
wards Earl  of  Huntingdon)  and  Sir  Richard  Strong  to 
negociate  a  secret  treaty  for  the  marriage  of  Richard,  Prince 
of  Wales,  with  Mary,  daughter  of  the  King  of  France.  Sir 
Harris  Nicolas  shows  that  Froissart  has  mistaken  the  dates 
and  the  circumstances.  Chaucer  was  in  Flanders  in  February 
with  Sir  Thomas  Percy,  and  was  in  London  in  April,  when 
he  received  a  pajTnent  in  person  on  account  of  his  services, 
and  was  again  despatched  with  a  letter  of  protection  to  con- 
tinue in  force  till  the  following  August.  In  the  June  of  this 
year  Edward  III.  died,  and  his  successor,  Richard  II.,  con- 
tinued to  Chaucer  his  annual  grant  of  20  marks,  with  an 
additional  grant  of  the  same  amount,  in  lieu  of  the  daily 
pitcher  of  wine.  In  January,  1378,  he  was  joined  with  Sir 
Guichard  d' Angle  and  others  in  the  negociation  for  the  King's 
marriage ;  and,  returning  in  a  short  time  to  England,  was 
sent  in  the  month  of  May,  with  Sir  Edward  Berkeley,  to 
Lombardy  on  an  embassy,  the  precise  nature  of  which  is  not 
known.  Throughout  the  whole  of  these  diplomatic  engage- 
ments, for  which  Chaucer  received  regular  payments,  he  con- 
tinued to  hold  his  office  of  Comptroller  of  the  Customs ;  and 
as  the  condition  of  personal  attendance  had  not  yet  been 
formally  abrogated,  we  must  infer  that  he  received  special 
permission  to  absent  himself  on  these  occasions. 

Upon  his  departure  for  Lombardy,  it  was  necessary  that  he 
should  have  two  representatives  '  to  appear  lor  him  in  the 
courts ;''  and  the  persons  he  selected  were  John  Gower,  the 
poet,  and  one  Richar.l  Forrester.  This  evidence  of  the  long- 
standing friendship  between  Chaucer  and  Gower  affords  a 
gratifying  confirmation  of  the  personal  regard  they  expressed 
towards  each  other  in  their  works;  and  which  we  would 
willingly  believe  to  have  lasted  to  the  end  of  their  lives, 
notwithstanding    that    its    dissolution    some    time    beiore 


'  Sir  n.  Nicolas.     It  is  not  clear  for  what  purpose,  whether  in 
reference  to  his  oUice,  or  his  private  affairs. 


28  OEOFFRLY    CHAUCER. 

Chaucer's  death  has  been  made  a  subject  of  discussion  bj 

Chaucer's  commcntiitors.' 

Early  in  1379  Chaucer  returned  to  England;  and  nothing 
more  is  known  of  him,  except  that  he  continued  to  receive 
his  pensions  either  in  person  or  by  assignment,  till  1382, 
when  he  was  appointed  Comptroller  of  the  Petty  Customs  in 
the  Port  of  London,  in  addition  to  his  former  office.  We 
learn  further,  from  the  researches  of  his  last  biographer,  that 
in  November,  1384,  he  obtained  a  mouth's  leave  of  absence, 
on  account  of  his  private  affairs,  on  which  occasion  a  deputy 
was  sworn  in  to  perform  his  duties;  and  that  in  the  following 
February  he  was  finally  released  from  the  drudgery  of  personal 
attendance,  by  being  allowed  to  appoint  a  permanent  deputy. 

Being  now  at  liberty  to  consult  his  own  inclinations,  he 
turned  his  attention  to  political  affairs,  and  was  elected  one  of 
the  representatives  of  Kent  in  the  Parliament  which  met  at 
Westminster  on  the  ist  October,  1386.  All  circumstances 
concur  in  justifying  the  supposition  that  he  entered  the  House 
of  Commons  for  the  purpose  of  supporting  the  ministers  of 
the  day,  who  were  in  the  interest  of  his  friend  and  patron,  the 
Duke  of  Lancaster.  The  Parliament  sat  only  a  month ;  and 
its  proceedings  were  directed  with  great  violence  against  the 

1  The  grounds  upon  which  their  friendship  is  supposed  to  have  been 
interrupted  will  be  found  stated  in  the  introduction  to  the  Man  of 
Lawes  Tale,  vol.  ii.  p.  9.  The  received  notion  that  Gouer  was  ante- 
cedent to  Chaucer  is  entirely  erroneous.  It  obtained  currency  from 
Dr.  Johnson's  hasty  assertion  that  Chaucer  was  Gower's  '  disciple.' 
The  date  of  Gower's  birth  is  assumed  by  Mr.  Todd  to  have  been  about 
i3iS  ;  but  it  was  probably  several  years  later,  as  he  survived  Chaucer 
eight  years.  A  sliort  time  before  his  death  he  undertook  the  revision 
of  the  Confesaio  Amnntin,  which  he  would  scarcely  have  attempted  had 
he  attained  the  great  age  of  HI-  Nothing  is  known  with  certainty  of 
his  family.  Caxton  says  he  ^vas  boin  in  Wales.  All  other  authorities 
derive  his  extraction  from  the  Gowers  of  Stittcnham,  in  Vorksliire, 
now  represented  by  the  Duke  of  Sutherland ;  but  Sir  Harris  Nicolas 
has  clearly  shown  (lict.  Rev  ,  N.  S.,  ii.  105)  that  this  statement  is 
unfounded.  He  was  evidently  possessed  of  considerable  property, 
although  he  was  not  a  knight,  as  the  old  writers  assert,  and  as  the 
inscription  oi armiijrr  on  his  tomb  disiirovcs.  lie  was  attached  through 
life  to  the  party  ul  Ihomasof  Woodstock,  and  recived  Inim  llonry  IV. 
a  collar,  with  a  swan  attached,  vvidch  is  represented  on  his  monumen 
la  the  church  of  St.  Mary  Uvery  (St.  Saviour's),  bouthwark. 


GEOFFKEY    CHAUCER  29 

f;f)vernment,'  Tliere  was  little  opportunily  for  displaying 
much  zeal  in  the  service  of  the  Duke,  whose  influence  was 
now  rapidly  declining ;  but  Chaucer's  known  devotion  to  his 
cause  was  sufficient  to  bring  him  under  the  displeasure  of 
the  hostile  advisers  who  soon  afterwards  obtained  tlie  confi- 
dence of  the  King.  To  this  source  may  in  pint,  if  not  alto- 
gether, be  ascribed  the  reason  of  his  dismissal  in  December, 
1386,  from  both  the  offices  he  held  in  the  Customs. 

A  commission  was  issued  in  November,  1386,  to  inquire 
into  alleged  abuses  in  the  departments  of  the  Subsidies  and 
Customs ;  an  investigation  which  seems  to  have  led  to  no 
results.  It  is  possible,  but  in  the  last  degi-ee  unlikely, 
judging  from  subsequent  circumstances,  that  Chaucer  may 
have  been  dismissed  in  consequence  of  defaults  in  the  dis- 
charge of  his  duties.  It  is  much  more  probable,  however, 
that  his  connexion  with  the  Duke  of  Lancaster,  and,  to  some 
extent,  his  attachment  to  the  Duke's  principles  (although  it 
is  by  no  means  certain  that  he  entertained  the  same  extreme 
views  on  ecclesiastical  questions)  mainly  influenced  this  harsh 
measure. 

In  addition  to  the  loss  of  his  offices  in  1386,  Chaucer  suf- 
fered a  severe  domestic  misfortune  in  1387  by  the  death  of 


»  It  was  durin^!?  the  sitting  of  tiiis  Parliament  that  Chaucer  was 
examined  as  a  witness  on  the  riglit  of  Lord  Scrope  to  the  Arms  '  azure 
a  bead  or,'  in  opposition  to  the  claim  of  Sir  Kobert  Grosvenor.  As 
every  personal  anecdote  relating  to  Chaucer  deserves  preservation,  the 
concluding  passage  of  his  deposition  will  be  read  witli  interest.  After 
stating  that  he  had  always  heard  that  these  arms  belonged  to  the 
family  of  Scrope  from  time  immemorial,  and  that  he  had  seen  Lord 
Scrope  so  armed  in  France,  Chaucer  replies  to  the  interrogation  as  to 
whether  he  had  ever  heard  of  any  interruption  or  challenge  by  Sir 
Ilichard  Grosvenor  or  any  of  his  ancestors  ?  '  Ko  ;  but  he  said  that  he 
was  once  walking  in  Friday-street,  in  London,  and,  as  he  was  walking 
in  the  street,  he  saw  hanging  a  new  sign  made  of  the  said  arms,  and 
he  asked  what  inn  that  was  that  had  hung  out  these  arms  of  Scrope  7 
and  one  answered  him,  and  said.  No,  sir,  they  are  not  hung  out  for  the 
arms  of  Scrope,  nor  painted  there  for  these  arms,  but  they  are  painted 
and  put  there  by  a  kniglit  of  Chester,  whom  men  call  Sir  Kobert 
Grosvenor;  and  that  was  the  first  time  he  ever  heard  speak  of  Sir 
Robert  Grosvenor,  or  of  his  ancestors,  or  of  any  other  bearing  the  name 
of  Grosvenor.' 


30  GEOFFKEY    CHAUCER. 

his  wife.  With  certain  exceptions  which  have  not  been 
accounted  for,  slie  received  the  pension  settled  upon  her  by 
Queen  Philippa,  and  afterwards  confirmed  by  Richard  II., 
from  1366  to  June,  1387  ;  after  which  date  no  further  notice 
of  her  name  appears,  so  that  it  is  supposed  she  died  before 
her  next  half-year's  payment  became  due.  Of  Chaucer  nothing 
is  known  dming  the  years  1387  and  1388,  except  that  he  re- 
gularly received  his  two  pensions,  and  that  in  the  May  of  the 
latter  year  they  were  both  cancelled  at  his  own  request,  and 
assigned  to  one  John  Scalby,  to  whom  he  had  probably  sold 
them  under  the  pressure  of  distress. 

The  dismissal  of  Thomas  of  Woodstock,  the  King's  uncle, 
and  of  Walsingham,  the  Chancellor,  and  their  colleagues,  in 
May,  1389,  and  the  appointment  of  new  ministers,  one  of 
whom  was  the  son  of  the  Duke  of  Lancaster,  once  more 
brought  Chaucer's  friends  into  power ;  and  only  a  few  months 
elapsed  beibre  they  found  an  opportunity  of  advancing  his 
interests.  In  July,  1389,  he  was  appointed  Clerk  of  the 
King's  Works,  embracing  the  Palace  at  Westminster,  the 
Tower,  the  royal  manors  of  Kennington,  Eltham,  Clarendon, 
Sheen,  Bylleet,  Childern  Langley,  and  Feckenham,  the  lodges 
in  the  New  Forest  and  the  royal  parks,  and  at  the  mews  for 
the  King's  falcons  at  Charing  Cross.  This  important  office 
he  was  permitted  to  execute  by  deputy,  and  his  salary  was 
two  shillings  per  diem.  Payments  made  to  him  immediately 
after  his  appointment,  show  that  he  entered  upon  his  duties 
at  once ;  and  the  nature  of  the  works  in  which  he  was  en- 
gaged is  exhibited  in  a  commission  dated  12th  July,  1390, 
directing  him  to  execute  certain  repairs  at  St.  George's 
Chapel,  in  the  Castle  of  Windsor.  The  cause  of  his  retire- 
ment from  this  office  has  not  been  ascertained ;  but  there  is 
no  doubt  that  he  ceased  to  fill  the  situation  some  time  in  the 
course  of  139 1,  as  in  the  September  of  that  year  it  was  held 
by  one  John  Gedney. 

A  long  chasm  now  occiu-s  in  his  history.  Godwin  supposes 
that  he  retired  to  Woodstock;  and  also  that  in  March,  1391 
{while  he  was  yet  Clerk  of  the  Works),  he  wrote  his   Con- 


GEOFFREY    CHAUCER.  31 

cJitsions  of  the  Astroluhic,  acMrcsscd  to  his  son,  '  little  Lewis.' 
'I'he  latter  snpiiosition  is  founded  upon  <a  date  introduced 
into  the  treatise  to  illustrate  the  working  of  two  of  the 
problems.' 

Of  Chaucer's  pecuniary  resources  during  the  interval  from 
1391  up  to  February,  1394,  when  he  obtained  a  grant  from 
the  King  of  20I.  a  year  for  life,  nothing  is  known,  except 
that  he  still  enjoyed  his  pension  of  10^.  from  the  Savoy,  and 
his  wages  as  King's  Esquire,  the  value  of  which,  beyond  an 
allowance  of  forty  shillings  half-yearly  for  robes,  is  doubtful. 
That  he  was  reduced  to  great  distress  is  sufficiently  evident 
from  numerous  small  loans  which  he  obtained  on  his  new 
pension,  and  which  have  been  traced  through  the  Issue  Rolls 
by  Sir  Harris  Nicolas  down  to  the  year  1398 ;-  and  from  the 
fact  that  in  May,  1398,  the  King  granted  him  letters  to  pro- 
tect him  against  arrest.  In  these  letters  it  was  set  forth  that 
his  JMajesty  had  appointed  him  to  perform  sundry  arduous 
and  urgent  duties,  and  that,  fearing  he  might  be  impeded  in 
the  execution  of  them  by  various  suits,  his  Majesty  took  him 
under  his  special  protection,  forbidding  any  one  to  sue  or 
arrest  him  on  any  plea,  except  it  were  connected  with  land, 
for  a  tei-m  of  two  years.  Letters  of  this  description  were 
matters  of  form,  in  which,  as  in  this  case,  the  duties  were 
sometimes  a  mere  fiction  to  cover  the  real  object  of  protecting 
the  freedom  of  the  recipient. 


•  '  Ensample  as  thus.  The  yere  of  our  Lorde  a  thousande,  thre  hun- 
dred, ninetie  and  one  the  xii.  daic  of  JIarclie  at  middaie,  I  Mould 
knowe  the  degree  of  tlie  soune,  &c. ;'  and  again, '  The  yere  of  our 
Lorde  a  thousande,  tlirc  liundved,  ninetie  and  one,  the  twelveth  daie  of 
Marclie,  I  would  knowe  the  tide  of  the  daie,  &c.' — Tlie  Conclusions  oj 
the  AstroUibie.  From  tliese  passages  Speght  assumed  tliat  the  treatise 
was  written  in  1391,  an  inference  amplified  more  circumstantially  by 
Godwin,  who  alsD  takes  it  for  granted,  Irom  a  passing  reference  to  the 
latitude  of  Oxford,  that  Chaucer  must  have  been  at  the  time  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  that  city.    [The  date  is  now  generally  accepted—  W.  W.  S.] 

-  The  extremity  of  his  circumstances  is  exhibited  in  the  trifling 
amounts  of  some  of  the.se  loans.  On  one  occ;i.sion  he  borrowed  il.  6s.  M.; 
and  on  the  24th  .July,  ii()'i,  he  ajjplied  in  person,  at  tlie  Exchequer, 
for  a  I'lau  ot  6s.  8(i.,  and  went  again,  a  week  afterwards,  to  solicit  a 
similar  sum. 


32  GEOFFREY   CHAUCER. 

Chaucer's  pecuniary  circumstances  throughout  the  greater 
part  of  his  life  must  have  been  ample  for  the  maintenance 
of  that  position  in  society  which  his  connections  entitled  him 
to  hold ;  although  it  cannot  be  very  readily  believed,  accord- 
ing to  the  construction  put  upon  some  passages  in  his  works, 
that  at  one  period  he  lived  in  great  splendour,  or  that, 
according  to  Speght,  he  had  altogether  an  income  of  one 
thousand  pounds  per  annum.  The  fluctuations  that  took 
place  from  time  to  time  in  his  resources,  and  the  want  of 
information  as  to  the  profits  he  derived  from  his  various 
appointments,  render  the  total  amount  of  his  income  a 
matter  of  speculation.  For  many  years  previously  to  the 
death  of  his  wife,  his  pensions  yielded  him  about  40?.  a-year, 
afterwards  reduced,  by  the  sale  of  his  annuities,  to  10^., 
again  raised,  by  a  new  grant,  to  30^.,  and  finally  increased, 
in  the  last  year  of  his  life,  to  about  62I.  Assuming 
that  his  offices,  especially  with  contingent  advantages 
attached  to  them  (of  which  we  have  an  instance  in  the 
penalty  levied  on  a  defaulter  in  the  Customs,  and  bestowed 
upon  Chaucer),  were  more  lucrative  than  his  pensions, 
Chaucer's  revenues,  while  he  held  his  appointments,  may  be 
safely  averaged  at  double  these  amounts.^  It  is  not  easy  to 
ascertain  what  such  an  income  ought  to  be  rated  at  by  the 
present  value  of  money.  The  materials  upon  which  the  cal- 
culation should  be  founded  are  contradictory  and  perplexing ; 
and  the  writers  who  have  discussed  the  question  differ  so 
widely  in  the  conclusions  at  which  they  have  arrived,  that 
they  may  be  said  to  have  complicated  rather  than  dimi- 
nished the  difficulty.  Godwin,  who  investigated  the  subject 
minutely,  estimates  the  value  of  money  in  the  fourteenth 
century  as  being  equal  to  eighteen  times  the  same  amount 
in  the  nineteenth ;  Sir  Harris  Nicolas  is  inclined  to  reduce 
this  estimate  nearly  one-half;  wliile  a  comparison  of  the 
prices  of  articles  of  consumption  in  the  two  periods  would 


•  Sir  Harris  Nicolas,  properly  anxious  to  avoid  exaggeration,  is 
content  to  eet  down  Chaucer's  offices  at  half  the  value  of  his  pensions. 


OEOFFRET    CKAl  CEJL  33 

jastify  us  in  multiplying  the  nominal  value  of  money  in  the 
fourteenth  century  at  least  thirty  or  forty  times  to  bring  it 
to  the  present  standard.*  We  cannot,  therefore,  obtain  any 
satisfactory  results  by  a  comparison  between  the  conditions 
of  the  fourteenth  century  and  those  of  the  nineteenth ;  but 
some  light  may  be  thrown  upon  the  inquiry  by  an  examina- 
tion of  the  relative  conditions  developed  in  the  former  period, 
without  reference  to  the  latter.  Although  we  cannot  deter- 
mine with  accuracy  how  much  any  given  sum  in  Chaucer's 
time  would  represent  in  our  own,  we  may  form  a  sufficient 
estimate  of  Chaucer's  circumstances  from  contemporary  data. 
The  salary  of  the  chief  judges  in  the  fourteenth  century 
was  40/.  a-year,  and  that  of  the  puisne  judges,  with  some 
variations,  was  26I.  13*,  4^.  If,  as  has  been  conjectured,  the 
judges  had  perquisites  in  addition  to  their  salaries,  these 
sums  do  not  exhibit  the  full  value  of  their  offices ;  but  they 
furnish,  nevertheless,  a  clue  to  the  relative  circumstances  01 
different  classes,  ilaids  of  honour  were  pensioned  with 
annuities  equal  to  one-fourth  of  the  salary  of  a  puisne  judge ; 
the  court  physician  received  a  pension  of  looL  a-year,  and 
an  apothecary,  who  had  attended  the  Kir.g  in  a  dangerous 
illness,  sixpence  j>er  diem.  Sir  Edward  Montagu  had  a 
pension  of  lool.  a-year;  and  the  Duke  of  Brabant  of  1500/. 
Descending  to  the  wages  of  the  lower  classes,  as  a  further 
test  of  comparative  values,  we  find  that  irf.,  2d.,  and  ^d.  a-dav 
was  paid  to  labourers  and  handicraftsmen — amounts  much 
in  excess  of  the  ratio  of  payments  made  to  persons  in  a 
higher  station  of  life.     The  result,   so  far   as  Chaucer  is 


'  Biihop  Fleetwood's  Chromrum  Pndi-s-jru  supplies  ihe  details  trf 
prices  from  which  the  compariioii  may  be  made.  In  1 556  wheat  was 
i«.  a  qnaner.  in  1 359  it  rose  to  the  unprecedented  price  of  35*.,  but  in 
two  j-eari  afterwards  it  fell  a^ain  to  »?..  at  which  price  it  appears  to 
hare  continued  for  several  vears.  In  I3s9,  t-ariey  was  i*. ;  and  in 
13^0.  a  stone  of  wool  Is.  The  price  of  a  fat  ox  in  135s  was  fc.  Sd  . 
and  in  15+3  two  oxen  i5*.  A  cow  5s.,  two  hens  id.,  a  hog  i*.  6d..  a, 
horse  about  4cj.,  a  gallon  of  white  wine  6d..  of  red  wine  4d..  and  a 
ton  of  wine  about  +/.,  are  among-st  the  prices  quoted  in  Chaucer's  time. 
The  reader  who  desires  to  follow  np  the  inquiry  may  be  referred  to  God- 
win s  ZiTety"  Chaucer,  iL  Sa>- 33,  and  TheJaetrotpeetive  Berittc.U.  iSi)-»o. 
VOL.  I.  Ti 


34  GEOFFREY    CHAUCER. 

concerned,  shows  that,  whatever  may  be  the  nominal  vakie 
at  which  we  should  rate  his  income  according  to  our 
standard,  it  was  fully  equal  to  the  position  of  a  gentleman  in 
his  own  time.  His  pensions,  exclusive  of  his  offices,  ranged 
for  many  years  with  the  salaries  of  the  Chief  Bai'on 
of  the  Exchequer  and  the  Chief  Justice  of  the  Common 
Pleas;  and  if  we  add  to  the  income  he  derived  from 
these  sources  as  much  more  from  the  responsible  employ- 
ments in  which  he  was  engaged,  we  may  reasonably  conclude 
that,  with  the  exception  of  the  interval  of  reverse  that 
ensued  upon  the  loss  of  his  offices  and  the  sale  of  his  pen- 
sions, he  was  for  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in  the  enjoyment 
of  no  inconsiderable  independence.  The  prosperity  which  had 
been  inteiTupted  by  these  cii'cumstances  happily  returned  to 
brighten  the  close  of  his  career. 

In  1398,  another  grant  of  wine  was  bestowed  upon  him — 
a  ton  annually,  equal  to  about  4I.  a-year ;  and  in  the  follow- 
ing year  Henry  IV.,  the  son  of  his  deceased  patron,  the  Duke 
of  Lancaster,  four  days  after  he  ascended  the  throne,  con- 
ferred upon  him  a  grant  of  26I.  13?.  ^d.  a  year,  in  addition 
to  the  annuity  of  20I.  bestowed  by  Eichard  II.  This  grant 
is  dated  on  the  3rd  of  October,  1399.  Chaucer  was  now 
seventy-one  years  of  age  ;  and  the  royal  bounty  came  in  time 
to  console  the  last  year  of  his  life. 

It  has  been  generally  believed  that  Chaucer  latterly  resided 
at  Donington  Castle,  near  Newbury,  in  Berkshire.  This 
tradition,  acquiring  various  circumstantial  embellishments  in 
its  descent,  has  been  repeated  by  several  writers ;'  but,  even 


'  The  earliest  notice  of  Chaucer's  residence  at  Donington  occurs  in 
Camden's  Drilannica.  Tlie  reference  is  slight,  and  inexact.  Speght 
copies  it,  and  adds  an  allusion  to  an  oak,  which  he  designates  a3 
Chaucer's  oak.  Evelyn  and  Ashniole  faithfully  record  the  oak,  the 
latter  aup;menting  the  stream  of  particulars  by  calling  the  poet  'Sir 
Geoffrey  Chaucer,'  and  saying  that  he  composed  many  of  his  celebrated 
pieces  under  the  oak.  Mr.  Godwin  improves  upon  these  iletails  by 
telling  us  that  the  Duke  of  Lancaster  purchased  the  castle,  and 
bestowed  it  upon  Chaucer,  being  '  determined,  in  the  feudal  sense,  to 
ennoble  him!"  although  he  elsewhere  suggests  that  'the  circum- 
stances of  Chaucer  himself  might  be  considered  as  rendering  it  some- 


GEOFFREY    CHAUCER.  35 

if  Cliaucer's  necessities  throughout  the  period  when  he  is 
supposed  to  have  kept  up  that  costly  establishment  were  not 
conclusive  against  its  probability,  it  is  discredited  by  other 
circumstances.  Donington  Castle  was  built  by  Sir  Richard 
Abberbury,  who  was  in  possession  of  it  in  1392.  It  after- 
wards became  the  property  of  Sir  John  Phelip,  the  first  hus- 
band of  Chaucer's  grand-daughter.  This  gentleman  died  in 
1415  ;  and  there  is  no  evidence  of  any  previous  connexion  of 
any  member  of  Chaucer's  family  with  Donington  Castle,  nor 
is  there  any  ground  for  supposing  that  Sir  John  Phelip's 
tenure  commenced  till  after  Chaucer's  death.  Upon  the 
subsequent  marriage  of  Sir  John  Phelip's  widow,  it  passed  into 
the  possession  of  her  second  husband,  the  Duke  of  Sutiblk. 

The  story  of  a  residence  in  Berkshire  is  further  shown  to 
be  groundless  by  the  ascertained  fact  that  Chaucer  was  un- 
questionably living  in  London  during  the  last  three  years  of  his 
life,  and  that  on  Christmas  Eve,  1399,  he  entered  upon  the  lease 
of  a  house  in  Westminster  for  a  term  of  fifty-three  years  at 
the  annual  rent  of  2I.  13s.  ^d.  Had  he  been  residing  in  Berk- 
shire, it  is  not  likely  that  at  his  advanced  age  he  would  have 
come  up  to  London,  and  encumbered  himself  with  another 
establishment.  The  tenement  was  situated  in  the  Garden  of 
the  Chapel  of  the  Blessed  Mary  of  Westminster,  said  to  be 
very  nearly  the  same  spot  on  which  Henry  the  Seventh's 
Chapel  stands;  and  it  was  demised  to  Chaucer  by  Robert  Her- 
modesworth,  a  monk,  with  the  consent  of  the  Abbot  and  con- 
vent of  that  place.  The  stipulations  of  the  lease  provided 
that  if  the  rent  ran  into  arrear  for  filteen  days,  the  lessor 
should  have  power  to  distrain ;  and  that  if  the  tenant  died 
during  the  term  of  the  lease,  the  premises  should  revert  to 
the  Custos  of  the  Chapel.  The  latter  contingency  happened 
within  the  first  j'ear  of  the  occupancy  of  the  tenement. 
Chaucer  died  on  the  25th  October,  1400,  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
two,  and  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbej'. 


what  improbable  that  he  had  made  guch  an  acquisition  toward  the 
close  of  his  liCf.' 


36  GEOFFREY   CHAUCER. 

We  have  an  interesting  evidence  of  tlie  tranquillity  and 
resignation  of  Chaucer's  last  hours  in  the  little  poem  be- 
ginning— 

Flie  fro  the  prease,  and  dwell  with  soothfastnesse, 

which  he  is  said  to  have  composed  on  his  death-bed ;'  and  if 
the  concluding  passage  of  The  Canterhury  Tales  may  be 
considered  genuine,  Chaucer  not  only  looked  back  with  regret 
upon  certain  parts  of  his  writings,  but  expressed  his  desire  to 
suppress  them  in  some  formal  retraction,  of  which  no  trace 
has  been  recovered.^  He  is  said  by  some  writers  to  have 
been  buried  in  the  Cloisters,^  and  afterwards  removed  to  the 
Chapel,  but  this  statement  is  shown  to  be  erroneous  by 
Caxton.  The  following  lines,  from  an  epitaph  by  Stephanus 
Surigonius,  of  Milan,  were  originally  inscribed  on  a  slab 
placed  on  a  pillar  near  his  grave  :•* — 

Galfridus  Chaucer  vates,  et  fama  poesis 
Maternae,  hac  sacra  sum  tumulatus  humo. 

In  1556,  the  present  monument  of  grey  marble  was  erected 

by  Mr.  Nicholas  Brighara,  with  the  subjoined  inscription,  now 

nearly  defaced,  and  a  full-length  of  Chaucer,  the  head,  costume, 

and  attitude  of  which  are  taken  from  Occleve's  portrait : — 

M.  s. 
Qui  fuit  anglorum  vates  ter  maximtjs  glim, 

GALFRIDUS  CHAUCER  conditur  hoc  tumllO; 
Annum  si  qu^ras  domini,  si  tempora  vit^ 

ecce  kot^  subsunt,  qu^  tibi  cuncta  notant. 

35  octobris  1 400. 

ierumnarvm  bequies  mors. 

N.  Brigham  hos  fecit  musarum  nomine  sumptus 

iSS<S. 


'  The  poem  is  entitled,  GwU  Counsaile  of  Chaucer;  and  in  a  MS. 
in  the  Cottonian  library  the  following  words  were  found  inserted  before 
the  title ; — '  A  Balade  made  by  Geffrey  Chaucer  upon  his  detlie  bedde 
leying  in  his  grete  anguysse.'  Upon  this  authority  the  statement  rests. 
The  3IS.  (Otho,  A  xviii.)  on  which  it  was  written  was  destroyed  by 
a  fire  in  which  many  volumes  of  the  Cottonian  library  were  consumed. 

'  See  note  at  tlie  end  of  The  Canterbury  Tales. 

^  Fox's  Acts  mid  Monuments. 

••  Leland  says  they  were  put  up  by  Caxton,  at  whose  request  they 
were  written.  Tlie  statement  of  the  erection  of  a  tomb  earlier  than 
that  placed  over  the  grave  by  3[r.  Brigham  is  not  entitled  to  credit. 


GEOFFREY    CHAUCER.  37 

Attached  to  the  tomb,  probably  on  a  led^e  of  brass,  were  these 
verses,  which  have  long  disappeared: — 

Si  rogitos  quis  cram,  forsan  to  fama  docebit 
Quod  si  fama  negat,  mundi  quia  gloria  transit 
Haec  monumcnta  lege. 

Chaucer  had  two  sons,  Thomas  and  Lewis,  the  latter,  to 
whom  the  treatise  on  the  astrolabe  was  addressed,  is  supposed 
to  have  died  in  his  youth.  The  former  married  IMatilda,  the 
second  daughter  and  co-heiress  of  Sii*  John  Burghersh,  by 
whom  he  acquired  large  estates  in  Oxfordshire  and  other 
counties.  In  addition  to  grants  and  offices  conferred  upon 
him  by  John  of  Gaunt,  he  was  appointed  Chief  Butler  to 
Richard  II.,  a  situation  which  he  continued  to  hold,  with  a 
short  intermission,  under  the  three  succeeding  sovereigns. 
Henry  IV.  appointed  him  Constable  of  Wallingford  Castle,  and 
Steward  of  the  Honours  of  Wallingford  and  St.  Valery,  and  of 
the  Chiltern  Hundreds  ;  and  the  Queen  granted  him  the  farm 
of  the  manors  of  Woodstock,  Hauburgh,  Wotton,  and  Ston- 
field,  with  the  hundred  of  Wotton,  which,  after  her  Majesty's 
death,  the  King  confirmed  to  him  for  life.  He  represented 
Oxfordshire  in  Parliament  for  several  years  between  T402  and 
1429,  and  was  chosen  Speaker  of  the  Commons  in  1414;  and 
in  the  same  year  was  appointed  Commissioner  to  treat  of 
Henry  V.'s  marriage  with  Katherine  of  France.  He  was 
present  at  the  battle  of  Agincourt,  and  served  in  most  of 
the  expeditions  under  Henry  V.  In  the  following  reign  he 
was  appointed  a  member  of  the  King's  Council ;  the  Duchess 
of  York  selected  him  as  one  of  her  executors ;  and  several 
notices  occur  of  the  important  employments  in  which  he 
was  engaged.  He  died  in  1434.  His  only  child,  Alice, 
was  married,  first  to  John  Philip,  who  died  without  issue, 
and  afterwards  to  the  Duke  of  Suffolk  (attainted  and  be- 
headed in  1450),  by  whom  she  had  three  children.  She  died 
in  1475,  and,  adds  Sir  Harris  Nicolas,  from  whose  careful 
biography  these  particulars  have  been   collected,  her  issue 


38  GEOFFREY    CHAUCER 

having  failed,  the  descendants  of  the  poet  are  presumed  to 
be  extinct.' 

The  most  authentic  description  of  the  person  of  Chaucer  is 
that  which  is  given  in  the  words  of  the  host  of  the  Tabard, 
when  he  calls  upon  him  for  his  story.  It  may  be  inferred 
that  at  this  time  Chaucer  had  grown  somewhat  corpulent,  as 
the  host,  who  was  '  a  large  man,'  banters  him  upon  having  a 
waist  as  well  shaped  as  his  own ;  but  it  is  evident  that  his 
features  were  still  small  and  fair,  and  wore  that  thoughtful 
expression  which  is  conspicuous  in  his  portrait.  The  host 
also  notices  his  habit  of  abstraction,  which  is  again  alluded 
to  in  The  House  of  Fame,  where  he  is  described  sitting  at  his 
book  till  his  look  becomes  dazed.  In  company  he  seems  to 
have  been  retii-ed  in  his  manner,  and,  as  may  be  gathered  from 
several  allusions,  to  have  been  generally  absorbed  in  contem- 
plation. Although,  he  tells  us,  he  lived  '  as  a  hennit,'  he  hints 
that  he  by  no  means  practised  abstinence  when  he  went  into 
society.  The  mixture  of  gravity  and  sweetness  in  Occleve's 
portrait  conveys  the  perfect  image  of  a  character  not  less 
remarkable  for  its  rare  combination  of  power  and  sympathy, 
than  for  the  variety  of  accomplishments  by  which  it  was 
graced. 

1  The  eldest  son  of  the  Duchess  of  Suffolk  married  the  Princess 
Elizabeth  Plantagenet,  sister  of  Edward  IV.,  whose  eldest  son,  cre- 
ated Earl  of  Lincoln,  was  declared  by  Richard  III.  heir  apparent  to 
the  throne,  in  the  event  of  the  death  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  witliout 
issue  ;  '  so  that,'  observes  Sir  Harris  Xicolas,  'there  was  strong  proba- 
bility of  the  great  great  grandson  of  the  poet  succeeding  to  the  crowu.' 
The  Earl  of  Lincoln  was  slain  at  the  battle  of  Stoke  in  1487. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Geoffeet  Chaucee  is  properly  designated  the  Father  of 
English  Poetry.  He  acqtiires  his  right  to  that  title  not  only 
on  the  ground  of  being  our  earliest  poet,  but  because  the 
foundations  he  laid  still  support  the  fabric  of  our  poetical 
literature,  and  will  outlast  the  vicissitudes  of  taste  and  lan- 
guage. His  greatest  contemporaries  and  successors  have 
recognized  and  confirmed  his  claim  to  this  distinction. 
Lydgate  calls  him  the  'chief  poete  of  Bretayne,'  and  the 
'  lode-sterre'  of  our  language,  and  says  that  he  was  the  first 
to  distil  and  rain  the  gold  dewdrops  of  speech  and  eloquence 
into  our  tongue ;  Occleve  calls  him  '  the  fynder  of  our  fayre 
laniraire ;'  lioerer  Ascham  describes  him  as  the  '  English 
Homer,'  and  considers  'his  sayinges  to  have  as  much 
authority  as  eyther  Sophocles  or  Euripides  in  Greke  ;'  and 
Spenser  speaks  of  him  as  '  the  pure  well-head  of  poetry,' 
and  'the  well  of  English  undefiled.'  Poet,  soldier,  and 
diplomatist,  and  master  of  the  philosophy,  science,  and 
divinity  of  his  time,  the  versatility  of  his  genius  is  not  more 
remarkable  than  the  practical  judgment  he  displayed  in  its 
employment.  With  a  complete  command  of  the  springs  of 
universal  interest,  the  tragical  and  the  humorous,  the 
solemn  and  the  gay,  the  sublime  and  the  grotesque,  he 
applied  his  knowledge  of  life  and  nature,  his  consummate 
art,  the  copious  resources  of  an  imagination  that  seemed 
incapable  of  exhaustion,  and  a  power  of  expression  as  exten- 
sive as  the  empire  of  his  genius,  to  the  creation  of  works 
which,  wliile  they  retlect  in  vivid  colours  the  features  of  his 
own  time,  possess  also  an  enduring  value  for  all  time  to 
come.  This  is  not  the  least  striking  aspect  of  the  labours 
of  a  poet  who  fiourished  five  hundred  years  ago,  before  books 


40  INTRODUCTION. 

were  printed,  or  a  reading  public  existed.  Others  who  have 
written  since,  in  a  spirit  and  an  idiom  more  a<!cessible  to  the 
popular  understanding,  have  passed  into  oblivion ;  but 
Chaucer  still  keeps  his  place.  The  modes  and  usages  he 
portrayed  have  long  since  vanished ;  yet  his  pictures  retaiu 
their  original  freshness  and  fascination.  The  language  in 
which  he  wrote  has  long  ceased  to  be  the  language  of  the 
people ;  yet  the  eager  student  conquers  its  structural  diffi- 
culties with  delight  to  enter  upon  the  treasures  it  tkrows 
open  to  him. 

The  peculiar  interest  of  Chaucer's  poetry  arises  not  only 
from  its  intrinsic  merit,  but  from  the  singularly  clear  and  full 
idea  it  conveys  of  a  state  of  society  for  which  modern  expe- 
"ience  furnishes  no  parallel,  while,  at  the  same  time,  it  is 
p»'egnant  with  elements  of  thought  which  exert  an  influence 
even  in  our  own  day.  A  close  observer  of  character,  and  of 
all  those  fugitive  traits  that  mark  and  indicate  its  individual 
peculiarities,  Chaucer  has  adopted  in  The  Canterbury  Tales 
a  plan  that  enables  him  to  depict  almost  every  class  of 
society,  and  which  also  combines  in  itself  the  various  kinds  of 
composition  employed  as  the  vehicles  of  popular  beliefs 
and  feelings  in  the  Middle  Ages.  From  his  works  may  be 
learned  much  more  satisfactorily  than  from  the  chronicles 
of  his  contemporaries,  or  the  more  elaborate  compilations  of 
later  historians,  the  modes  of  thought,  habits,  and  manners 
which  prevailed  in  the  reigns  of  Edward  III.  and  his  imme- 
diate successors ;  the  era  in  which  the  Norman  and  Saxon 
races  became  fused,  and  our  language  and  social  institutions 
assumed  forms  that  have  descended  with  some  modifications 
to  the  present  time.  A  strong  government  had  at  length 
secured  internal  peace;  the  supremacy  of  law  over  brute 
force  was  established ;  a  native  literature  was  initiated ;  and 
commerce  and  the  arts  of  life  began  to  flourish.  Society 
was  preparing  for  an  advanced  stage  in  its  progress;  the 
old  traditions  were  insensibly  losing  their  ascendancy ;  and 
new  views  and  principles  were  in  course  of  development. 
These  mutations  are  reflected  with  extraordinary  fidelity  ia 


INTRODUCTION.  41 

Chaucer's  poetry;    nor  can  we  obtain  elsewhere  so  close  a 
view  of  the  immediate  elTects  they  produced. 

The  special  cliaracter  of  the  middle  ages  may  be  traced  to 
the  national  peculiarities  of  the  Northern  races  who  sup- 
planted the  Roman  Empire,  and  set  up  their  stronger  and 
less  corrupt  barbarism  on  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  and  de- 
cayed civilization.  Classical  literature,  embodying  the  old 
idolatry,  with  all  its  hideous  crimes  and  abuses,  its  Eleusi- 
nian  mysteries  and  gladiatorial  games,  was  swept  away  by 
the  victorious  hordes,  as  being  unlit  for  the  study  of  Christian 
men,  and  unworthy  of  their  more  manly  taste.  To  supply  its 
place  they  set  about  the  task  of  forming  a  literature  of  their 
own  ;  assigning  a  paramount  importance  to  metaphysical 
investigations,  and,  above  all,  to  inquiries  into  the  nature  of 
the  Deity  and  the  human  soul,  and  their  relations  to  each 
other.  In  such  studies  the  Teutonic  mind  found  a  congenial 
pursuit,  and  displayed  an  unrivalled  subtlety. 

The  schoohnen,  adapting  their  themes  to  the  predominant 
work  of  the  age,  lectured  earnestly  to  thousands  of  students 
who  found  in  the  universities  and  monasteries  retreats  where 
alone  they  could  enjoy  repose  and  securit}'.  Here  Abelard, 
Thomas  Aquinas,  and  Duns  Scotus  devoted  themselves  to  ab- 
struse speculations;  while  outside  the  cloisters  society  was 
convulsed  by  the  interminable  wars  of  the  great  feudal 
vassals,  who,  although  acknowledging  a  common  suzerainete, 
were  in  fact  sovereigns  within  theu-  own  territories. 

Poetry  was  one  of  the  natural  products  of  this  state  of 
things.  Familiarity  with  the  scenes  of  violence  incidental 
to  such  circumstances  furnished  abundant  materials,  which 
the  imagination,  nurtured  in  solitude,  idealized  into  those 
lyrical  ballads  and  metrical  romances  which  constituted  the 
popular  lore  of  the  middle  ages.  There  was  then  no  print- 
ing press  to  multiply  and  disseminate  the  creations  of  the 
muse ;  and  oral  recitation  anticipated  the  advent  of  the  broad- 
sheet and  the  book.  Hence  the  banquets  of  the  nobility  and 
the  merrj'niakings  of  the  lower  orders  were  always  enlivened 
by  the  presence  of  the  minstrel,  jongleur,  <,^estour,  gleeman, 


42  INTRODUCTION. 

or  minne-sinfjer,  who,  like  the  reciters  of  the  Homeric 
ballads,  related  in  poetical  diction,  and  to  a  musical  accom- 
paniment, the  exciting  achievements,  perilous  adventui-es,  and 
chivalrous  loves  of  their  heroes. 

Songs  and  metrical  legends  marked  the  infancy  of  this 
great  movement ;  but  as  mental  education  advanced,  the 
metaphysical  and  religious  tone  of  the  age  created  a  demand, 
even  at  these  festal  entertainments,  for  disquisitions  on  the 
properties  of  spiritual  essences  and  the  grounds  of  moral 
duty.  Thus,  as  we  learn  from  Erasmus  in  his  Treatise  on 
Preaching  entitled  Ecclesiastes,  the  jongleurs,  who  rapidly 
caught  up  eveiy  new  phase  of  progress  and  opinion,  dexte- 
rously varied  their  lighter  subjects  by  the  delivery  of  dis- 
courses, committed  to  memory,  on  topics  of  the  highest  im- 
port, such  as  the  mystery  of  the  Trinity,  and  other  funda- 
mental doctrines  of  the  Church.  Nothing,  indeed,  strikes 
the  student  of  mediaeval  literature  with  so  much  surprise  on 
his  first  acquaintance  with  it,  as  the  remarkable  manner  in 
which  Christianity  enters  into  and  directs  all  the  ideas  of 
the  people  of  those  ages.  That  particular  form  in  which  they 
embodied  theli-  faith  is  found  interwoven  with  all  their  social 
relations,  and  regulating  even  their  mode  of  counting  time, 
their  business,  and  their  amusements.  A  religion  so  deeply 
seated  in  the  daily  details  of  life  became  inevitably  cor- 
rupted by  popular  superstitions.  The  universal  belief  in  the 
supernatural,  in  the  power  of  Divine  grace,  in  the  reality  of 
the  coufllct  continually  going  on  between  good  and  evil,  and 
in  the  direct  interference  of  Providence  on  the  side  of  virtue. 
Is  evinced  in  the  predilection  for  those  religious  fictions  which 
represented  faith  and  unbelief,  Christianity  and  error,  under 
a  masquerade  of  actual  personages.  Most  of  the  legends  of 
the  Saints  are  evidently  pure  allegories,  invented  by  lectm-ers 
for  the  purpose  of  impressing  particular  points  of  theology 
on  the  minds  of  their  pupils.  In  the  manner  of  a  memoria 
technica ;  and  even  when  founded  on  real  cli'cumstances, 
they  were  varied  by  each  succeeding  narrator  according  to 
his  own  fancy,  or  the  instruction  he  desired  to  convey. 


INTRODUCTION.  43 

Turning  to  the  reverse  of  this  picture,  we  find,  as  mi^'ht 
bo  expected,  that  the  relaxation  of  a  people  whose  minds 
were  thus  highly  strung  took  a  direction  of  singular  gro- 
tesqueness.  They  endeavoured  to  relieve  the  absorbing  in- 
terest of  the  subjects  that  mainly  engrossed  their  thoughts 
by  contemplating  them  in  ludicrous,  and,  sometimes,  inco- 
herent combinations.  Their  chief  pastimes  consisted  in  the 
burlesque  of  their  gravest  convictions.  This  is  not  the  form 
in  which  the  gaiety  of  frivolous  minds  ever  displays  itself. 
The  well-bred,  and  eas}-,  and  even  serious  hccntio  i.^ness  of 
Wycherley's  comedies  delighted  the  courtiers  of  Charles  II. ; 
but  the  age  of  Bernard,  and  Thomas  Aquinas,  and  Francis  of 
Assissi,  sought  a  vent  for  its  hilarity  in  the  extravagant 
drolls  of  the  '  boy-bishop'  and  the  '  Abbot  of  Misrule.' 
Coleridge  profoundly  observes,  that  'farce,'  which  is  one 
form  of  the  grotesque,  '  often  borders  on  tragedy,'  and  that 
it  '  is  nearer  tragedy  in  its  essence  than  comedy  is.'  The 
close  alliance,  in  the  middle  ages,  between  the  profoundest 
speculations  and  the  broadest  absurdities  forcibly  illustrates 
the  truth  of  his  remark. 

It  seemed  desii'able  to  glance  at  these  characteristics  as  a 
necessary  introduction  to  the  consideration  of  the  structure 
and  aims  of  The  Canterbury  Tales,  in  which  the  several 
species  of  poetry  indigenous  to  the  mediteval  period,  are  not 
only  combined  and  exemplified,  but  exhibited  in  a  dramatic 
form  which  brings  out  the  express  features  of  the  recitations 
of  the  gestour.  The  tale  of  chivalry,  the  moral  and  theological 
treatise,  the  legend  of  the  Saints,  the  covert  satire,  and  the 
humorous  apologue,  are  all  reproduced  in  his  pages,  treated, 
however,  with  a  taste  and  power  which  will  be  looked  for  in 
vain  amongst  the  merely  popular  poems  of  that,  or,  indeed, 
of  any  other,  age. 

In  Chaucer's  poetry  we  have  a  true  image  of  these  varie- 
ties, brought  to  perfection  by  a  genius  that  transcended  its 
originals.  His  method  of  proceeding  in  The  Canterhuri, 
Tales  is  the  most  eti'octive  that  could  be  devised  for  trans- 
mitting to  subsequent  ages  an   accui-ate  expression  of  the 


44  INTllODUCTION. 

social  and  moral  development  of  his  own.  He  never  gene- 
ralizes— he  never  falls  into  disquisitions — he  never  draws 
conclusions.  He  avoids  all  modes  of  treatment  that  might 
afterwards  become  wearisome  or  unintellijjible ;  and,  descend- 
ing into  the  common  life  of  the  day,  he  shows  us,  as  it  were, 
the  spirit  of  transition  in  actual  operation  amongst  the 
different  classes  of  the  people,  modifying  their  customs  and 
opinions,  drawing  out  into  full  play  the  salient  points  of  the 
national  character,  and  colouring  even  individual  peculiarities 
to  the  most  trivial  details,  which,  in  this  aspect,  acquire  a 
special  historical  value.  The  humanity  he  thus  imparts  to 
his  subjects  invests  them  with  a  permanent  interest,  which 
neither  the  lapse  of  time,  nor  the  revolutions  of  language, 
can  impair  or  render  obsolete ;  and  the  instruction  which,  in 
another  shape,  would  become  dry  and  heavy,  is  here  made  to 
assume  the  most  attractive  forms. 

In  no  respect  is  he  a  more  faithful  interpreter  of  the  spirit 
of  the  time  than  in  his  manner  of  treating  ecclesiastical 
questions.  The  reign  of  Edward  III.  was  the  harbinger  of 
the  great  ecclesiastical  revolution  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
Not  only  the  acts  passed  in  this  reign,  the  statutes  of  Pro- 
visors  and  of  Mortmain,  but  the  petitions  presented  by  the 
Commons  against  the  interference  of  the  Pope  in  the  internal 
management  of  the  Anglican  Cliurch,  are  indications  of  the 
formation  of  a  strong  party  whose  object  was  to  eH'cct  a  re- 
action in  resistance  to  the  excessive  temporal  power  which 
circumstances  had  thrown  into  the  hands  of  the  clergy. 
With  this  party,  sustained  by  the  zeal  and  power  of  John  of 
Gaunt,  the  King's  younger  son,  Chaucer  was  intimately  con- 
nected by  family  ties.  It  consisted  of  the  high  nobility,  and 
such  of  tlie  middle  classes  as  were  swayed  by  their  example 
or  authority.  The  Crown,  on  the  other  hand,  sought  to 
strengthen  itself  by  a  close  alliance  with  the  heads  of  the 
church,  especially  the  religious  orders,  from  among  whom  its 
ministers  were  chosen,  and  through  whom  it  wielded  a 
complete  control  over  tiie  lower  classes  of  the  population. 
A  reference   to   Richard    of  Devizes,  Geoffrey  of  Vinsaul, 


INTRODUCTION.  45 

Mathew  Paris,  and  others  of  our  old  chroniclers,  now  within 
the  reach  ol'all  readers,  will  abundantly  conlirni  this  position 
The  King's  party  consisted  chielly  of  the  monks,  with  their 
extensive  granges  and  farms,  tilled  and  inhabited  by  stout 
3'eomcn,  the  very  pith  and  marrow  of  our  militia ;  and  the 
friars,  secure  of  a  ready  access  to  every  cottage  and  conscience 
in  England;  both  recruited  from  the  lower  and  middle 
classes,  and  both  comprising  in  their  ranks  men  who,  from 
their  education,  were  skilled  not  only  in  theology,  but  in 
the  arts  of  diplomacy  and  administration.  Such  was  the 
only  body  in  the  state  upon  whose  services  the  sovereign 
could  rely  as  a  check  upon  the  feudal  barons,  whose  efforts 
were,  of  course,  always  tending  towards  the  establishment 
of  a  pure  aristocracy.  This  tendency  the  Crown  was 
obliged  to  counteract  by  playing  off  one  great  feudal  vassal 
against  another,  and  the  clergy  against  all — a  policy  which, 
in  the  end,  made  the  clergy  hateful  to  all.  John  and 
Henry  III,,  indeed,  attempted  to  play  the  political  game  of 
chess  without  their  knights  and  bishops,  but  were  check- 
mated. 

The  aristocratical  party  was  naturally  opposed  to  the 
ascendancy  of  the  clergy,  and  neglected  no  opportunities  of 
arraigning  their  conduct,  in  the  hope  of  ultimati'ly  forcing  the 
Crown  to  select  its  ministers  from  among  the  feudal  barons 
themselves.  In  these  assaults  upon  the  clergy,  John  of  Gaunt 
and  his  supporters  derived  important  assistance  from  Wicklifle, 
whose  tenets — that  tithes  and  episcopacy  are  unlawful,  that 
subjects  are  not  bound  to  obey  princes  who  are  living  in  a 
state  of  mortal  sin,  and  that  patrons  ought  to  resume  church 
property  from  clergymen  whose  lives  or  doctrines  they  dis- 
approve— were  found  to  be  powerful  weapons  in  political 
warfare. 

Chaucer's  connexion  with  John  of  Gaunt,  thex'efore,  explains 
much  of  his  treatment  of  ecclesiastical  persons  in  his  poetry  ; 
his  bantering  censure  of  the  monks  and  friars,  the  most 
learned,  and  influential,  and  best  organized  body  of  churchmen, 
and,  consequently,  the  most  troublesome  to  his  party ;  and 


4G  INTRODUCTION. 

liis  praise  of  the  poor,  and,  comparatively,  illiterate  and 
isolated  country  parsons,  from  whom  it  had  nothing  to  fear. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  the  gusto  with  which  he  turns  the 
religious  orders  into  ridicule,  there  is  no  indication  of  his 
having  embraced  the  tenets  of  Wickliffe.  It  has  been  * 
thought  that  in  his  character  of  a  country  parson  he  intended 
to  record  his  admiration  of  that  active  reformer ;  but  there 
is  not  a  single  point  of  resemblance  between  them.  Chaucer's 
model  parson  is  not  a  controversialist;  he  disclaims  all 
school-learning;  he  lives  upon  his  benefice,  and  occupies 
himself  with  the  care  of  his  parishioners ;  he  does  not  hold 
sinecures  in  cathedrals ;  and  he  delivers  an  orthodox  discourse 
upon  the  sacrament  of  penance  according  to  the  orthodoxy  of 
the  times.  Wickliffe's  life  displays  a  very  complete  contra- 
diction to  all  this.  He  was  everything  that  the  parson  was 
not,  and  the  reverse  of  everything  that  he  was.  He  was  a 
bold  and  indefatigable  controversialist;  he  was  Professor  of 
Theology  and  Warden  of  Canterbury  Hall,  Oxford ;  he  held 
the  living  of  Lutterworth,  and  a  prebendal  stall  in  the  col- 
legiate church  of  Westbury;  and  he  denied  the  sacramental 
efficacy  of  penance,  and  the  expediency  of  confession  to  a 
priest.  The  antagonism  is  perfect ;  and  if  Chaucer  meant  to 
apply  the  sketch  to  Wickliffe,  it  must  have  been  as  a  masked 
sarcasm  and  not  as  a  panegyric. 

The  English  language,  like  everything  else  at  this  period, 
was  exhibiting  signs  of  change.  Old  forms  were  beginning  to 
be  disused, and  new  elements  to  be  introduced  into  its  structure. 
The  notion  that  Chaucer  wasthefirst  who  adopted  French  forms 
and  idioms  is  founded  on  a  slight  acquaintance  with  previous, 
or  contemporary,  literature.  That  the  pure  Saxon  lingered 
for  a  long  time  among  the  lower  orders  in  remote  districts 
is  shown  by  our  provincial  dialects  of  the  present  day, 
wiiich  still  retain  incontestable  traces  of  a  Saxou  origin  ;  and 
by  the  no  less  striking  fact  that  most  of  our  current  house- 
liokl  terras,  and  the  names  of  most  articles  of  utility,  are 
derived  from  the  same  source,  while  the  bulk  of  the  class  ot 
words  that  represent  luxuries  and  superfluities  come  from  the 


INTRODUCTION.  47 

Norman  stock.  The  foundations  of  the  language,  so  to  speak, 
are  Saxon,  and  its  graces  French.  In  Cliaucer's  time,  and 
long  afterwards,  this  distinction  was  much  more  clearly 
defined  than  it  is  now;  the  general  diffusion  of  education, 
and  the  modern  facilities  of  intercourse,  having  swept  away 
the  landmarks  that  formerly  separated  the  different  classes 
of  society,  and  isolated  the  different  sections  of  the  kingdom. 
It  may  be  said,  in  a  broad  sense,  that  when  Chaucer  wrote 
there  were  two  languages — the  language  of  the  Court,  and  ot 
educated  people ;  and  the  language  of  the  lower  orders.  The 
contrast  between  them  was  not  that  which  exists  between 
refinement  and  vulgarity,  or  even  between  knowledge  and 
ignorance ;  it  was  of  a  radical  character,  and  entered  into  the 
formation  of  both.  We  find  the  two  languages  more  or  less 
influencing  the  English  style  down  to  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.; 
and  furnishing  the  key  by  which  we  can  at  once  understand 
why  contemporary  writers  should  appear  to  belong  to  ditlerent 
ages,  and  why  Surrey  should  be  perfectly  intelligible  in  our 
day,  while  Skelton  cannot  be  read  without  the  help  of  a 
glossary. 

Chaucer's  language  is  that  of  the  good  society  in  which  he 
lived,  and  into  which  a  large  accession  of  Norman  blood, 
usages,  and  idioms  had  been  infused.  That  in  availing  him- 
self of  these  advantages,  and  not  atiecting  the  archaisms  of 
the  lower  orders,  he  did  wisely  for  his  own  fame,  and  for  the 
advancement  of  his  nativ^e  language,  need  not  be  insisted 
upon.  The  cai-penter  who  should  choose  to  do  his  work  with 
the  axe  alone,  when  he  might  also  have  the  assistance  of  a 
plane  and  saw,  would  not  display  much  fitness  for  his  voca- 
tion. 

'  It  may  be  doubted,'  observes  Coleridge, '  whether  a  com- 
posite language  like  the  English  is  not  a  happier  instrument 
of  expression  than  a  homogeneous  one  like  the  German.  We 
possess  a  wonderful  richness  and  variety  of  modified  mean- 
ings in  our  Saxon  and  Latin  quasi-synonyraes,  which  the 
Germans  have  not.  For  '  the  pomp  axidLjJrodigality  of  heaven," 
the  German  must  have  said  the  '  spendlhriftness."     The 


48  INTRODUCTION. 

actual  process  of  enricliing  our  language  by  the  naturalisation 
of  the  Norman  and  the  Anglo-Saxon,  and  the  gi'adual  rejec- 
tion of  the  original  forms  of  both,  is  palpably  developed  in 
the  writings  of  Chaucer,  where  we  find  the  ancient  inflections 
and  the  modern  simple  form  frequently  used  indiff'erently  in 
the  same  line.  The  modern  word  is  thus  at  once  referred  to 
its  French  or  Anglo-Saxon  original  by  the  peculiai'ities  of  its 
structure  or  pronunciation.  A  full  exposition  of  the  subject 
would  in  effect  amount  to  the  compilation  of  a  grammar ;  but 
it  will  be  sufficient  for  all  present  purposes  to  remark  that 
the  final  letter  e,  the  doubling  of  consonants,  and  other  par- 
ticulars in  which  the  orthography  differs  from  that  of  the 
present  forms  are  by  no  means  arbitrary,  though  not  always 
strictly  maintained,  and  that  their  omission  in  some  cases, 
where  they  ought  properly  to  be  found,  is  to  be  attributed 
to  the  carelessness  of  copyists,  or  to  the  incipient  use  of  the 
simpler  forms,  or  to  the  exercise  of  a  poetical  licence  for  the 
sake  of  the  metre.  To  these  causes  of  confusion  Chaucer 
himself  adverts  in  the  Troilus  and  Creseide : — 

And  for  there  is  so  grcaf  divcrsite 
In  Enylisli,  and  in  writing  of  our  tongue, 
So  pray  I  God  that  none  miswrite  thee, 
Ne  thee  mismetre  for  defaut  of  tongue — 

words  which  imply  that  even  in  his  own  time  the  metre  of 
his  poetry  depended  upon  some  nicety  of  orthography  and 
pronunciation — one,  amongst  many  reasons,  why  any  attempt 
to  substitute  the  modern  for  the  ancient  orthography  is 
incompatible  with  the  preservation  of  the  metre  and  the 
structure  of  the  language.  A  few  instances  will  give  the 
reader  a  general  idea  of  the  nature  of  these  changes  and 
inflections,  which  the  smallest  acquaintance  with  German 
will  enable  him  to  apply  in  almost  all  cases. 

To  begin  with  substantives :  they  are  in  many  instances 
inflected  in  the  oblique  case  and  plural  number,  as  in 
German ;  and  where,  in  Anglo-Saxon,  they  ended  in  a,  they 
end  in  e,  pronounced ;  as,  for  Anglo-Saxon  hunta  (hunter) 
Chaucer  writes  hunte.    In  the  mouths  of  the  lower  charactera 


INTUODUCTION.  4'J 

especially  the  Anglo-Saxon  form  of  tlie  first  person  singular 
is  preserved ;  as  so  the  ich,  sometimes  written  so  theecli,  so 
may  I  thrive.  This  is  German/  T/iow  takes  the  form  of  au 
affix  to  tlie  verb,  as  seistow,  sayest  thou,  canstow,  canst  thou. 
For  it,  the  Anglo-Saxon  form,  hit,  is  sometimes  used ;  fur  she 
(German,  sie),scho,yi\\\ch.  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  form  heo,  with 
a  hissing  aspirate ;  for  her,  hir,  the  final  e  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
being  dropped ;  for  their  (German,  ihr)  hire,  which  comes 
nearer  the  Anglo-Saxon  hira.  The  forms  wha  and  whilic, 
for  who  and  which  (Anglo-Saxon,  hwa,  hwylc ;  German, 
welcher),  are  used  provincially  by  the  Yorkshire  clerks  : 
swilk  [so-like,  Goth,  siva-hikx],  for  such.  The  adjective 
appears  to  be  sometimes  inflected  both  in  words  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  and  in  those  of  French  origin.  Thus  (vol,  i.  p.  74), 
smale  is  the  plural  form  of  the  adjective  smcd  (Anglo-Saxon, 
smoil,  singular ;  smuJe,  plural.)  * 

But  it  is  h\  the  verb  that  the  old  inflections  are  chiefly 
preserved ;  diflering,  indeed,  in  many  respects  from  the  Anglo- 
Saxon,  and  being  often  dropped  altogether,  as  in  the  modern 
forms.  Thus  (vol.  i.  p,  74),  slepen  is  the  plural  of  the  Present 
indicative  of  ^0  slepen,  and  seeken  the  infinitive  of  the  verb;  but 
in  three  lines  further  on  we  have  an  approach  to  the  modern 
form  in  the  dropping  of  the  final  n  in  the  word  wende  (old 
form  wenden) ;  and  for  to  seeke  (old  form  seeken).  A  re- 
markable example  of  this  occurs  where  seyde  rhymes  to 
leyden,  showing  that  tlie  final  old  and  new  forms  were  some- 
times indiiforently  used  or  omitted  in  writing,  and  were  pro- 
bably much  sooner  dropped  in  speaking.  The  termination  n 
of  the  plural  of  the  Present  indicative  differs  from  the  Anglo- 
Saxon,  which  ends  in  ath ;  but  this  fonn  is  retained  in 
some  cases,  as  in  vol.  i.  p.  147  ;  you  liketh  (unless  this  be 
put  for  it  you  liketh),  and  again,  ye  loveth}  The  imperative 
always  ends  in  eth.  What  is  the  exact  force  of  the  particle  y 
prefixed  to  the  verb  seems  now  impossilile  to  discover.  It  is 
generally  the  sign  of  the  Past  participle,  as  from  clepen,  to 
call,  we  have  yclept,  called ;  as  in  German,  from  loben^  to 
praise,  gelobt,  praised.     But  in  German,  Anglo-Saxon,  and 


•  See  Notes,  p.  70. 
VOL.   I 


50  INTRODUCTION. 

in  Chaucer's  English,  these  analogous  particles  are  prefixed 
to  some  verbs  throughout  their  moods,  while  they  evidently 
form  no  part  of  the  root.  Mr.  Wright  has  noticed,  as  a 
caution  against  conjectural  emendations,  the  errors  in  ortho- 
graphy into  which  Tyrwhitt  has  been  betrayed  by  his 
ignorance  of  the  inflections  of  the  irregular,  or,  more  pro- 
perly, the  strong  verts,  in  the  Teutonic  languages.  For 
instance,  in  the  verb  to  give,  the  imperfect  singular  is  1 
gaf;  plural,  we  gave  (old  form  gaven);  in  such  cases,  Tyr- 
whitt has  invariably  used  the  plural  form  with  a  sutject  in 
the  singular.  It  will  be  seen  that  these  inflexions  are  iden- 
tical with  the  German.  Geben  to  give,  Icli  gab,  I  gave, 
Wir  gaben,  we  gave.  The  inflexion  of  the  regiilar  verb  in 
the  imperfect  is,  for  example,  I  lernede,  thou  lernedest,  he 
lernede.  Plural,  lerneden ;  but  the  final  n  is  often  omitt«d. 
The  reader  will  also  remark  the  German  form  sch,  for  which 
sh  has  been  substituted  in  modern  English. 

The  reduplication  of  the  final  consonant  and  the  addition 
of  the  letter  e  is  the  adverbial  form ;  thus,  longe  or  lange 
occurs  as  an  adverb  of  time  formed  from  the  adjective  long, 
toit/i  inne,  and  inne,  as  the  adverbial  form  of  the  preposition 
within  and  in.  Needes,  necessarily,  and  thaiilces,  gratui- 
tously, are  examples  of  the  mode  of  forming  adverbs  from 
substantives. 

But  though  the  foundation  and  construction  of  the  lan- 
guage is  purely  Teutonic,  it  was  in  Chaucer's  time  assimi- 
lating many  Anglo-Norman  words.  It  had  not  yet  acquired 
the  strong  accentuation  of  the  modern  English,  which, 
Erasmus  says,  makes  foreigners  suppose  when  they  hear  us 
speak  that  we  are  barking.  The  modern  German  is  accented 
much  more  evenly  than  the  English ;  and  the  genius  of  the 
French  language  is  to  accent  all  syllables  equally;  but  if 
there  be  any  emphasis  at  all  it  is  on  the  last  syllable.  This 
rule  is  strictly  applicable  to  all  words  of  French  origin  in 
Chaucer.  Thus,  the  following  words,  and  all  of  like  deriva- 
tion, must  be  pronounced  as  marked ;  corage,  viage,  visage, 


INTRODUCTION.  51 

manage;  honour,  acU'cnture, mysavcnture,  armure, clamour ; 
conditioun,  questloiin,  reson ;  manier,  matier,  cours^T; 
hazard,  plesaunce,  remembrance  ;  torment,  &c.  Tho  final  e 
of  the  feminine  adjective  in  French  is  also  in  some  cases 
retained,  as  Sej'nte  Frideswide. 

In  sliort,  the  construction  and  pronunciation  of  the  lan- 
guages which  were  then  undergoing  the  process  of  amalga- 
mation were  still  in  a  great  measure  retained;  but  they 
already  showed  symptoms  of  change,  tliat  change  consisting 
chiefly  in  the  dropping  of  the  terminations,  in  accordance 
with  the  principle  which  then  began  to  show  itself  in  our 
idiom,  of  throwing  back  the  accent  as  far  as  possible.  The 
tinal  syllable,  when  it  did  not  form  part  of  the  root,  would 
thus  be  at  first  pronounced  slightly,  next  dropped  altogether 
from  pronunciation,  and  would  finally  disappear  from  the 
written  language.  Latin  and  Greek  have  undergone  the  very 
same  process  in  their  transformation  into  Italian  andEomaic. 

Intimately  connected  with  the  orthography  and  pronuncia- 
tion is  the  vexed  question  of  the  rules  of  Chaucer's  metrf . 
The  two  theories  on  this  subject  are  thus  stated  by  J\lr. 
Hallam  : — '  It  had  been  supposed  to  be  proved  by  Tyrwhitt, 
that  Chaucer's  lines  are  to  be  read  metrically,  in  ten  or  eleven 
syllables,  like  the  Italian,  and,  as  I  apprehend,  the  French  of 
his  time.  For  this  purpose  it  is  necessary  to  presume  that 
many  terminations,  now  mute,  were  syllabically  pronounced ; 
and  where  verses  prove  refractory  after  all  our  endeavour?, 
Tyrwhitt  has  no  scruple  in  declaring  them  coi-rupt.  It  may 
be  added  that  Gray,  before  the  appearance  of  Tyrwhitt's 
essay  on  the  versification  of  Chaucer,  had  adopted  without 
hesitation  the  same  hypothesis.  But,  according  to  Dr.  Nott, 
the  verses  of  Chaucer,  and  of  all  his  successors  down  to 
Surrey,  are  merely  rliythmical,  to  be  read  by  cadence,  and 
admitting  of  considerable  variety  in  the  number  of  syllables, 
though  ten  may  be  the  more  frequent.  In  the  manuscripts 
of  Chaucer  the  line  is  always  broken  by  a  ca-sura  in  the 
middle,  which  is  pointed  out  by  a  virgule ;  aud   this  is  pre- 

E  2 


52  INTRODUCTION. 

served  in  the  early  editions,  down  to  that  of  1532.  They 
oome  nearer,  therefore,  to  the  short  Saxon  line,  differing 
chiefly  by  the  alternate  rhyme,  which  converts  two  verses 
into  one.  He  maintains  that  a  gi'eat  many  lines  of  Chaucer 
cannot  he  read  metrically,  though  harmonious  as  verses  of 
cadence.  This  rhythmical  measure  he  proceeds  to  show  in 
Occleve,  Lydgate,  Hawes,  Barclay,  Skelton,  and  even  Wyatt, 
and  thus  concludes  that  it  was  first  abandoned  by  Surrey.'' 
However  ingeniously  this  theory  may  be  stated,  most  people 
will  agree  with  Mr.  Hallam  in  the  opinion  that  it  is  founded 
on  too  narrow  a  definition  of  metre.  He  justly  observes  that 
in  Chaucer's  versification  *  we  never  fail  to  recognize  a  uni- 
formity of  measure,  which  the  use  of  nearly  equipollent  feet 
cannot,  on  the  strictest  metrical  principles,  be  thought  to 
impair.'  If  an  exactly  equal  number  of  syllables  in  every 
line  be  essential  to  metre,  Homer  and  Virgil's  hexameters  and 
the  song  of  Comus  are  not  metrical ;  a  conclusion  so  con- 
trary to  all  received  notions  as  to  induce  a  suspicion  that 
there  is  some  fidlacy  at  the  bottom  of  Dr.  Nott's  theory.  If 
we  go  back  to  first  principles,  it  will  not  be  difiicult  to  dis- 
cover where  this  fallacy  lies. 

The  object  of  all  metre  is  to  produce  a  rhythm,  or  cadence, 
to  which  the  voice  in  reading  or  singing  can  adapt  itself 
This  regular  cadence  may  be  produced  by  making  the 
verses  consist  of  an  exactly  equal  number  of  syllables  with 
the  accent  falling  on  the  even  ones,  to  which  plan  Dr.  Nott 
would  confine  the  term  metre.  But  it  may  be  much  better 
produced  by  composing  the  verses  of  an  equal  number  of 
equipollent,  though  not  equisyllabic,  feet,  a  principle  upon 
which  all  the  classical  metres  are  founded.  Nobody  who  can 
enjoy  Milton's  exquisitely  musical  rhythm  will  ever  believe 
that  his  manner  of  composition  was  to  count  the  syllables  on 
his  fingers.  As  Mr.  Hallam  well  observes,  the  occasional 
occurrence  of  an  anapaest  in  the  place  of  an  iambus,  so  far 
from  derogating  from  correctness,   adds   great   spirit  and 


1 


1  liUroduclion  to  the  Literature  of  Europe,  vol.  i.  p.  420. 


INTRODUCTION.  63 

beauty  to  the  metre.     He  might  have  included  in  the  samt 

category  a   still   greater   irregularity,  the  suhstituting  one 

strongly  accented  syllable  at  the  beginning  of  a  line,  or  at 

the  cajsura,  for  an  iambus,  which,  so  far  from  being  a  defect, 

is  an  aberration  that  imparts  wonderful  spirit  and  beauty  to 

the  song  of  Comus~- 

The  star  that  bids  the  shepherd  fold 
Now  the  top  of  heaven  doth  hold,  &c. 

lu  the  second  of  these  lines  the  word  N'ow  takes  the  place 
of  an  iambus.  In  short,  it  may  be  laid  down  as  a  principle  of 
all  metres  that  the  number  of  accented  s^-llables  in  lines  in- 
tended to  correspond  with  each  other  admits  of  no  irregularity; 
but  that  unaccented  syllables  may  be  grouped  round  them,  as 
•t  were,  of  course  within  certain  limits,  of  which  the  ear  is 
the  best  judge.  This  is  also  the  principle  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  metres  as  shown  by  Professor  Erasmus  Raske  in  his 
valuable  Anglo-Saxon  Grrammar,  and,  it  may  be  added,  of 
all  metres  whatsoever,  though  some  admit  of  greater  variety 
in  the  number  and  arrangement  of  the  unaccented  syllables 
than  others. 

It  has  been  seen  that  Dr.  Nott  lays  much  stress  upon  a 
virgule  being  found  in  the  manuscripts  to  mark  the  cajsura, 
as  a  proof  that  the  verse  is  not  metrical.  But  this  virgule  is 
a  musical,  and  not  a  metrical,  sign,  and  was  intended  as  a 
guide  to  the  singer  to  mark  where  the  first  strain  of  the 
recitative  ended,  and  the  next  began.  It  was  used  for  this 
purpose  in  the  Latin  Psalms,  formerly  sung  in  churches,  and 
its  place  is  supplied  in  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer  by  a 
colon.  Its  use  is  an  interesting  example  of  the  manner  in 
which  poetry  was  formerly  sung;  and  it  signified  nothing 
more.  But  even  if  it  had  been  intended  to  mark  the  caesura, 
or  pause,  the  regularity  of  its  recurrence  would  not  have 
been  inconsistent  with  the  metrical  structure  of  the  verse. 
In  many  classical  metres,  as  pentameter  and  Sapphic,  the 
place  of  the  caesura  never  varies;  it  varies  least  in  Pope, 
whose  metre  is  more  regular  than  that  of  any  of  our  poets, 
and  most  in  Milton,  the   melody   of  whose  verse  depends 


54  INTRODUCTION. 

chiefly  upon  his  cadence,  or  rhythm ;  and,  notwithstanding 
the  virgule,  many  passages  m.ight  be  quoted  from  Chaucer 
in  which  great  spirit  and  vivacity  are  obtained  by  the 
judicious  variation  in  the  position  of  the  csesura. 

It  would  carry  us  far  beyond  our  pi^esent  purpose  to  enter 
at  length  upon  the  question  raised  by  Dr.  Nott's  use  of  the 
terms  metre  and  rhythm,  except  so  far  as  it  concerns  the 
verse  of  Chaucer.  Dr.  Nott's  object  was  to  prove  that 
Surrey  was  the  rirst  English  poet  whose  versification  was 
governed  by  syllabic  laws,  and  that  the  versification  of  all 
preceding  writers  was  unrestrained  by  any  syllabic  laws 
whatever.  This  pos'tioa  is  perfectly  clear  and  intelligible  ; 
and  constitutes,  in  fait,  the  real  point  at  issue.  But  the 
subject  assumes  a  new  aspect  when  Dr.  Nott  calls  the  former 
species  of  versification  metrical,  and  the  latter  rhythmical. 
The  objection  to  his  employment  of  these  terms  is,  that  they 
are  illogical,  because  they  do  not  express  the  essential  differ- 
ence between  the  two  species.  That  there  is  a  difference  is 
obvious;  but  these  terms  describe  a  distinction  without  a 
difference,  unless  it  is  to  be  admitted  that  metre  can  be  pro- 
duced without  rhytlim,  or  rhythm  without  metrical  princi- 
ples of  some  kind.  It  is  unnecessary  to  repeat,  that  metre 
and  rhythm  are  by  no  means  identical,  or  convertible,  terms, 
and  that  they  express  different  things ;  but  the  things  they 
express  co-exist,  and  cannot  be  separated  from  each  other.' 

Adopting  the  terms  in  a  limited  sense,  metre  as  a  test 
applicable  only  to  syllables,  and  rhythm  as  a  test  applicable 
only  to  sounds,  the  question  resolves  itself  into  a  simple 
form :  Is  Chaucer's  poetry  metrical  or  rhythmical  ?  The 
answer  is,  that  it  is  both.  We  find  in  Chaucer  not  only  the 
most  perfect  examples  of  strict  syllal)ification,  but  by  a  care- 
ful attention  to  the  gramtnatical  structure  of  his  language, 
we  shall  find  that  strict  syllabificatiou  is  the  rule,  aud  not 
the  exception,  of  his  verse. 

The   regularity   of    the    strictly  syllabic   lines   is   much 


'  [At  the  present  day  Dr.  Nott's  theories  are  hardly  worth  detail<.Kl 
(liscassion,  and  are  certainly  not  to  be  accepted. — W.  \V.  S.j 


INTUODUCTIOW,  05 

more  apparent  throni):hout  tlian  the  art  with  which  the  lines, 
not  govin-ned  by  syllabic  quantities,  are  made  to  preserve 
their  true  rhythmical  proportions.  The  number  of  lonjj 
accented  syllables  in  these  cases  is  invariable ;  but  the 
number  of  unaccented  syllables  constantly  fluctuates  without 
impairing  the  melody  oi'the  verse.  In  other  words,  an  anapaest, 
or  other  equivalent  foot,  often  occurs,  and  sometimes,  per- 
haps, an  emphatic  monosyllable  takes  the  place  of  an  iambus; 
and  a  hypcrcatalcctic,  or  redundant  short  syllable,  is  frequently 
found  at  the  end  of  a  line. 

In  stating  these  to  be  the  only  irregularities  in  Chaucer's 
verse,  it  should  be  understood  that  he  must  be  read  like 
French  or  German,  and  the  final  letter  e  pronounced,  although 
not  always.  The  ear  must  here  be  the  guide  as  in  French 
verse.  For  example,  in  the  two  following  lines  of  Boileau  the 
final  e  is  pronounced  in  the  word  fertile,  but  is  quiescent  in 
the  words  rare  and  ignore,  because  the  succeeding  word  begins 
with  a  vowel : — 

Rare  et  fameux  esprit,  dont  la  fertile  veine 
Ignore  en  ecrivaut  le  travail  et  la  peine. 

But  m  every  case,  every  syllable  of  words  of  French 
extraction,  such  as  condicioun  must  be  pronounced,  and  the 
accent  laid  on  the  last  syllable.  This  is  the  origin  of  what 
has  been  called  by  modern  metrists  the/e;wa/e  rhyme. 

The  best  way  to  make  Chaucer's  system  of  versification 
plain  to  the  reader  will  be  to  give  a  few  examples  of  his 
different  mfetres,  and  to  mark  the  syllables  with  the  usual 
long  and  short  signs. 

The  heroic  verse  which  Chaucer  probably  first  introduced 
into  English,  is  the  prevailing  one  in  The  Canterbury  Tales. 
In  the  spirited  address  of  Theseus  to  Emily  in  the  Knightes 
Tale,  most  of  the  peculiarities  mentioned  above  will  be  found 
to  occur. 

S&styr,  I  qttoth  liE,  |  this  Is  |  mjf  fiil  |  Sssgnt, 
"WTtli  all  I  thSvys  I  heer  of  |  mj*  par  |  IginCni. 
That  gen  |  til  Pa  |  lamOn,  |  yOur  Ow  |  n6  knight, 
ThSt  sGrv  I  6th  yOu  |  with  hEr  |  tu,  will  |  ind  might. 


66  INTKODUCTJON. 

And  SvSr  |  hath  doon,  |  syn  ferste  |  t^me  ye  |  him  kiir>9. 
That  ye  |  schul  of  |  ySur  grace  |  upon  |  him  rPwe, 
And  take  |  him  for  |  ySur  hus  |  bSnd  and  |  f5r  lord ; 
LSne  me  |  ySure  hand,  |  for  this  |  is  oure  |  accord. 

«  »  «  *  • 

BStwix  I  hSm  was  |  imaad  |  anon  |  thS  bond. 
That  high  |  tS  ma  |  trimoyn  |  8r  ma  |  riage, 
By  alle  |  the  coun  |  seil  of  |  thS  ba  |  rSnage. 

In  these  lines  are  examples  of  a  foot  of  three  syllables,  and 
ever,  supplying  the  place  of  an  iambus ;  of  the  final  e  pro- 
nounced, and  quiescent,  as  it  suits  the  metre ;  and  of  the  word 
mariage  pronounced  as  in  French,  If  the  following  verse  be 
not  corrupt,  which  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose,  the  word 
than,  an  emphatic  syllable,  at  the  beginning  of  a  line,  does 
duty  for  an  iambus,  as  already  noticed : — 

Than  |  Is  It  |  wisdom  |  as  thenk  |  Sth  mg.  i 

With  exquisite  perception  of  the  properties  of  verse,  the 
poet  has  chosen  for  pathetic  subjects  a  modification  of  the 
Italian  ottava  rlma,  which  differs  from  its  original  in  wanting 
the  fifth  line.  In  this  verse  are  composed  Griselde,  The 
Legend  of  St.  Cecilia,  The  Tale  of  the  Prioress,  Troilus 
and  Creseide,  and  most  of  the  smaller  compositions  called 
ballads.  The  following  example  is  Constance's  touching 
address  to  the  Vii-gin,  which  seems  to  have  suggested  Ellen's 
prayer  in  The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

MSder,  |  qfiod  she,  |  Snd  may  |  dg  bright,  |  MSrie, 
S6th  Is  I  tliat  thurgh  |  wOmman  |  nSs  eg  |  geraent 
Mankind  |  was  lorn,  |  and  damp  |  n5d  ay  |  t5  dye, 
FSr  which  |  thy  child  |  was  on  (  a  cross  |  tS-rent ; 
Thyn  blis  |  fQl  ey  |  ghen  sawh  |  al  this  |  t5rment ; 
ThSn  nys  |  tligr  noon  |  cSmpa  |  risoun  j  bitwene 
Thy  wO,  I  and  a  |  ny  woo  |  may  man  |  siistene. 


'  [The  rtmark  is  important,  and  in  some  instances  true ;  but  not  here. 
The  right  reading  is— 'as  it  tlicnketh  me';  and  the  Hue  is  i^'ilcct.— 
W.  W.  S.] 


INTRODUCTION.  57 

The  only  subject  for  remark  here  is  that  the  genitive  inflec- 
tion in  womannes  forms  a  separate  syUable,  and  that  Marie 
and  torment,  being  French  words,  are  accented  on  the  last 
syllable. 

In  the  envoye  to  the  tale  of  Griselde  is  to  be  found  a 
kind  of  verse  which  does  not  occur  in  any  of  the  other  poems. 
It  consists  of  six  heroic  lines  rhyming  alternately,  except  the 
fifth,  which  has  no  corresponding  rhyme.  The  Monke's  Tale 
is  written  in  a  stanza  of  eight  lines,  of  ten  syllables,  but  very 
different  from  the  ottava  rima.  The  versification  of  the  bur- 
lesque on  tlie  metrical  romance,  which  the  host  calls 
'  rhyme  doggerel,'  is  very  commonly  met  with  in  poems  ol 
that  period,  and  was  probably  rejected  by  Chaucer  as  mono- 
tonous and  tiresome. 

It  has  been  observed  that  large  portions  of  the  Tale  of 
Melibeus,  though  written  like  prose,  are,  in  fact,  blank 
verse,  and  may  be  so  read,  as  in  the  following  example: — 

This  Melibeus  answered  anoon  anrl  said, 

What  man,  quoth  he,  should  of  his  weeping  stint 

That  hath  so  great  a  caus6  for  to  weep  ? 

•  •  •  a 

Prudence  answerede,  Certes  well  I  wot 
Attempered  weeping  is  no  thing  defended 
To  him  that  sorrowful  is,  &c. 

This  is,  perhaps,  the  earliest  example  of  blank  verse  in 
this  metre  in  the  English  language;  and  it  is  not  the  less 
remarkable  because  it  becomes  thus  resolved  out  of  prose. 

The  only  remaining  kind  of  metre  that  claims  our  atten- 
tion is  that  of  The  Romance  of  the  Rose,  The  House  of 
Fame,  Chaucer's  Dreame,  and  The  Book  of  the  Duchess. 
All  these  are  in  the  verse  called  octosyllabic,  but  more  pro- 
perly quadrameter  iambic,  inasmuch  as  anapjEsts,  hypercata- 
lectic  syllables,  and  other  irregularities  in  the  number  of 
syllables  are  of  frequent  occurrence.  In  structure  and  irre- 
gularity it  resembles  the  song  of  Comus.  The  following 
admirable  delineation  of  the  frank  and  simple  manners  ot  a 
high-bred  woman  of  fashion  is  taken  fi'om  T'he  .Book  qf  the 


58  INTRODUCTION. 

Duchess,  and  was  intended  as   a  portrait  of  Blanche,  the 
consort  of  John  of  Gaunt. 

ThSreto  |  hSr  loke  |  was  not  |  Sslde, 
NS  ovSr  I  thwart  but  |  bSset  |  s5  wele. 
It  drewe  |  and  tooke  |  tip  eve  |  rj^  dele 
All  I  that  on  |  hSr  gan  |  bShold, 
H5r  ey  |  Sn  semed  |  anon  |  sh6  wOld 
Have  mer  |  cf ,  (Fol  |  ly  wen  |  d6n  sO  j) 
Biit  it  I  was  nSvSr  |  thS  ra  |  thSr  do. 
It  nas  I  nS  coun  |  tSrfeit  |  Sd  thing  ; 
It  was  I  hSr  ow  j  n5  pure  |  15king.i 

The  text  of  Chaucer,  which  next  claims  our  attention,  has, 
until  lately,  heen  considered  hopelessly  corrupt.  His  great 
popularity  in  some  degree  contributed  to  this  result.  Manu- 
script copies  of  his  poems  were  eagerly  multiplied  in  an  age 
when  the  orthography  and  pronunciation  of  English  were 
capricious  and  unsettled ;  and  each  succeeding  copyist  thought 
himself  at  liberty  to  adapt  the  original  to  his  own  notions  of 
correctness,  or  to  the  dialect  of  his  native  district.  From 
copies  made  on  these  principles  were  derived  the  texts  of  the 
early  editions  by  Caxton,  in  1475,  by  Wynken  de  Worde  in 
1495,  by  Pynson,  Stowe,  Thynne,  and  Speght,  who  showed, 
alike  by  their  neglects  and  their  errors,  that  they  were 
utterly  incapable  of  discriminating  between  a  true  and  a 
false  reading ;  and  the  confusion  arising  from  their  incom- 
petence was  worse  confounded  by  Urry's  conjectural  emenda- 
tions. The  next  and  most  successful  attempt  to  render  The 
Canterbury  Tales  popular  was  made  by  the  late  Mr. 
Tyrwhitt,  whose  first  edition  appeared  in  1775.  His  learn- 
ing, judgment,  and  patient  research,  formed  a  happy  contrast 
to  his  predecessors.  So  far  as  the  text  was  concerned,  how- 
ever, his  plan  was  injudicious.  He  collated  a  great  numbei 
of  MSS .,  but  without  sufficient  attention  to  their  dates,  an 


1  The  text  above  used  is  taken  from  one  of  the  printed  editions,  aiid 
is  probably  very  incorrect. 


INTRODUCTION.  59 

iadispensable  consideration  in  reference  to  the  language  of 
Chaucer.  He  appears,  also,  to  have  attributed  to  the  early 
editions  by  Caxton  a  degree  of  authority  to  which  they  have 
no  title.'  In  other  respects  his  labours  were  of  unquestion- 
able utility.  He  rejected  ignorant  interpolations,  made  an 
excellent  arrangement  of  the  Tales,  and  in  his  Dissertation 
and  Notes,  notwithstanding  that  tliey  were  founded  on  an 
impure  text,  and  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  and  Mediaeval  English,  he  produced  a  body  of  illustra- 


'  Caxton's  first  edition  of  The  Canterbury  Tales  was  one  of  the 
earliest  books  printed  in  England.  As  a  specimen  of  typography  't 
is  remarkable  for  clearness  and  elegance ;  but  the  text  is  valueles<, 
being  taken  from  a  MS.  abounding  in  errors.  Caxton  afterwards 
brought  out  a  second  edition  printed  from  a  better  JIS.  in  the 
possession  of  Jlr.  William  Thynne.  Neither  of  these  editions  are 
dated.  The  first  is  supposed  by  Ames  to  have  been  printed  about 
1475  or  1476;  the  second  appears  from  the  preface  to  have  been 
undertaken  six  years  later.  Of  the  former,  only  two  copies  are 
known  to  exist ;  and  only  one  of  the  latter.  Troilus  and  Creseide, 
The  Book  0/  Fame,  and  other  pieces  were  also  printed  by  Caxton.  In 
i4y5,  Wynken  de  Worde  printed  an  edition  of  the  Tale^,  founded 
upon  Caxton;  the  Troilus  and  Creseide  in  i5'7;  and  the  Asaeniblee  of 
Foules  iu  1530.  Richard  Pynson  published  two  editions  of  the  Tb/ex, 
the  first  without  a  date  (conjectured  to  be  1491),  and  tlie  second, 
containing  additional  pieces,  in  i5i6.  He  also  printed  the  Troilus 
and  Creseide,  and  The  Book  of  Fame.  The  next  edition,  collected  by 
Mr.  William  Thynne,  and  published  by  Godfray  in  i53j,  w'as  the  first 
that  contained  the  entire  works,  with  the  exception  of  The  Plowman's 
Tale,  and  was  adopted  as  the  basis  of  most  of  the  subsequent  editions. 
It  was  reprinted,  with  the  addition  of  The  Plowman's  Tale,  by  John 
Reynes,  in  1542.  This  was  followed,  in  iS6i,by  an  edition,  'with 
divers  addicions,' edited  by  Stowe.  Speght's  edition,  the  most  com- 
plete that  had  appeared  up  to  this  time,  was  published  in  i598,  and 
reprinted,  enlarged  and  improved,  in  i6oj,  and  again  in  i687-  Urry's 
edition  appeared  in  i^zi.  The  Canterbury  Tales,  'from  the  most 
authentic  MSS.,  and  as  they  are  turned  into  English  by  the  most 
eminent  hands,  &c.,' were  published  in  1740,  by  Dr.  Thomas  Morell. 
This  is  the  edition  to  which  Jlr.  Tyrwhitt  gives  the  date  of  1737,  and 
of  which  he  availed  himself  largely  in  liis  notes  and  glossary.  Mr. 
Tyrwhitt's  edition  was  published  in  1775-8.  A  second  edition  was 
printed  by  the  University  of  Oxford  in  1798  ;  a  third  in  London  in 
iSzt ;  and  a  fourth  in  1S4S.  with  a  new  life  by  Sir  Harris  Nicolas, 
who  also  edited  the  rest  of  the  poems.  Mr.  Wright's  edition  was 
originally  printed  by  the  Percy  Society  in  1847;  and  afterwards  re- 
published for  general  circulation.  This  catalogue  includes  only  tlie 
principal  editions.  Jlany  other  editions  appeared  iu  the  sixteenth 
century,  but  they  are  for  the  most  part  mere  reprints. 


60  INTRODUCTION. 

tive  information  which  must  always  be  valuable  to  the 
student. 

Mr.  Wright,  applying  the  vastly  increased  resources  ot 
modem  criticism  and  philology  to  the  text  of  The  Canterbury 
Tales,  has  made  an  important  advance  in  this  fundamental 
particular  beyond  his  predecessors.  His  plan  was  exactly  the 
reverse  of  Tyrwhitt's.  Instead  of  founding  his  text  upon  a 
comparison  of  MSS.  written  at  different  times,  and  in  diiferent 
places,  and  frequently  corrupted  by  different  dialects,  he 
selected  the  best  manuscript  he  could  find,  that  which 
seemed  nearest  to  Chaucer's  own  time,  and  most  free  from 
clerical  errors,  and  adopted  it  as  the  basis  of  his  edition. 
This  MS.,  a  remarkably  line  one  in  the  British  Museum,  he 
thus  describes  :  *  The  Harleian  MS.,  No.  7334,  is  by  far  the 
best  MS.  of  Chaucer's  Canterbury  Tales  I  have  yet  exa- 
mined, in  regard  both  to  antiquity  and  correctness.  The 
hand  writing  is  one  which  would  at  first  sight  be  taken  by 
an  experienced  scholar  for  that  of  the  latter  part  of  the  four- 
teenth century,  and  it  must  have  been  written  within  a  few 
years  after  1400,  and,  therefore,  soon  after  Chav;cer's  death. 
The  language  has  very  little,  if  any,  appearance  of  local 
dialect,  and  the  text  is  in  general  extremely  good,  the  varia- 
tions from  Tyrwhitt  being  usually  for  the  better.* 

It  is  proper  to  observe  that,  although  the  Harl.  MS.  has 
been  adopted  as  the  basis  of  this  text,  it  has  not  been  implicitly 
followed  in  all  cases.  As  Mr.  Wright  found  it  necessary  to 
depart  occasionally  from  his  original,  so,  in  some  instances, 
the  reading  of  Mr.  Tyrwhitt,  when  it  bore  internal  evidence 
of  authenticity,  has  been  preferred  in  this  edition.  A  few 
cases  also  occur  in  which  the  reading  of  the  MS.  has  been 
restored,  when  it  was  thought  that  Mr.  Wright  had  rejected 
it  without  sufficient  reason ;  but  all  deviations,  either  from 

1  [The  Harleian  MS.  is  very  vahiable,  but  tlie  Ellesmere  5IS.  is  now  seen 
to  have  tlie  hislii'st  claim  to  corr.ctncss.  'I'lie  readings  of  that  MS.  are 
mostly  to  be  Ibuiid  in  Tyruliitt's  edition,  but  be  does  not  seem  to  have 
always  tollowed  it.  The  te.\t  of  the  Harleian  MS.  was  certainly  worth 
priiitinjr,  and  gives  a  very  lair  result. 

It  iini't  be  reiiieinbered  that  tli((  publications  of  the  'Chaucer  Society' 
have  lately  cleared  up  many  doubtful  points.— W.W.  S.] 


INTRODUCTION.  61 

Mr.  Wright's  edition,  or  from  the  original  MS.,  are  pointed 
out  in  the  foot-notes  for  the  ultiniiite  satisfaction  of  the 
reader.  Fortunately  the  text  of  The  Canterbury  Tales  is 
now  so  correct  as  to  afford  little  room  for  such  conjectural 
emendations  as  still  continue  to  be  applied  to  the  text  of 
Shakespeare ;  and  there  can  be  no  hesitation  in  asserting  that 
a  reader  of  ordinary  education,  particularly  if  he  have  any 
knowledge  of  French  and  German,  and  will  take  the  trouble 
to  read  the  first  ten  pages  with  a  glossary  by  his  side,  may 
be  able,  without  difficulty,  to  understand  and  enjoy  the  whole 
of  Chaucer's  poems. 

In  the  notes  compiled  for  this  edition  free  use  has  been 
made  of  the  labours  of  former  commentators,  their  authority 
being  invariably  acknowledged,  either  by  a  reference,  or  by 
initials  where  a  quotation  is  given  in  full.  Thus,  passages 
extracted  from  the  annotations  or  criticisms  of  Speght,  Tyr- 
whitt,  or  Wright,  are  distinguished  by  having  affixed  to  them 
the  letters  S.,  T.,  or  W.  Sometimes  a  difference  of  opinion 
has  arisen,  and,  whenever  it  was  considered  of  sufficient  im- 
portance, the  grounds  of  dissent  are  stated. 

In  addition  to  the  tracks  of  inquiry  previously  explored, 
others  have  been  opened  up  of  interest  and  utility  to  the 
general  reader.  Much  attention,  for  example,  has  been 
bestowed  upon  the  elucidation  of  involved  passages  by  un- 
ravelling their  construction,  and  by  pointing  out  the  full 
force  of  still  existing  words  which  Chaucer  has  used  in  an 
obsolete  sense,  but  which  do  not  come  within  the  scope  of  a 
glossary.  Beliefs,  usages,  and  principles  alluded  to  in  the 
text,  which  have  now  either  wholly  disappeared,  or  which  yet 
linger  in  remote  places,  or  survive  unnoticed  in  modem  cere- 
monies and  manners,  are  explained ;  and  in  developing  their 
sources  numerous  illustrations  are  drawn  from  our  old 
metrical  romances,  ballads,  chronicles,  and  local  histories. 
But,  perhaps,  the  most  striking  and  neglected  feature  of 
Chaucer's  great  poem  is  to  be  found  in  its  frequent  allusions 
to  the  practical  theology  and  ecclesiastical  customs  of  the 
mediiEvaJ  Chui-ch  of  England.     This  part  of  the  subject  has 


62  INTRODUCTION, 

been  hiiherto  entirely  passed  over,  or,  at  best,  only  super- 
ficially noticed.  The  deficiency  is  to  some  extent  supplied 
by  the  observations  on  ecclesiastical  affairs  introduced  into 
the  notes,  supported  in  all  instances  by  direct  recurrence  to 
the  formularies  and  books  of  established  authority.  The 
customs  of  the  mediaeval  Church  have  been  traced,  wherever 
it  was  possible,  to  their  origin  in  Scripture,  or  to  the  tra- 
ditions of  the  early  church,  and  occasionally  compared,  for 
the  sake  of  illustration,  with  the  practices  of  our  own  day. 
The  numerous  references  to  Scripture  have  also  been  verified. 
Such  side-lights  as  these  thrown  in  upon  the  text  are  need- 
less to  the  scholar ;  but  they  will  be  of  some  value  to  the 
reader  who  now  takes  up  the  book  for  the  first  time,  by 
enabling  him  the  more  easily  to  understand  the  poet's  mean- 
ing, and  to  realize  the  state  of  society  he  describes. 

The  paramount  aim  throughout  has  been  to  render  this 
edition  popular  in  a  legitimate  sense.  Nor  have  any  of  the 
projects,  or  experiments,  which  have  been  suggested  fi-om 
time  to  time  to  facilitate  the  convenience  of  the  general 
reader,  been  overlooked.  Amongst  these,  the  modernization 
of  Chaucer's  orthogi-aphy — so  frequently  insisted  upon  as  the 
only  means  of  bringing  him  within  the  comprehension  of  the 
great  bulk  of  the  reading  classes — has  received  due  conside- 
ration. The  earliest  attempt  of  this  nature  was  made  by 
Dryden,  whose  example  was  followed,  in  a  similar  spirit,  by 
Pope.  How  far  their  versions  of  Chaucer  can  be  said  to 
exhibit  a  just  reflection  of  the  original  it  is  unnecessary  to 
inquire.  They  are,  in  fact,  very  elaborate  paraphrases,  in 
wliich  the  idiomatic  forms  and  colours  of  the  old  writer 
vanish  in  the  process  of  adaptation ;  and  they  bear  no  closer 
resemblance,  in  spirit  or  expression,  to  Chaucer  than  Pope's 
translation  bears  to  Homer.  The  Fables  of  Dryden  are  as 
well  known  to  the  mass  of  the  public  as  any  poems  in  the 
language ;  but  it  may  be  doubted  whether  they  have  increased 
the  desire  for  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  Chaucer,  or 
contributed  to  the  extension  of  his  fame.  On  the  contrary', 
they  have  h-ilped  rather  to  obstruct  his  popularity,  by  encou- 


INTRODUCTION.  63 

raging  the  notion  that  he  must  be  in^^crpolated,  expanded, 
and  purified  to  suit  the  modern  taste,  and  that  if  he  is  to  be 
read  at  all,  it  must  be  through  the  medium  of  an  interpreter. 
A  still  more  ambitious  efibrt  to  modernize  Chaucer  was 
made  in  1740,  when  the  whole  of  The  Canterbury  Tales 
were,  to  use  the  phraseology  of  the  authors,  'turned  into 
modern  language,'  and  printed  on  opposite  pages  to  the 
original.  This  was  at  least  submitting  the  venture  to  an 
honest  ordeal,  by  furnishing  the  reader  with  the  means  of 
judging  for  himself  between  the  poet  and  his  expositors. 
The  decision  of  the  reader  may  be  inferred  from  the  oblivion 
into  which  the  labours  of  these  gentlemen  have  fallen.  Their 
failure,  however,  should  not  be  exclusively  ascribed  to  the 
hopelessness  of  the  task;  but  rather  to  their  deficienej' 
in  the  requisites  indispensable  to  the  adequate  discharge  of 
the  function  they  assumed.  They  do  not  appear  to  have 
thormighly  understood  their  author ;  tliey  not  only  suffered  a 
multitude  of  his  characteristic  touches  to  escape,  but  in  a  still 
greater  number  of  instances  substituted  traits  of  their  own ; 
they  embroidered  his  antiquity  with  modern  tinsel ;  they 
sometimes  even  exchanged  his  costume  for  the  last  new 
fashion  ;  and  throwing  into  utter  confusion  the  chronology  of 
manners,  they  transposed  the  knights  and  city  madams  of  the 
fourteenth  century  into  the  fine  gentlemen  and  ostentatious 
ladies  of  their  own  time.  It  does  not  necessarily  follow  that 
all  attempts  to  modernize  Chaucer  should  be  disfigured  by 
similar  deviations ;  or  that  it  is  impracticable  to  present  a  tran- 
script of  him  that  should  be  more  faithful  in  its  details ;  but 
the  temptations  to  wander  from  the  text  are  so  irresistible, 
and  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  achieving  a  literal  version 
are  so  insuperable,  that  we  must  not  be  surprised  to  find  that 
writers  whose  qualifications  justified  the  highest  hopes  ol  suc- 
cess should  also  have  failed  in  the  attempt.  The  last  experi- 
ment of  this  kind  was  made  a  few  years  ago,  when  a  small 
volume  appeared  containing  a  selection  from  Chaucer's  poems, 
converted  into  modern  English  by  Wordsworth,  Leigh  Hunt, 
and  others.     The  contributors  to  this  volume  do  not  seem  to 


64  INTRODUCTION. 

have  proceeded  upon  any  uniform  or  settled  principle,  but  to 
have  acted  independently,  each  pursuing  the  plan  suggested 
by  his  own  judgment;  the  whole,  however,  being  governed 
by  a  general  intention  to  keep  as  close  as  possible  to  the  text. 
If  there  was  here  too  wide  a  discretion  left  open  to  individual 
taste,  the  variety  it  produced  was  not  without  a  corresponding 
advantage.  It  served  to  show  the  different  latitudes  which 
competent  scholars,  and  acknowledged  masters  of  the  art  of 
versification,  considered  themselves  justified  in  indulging,  and 
to  what  extent  they  thought  they  might  depart  even  from  the 
language  of  the  original  in  the  laudable  desire  of  making  its 
substance  more  widely  known.  The  result  was  satisfactory 
in  this  respect,  that  it  may  be  said  to  have  finally  determined 
all  doubts  on  the  subject.  Some  of  these  versions  are  distin- 
guished by  as  much  fidelity  as  it  is,  perhaps,  possible  to  attain 
in  the  transfusion  of  an  ancient  author  into  modern  language; 
and  are  otherwise  admirable  specimens  of  skilful  treatment. 
But  they  are,  nevertheless,  as  unlike  Chaucer  as  they  are 
unlike  each  other.  In  proportion  as  they  preserve  strictly 
liis  exact  phraseology,  they  become  formal  and  cumbrous ;  for 
that  which  is  perfectly  easy  and  natural  in  its  antique  garb 
and  associations,  acquires  an  obsolete  and  heavy  air  when  it 
is  transplanted  amongst  more  familiar  forms.  When  they 
deviate,  on  the  other  hand,  which  the  necessities  of  structure 
and  metre  frequently  render  unavoidable,  it  is  always  at  a 
loss  of  some  subtle  trait  of  expression,  or  some  complexional 
peculiarity  essential  to  the  truthful  presentation  of  the  ori- 
ginal. Between  the  new  and  the  old  styles  which,  notwith- 
standing the  utmost  care,  thus  become  insensibly  mingled, 
tlie  spirit  of  Chaucer  escapes,  and  nothing  remains,  so  to 
speak,  but  the  letter  of  his  work.  We  are  further  warned  in 
the  best  of  these  versions  of  another  danger  inseparable  from 
all  such  experiments.  The  special  manner  of  the  modern 
versifier  may  be  traced  visibly  in  each.  It  would  be  vmrea- 
sonable  to  expect  that  a  translator  who  is  himself  a  poet 
should  not  sometimes  relapse,  either  unconsciously  or  by 
design,  into  his  own  habits  of  thought  and  modes  of  expres- 


INTRODUCTION.  65 

sion ;  and,  accord  in  <;ly,  tlie  reader  who  should  take  up  these 
poems  ignorant  of  the  source  from  whence  they  were  derived, 
would  have  no  difficulty  in  detecting  the  marks  by  which  the 
hand  of  each  translator  may  be  identified  and  distinguished 
from  the  rest.  We  cannot  have  more  conclusive  examples  of 
the  inutility  of  attempting  to  exhibit  Chaucer  in  a  modern 
costume ;  and,  whatever  other  means  may  be  devised  for  the 
removal  of  difficulties,  the  hope  of  rendering  him  successfully 
into  the  language  of  our  day  must  be  abandoned. 

Since  the  publication  of  these  pieces  no  further  efforts  have 
been  made  in  this  way.     In   1846,  Leigh  Hunt  published 
some  selections  from  the  poems  of  Chaucer,  with  a  running 
prose  version  to  assist  the  reader.'     The  design  was  inse- 
nious,  and  less  obnoxious  to  a  certain  class  of  objections  than 
the  metrical  form.   It  may  be  doubted,  however,  whether  the 
most  accurate  execution  of  such  a  design  would  materially 
advance  the  reader  in  his  knowledge  of  Chaucer.     He  would 
find  old  forms  of  expression  accommodated  to  modern  forms, 
and  if  he  wished  to  comprehend  his  author,  he  would  be 
compelled  to  weigh  their  separate  value  and  contrast  theii- 
force.     He  would  find  some  phrases  not  represented  at  all ; 
others  partially  resolved;  and  not   a   few   inevitably  para- 
phrased.     The  massive  features  of  the   original   would  be 
gradually  frittered  away  by  the  process  of  examination  and 
comparison  in  detail  he  would  be  compelled  to  pursue ;  while 
the  facility  afforded  to   him   of  summarizing  the  general 
meaning  would  produce  an  indifference  to  the  study  of  those 
minute  features  in  which  so  much  of  its  peculiar  interest 
consists.     In  a  book  of  selections,  especially  with  the  fine 
sympathies  and  critical  faculty  of  Leigh  Hunt  presiding  over 
its  pages,  a  prose  7ersion  running  at  the  foot  of  the  text  may  do 
something  towards  the  extension  of  a  taste  for  Chaucer :  but 
it  would  manifestly  be  out  of  place  in  an  edition  of  Chaucer's 
works,  where  everything  that  could  be  done  by  such  a  version 
can  be  much  more  effectively  done  by  explanatory  notes. 

1  Wit  a7id  Humour;  selected  from  the  English  PoeU.     1846. 
VOL.  I.  J. 


(56  INTKODUCTION. 

The  conclusion  to  which  we  are  led  by  this  review  of  the 
means  that  have  been  hitherto  taken  to  popularize  Chaucer, 
is  that,  since  he  cannot  be  appreciated  in  the  language  of 
others,  he  must  be  read  in  his  own. 

But,  trusting  still  to  the  language  o(  Chaucer,  it  has 
frequently  been  urged  that  there  remains  an  expedient  by 
which  it  could  be  rendered  more  intelligible  to  the  general 
reader,  without  derogating  from  its  integrity.  This  expe- 
dient is  to  modernize  the  orthography — apparently  a  simple 
proceeding.  In  the  preparation  of  the  present  edition  this 
suggestion  has  been  maturely  considered,  and  deliberately 
rejected  for  the  following  reasons.  In  the  fii'st  place,  it  was 
found  that  the  reduplication  of  consonants,  the  employment 
of  the  final  e,  and  other  peculiarities  which  appear  to  be 
mere  fancies  of  the  scribe,  or  obsolete  usages  of  the  printer, 
are  in  fact  grammatical  inflections  of  great  beauty  and  im- 
portance. In  the  second  place,  these  peculiarities,  besides 
being  indispensable  to  grammatical  accuracy,  constitute  the 
key  to  the  metrical  structure  of  the  verse,  and  must  be 
retained  in  innumerable  instances  for  the  preservation  of  the 
metre.  To  attempt  a  selection  of  those  which  it  is  indis- 
pensable to  retain,  and  others  which  might  be  rejected  with- 
out injury  to  the  metre,  would  be  attended  with  serious 
hazard ;  nor  could  such  an  experiment,  with  our  present 
knowledge  of  mediaeval  English,  be  conducted  upon  any  fixed 
or  rational  principles.  It  would  throw  open  an  inexhaustible 
source  of  discussion,  and  render  the  piebald  text  utterly 
valueless  to  the  scholar,  without  bringing  it  a  step  nearer  to 
the  comprehension  of  the  general  reader,  who  would,  pro- 
bably, be  more  perplexed  by  its  inconsistencies  than  by  the 
comparatively  uniform  antiquity  of  the  original.  The  labour 
of  such  an  undertaking  would  involve  the  absolute  necessity 
of  investigating,  and  in  a  multitude  of  cases,  of  reconstruct- 
ing the  grammar  and  metre  of  every  line  separately ;  and  in 
the  end,  presuming  this  labour  to  be  satisfactorily  accom- 
plished, the  text  would  not  be  Chaucer,  but  a  version  of 
Chaucer.     The  advocates  cf  a  modernized  orthography  have 


INTRODUCTION.  h  t 

not  sufficiently  weighed  these  objections,  and  have,  probably, 
founded  their  opinion  of  its  practicability  upon  the  examples 
of  modernization  which  have  been  etl'ected  amongst  the  poets 
of  the  Tudor  and  Stuart  periods.  But  it  should  be  remem- 
bered, that  those  poets  do  not  come  within  the  same  category 
as  a  poet  of  the  fourteenth  century.  In  their  time  the  old 
grammatical  inflections  had  been  superseded  by  the  modern 
construction,  and  the  peculiarities  of  their  spelling  in  no  way 
affected  the  metre,  and  did  not  require  to  be  retained  for  any 
other  reason. 

A  critic,  whose  judgment  on  such  questions  may  be 
appealed  to  with  confidence,  was  of  opinion  that  Chaucer's  lan- 
•guage  and  metre  could  be  made  easy  to  the  million  without 
tampering  with  its  forms.  '  I  cannot  in  the  least  allow,'  he 
said,  '  any  necessity  for  Chaucer's  poetry,  especially  T/ie 
Canterbury  Tales,  being  considered  obsolete.  Let  a  plain 
rule  be  given  for  sounding  the  final  e  of  syllables,  and  for 
expressing  the  terminations  of  such  words  as  ocean,  nation, 
&c.,  as  dissyllables ;  or  let  the  syllables  to  be  sounded  in 
such  cases  be  marked  by  a  competent  metrist.  This  simple 
expedient  would,  with  a  very  few  trifling  exceptions  where 
the  errors  are  inveterate,  enable  any  reader  to  feel  the  perfect 
smoothness  and  harmony  of  Chaucer's  verse.'*  The  first  of 
these  suggestions  fully  recognizes  the  propriety  of  giving 
Chaucer  in  his  own  language.  The  second  proposes  a 
means  for  facilitating  the  reader's  enjoyment  of  his  metre. 
This  latter  proposal,  which  exhausts  all  the  schemes  that 
liave  been  thought  of  for  popularizing  our  great  poet,  is  open 
to  some  obvious  objections. 

It  may  be  conceded  at  once  that  the  accentuation  of  the 
text  would  be  useful  to  the  reader,  if  the  terribly  complicated 
appearance  it  would  impart  to  the  verse  did  not  deter  him 
altogether  from  its  perusal — which  such  a  mass  of  syllabic 
guides  would  be  very  likely  to  do.  In  order  to  carry  out  a 
thoroughly  effective  system  of  accents,  it  would  be  necessary 


'  CoLZRWOE..— ruble  Tidk. 

F  2 


C8  INTRODUCTION. 

to  employ  two  or  thi-ee  distinctive  signs ;  and  the  unavoid- 
able freqricncy  of  their  recurrence,  and  the  obligation  thus 
created  of  scanning  the  lines,  would  so  sensibly  interrupt  the 
pleasure  of  the  reader,  that,  it  may  be  taken  for  granted,  a 
book  scaiTed  over  by  such  scholastic  marks  would  never  find 
its  way  into  general  circulation.  But  there  are  other 
objections  of  a  more  important  kind.  For  the  purpose  of 
testing  the  experiment  practically,  the  whole  of  The  CanteV' 
bury  Tales  were  accented  in  the  first  instance  for  this  edition  ; 
and  it  was  not  till  the  labour  had  been  completed  that  the 
design  of  printing  them  in  that  manner  was  relinquished. 
The  necessity  these  accents  imposed,  in  a  vast  number 
of  instances,  of  deciding  doubtful  questions  affecting  the 
resolution  of  quantities,  and  the  differences  of  opinion  they 
would  inevitably  generate  on  points  for  which  no  arbitrary' 
laws  can  possibly  be  laid  down,  determined  their  final 
rejection.  It  was  thought  better  to  supply  the  reader  with 
a  few  plain  rules  for  pronunciation,  which  should  embrace 
the  principal  structural  peculiarities,  leaving  him  to  apply 
them  for  himself. 

The  following  specimens  may  be  taken  as  a  sample  of  the 
results  which  might  be  expected  from  the  adoption  of  a 
modernized  orthography,  with  accented  syllables.  It  should 
be  observed,  that  the  signs  here  used  are  those  employed  to 
mark  the  prosodial  value  of  syllables  in  Latin  and  Greek, 
and  that  they  are  introduced  merely  to  express  the  analogous 
and  not  the  identical  value  in  English  verse.  Accents 
of  a  different  kind  would  be  necessary  for  an  edition  of 
Chaucer. 

ORIGINAI.. 

Why  schuld  I  nought  as  wel  telle  you  alle 
The  portraiture,  that  was  upon  the  walle 
Within  the  temple  of  mighty  JIars  the  reede  ? 
Al  peyntcd  was  the  wal  in  length  and  breede 
Like  to  the  estres  of  that  grisly  place, 
That  liight  the  gret  tenipul  of  Mars  in  Thrace, 
In  that  colde  and  frosty  regioun 
Ther  as  Mars  hath  his  sovereyn  mancioun. 

Ferst  on  tlie  wal  was  peynted  a  foreste 
III  which  ther  dwelled  neyluer  man  uor  beste. 


INTRODUCTION.  69 

With  knotty,  knarry  barcyn  trees  olde 
01  stubbes  sclinriie  and  hirtous  to  bylioWe; 
In  which  ther  ran  a  swynibul  in  a  swough, 
As  it  were  n  stornie  schiild  l)erst'  every  bough; 
And  downward  on  an  liil  uiidi  r  a  bent, 
Ther  stood  the  teinpul  of  Mars  armypoteiit. 

OUTnOGRAPIIY    MODEHNIZED. 
Why  sliOuld  I  not  as  well  telle  you  all 
The  pOrtriiiture  that  was  QpOn  the  wall, 
Within  the  temple  6f  mighty  Mars  thS  rEede?* 
All  painted  was  thS  wall  In  length  and  breede? 
LTlce  to  thg  estrEs  of  that  grisly  place, 
That  hight  thS  great  temple  5f  Mars  in  Thrace, 
In  that  cClde  &nd  frosty  rSgion, 
Th6re  as  MJirs  hath  his  sov'rEign  mansion. 
First,  on  thS  wall  wSs  painted  a  foic-ste. 
In  which  thSre  dwelled  neithgr  man  nOr  bEast, 
With  knotty,  knarry,  barren  trCCs  old, 
With  stubbCs  sharp  and  hide5us  to  beliOld  ; 
In  which  there  ran  i  swimblC  in  a  swough 
As  'twere  S  stOrm  shSuld  bOrstg  every  bough  ; 
And  downward  on  an  hill  iinder  S  bent, 
ThSre  stood  the  tempi'  6f  Mars  ilrmipolent. 

Whether  the  modernized  version  is  preferable  to  the 
original  must  be  left  to  the  reader'.s  judgment. 

The  Canterbury  Tales  have  always  occupied  the  first 
plnce  in  the  order  of  Chaucer's  poems ;  and  that  arrange- 
ment, which  there  is  no  suilicient  reason  for  disturbing,  has 
been  followed  in  this  edition.  There  can  be  little  doubt, 
however,  from  allusions  they  contain  to  events  that  occurred 
in    1386,  and  to   the  Con/tssio  Amantis,  written  in   1392-3, 

1  There  should,  porhaps,  be  a  final  e  to  herst ;  it  was  probably  elided  by 
the  scribe,  ;ui  reiiiarl-cl  by  Mr.  Wright,  in  his  introduction,  before  'every.' 
[The  correct  reading  i^  given  by  the  ElUwinere  .MS.  (and  four  others)  "As 
though  a  Sturm  shouM  brcsteii  every  Ixjugh.'— W.  \V.  S.] 

-'  Thi-i  liiiglit  to  have  IxM-n  changed  into  ri'd,  but  then  breciU  must  have 
been  changinl  into  brnl,  which  would  not  have  e.\pre.<.sed  the  ineaning. 
This  is  another  e.xainple  of  a  difficulty  whicli,  by  this  time,  the  reader  wiJl 
l)eiceive  is  insurmountable. 


70  INTRODUCTION. 

that  in  some  of  these  tales  we  have  the  last  productions  of 
Chaucer's  genius.  Mr.  Wright  conjectures,  iVom  the  unfinished 
state  of  the  work,  and  the  variations  of  the  different  MSS., 
that  they  were  not  composed  continuously,  hut  in  detached 
portions,  to  he  afterwards  joined  together.  The  original 
plan,  as  indicated  by  the  Prologue,  was  evidently  intended  to 
include  the  proceedings  of  the  pilgrims  at  Canterbury  and 
their  journey  back  to  London,  during  which  each  of  them 
was  to  relate  a  second  story,  the  whole  winding  up  with  a 
supper  and  an  Epilogue.  Of  this  considerable  design 
scarcely  the  first  half  was  accomplished;  and  even  that  division 
was  left  incomplete,  connecting  links  being  wanted  in 
several  places.  Chaucer  appears  to  have  carried  out  his 
purpose  consecutively  only  so  fer  as  the  opening  of  The 
Cook's  Tale,  up  to  which  all  the  MSS.  correspond  in  the 
order  of  the  tales.  From  that  point  their  divergence  is  not 
more  remarkable  than  their  final  agreement,  the  tales  of  The 
Maniple  and  The  Parsoji  in  all  instances  terminating  the 
series. 


NOTES. 

[P.  49.  The  form  ich  is  not  German,  but  the  Norman-French  pronuncia- 
tion ot  the  A.-S.  ic.    Tlie  ch  is  French,  not  Uke  the  German  guttural  sountl. 

Swill-  (i.e.,  so-like)  is  of  coui-se  not  a  derivative  from  whilk,  which  stands 
lor  ichn-Hke  (Goth.  Inva-leiks). 

That  the  term  you  liketh  stands  for  '  it  pleases  j-ou '  is  of  course  the  correct 
interpretation.  For  full  information  on  Chaucer's  prammatieal  forms  see 
the  'Selections  from  Chaucer'  in  tlie  Clarendon  I'ress  Series,  where  the 
prosody  and  scansion  are  also  fully  discussed.— \V.  W.  S.] 


CHAUCER'S   POEMS. 


THE 


CANTERBUrtY  TALES. 


POEMS 

OP 

GEOFFREY   CHAUCER. 


f  Ije  CanttrbitriT  %'dts. 


THE   PROLOGUE. 

WHAN  that  Aprille  -with  his  schowrcs  swoote' 
The  drought  of  Marche  hath  perced  to  the  route, 

'  A  metrical  analysis  of  the  first  few  lines  of  tlie  Prologue,  in  wliich 
examples  of  most  of  the  peculiarities  of  inflexion  and  accentuation 
alluded  to  in  the  introduction  occur,  will,  it  is  hoped,  enable  the  reader 
to  conquer  any  ditBculties  of  this  nature  that  may  present  themselves 
in  the  verse.  The  principles  here  indicated  will  be  found  applicable 
throughout  the  poem.  This  is  Tyrwliitt'a  plan  ;  but  it  will  be  seen 
that,  as  the  text  is  different  from  liis,  so  also  is  the  metre.  The  marks 
of  long  and  sJiort,  properly  applied  to  the  classical  metres  only,  are 
here  used  as  being  plainer  than  an  accent  on  the  accented  syllables  : — 

'  "WhSn  that  |  April  |  15  with  |  his  8ch5w  |  rCs  swoote 
The  drought  |  of  Milrche  |  hath  per  |  ced  to  |  the  roote, 
And  ba  |  thiid  6ve  |  ry  vC-yne  |  in  swich  |  licour, 
Of  which  I  v£rtue  |  6ngen  |  drSd  ia  (  thg  flour ; 
Whiln  Ze  |  phJrQa  |  6ek  with  |  his  swG  |  tu  breeth 
Enspi  I  riid  hiitli  |  lu  eve  |  rjf  holte  |  and  heeth 
The  ten  |  drg  crop  j  pes,  ilud  j  th6  yoa  |  gg  sonne 
Bath  In  |  thS  Kam  |  liis  hal  |  fe  cours  |  i-rOnnc, 
And  sma  |  le  f5w  |  ISs  ma  |  kSn  mG  |  15die, 
That  sle  I  pen  al  |  the  night  |  with  5  |  p6n  yhe, 
S5  prik  I  eth  Iiein  |  nilture  |  in  here  |  coriiges : — 
Th^nne  15n  |  gSn  fdlk  |  tS  gOn  |  5n  pil  |  grimages,  &o  * 
Here  the  final  e  in  Aprille,  swete,  hdje,  yonge,  smaleis  pronounced ;  bo' 


74  THE   CAJ^'TERBURY   TALES, 

And  Lathud  every  veyne  in  swich  licour, 

Of  which  vertvie^  engendred  is  the  flour; 

Whan  Zephirus  eek  with  his  swete  breeth      — -  -6' 

Enspirud  hath  in  every  holte  and  heeth 

The  tendre  croppes,  and  the  yonge  sonne* 

Hath  in  the  Ram'  his  halfe  cours  i-ronne, 

And  smale  fowles  maken  melodie, 

That  slepen  al  the  night  with  open  yhe,       —      fo 

So  priketh*  hem  nature  in  here  corages: — 

Thanne  longen  folk  to  gon  on  pilgrimages, 


it  is  quiescent  in  Marche,  veyne,  nature,  because  in  these  cases  it  is  fol- 
lowed by  a  word  bcirinning  with  a  vowel,  or  with  the  letter  h.  This 
is  the  rule  of  French  poetry.  The  final  es  is  pronounced  in  croppes, 
fowles,  as  in  German.  The  French  words  licour,  nature,  corages  are 
accented  on  the  last  syllable  of  tlie  root,  as  in  French.  The  reader 
will  also  remark  the  old  forms  of  hem  and  here,  for  tliem  and  their  ; 
and  slepen,  malcen,  the  Anglo-Saxon  inflexion  of  the  infinitive  and 
plural  verb :  i-ronne  is  also  the  pret.  part,  of  rennen,  to  run,  as  in 
German,  gelobt,  from  lobcn. 

1  Vertue  here  signifies  power.  The  meaning  is,  when  April  has 
bathed  every  vein  of  the  earth  in  that  moisture  which,  by  its  genial 
power,  produces  the  blossom. 

'  Where  now  the  vital  energy  that  moved, 
While  summer  was,  the  pure  and  subtle  lymph 
Through  the  imperceptible  meandering  veins 
Of  leaf  and  flower  ?    It  sleeps ;  and  the  icy  touch 
Of  unprolific  winter  has  impressed 
A  cold  stagnation  on  the  intestine  tide.* 

COWPER. — Task.    Winter  Walk  at  Koon. 

2  The  sun  is  said  to  be  young,  as  having  only  just  entered  upon  his 
annual  progress  through  the  signs  of  the  Zodiac. 

'•'■  For  Ram,  Tyrwhitt  proposes  to  read  BnU,  because  in  April  the 
sun  has  entered  the  sign  of  Taurus.  The  study  of  astronomy  was  in- 
troduced into  Europe  in  the  middle  ages  by  the  Arabs.  [The  reading  Ram 
is  right.  The  sun,  iluiing  April,  ran  a  half-course  in  the  IJain,  and  a  halt- 
course  in  the  IJull,  because  it  entered  Taurus  about  the  viiddle  of  the  month. 
Cliaucer  means  that  it  was  past  tlie  middle  of  the  montli.  It  was,  ui  fact, 
April  tlie  i6th.  15y  tlie  time  the  JIan  of  La  we  told  his  tale  it  was  April  the 
l8th,  as  Chaucer  tells  us.    See  Scheme,  vol.  ii.  pp.  i5i-J54.— W.  W.S.] 

•>  So  nature  spurs  or  excites  them  in  their  passions.  Courage  means 
generally  impulse,  desire,  as  'devout  courage,'  further  ou,  impulse  ol 
devotion. 


THE   PROLOGUE.  75 

And  palmers'  for  to  seeken  straunge  strondes, 

To  ferne^  lialwes,  kouthe  in  sondry  londes; 

And  sjieciully,  from  every  scliires  ende  _     /tr 

Of  Engelond,  to  Canturbury  they  wende, 

Tlie  holy  blisful  martir'  for  to  seeke, 

That  hem  hath  holpen  whan  that  they  were  seeke.' 

'  Spcght  m.ikes  the  distinction  between  palmers  and  pilgrims  to 
consist  in  the  former  never  ceasing  to  go  from  shrine  to  shrine,  while 
tile  latter  are  undor  a  vow  only  to  perform  one  specified  pilgrimage. 
Ill  this  fanciful  interpretation  he  is  followed  by  Sir  Walter  Scott.  It 
is  obvious  that  palmer  means  one  who  has  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
Holy  Land,  and  brought  home  a  palm-branch  as  a  token,  just  as  the 
pilgrims  to  Saint  James  of  Composiella  used  to  bring  home  a  cockle- 
shell. Thus  Chaucer  makes  the  palmers  long  to  seek  strange,  i.  c, 
foreign  strands. 

-  Sjieght  and  Tyrwhitt  for  ferno,  read  serve.  The  reading  in  the 
te.\t  has  been  restored  by  Mr.  Wright  from  the  Hari.  MS.,  and  means 
dhtant,  from  /,  r  far.  Halwo,-,  meaning  saints,  is  still  retained  in  the 
Scottish  Hallowe'en,  the  Eve  of  All  Hallows,  or  All  Saints.  In  the 
Lord's  Prayer,  '  Hallowed  be  thy  name !'  is  the  translation  of  mndiji- 
cetiir  nonun  tiuim.  Koutlie,  known,  from  kennen,  to  know,  survives  in 
our  uncouth,  unknown,  strange. 

^  Thomas  a  Uecket,  the  Chancellor  of  Henry  II.  The  King  raised 
him  to  the  see  of  Canterbury  in  the  hope  that  he  would  beco.ne  a 
willing  instrument  ill  establishing  the  Xorman  dynasty  and  oppressing 
the  Sa.xcns;  but  tinding,  on  the  contrary,  that  he  strenuously  defended 
♦,he  rights  of  the  church  and  of  the  conquered  and  oppressed  people, 
he  employed  three  of  his  retainers  to  murder  him  while  he  was  saying 
mass  in  his  cathedral.  15ecket  was  soon  afterwards  canonized,  and 
his  remains,  which  were  preserved  at  Canterbury,  became  an  object  of 
pilgrimage.  Ixl.  Slacaulay  says,  '  It  was  a  national  as  well  as  a  reli- 
gious feeling  that  drew  great  multitudes  to  tlie  shrine  of  Bccket,  the 
first  Englishman  who,  since  the  Conquest,  had  been  terrible  to  the 
foreign  tyrants.' — HM.  Eng.,  vol.  i, 

■*  Who  had  helped  them  by  his  prayers,  and  been  thus  instrumental 
to  their  recovery.  In  the  middle  ages  it  was  usual,  in  sickness  or 
peril,  to  vow  a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  a  saint,  and  if  the  person 
was  restored  to  health  or  escaped  the  danger,  the  happy  issue  was 
ascribed  to  the  prayers  of  the  saint,  whose  shrine  was  heaped  with 
rich  olferings  in  acknowledgment.  Erasmus,  in  his  Pereyrinatio 
reli/jionis  ergo,  alludes  to  numbers  of  arms  and  legs  hung  up  in  the 
shrine  of  Saint  Thomas  in  gratitude  for  the  cures  ellected  in  the-.- 
p.irticular  limbs  by  his  prayers.  Similar  menvrials  may  still  be  si-.u 
in  churches  on  the  cmtineiit.  .Saint  Louis  vowed  his  lirst  criisa.i,- 
or  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem  when  he  was  so  ill  as  to  be  thouglit  p:i>t 
recovery;  and  on  his  return,  when  he  and  the  Queen  were  in  dan-,  r 


76  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Byfel  that,  in  that  sesoun  on  a  day, 
In  Southwerk  at  the  Tabbard*  as  I  lay,  -    zx> 

Redy  to  wend  en  on  my  pilgrimage 
To  Canturbury  with  ful  devout  corage, 
At  night  was  come  into  that  hostelrie 
Wei  nyne  and  twenty  in  a  companye. 
Of  sondry  folk,  by  aventure  i-falle  ^»' 

In  felawschipe,  and  pilgryms  were  thei  alle, 
That  toward  Canturbury  wolden  ryde. 
The  chambres  and  the  stables  weren  wyde, 
And  wel  we  weren  esud^  atte  beste. 
And  schortly,  whan  the  sonne  was*  to  reste,  3o 

So  hadde  I  spoken  with  hem  everychon, 
That  I  was  of  here  felawschipe  anon, 
And  made  forward*  erly  to  aryse, 
To  take  oure  weye  ther  as  I  yow  devyse.' 
But  natheles,  whiles  I  have  tyme  and  space,  3-3' 

Or  that  I  ferthere  in  this  tale  pace. 
Me  thinketh  it  acordant  to  resoun, 
To  telle  yow  alle  the  condicioun 

of  shipwreck,  Lord  tie  Joinville  tells  us  that  she  came  into  his  cabin  in 
great  distress,  and  that  he  said  to  her,  '  Madame,  vow  to  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  my  Lord  Saint  Nicholas,  at  Varengeville,  and  I  promise 
you  that  God  will  restore  us  in  safety  to  France.' — Memoirs  of  Saint 
Louis.     Part  II. 

'  A  sleeveless  coat  worn  in  times  past  by  noblemen  in  the  wars,  but 
now  only  by  heralds,  and  is  called  their  '  coat  of  arms  in  service.'  It 
is  the  sign  of  an  inn  in  Southwark  by  London,  within  the  which  was 
the  lodging  of  the  Abbot  of  Hyde  by  Winchester. — S. 

The  Tabard  is  now  the  Talbot  Inn  in  the  High-street,  Borough. 
The  sign  was  changed  in  16/6.  An  inscription  was  afterwards  set  up 
to  indicate  the  house:  '  This  is  tlie  inne  where  Sir  Jeffry  Chaucer 
and  the  nine  and  twenty  pilgrims  lay  in  their  journey  to  Canterbury, 
anno  i  38  3.'  No  part  of  the  existing  inn  is  of  the  age  of  Cliaucer.  In 
.Speght's  time  it  was  '  newly  repaired,  with  convenient  rooms  much 
increased,  for  tlio  receipt  of  many  guests.'  [The  Tabard  inn  is  no  longer  in 
e.-vi.stence,  but  was  only  lately  )ju1Um1  iluwn.— W.  W.  S.] 

-'  Accoiiiniodated  in  the  bc^t  nuiinier.  '  Kasement'  is  Still  used  in  law- 
conveyances  vvitli  the  meaning  of  accouuuodatiou. 

3  To  rest,  i.e.,  at  rest,  in  a  state  of  rest ;  a  pure  Anglo-Saxon  form. 

*  Made  agreement  beforehand. 

s  To  that  place  that  I  tell  you  of,  scil.,  Canterbury. 


THE  rnoLOGUE.  77 

Of  eche  of  hem,  so  as  it  semed  me, 

And  which  they  wcren,  and  of  what  degre ;  ^o 

And  eek  in  what  array  that  they  were  inner 

And  at  a  kuight  than  wol  I  first  bygynne. 

A  Kni(;ht'  ther  was,  and  that  a  worthy  man. 
That  fx-oni  the  tyme  tliat  lio  first  bigau 
To  ryden  out,  he  lovede  chyvalrye,  t^y 

Trouthe  and  honour,  fredoni  and  curtesie. 
Ful  worthi  was  he  in  his  lordes  werre, 
And  thereto  hadde  he  riden,  noman  ferre,* 
As  wel  in  Cristendom  as  in  hethenesse, 
And  evere  lionoured  for  his  worthinesse.  5"c> 

At  Alisandre'  he  was  whan  it  was  woune, 
Ful  ofte  tyme  he  hadde  the  bord  bygonne* 


•  In  the  middle  ages,  before  the  system  of  standing  armies  was  intro- 
duced, tlie  military  force  of  the  kingdom  consisted  of  the  barons,  who, 
according  to  the  feudal  tenure,  were  obliged  to  supply,  for  their  sove- 
reign's wars,  a  certain  number  of  knights,  who  were  again  obliged  to 
bring  into  the  field  a  contingent  of  inferior  men-at-arms  and  yeomen, 
in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  their  landed  property.  After  tlie  cam- 
paign was  over,  tliis  militia  returned  to  their  former  occupation ;  and  a 
soldier  by  profession  was  obliged  to  seek  employment  and  a  liveUhood, 
by  serving  under  diflerent  captains  in  all  parts  of  the  world.  The 
knight  is  here  said  to  have  ridden  'in  his  lorde's  werre,"  that  is,  to  have 
served  under  his  feudal  superior,  abroad  and  at  home.  It  might  at  first 
seem  as  if  his  torde'x  werre  meant  the  crusade ;  but  he  is  said  to  have 
served,  not  only  in  heathenesse,  but  in  Cliristendom.  Tyrwhitt  supposes 
that  the  achievements  of  Chaucer's  kniglit  were  suggested  by  those  ot 
a  contemporary, '  le  noble  et  vaillant  Clievaler,  JIathew  de  Gourney,' 
whose  epitaph  is  given  in  Lcland's  Itin.  v.  iii.  p.  91.  '  qui  en  sa  vie  fu  en 
la  bataille  de  Benamaryn,  et  alia  apres  ii  la  siege  d'Algezir  sur  les 
Saraziues,  et  aussi  a  la  bataille  de  I'Escluse,  de  Cressy,  de  Deyngenesse, 
de  Peyteres,  de  Nazare,  d'Ozrey,  et  a  plusieurs  autres  batailles  et 
atseges,  en  les  quex  il  gagna  noblement  grant  los  et  honour." 

'  Ferre  is  the  comparative  of  fer,  far — superlative, /er?-es<. 
3  Alexandria,  in  Egypt,  was  won,  and  immediately  afterwards  aban- 
"doned,  in  i  365,  by  llerre  de  I.usignan,  King  of  Cyprus. — T. 

*  This  knight,  being  often  among  the  knights  of  the  Dutch  order, 
called  Ordo  Teutonicus,  in  Prussia,  was,  for  his  worthiness,  placed  by 
them  at  the  table  before  any  of  what  nation  soever. — S.  In  other  senses, 
bord  or  bourd  means  play,  often  used  for  fight  or  battle.  Thus  2  .Sum., 
ii.  14,  Abner  says, 'Let  the  young  men  arise  and /)/<7y  before  us,"  meaning 
fight ;  at  Hampton-court,  the  '  toy'  means  the  tilting-ground,  and  sword- 
play  is  a  common  expression.  The  meaning  of  the  passage  no  doubt 
u,  that  thii  knight  occupied  the  highest  place  at  the  table,  aud  when 


78  THE    CANTEKBURY   TALES. 

Aboven  alle  naciouns  in  Pruce. 

In  Lettowe'  hadde  reyced  and  in  Euce, 

No  cristen  man  so  ofte  of  his  degre.  6'(>' 

In  Gernade  atte  siege  hadde  lie  be 

Of  Algesir,^  and  riden  in  Belmarie.* 

At  Lieys  was  he,  and  at  Satalie,^ 

Whan  they  were  wonne ;  and  in  the  Greete '  see 

At  many  a  noble  arive°  hadde  he  be.  i>o 

At  mortal  batailles  hadde  he  ben  fitene, 

And  foughten  for  our  feith  at  Tramassene 

In  lystes  thries,  and  ay  slayn  his  foo. 

This  ilke  worthi  knight  hadde  ben  also 

Somtyme  with  the  lord  of  Palatye/  C^ 

Ageyn  another  hethene  in  Turkye : 


the  cup  went  round,  which  was  done  ceremoniously,  he  was  served  fiist, 
and,  therefore,  began  before  all  other  nations,  that  is,  natives  of  the  several 
states  of  Germany,  who  composed  the  Teutonic  order,  or  who  were  tiglitiiig 
against  the  infidels  in  Prussia.  The  Teutonic  order,  like  the  Templars 
and  Knights  of  St.  John,  was  originally  founded  to  fight  against  the 
Saracens  in  Palestine;  but  'finding,'  as  Fuller  remarks,  'that  by  the 
course  of  tlie  cards  tliey  must  rise  losers  if  they  continued  the  war  in 
the  holy  land,  Hermannus  de  Saltza,  then  fourth  Grand  Master,  came, 
in  iz 39,  into  Prussia,  converted  the  half-heathenpeopleof  that  country, 
and  defended  that  fror.ticr  of  Christendom  against  the  heathen  Tartars. 
Albert  of  Brandenburg  was  the  last  Grand  Master.  He  broke  the 
vow  of  his  order,  losing  his  virginitie  to  keep  his  chastity,  and  married 
Dorothea,  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Denmark.' — Fui-lek's  Holy  irar, 
book  V.  c.  14.  In  him  originated  the  royal  house  of  Brandenburg,  of 
which  the  present  King  of  Prussia  is  the  head. 

1  Lithuania  and  Uussia  were  not  thoroughly  converted  to  Chris- 
tianity till  the  1 3th  century,  and  were  continually  at  war  with  the 
frontier  countries  of  Christendom. 

-  The  city  of  Algczir  was  taken  from  the  Moorish  King  of  Granadu 
in  1344- 

^  Belniarie  and  Tremessen  were  Moorish  kingdoms  in  Africa. 

••  Pierre  de  Lusignan,  soon  after  his  accession  to  tlie  throne  of 
Cyprus  in  i  353,  took  Satulie,  tlie  ancient  Attalia;  and  in  another  ex- 
pedition about  13C7,  he  niiide  himself  master  of  the  town  of  Layas,  in 
Armenia.— T. 

5  Probably  the  part  of  tlie  Mediterranean  which  washes  the  shores  ol 
Palestine,  in  ojiposition  to  the  small  inland  Sea  or  Lake  of  Gennesaret 
and  tlic  Dead  Sea. 

s  Speght  and  Tyrwhitt  read  armie.  Arive  must  here  mean  arrival^ 
or  disembarkation  of  troops. 

<■  Palathia  in  Aiiatolla. 


THE   TROLOGUE.  79 

And  everemore  lio  hadde  a  sovereyn  prys. 

And  though  that  he  was  worthy  he  was  wys,' 

And  of  his  port  as  meke  as  is  a  mayde. 

He  never  yit  no  vilouye'  ne  sayde  70 

In  al  his  lyf,  unto  no  nianer  wight. 

He  was  a  verray  perhght  gen  til  knight. 

But  for  to  telle  you  of  his  aray, 

His  hox-s  was  good,  but  he  ne  was  nought  gay. 

Of  fustyan  he  wered  a  gepoun  7^' 

Al  bysmoterud  with  his  haburgeoun.' 

For  he  was  late  comen  froiu  his  viage, 

And  wente  for  to  doon  his  pilgrimage.* 

With  him  ther  was  his  sone,  a  yong  Squyer, 
A  lovyer,  and  a  lusty  bacheler,  go 

With  lokkes  crulle  as  they  were  layde  in  presse. 
Of  twenty  yeer  he  was  of  age  I  gesse. 
Of  his  stature  he  was  of  evene  lensrthe. 
And  wondurly  delyver,  and  gret  of  strength  e. 

'  Though  he  was  so  worthy  or  brave  iu  the  field,  he  was  not  the  less 
sage  iu  council. 

-  A  remarkable  illustration  of  the  knight's  carefulness  to  avoid  all 
unbecoming  words  is  to  be  found  in  Joinville's  Mtmairs  of  Louis  IX., 
King  of  France,  commonly  adleil  St.  Louis,  the  model  of  the  kniglitly 
character,  a  work  which  should  be  consulted  by  every  person  who  de- 
sires to  understand  the  spirit  of  chivalry.  '  I  have  been  constantly  with 
him,'  says  the  seneschal,  'for  twenty-two  years,  but  never  in  my  life,  for 
all  the  passions  I  have  seen  him  in,  did  I  hear  him  swear,  or  blaspheme 
God,  his  holy  mother,  or  any  of  the  saints.  When  he  wished  to  affirm 
anything,  he  said, '  f ruly  it  is  so.'  ...  I  never  heard  him  mention  the 
word  '  devil,'  if  it  was  not  in  some  book  that  made  it  necessary  ;  and 
it  is  very  disgraceful  to  the  princes  and  kingdom  of  France  to  suffer 
it,  and  hear  the  name;  for  you  will  see  that  in  any  dispute  one  will  not 
say  three  words  to  another  in  abuse,  but  he  will  add,  '  Go  to  the 
devil,"  or  other  bad  words.  Now  it  is  very  shocking  tlius  to  send  man 
or  woman  to  the  devil,  wlien  they  are  by  baptism  become  the  children 
of  God.  In  my  castle  of  .Joinville,  whoever  nnda-s  use  of  this  word  is 
instantly  bull'eted,  and  the  frequency  of  bad  language  is  abolished 
there.' 

■'  The  habergeon  or  hauberk  was  the  peculiar  armour  of  knights, 
hence  called  loricati. 

■♦  lie  had  but  just  accomplished  his  voyage  home,  and  immediately 
ha-itencdto  perform  tlie  pilirrimage  he  liad  vowed  for  a  sale  return, 
without  wailing  to  change  the  clothes  be  had  worn  all  through  tlie 
campaign. 


80  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

And  he  hadde  ben  somtyme  in  chivachie,*  ^^• 

In  Flaundres,  in  Artoys,  and  in  Picardie, 

And  born  him  wel,  as  in  so  litel  space, 

In  hope  to  stonden  in  his  lady  grace. 

Embrowdid"  was  he,  as  it  were  a  mede 

Al  ful  of  fresshe  floures,  white  and  reede.  qo 

Syngynge  he  was,  or  flowtynge,  al  the  day ; 

He  was  as  fressh  as  is  the  moneth  of  May. 

Schort  was  his  goune,  with  sleeves  long  and  wyde. 

"Wel  cowde  he  sitte  on  hors,  and  faire  ryde. 

He  cowde  songes  wel  make  and  endite,  f5~ 

Justne  and  eek  daunce,  and  wel  piirtray  and  write. 

So  hote  he  lovede,  that  by  nightertale 

He  sleep  nomore  than  doth  a  nightyngale. 

Curteys  he  was,  lowly,  and  servysable. 

And  carf  byforn  his  fadur  at  the  table.'  400 

A  Yeman*  had  he,  and  servantes  nomoo 
At  that  tyme,  for  him  lust  ryde  soo ; 
And  he  was  clad  in  coote  and  hood  of  gi*ene. 
A  shef  of  pocok  arwes"  bright  and  kene 


'  The  squire  had  been  permitted  to  ride  in  attendance  upon  a  knight, 
in  short  military  expeditions,  preparatory  to  being  himself  admitted  to 
the  order  of  Ijnighthood. 

-  Literally  embroidered,  from  the  French,  broder ;  Speght  under- 
stands it  to  mean  freckled  ;  but  it  seems  rather  to  signify  a  complexion 
of  mingled  white  and  red. 

3  The  descriptions  of  the  knight  and  squire  are  interesting  examples 
of  the  beau  id^al  of  the  chivalrous  character ;  its  purity  of  morals  and 
reverence  for  women ;  its  love  of  manly  exercises,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  of  liberal  accomplishments,  and  its  cultivation  of  that  spirit  of 
self-respect  combined  with  humility,  which  feels  no  degradation  in 
giving  honour  to  whom  honour  is  due. 

*  Tyrwhitt  notices  the  mistake  of  the  printed  copies  in  calling  this 
character  '  the  squire's  yeoman  ;'  whereas  the  pronoun  he  must  refer  to 
the  knight.  Yeoman  is  cognate  with  the  Friesic  gaman.a,  villager,  tlie 
syllable  3a  being  equivalent  to  A.-S.  gd,  modern  German  yoM,  atractof 
land.  The  title  was  given  to  persons  in  a  middling  rank  of  life  not  in 
service.  So  tlie  miller,  in  the  Reeve's  Tale,  is  CJireful  '  to  saven  his  estaat 
and  yonianrye.'  The  knight  probably  rode  on  his  pilgrimage  with  only  one 
attendant,  from  humility.  In  Gamelyn,  the  word  yeongeman  is  used  for 
yeoman. 

■i  Anuws  were  usually  tieatliered  from  the  wing  of  the  swau,  as  in 
the  ballad  ol  CV«iu^  chase — 


THE   PROLOGUE.  81 

Under  his  belte  he  bar  full  thriftily.  /ab" 

Wei  cowde  he  dresse  his  takel  yonianly ; 

His  arwes  drowpud  nought  with  fetheres  lowe. 

And  in  his  hond  he  l)ar  a  mighty  bowe. 

A  not-heed'  hadde  he  with  a  broini  visage. 

Of  woode-craft  cowde  he  wel  al  the  usage.  /  ^^ 

Upon  his  ai"me  he  bar  a  gay  bracer, 

And  by  his  side  a  swerd  and  a  bokeler, 

Ajid  on  that  other  side  a  gay  daggere, 

Harneysed  wel,  and  scharp  as  poynt  of  spere ; 

A  Cristofre*  on  his  brest  of  silver  schene.  tm 

An  horn  he  bar,  the  bawdrik  was  of  grene; 

A  forster  was  he  sothely,  as  I  gesse. 

Ther  was  also  a  Nonne,  a  Pkioresse, 
That  of  hire  smylyng  was  ful  symple  and  coy ; 
Hire  grettest  ooth  nas  bnt  by  seynt  Loy;^  /^^ 

And  sche  wa.s  clept  niadame  Euglentyne. 
Ful  wel  sche  sang  the  servise  devyne, 

*  The  dynt  yt  was  bath  sad  and  soar. 
That  he  of  Jlongonberry  sete  ; 
The  swanc-fethars,  that  liis  aiTOwe  bar, 
With  his  hart  blood  the  wear  wete.' 

Peacock's  feathers  were  sometimes  used  on  occasions  of  show  for  their 
greater  beauty.  Thus  in  tiie  Lrjldl  Gestc  of  Ttobiin  Ilode,  pubhshed 
in  Ritson'3  collection,  Sir  Richard  at  the  Lee  sends  the  outlaw  a  pre- 
sent of  a  hundred  sheaves  of  arrows  : — 

'  And  every  arrow  an  elle  longe. 

With  pecocke  well  ydight.' — Fytte  ii.  sos. 

It  was  a  8i?n  of  the  yeoman's  carefulness  in  his  business  that  they 
stuck  out  from  the  shaft  instead  of  drooping. 

'  Tyrwhitt  and  Mr.  Wrijjht  understand  by  this  expression  '  a  head 
like  a  nut ;'  but  there  is  a  Saxon  verb  '  to  notte,'  meaning  to  poll  or 
clip,  as  is  noticed  by  Dr.  Slaitland  in  his  Essays  on  the  lieformatUm. 
The  expression  '  nut-headed  knave'  occurs  in  Shakespeare's //enry  VIII. 
The  hair  was  worn  long  in  the  time  of  Edward  III.,  sec  Chaucer's 
Wordesto  Adam,  hii  o>rne  scrivetier;  but  such  a  fashion  would  be  incon- 
venient to  one  engaged  in  wood-craft. 

■-  This  saint  is  represented  as  an  old  man  of  great  stature,  carrying 
Christ,  in  the  form  of  a  little  child,  upon  his  back  over  a  river.  His 
legend,  in  the  Leqenda  //Krcrt,  if  taken  as  an  allegory,  is  not  without 
merit,  and  accounts  for  the  reverence  shown  him  by  the  lower  orders. 

*  Tyrwhitt  and  Mr.  Wriglit  suppose  this  to  be  a  contraction  of 
Eloy,  or  Eligius  ;  but  in  the  French  translation  of  the  Legenda  Aurea, 
VOL.  I.  G 


82  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Entuned  in  liire  nose^  ful  serayly; 

And  Frenscli  sche  spak  ful  faire  and  fetysly, 

Aftur  the  scole  of  Stratford  atte  Bowe,"  /lb' 

For  Frenscli  of  Parys  was  to  hire  unknowe. 

At  mete  wel  i-tanglit  was  sclie  withalle ; 

Sche  leet  no  morsel  from  hire  lippes  falle, 

Ne  wette  hire  fyngres  in  hire  sauce  deepe. 

Wel  cowde  sche  carie  a  morsel,  and  wel  keepe,        So 

That  no  drope  fil  uppon  hire  brest. 

In  curtesie  was  sett  al  hire  lest. 

Hire  overlippe  wypud  sche  so  clene, 

That  in  hire  cuppe  was  no  ferthing  sene 

Of  grees,  whan  sche  dronken  hadde  hire  draught,    ift 

Ful  semely  aftur  hire  mete  sche  raught. 

And  sikurly  sche  was  of  gi^et  disport, 

And  ful  plesant,  and  amyable  of  port, 

And  peyned  hire  to  counterfete  cheei'e 

Of  court,  and  ben  estatlich  of  manere,  l-^o 

And  to  ben  holden  digne  of  reverence. 

But  for  to  speken  of  hire  conscience, 

Sche  was  so  charitable  and  so  pitous, 

Sche  wolde  weepe  if  that  sche  sawe  a  mous 


by  Jehan  de  Vignay,  published  in  i543,  the  name  of  St.  Louis  is  thus 
spelt.  In  the  Boole  of  Homilies,  published  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, the  name  again  occurs  in  the  same  form.  '  God  and  St.  Loy 
Bave  tlvee.'  It  is  quite  in  character,  for  the  prioress,  so  proud  of  her 
obsolete  French,  and  who'  peyned  hire  to  counterfete  cheere  of  court,' to 
Bwear  by  '  St.  Loy  roi  de  France.' 

'  Speght  reads  I'oice,  which  gives  a  better  sense ;  for  to  sing  the 
service  divine  tlirough  the  nose  would  be  anything  but  seemly. 

^  It  is  highly  characteristic  of  the  innocent  aflectation  of  court 
manners  and  real  ignorance  of  the  ways  of  the  world  which  pervade 
the  whole  of  the  simple  Prioress's  character,  that  she  should  speak  the 
French  oftlie  'scole  of  Stratford  atte  Bowe,'  meaning  such  French  as 
was  used  by  the  common  people  at  Stratford.  '  Scole'  here  lias  the 
tame  force  as  in  its  more  strict  application  to  a  particular  style  in  art 
— the  Venetian  school  for  example.  Tlie  expression  occurs  again  in 
the  Miller's  Tale,  where  Absolon  is  said  to  dance  after  the  scole  of 
Oxcnford,  i.  e.,  the  style  that  was  fashionable  at  Oxford.  Equally  cha- 
racteristic ia  the  I'rioress's  precision  in  practising  such  rules  of  good 
manners  as  could  be  learned  from  tlie  books  of  those  times.  Tyrwhitt 
quotes  a  passage  from  the  lioincm  de  la  Jlose,  which  lays  down  rulea 
for  proper  behaviour  at  table  almost  in  the  same  words. 


TlIK    PROLOGUE.  83 

Caught  in  a  trappe,  if  it  were  deed  or  bledde.  Htb' 

Of  siiiaU'  Imuiulcs  hadde  sclie,  that  sche  fedde 

With  rostud  HcLssh  and  luyllc  and  wastel  breed. 

But  sore  wepte  sche  if  oon  of  hem  were  deed, 

Or  if  men  smot*  it  with  a  yerde  smerte : 

And  al  was  conscience  and  tendre  lierte.  ^"o 

Fill  semely  liiru  wyniple  i-pynched  was; 

Hire  nose  streight ;  hire  ey«!n  grey  as  glas ; 

Hire  mouth  ful  smal,  and  therto  softe  and  reed; 

But  sikurly  sche  hadde  a  fair  forheed. 

It  was  almost  a  spanne  brood,  I  trowe;  •>"** 

For  hardily  sche  was  not  undiugrowe. 

Ful  fctys  was  hire  cloke,  as  I  was  waar. 

Of  smal  coral  aboute  hire  arme  sche  baar 

A  peire  of  bedes  gaudid  al  with  grene;^ 

And  theron  heng  a  broch^  of  gold  ful  schene,  60 


'  Mr.  Wright  obsen-es  that '  the  word  men  appears  here  con^rued 
with  a  singular  verb,  as  though  it  had  been  man  (on  frappa).'  Tlie  verb,  to 
agree  with  mrH,  ought  ri'gularly  to  be  smote.  But  to  tliis  pl.ice  may,  per- 
haps, apply  the  rule  given  in  his  valuable  introduction,  where  he  says,"  It 
was  a  constant  rule  to  elide  the  final  e  in  pronunciation,  when  it  pre- 
ceded a  word  beginning  with  a  vowel  or  with  the  letter/;.'  And  he 
adds, '  This  was  the  source  of  frequent  errors  to  the  scribes,  who 
omitted  sometimes  to  write  the  letter  which  they  did  not  pronounce." 
(Mr.  M'right's  note  is  correct ;  fur  wlien  men  y.  n^cA  in  the  sen?e of  O. mart, or 
V.  on,  it  takes  a  sing.  verb.    The  right  i-e;idiug  Ls  smol  or  smool.—\\.  W.S.j 

-  DnU  meant  originally  a  prayer,  as  in  bedesman ;  but  from  the  cu.«- 
tom  of  counting  prayers  upon  a  .-itring  ol  grains,  it  came  at  hist  to  be 
applied  to  the  grains  themselves.  'J'lie  collection  of  prayers  thus 
counted,  and  callL'd  ro.imies.  are  divided  according  to  their  subjects,  and 
the  divisions  are  marked  by  beads  of  a  dilferent  shape  or  colour  ; 
tliese  were  calied  gnudnys,  meaning  trifling  ornaments,  and  in  this 
case  were  enamelled  witli  green.  Fkiiry  states  that  this  kind  of  devo- 
tion was  first  introduced  to  enable  the  unlearned  lay-brothers,  or  ser- 
vants in  the  monasteries,  to  count  the  paternosters  which  they  were 
bound  to  recite  at  the  canonical  hours,  instead  of  repeating  the  Psalms 
and  lesdons  from  Scripture  in  Latin  like  the  learned  monks. 

3  Properly  a  pin,  from  hroclte,  a  sirit,  but  applied  generally  to  any 
jewel.  The  crowned  A  ai)pears,  in  accordance  with  the  motto,  to 
denote  the  sovircigu  virtue  of  charity,  or  Amor.  ^Varton  says  that 
this  motto  and  device  are  inconsistent  with  the  prioress's  profession : 
but  love  01-  charity  is  represented  in  Scripture  as  the  greatest  of 
Christian  graces. 

G    2 


84  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

On  which  was  first  i-writen  a  crowned  A, 
And  after  that,  Amor  vincit  omnia. 
Anothur  Konxe  also  with  hire  hadde  sche, 
That  was  hire  chapelleyn/  and  Prestes  thre. 

A  Monk  ther  was,  a  fair  for  the  maistrie,*  /^** 

An  out-rydei'e,  tliat  loved  vener ye ; ' 
A  manly  man,  to  ben  an  abbot  able. 
Full  many  a  deynte  hors  hadde  he  in  stable : 
And  whan  he  rood,  men  might  his  bridel*  heere 
Gyngle  in  a  whistlyng  wynd  so  cleere,  70 

And  eek  as  lowde  as  doth  the  chapel  belle. 
Ther  as  this  lord  was  keper  of  the  sella/ 

^  Tynvhitt  professes  not  to  be  able  to  conjecture  the  duties  of  a 
female  chaplain  ;  they  may  be  inferred,  however,  from  the  desire  that 
existed  to  assimilate  the  offices  in  religious  houses  of  women  to  those  in 
the  monasteries  of  men,  and  the  duties  of  a  chaplain  to  the  prioress 
may  have  consisted  in  attending  generally  upon  her  in  chapel. 

-  A  French  phrase,  applying  to  one  who  bid  fair  to  excel  all  others. 
Tyrwhitt  quotes  some  passages  from  old  books  on  medicine,  where  a 
remedy  is  said  to  be  '  hone  pur  la  maistrie,'  that  is,  a  sovereign  remedy. 

^  Hunting. — The  canon  law  strictly  forbids  clergymen  to  hunt,  but 
it  was  often  infringed  in  the  middle  ages ;  one  of  the  offences  most 
severely  lashed  by  Wickliffe. 

■*  The  custom  of  hanging  small  bells  on  the  bridles  and  harness  of 
horses  is  still  observed  on  the  continent  for  the  purpose  of  giving  notice 
to  foot  pa.ssengers  to  get  out  of  the  way;  but  it  was,  no  doubt,  often 
used  for  ostentation.  So  Wicklifi'e  inveighs  against  the  clergy  in  his 
Triologe  for  their  '  fair  hors,  and  jolly  and  gay  sadeles,  and  bridles 
rimjing  by  the  way.' — Lewis's  Widdiffe,  p.  121. 

Lydgato,  who  was  a  monk  of  the  Benedictine  Abbey  of  St.  Edmund's 
Bury,  as  a  set-off  against  this  description  of  a  luxurious  monk,  in  his 
imitation  of  the  Canterbury  Tales  thus  describes  himself: — 

On  a  palfray,  slender,  long  and  lene. 
With  rusty  bridle  made  not  for  the  sale, 
My  man  toforne  with  a  void  male. 

The  host  then  addresses  him : — 

dan  Pers, 
Dan  Dominike,  dan  Godfray,  or  Clement, 
Ye  be  welcome  newly  into  Kent, 
Thogh  your  bridel  have  nother  boos  ne  belL 
«  *  *  • 

Upon  your  head  a  wonder  thrcdbare  hood. 
*  In  the  cell,   or   religious   house,  where   this   lord   or   monk  wa« 
«upcrior,   a  milder  discipline  was  observed.     As  for  the   rules  of  St. 
Maur  and  bt  Benet,  lie  let  them  pass  by  {forby,  still  used  in  Scotland) 


TUE  rnoLOGUE  85 

Tlie  rcxile  of  seynt  !Maure  or  of  soint  Bcneyt,* 

B3'cau.se  that  it  was  old  aud  somdel  streyt, 

This  ilke  monk  leet  forby  hem  pace,  /7<,~ 

Aud  helde  aftvir  the  newe  world  the  S})ace, 

He  gaf  nat  of  that  text  a  pidled  hen, 

That  seith,  that  hunters  been  noon  holy  men ; 

Ne  tliat  a  monk,  whan  he  is  cloysterles, 

Is  likned  to  a  fissche  that  is  watirles;'  ^O 

This  is  to  seyn,  a  monk  out  of  his  cloystre. 

But  thilke  text  hild  he  not  worth  an  oystre. 

Aud  I  seide  his  opiniouvi  was  good. 

What  schulde  he  studie,  aud  make  himsclven  wood, 

XJppon  a  book  in  cloystre  alway  to  powre,  ^-5' 

Or  swynke  with  his  handcs,  and  laboure,* 

As  Austyn  byt  ?     How  schal  the  world  be  served  1 

Lat  Austyn  have  his  &wynk  to  him  reserved. 


because  they  were  old  and  strict,  and  resolved  to  hold  his  course  after 
the  fashions  of  the  new  world.  For  forhij  hem,  which  occurs  three  linen 
after,  Jlr.  Wright  substitutes  olde  thim/cs,  from  Tyrwhitt. 

'  The  rule  of  St.  Benedict,  contracted  Benet,  was  wriUen  about 
AD.  53o,  and  was  the  orijiinal,  by  which  almost  all  the  monastic  orders 
in  the  west  regulated  their  observances. 

-  Tlie  meaning  of  the  word  space  is  not  obvious.  Tyrwhitt  reails 
<r<7C«,  and  Speght /wee,  both  implying  footsteps.  This  monk  followed 
in  the  footsteps  of  the  new  world. 

3  Tyrwhitt  cites  the  text  attributed  by  Gratian  to  a  Pope  Eugenius, 
Sicut  phcis  sine  aqua  caret  vita,  ita  sine  mona^terio  monachtis.  Thus 
Joinville  says,  '  the  Scriptures  do  say  that  a  monk  cannot  live  out  of 
his  cloister  wthout  falling  into  deadly  sins,  any  more  than  a  fish  r;in 
live  out  of  water  without  dying.  The  reason  is  plain  ;  for  the  religious 
who  follow  the  king's  court,  eat  and  drink  many  meats  and  wines 
which  they  would  not  do  were  they  resident  in  thoir  cloisters ;  and  this 
lu.xurious  living  induces  them  more  to  sin  than  if  they  lived  the  austere 
life  of  a  convent.' 

*  Peter  the  Venerable  thus  answers  St.  Bernard's  complaints  of  the 
disuse  of  manual  labour  by  the  Benedictine  monks.  '  'J"he  rule  [of  St. 
Benedict]  ordains  it  [manual  labour]  only  to  avoid  idleness,  which  tr« 
avoid  by  spending  our  time  in  holy  exercises,  prayer,  reading,  psalmody." 
'  As  if,'  adds  Flcury, '  St.  Benedict  had  not  given  enough  time  to  these 
holy  exercises,  and  had  not  had  good  reasons  for  requiring,  besides, 
seven  whole  hours  of  labour.'  St.  Augustin  followed  St.  Kusebius  nf 
Vercelli,  in  making  his  cathedral  clergy  live  according  to  a  rule  aimihu 
to  that  of  the  monks,  so  far  as  their  duties  would  permit. 


86  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Therfore  he  was  a  pricasour  aright; 

Greyhoundes  he  hadde  as  s'»vifte  as  fowel  in  flight;    '^^ 

Of  prikyng  and  of  huntyng  for  the  hare 

Was  al  his  lust,  for  no  cost  wolde  he  spare. 

I  saugh  his  sieves  purfiled  atte  hond 

With  grys/  and  that  the  fynest  of  a  lend. 

And  for  to  festne  his  hood  undur  his  chyn  ^4' 

He  hadde  of  gold  y-wrought  a  curious  pyn : 

A  love-knotte"  in  the  gi-etter  ende  ther  was. 

His  heed  was  ballid,  and  schon  as  eny  glas, 

And  eek  his  face  as  he  hadde  be  anoynt. 

He  was  a  lord  ful  fat  and  in  good  poynt;*  Sjyo 

His  eyen  steep,  and  rollyng  in  his  heed, 

That  stemed  as  a  forneys  of  a  leed ; 

His  bootes  souple,*  his  hors  in  gTet  estat. 

Now  certeinly  he  was  a  fair  prelat ; 

He  was  not  pale  as  a  for-pyned  goost.  *f 

A  fat  swan  loved  he  best  of  eny  roost. 

His  palfray  was  as  broun  as  eny  berye. 

A  Frere  ther  was,  a  wantoun  and  a  merye, 
A  lymytour/  a  ful  solempne  man. 
In  alia  the  ordres  foure*  is  noon  that  can  /O 


'  Probably  the  fur  of  the  grey  squirrel,  in  Frencli  petit  gris.  In  St. 
Patrick's  Cathedral  in  Dublin  there  is  a  brass  of  a  canon,  with  tippet 
trimmed  with  fur.  A  remnant  of  this  custom  is  seen  in  the  fur  hoods 
of  bachelors  in  our  Universities. 

-  See  aiite,  p.  8  3,  note  3. 

3  A  literal  translation  of  the  French  embwpoint. 

^  This  is  part  of  the  description  of  a  smart  abbot  by  an  anonymous 
writer  of  the  thirteenth  century, '  Oereas  habehat  in  cruribus,  quasi 
innatae  essent,  sine  plica  porrectas.' — Bod.  MS.,  James,  N.  6,  p.  lii. 
— T. 

^  A  lymytour  was  a  friar,  to  whom  had  been  assigned  a  certain 
district  or  limit,  witliin  wliich  he  was  permitted  to  solicit  alms. 

6  The  four  orders  of  mendicant  friars  were — i.  The  Dominicans,  or 
friars  preachers,  who  took  up  their  abode  in  Oxford  in  i2ii,  known 
from  the  colour  of  their  dress  as  the  Black  friars,  z.  Tlie  Franciscans, 
founded  by  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  in  ijo7,  and  known  by  the  name  of 
Grey  friars.  Tlicse  first  established  houses  in  Knglaiul  in  ii34.  3.  Tlie 
Carmelites,  or  While  friars,  so  called  from  their  having  first  appeared 
on  llount  Carmel.  4.  The  Augustin  Iriars.  On  their  first  establish- 
laent,  the  poverty,  the  learning,  and  the  industry  in  preaching  of  the 


THE    PROLOGUE.  87 

So  moclic  of  (laliaunce  and  fair  lan{rajje. 

He  liaddo  i-inade  many  a  fair  rnariage 

Of  yongo  wymnicn,  at  his  owne  coat. 

Unto  his  ordre  he  was  a  noble  post.' 

Ful  wi'l  biloved  and  fanmlier  \va.s  he  2 tS' 

Witli  fi-ankeleyns  over  al  in  liis  cuntre, 

And  eek  with  worthi  wommen  of  the  toun  ; 

For  he  liadde  power  of  confessioun, 

As  seyde  himself,  more  than  a  curat, 

For  of  his  ordre  he  was  licenciat.*  20 

Ful  sweetly  herde  he  confessioun, 

And  plesaunt  was  his  absolucioun; 

He  was  an  esy  man  to  geve  penance 

Ther  as  he  wiste  to  han  a  good  pitance; 

For  unto  a  povi-e  ordre  for  to  geve  2^ 

Is  signe  that  a  man  is  wel  i-schi'sve. 


friars,  presented  a  favourable  contrast  to  the  luxury  of  the  monks,  ani 
they  were,  therefore,  at  first  iiojjiilar  ;  but  the  wealtli  wliii-li  had  flowed 
in  upon  them  in  the  days  of  their  zeal,  had,  in  the  time  of  Chaucer, 
begun  to  do  its  work.  The  following  description  of  a  friar  of  the 
thirteenth  century  may  be  taken  as  the  other  side  of  Chaucer's  piclur?. 
'  While  we  were  at  Ilieres,  we  heard  of  a  very  good  man,  a  Cordelier 
friar,  who  went  about  the  country  preaching ;  his  name  was  Father 
Hugh.  The  king  being  desirous  of  liearing  and  seeing  him.  we  went 
out  to  meet  him,  and  saw  a  great  company  of  men  and  women  following 
him  on  foot.  On  his  arrival  in  the  town,  the  king  directed  him  to 
preach,  and  his  first  sermon  was  against  the  clergy,  whom  he  blamed 
for  being  in  such  numbers  with  the  king,  saying  they  were  not  in  a 
situation  to  save  their  souls,  or  that  the  Scriptures  lied.  He  afterwards 
addressed  the  king,  and  pointed  out  to  him  that  if  he  wished  to  live 
beloved  and  in  peace  with  his  people,  he  must  bcjust  and  upright.  He 
said  he  had  carefully  perused  the  Uible  and  other  holy  books,  and  had 
always  found  that  among  princes,  whether  infidel  or  Christian,  no 
kingdoms  had  ever  been  e.\citcd  to  war  against  their  lords,  but  through 
want  of  proper  justice  being  done  to  the  subject.' — Memoirt  qf  St. 
Louis. 

'  Post  means  pillar  or  support ;  an  expression  probably  taken  from 
Gal.  ii.  9.  where  St.  Paul  calls  Peter,  and  James,  and  John  '  pillars'  of 
the  church. 

-'  In  the  penitential  system  of  the  mcdiaival  church,  there  were 
some  cases  for  which  a  parish  priest  could  not  give  absolution,  and 
which  were  reserved  for  the  bishop's  decision.  The  Popes,  however, 
have  been  in  the  habit  of  granting  to  some  orders  the  privilege  of 
deciding  all  cases  and  absolving  from  a'l  sins,  mtliout  any  reference 
tn  the  bishops.     This  was  of  course  a  fruiUul  source  of  jealousy. 


88  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

For  if  he  gaf,  he  dorste  make  avaunt, 
He  wiste  that  a  man  was  repentaiint. 
For  many  a  man  so  hard  is  of  his  herte, 
2,3/7     He  may  not  wepe  though  him  sore  smerfce. 
Therfore  in  stede  of  wepyng  and  prayeres, 
Men  mooten  given  silver  to  the  pore  frere-S. 
His  typet^  was  ay  farsud  ful  of  knyfes 
And  pynnes,  for  to  give  faire  wyfes. 
«.  ^y    And  certayn  he  hadde  a  mery  noote, 

Wei  couthe  he  synge  and  pleye  on  a  rote. 
Of  yeddynges'  he  bar  utturly  the  prys. 
His  nekke  whit  was  as  the  flour-de-lys. 
Therto  he  strong  was  as  a  champioun. 

ji,i^O  He  knew  wel  the  tavernes  in  every  toun, 
And  every  ostiller  or  gay  tapstere, 
Bet  than  a  lazer,  or  a  beggere, 
For  unto  such  a  worthi  man  as  he 
Acorded  not,  as  by  his  facult6, 

^Qlf'  To  have  with  sike  lazars  aqueyntaunco. 
It  is  not  honest,^  it  may  not  avaunce, 
For  to  delen  with  such  poraile, 
But  al  with  riche  and  sellers  of  vitaille. 
And  over  al,  ther  eny  profyt  schulde  arise, 

^^'^   Curteys  he  was,  and  lowe  of  servyse. 
Ther  was  no  man  nowher  so  vertuous. 
He  was  the  beste  begger  in  al  his  hous, 
For  though  a  widewe  hadde  but  00  schoo, 
So  plesaunt  was  his  In  pi'incipio* 


'■  Typct,  hood,  cuculla,  or  cowl.  These  were  very  large,  and  ad- 
mitted of  being  used  as  a  pocket. 

-  Speght  gives  the  choice  of  three  meanings  for  this  word.  i. 
brawling  ;  2.  gadding  up  and  down  ;  3-  loud  singing.  The  last  is 
probably  the  true  meaning,  from  the  Saxon  jiddian,  or  geddian,  to 
sing. — Sec  Tyrwhitt  in  loco. 

•*  Honest  is  used  here  in  the  sense  of  the  French  honvHe,  becoming. 

*•  The  rubric  at  the  end  of  the  mass  directs  the  priest  to  read  the 
beginning  of  tlie  Gospel  of  St.  John.  I.'i  prindpio  erat  verbum — Vtt'^ 
ifissale  liommmm. 


THE   PROLOGUE.  89 

llfb'  Yet  wolde  he  have  a  ferthinjr  or  he  wente. 
His  jmrcliaco  was  Ijettnr  than  liis  rente.' 
And  rage  he  coutlie  and  pleyc  as  a  whelpe, 
In  love-days'  ther  couthe  he  mochil  helpe. 
For  ther  was  he  not  like  a  cloysterer, 

±lfC?  With  a  thredbare  cope^  as  a  pore  scoler, 
But  lie  was  like  a  mai.ster  or  a  pope. 
Of  double  worstede  was  his  semy-cope, 
That  rounded  was  as  a  belle  out  of  presse. 
Somwhat  he  lipsede,  for  wantounesse, 

^hb'  To  make  his  Englissch  swete  upon  his  tunge; 
And  in  his  harpyng,  whan  that  he  hadde  sunge, 
His  eyghen  twynkelcd  in  his  heed  aright, 
As  don  the  sterres  in  the  frosty  night. 
This  worthi  lymytour  was  called  Huberd. 

ilO        A  M AKCHAUNT  was  tlier  wdth  a  forked  herd,* 
In  motteleye,  and  high  on  horse  he  sat, 
Uppon  his  heed  a  Flaundrisch  bever  hat; 
His  botus  clapsud  faire  and  fetously. 
His  resons  he  spak  ful  solempnely, 

^  7y.  Sownynge  alway  the  encres  of  his  wynnyng. 
He  wolde  the  see  were  kepud  for  eny  thinge 


'  A  proverbial  expression,  meaning,  apparently,  that  he  was  so 
shrewd  in  trading,  that  his  profits  by  buying  and  selling  were  greater 
than  his  rent. 

*  Arbitrcmcnts. — S.  A  day  appointed  for  the  amicable  settlement 
of  differences.  Bracton.lib.  v.fol.  3<59. — T.  Both  in  the  arbitration,  and 
in  the  feast  which  followed,  according  to  the  English  custom  in  all  such 
business,  the  friar  did  good  service.  At  these  meetings  for  the  purpose 
of  reconciling  neighbours,  the  clergy  might  be  very  properly  present; 
but  the  satirists  of  those  days  seem  to  have  generally  l.iid  it  to  their 
charge  as  a  crime.      Thus,  in  the  Vision  of  Pierce  Plowman: — 

•  And  now  is  religion  a  ridere,  a  romer  bi  streetis, 
A  Icdar  of  lovc-daiyes,'  &c. 

3  A  cope  is  a  long  cloak,  forming  n  perfect  semicircle  when  laid  fiat, 
formerly  used  in  processions,  and  still  worn  by  the  bishops  at  corona- 
tions.    The  semi-cope  was  a  short  cloak  or  cape. 

■•  A  fasliion  common  in  the  middle  ages,  as  may  be  seen  in  brasses, 
^nd  in  many  of  the  portraits  in  Lodge. 


90  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 


Betwixe  Middulburgh  and  Ore-nelle.' 
Wei  coutlie  he  in  escliange  sclieeldes  sella.* 
This  worthi  man  ful  wel  his  witte  bisette; 
^J^     Ther  wiste  no  man  that  he  was  in  dette, 
So  estately  was  he  of  governaunce, 
With  his  bargayns,  and  with  his  chevysaunce 
For  sothe  he  was  a  worthi  man  withalle, 
But  soth  to  say,  I  not  what  men  him  calle. 

i^Sa"        A  Clerk^  ther  was  of  Oxenford  also, 
That  unto  logik  hadde  longe  i-go. 
Al  so  lene  was  his  hors  as  is  a  rake, 
And  he  was  not  right  fat,  [  undertake ; 
But  lokede  holwe,  and  therto  soburly, 

f^ifP    Ful  thredbare  was  his  overest  courtepy, 

For  he  hadde  nought  geten  him  yit  a  benefice, 
Ne  was  not  worthy  to  haven  an  office. 
For  him  was  lever  have  at  his  beddes  heed 
Twenty  bookes,  clothed  in  blak  and  reed, 

^^y  Of  Aristotil,  and  of  his  philosophie, 

Then  robus  riche,  or  fithul,  or  sawtrie. 
But  al  though  he  were  a  philosophre. 
Yet  hadde  he  but  litul  gold  in  cofre ; 
But  al  that  he  might  of  his  frendes  hente, 

a  0i>    On  bookes  and  his  lernyng  he  it  spente. 
And  busily  gan  for  the  soules  pray 
Of  hem  that  gaf  him  wherwith  to  scolay.* 
Of  studie  tooke  he  most  cure  and  heede. 
Not  00  word  spak  he  more  than  was  neede ; 

*jpy  Al  that  he  spak  it  was  of  heye  prudence, 

And  schort  and  quyk,  and  ful  of  gret  sentence. 

'  i.  e.,  guarded,  that  he  might  not  lose  his  ships  by  pirates  oi 
privateers. 

'  He  perfectly  understood  the  system  of  stock-jobbing,  so  as  to  gain 
by  the  exchange  of  his  crownis,  ^cus,  or  shields,  in  tlie  dilferent  money- 
markets  of  Europe. 

3  A  clerk  means  probably  liere,  a  scholar  preparing  for  the  priest- 
hood. 

*  In  many  Roman  Catholic  countries,  till  very  lately,  it  was  cu». 
ternary  for  poor  scholars  preparing  for  orders  to  ask  and  receive 
contributions  from  the  people  for  the  expenses  of  their  education. 


THE   PROLOGUE.  91 

Sownynge  in  moral  manere  was  liis  speche. 

And  ijlailly  wuUlo  lie  lerno,  and  gladly  teche. 
A  Skkgkant  of  Lawk,  war  and  wys, 
J  IC    That  often  haddo  ben  atte  parvys/ 

Ther  was  also,  fill  riche  of  excellence. 

Discret  he  was,  and  of  grct  reverence: 

He  semed  such,  his  wordes  were  so  wise, 

Justice  he  was  ful  often  in  assise, 
^  /5"By  patent,  and  by  ployn  coinmissioun; 

For  his  science,  and  for  his  heih  reuoun. 

Of  fees  and  robes  had  he  many  oon. 

So  gret  a  pnrchasour  was  ther  nowher  noon. 

Al  was  fee  symple  to  him  in  effecte, 
i  "^C  His  purchasyng  might  nought  ben  to  him  suspecte. 

Nowher  so  besy  a  man  as  he  ther  nas, 

And  yit  he  semed  bcsier  than  he  was. 

In  termes  hadde  caas  and  domes  alle, 

That  fro  the  t}Tne  of  kyng  Will  were  falle.' 
t|  ;  6'  Therto  he  couthe  eudite,  and  make  a  thing, 

Ther  couthe  no  man  pynche^  at  his  writyng. 

'  Abarre;  and  here  it  is  understood  of  the  conference  among  the  young 
counsellors,  pleaders,  attorneys,  and  students  of  the  law,  wherein  the 
form  of  pleading  and  arguing  a  case  is  exercised.  Fortescue,  De  Li. 
An;/.,  c.  5i,  says,  that  alter  the  judges  were  risen  at  eleven  of  the 
clock  from  hearing  of  causes  at  Westminster, '  Tlacitantes  tunc  se  di- 
vertunt  <id  perrL'nim,  et  alibi,  consulentcs  cum  servieiUibus  ad  Ugeni 
(Serjeants)  et  aliis  conciliariis  suis.' — S.  Purvis  means,  however,  a 
cliurch-porch,  in  this  case  probably  at  Westminster,  where  lawyers  met, 
as  described  by  Sp<'plit.  De  Joinville  furnishes  another  illustration  : — 
'  It  was  customary,  after  the  Lord  de  Neeles,  the  good  Lord  de  Sois- 
gons,  and  others  that  were  about  the  King's  person,  had  heard  mass, 
for  us  to  go  and  hear  the  pleadings  at  the  gattwajj,  which  is  now  called 
the  Court  of  Requests.' — .Vtm.  of  St.  Loui<. 

-  He  had  at  his  fingers'  ends  all  legal  cases  and  rfoonw,  or  decrees, 
which  had  been  ruled  in  tlie  courts  of  law  since  the  time  of  Willium 
the  Conqueror. 

3  Pynche  appears  to  mean,  to  find  fault  with,  except  against,  as  in 
the  anecdote  told  in  the  notes  to  Marmion,  of  the  Knight  who  bore  oit 
his  shield  a  falcon,  with  the  motto: — 

'  I  bear  a  falcon  fairest  of  flight, 
Whoso  pincheth  at  her,  his  death  is  dipht 

In  1,'raith.' 

Thus  also  in  Chaucer's  BaUndi  ofttie  ViUa/je,  Fortuiie  says;— 
'  Tboupinchest  at  my  mutubilitie.' 


92  THE   CA>TERBURY    TALES. 

And  every  statute  couthe  lie  pleyn  by  roote. 

He  rood  but  hoomly  in  a  medled  coote, 

Gird  with  a  seynt  of  silk,  with  barres  smale ; 
^^0     Of  his  ari-ay  telle  I  no  lenger  tale. 

A  Frankeleyn^  ther  was  in  his  companye; 

Whit  was  his  berde,  as  the  dayesye. 

Of  his  complexioun  he  was  sangwj'n. 

Wei  loved  he  in  the  morn  a  sop  of  "wyn. 
J  ^y  To  lyve  in  delite  was  al  his  wone, 

For  he  was  Epicurius  owne  sone, 

That  heeld  opynyoun  that  pleyn  delyt 

Was  verraily  felicite  perfyt. 

An  househaldere,  and  that  a  gret,  was  he ; 
^liO  Seynt  Julian''  he  was  in  his  countre. 

His  breed,  his  ale,  was  alway  after  oon ; 

A  bettre  envyned  man  was  nowher  noon. 

Withoute  bake  mete  was  never  his  hous. 

Of  fleissch  and  fissch,  and  that  so  plentyvous, 
3  iyi'  It  snewed  in  his  hous  of  mete  and  drynk, 

Of  alle  deyntees  that  men  cowde  thynke. 

Aftur  the  sondry  sesouns  of  the  yeer, 

He  chaunged  hem  at  mete  and  at  soper. 

Ful  many  a  fat  pai-trich  had  he  in  mewe, 
-  y^  And  many  a  brem  and  many  a  luce  in  stewe. 

Woo  was  his  cook,  but  if  his  sauce  were 

Poynant  and  scharp,'  and  redy  al  his  gere. 

His  table  dormant  in  his  halle  alway 

Stood  redy  covered  al  the  longe  day. 
XlfS  At  sessions  ther  was  he  lord  and  eire. 

Ful  ofte  tyme  he  was  knight  of  the  schire. 


'  Fortescue  (De  LI.  Ang.,  c.  z9)  describes  a  Franklin  as  '  Pater- 
familias, magnis  ditatus  possesslonibus.' 

•  '  Ce  fut  celluy  Julien  qui  est  requis  de  ceux  qui  cheminent  pour 
avoir  boil  hostel.' — Leg.  Doric.  Having  by  raiscliance  slain  his  father 
and  mother,  as  a  penance,  he  established  a  hospital  near  a  dangerous 
ford,  where  he  lodged  and  fed  travellers  gratuitously. 

3  Savjx  piqiumte  is  still  familiar  to  gourviets. 


THE    niOLOGUE.  93 

An  anlas'  and  a  t^ipsor'  al  of  silk 

Henn;  at  liis  genliil,  whit  as  luorue  mylk, 

A  schirreve  hadde  he  ben,  and  a  counter; 

^  &0  Was  nowhor  such  a  worthi  vavasor. 

An  Haburdassher  and  a  Oahpentek, 
A  Webbk,  a  Deyer,  and  a  Tapicer, 
Weren  with  us  eeke,  clothed  in  oo  lyvere,' 
Of  a  solempne  and  gi-et  fVaternite. 

'^bi>    Ful  freissli  and  uewo  here  gere  piked  was; 
Here  knyfes  were  i-chapud  nat  with  bras, 
But  al  with  silver  wrought  ful  clene  and  wel, 
Hei'c  gurdles  and  here  ])0iiclics  every  del. 
Wel  semed  eche  of  hem  a  fair  burgeys, 

i'J^  To  sitten  in  a  geldelialle  on  the  deys.* 
Every  man  for  the  wisdom  that  he  can, 
Was  scha])ly  for  to  ben  an  aldurmau. 
For  catel  hadde  they  inough  and  rente, 
And  eek  here  wyfes  wolde  it  wel  assente; 

^  ^^  And  elles  certeyn  hadde  thei  ben  to  blame. 
It  is  right  fair  for  to  be  clept  madame, 
And  for  to  go  to  vigilies^  al  bj'fore, 
And  ban  a  mantel  riallv  i-bore. 


'  A  falcliion  or  woodknife,  wliich  I  gather  out  of  Matthew  Paris, 
p.  S  35,  where  he  writeth  thus.  '  Quorum  unus  videns  occiduam  partem 
dorsi  (of  Richard  Earl  Marshal,  then  fi^jhting  for  his  life  in  Ireland) 
minus  armis  communitam,  percussit  eum  in  posteriora  loricam  sub- 
levando  cum  quodam  genere  cultelli,  quod  vulgariter  analacitus  uun- 
cupatur." — S. 

-  A  purse.  In  Albert  Dilrer's  beautiful  etching  of  the  Entombment, 
Joseph  of  Arimathea,  a  wealthy  man,  like  the  Franklin,  has  a  large 
purse  with  tassels  haupnjj  at  his  girdle. 

s  These  tradesmen  all  belonged  to,  and  wore  the  dress  of,  one  livery 
or  guild. 

■•  One  of  the  good  and  kindly  customs  of  the  middle  ages, — a  custom 
which  was  till  lately  observed  by  the  Hidalfjos  in  8pain, — W!<s  for  the 
whole  household  to  dine  to,c;i>thor  in  the  great  hall ;  but  at  one  end  waJ 
a  raised  platform  or  deys,  where  persons  of  higlier  rank  were  served, 
as  is  still  the  practice  in  our  Colleges.  The  word  dais  is  still  used  in 
East  Anglia  for  a  raised  platform. 

5  It  was  the  manner  in  times  past,  upon  festival  evens,  called  vigils, 
for  parishioners  to  meet  in  their  church-houses,  or  chui'ch-yards,  and 


94  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

A  Cook  thei  hadde  with  liem  for  the  nones, 
5  5^     To  boyle  ehj'knes  and  the  mary  bones, 

And  poudre  marchant,  tart,  and  galyngale. 

Wei  cowde  he  knowe  a  drauofht  of  Londone  ale. 

He  cowde  roste,  sethe,  broille,  and  frie, 

Make  mortreux,  and  wel  bake  a  pye. 
5  S^     But  gret  harm  was  it,  as  it  semede  me, 

That  on  his  schyne  a  mormal  hadde  he ; 

For  blankmanger  he  made  with  the  beste. 
A  ScHiPMAN  was  ther,  wonyng  fer  by  weste : 

For  ought  I  woot,  he  .was  of  Dertemouthe. 
J  ^0  He  rood  upon  a  rouncy,  as  he  couthe,* 

In  a  gowne  of  faldyng  to  the  kne. 

A  dagger  hangyng  on  a  laas  hadde  he 

Aboute  his  nekke  under  his  arm  adoun. 

The  hoote  .somer  had  maad  his  hew  al  broun , 
\)^lt'  And  certeinly  he  was  a  good  felawe. 

Ful  many  a  draught  of  wyn  had  he  drawe 

From  Burdeux-ward,  whil  that  the  chapman  sleeji.' 

Of  nyce  conscience  took  he  no  keep. 

If  that  he  foughte,  and  hadde  the  heigher  hand, 
U  ffV   By  water  he  sente  hem  hoom  to  every  land. 

But  of  his  craft  to  rikne  wel  the  tydes. 

His  stremes  and  his  dac-gers  him  bisides, 

His  herbergh  and  his  mone,  his  lodemenage, 

Ther  was  non  such  from  Hulle  to  Cai'tage. 
^^J* Hardy  he  was,  and  wys  to  undertake; 

With  many  a  tempest  hadde  his  herd  ben  schake. 


there  to  have  a  drinking  fit  for  the  time.  Here  they  used  to  end  many 
qnarrels  betwixt  nciglibour  and  neighbour.  Hither  came  the  wives  in 
comely  manner,  and  tliey  that  were  of  the  better  sort  had  their 
mantles  carried  witli  tliem,  as  well  for  sliow  as  to  keep  them  from  cold 
at  table. — S.  Tliese  are  jirobably  what  are  forbidden  in  tlie  88th 
Canon  of  the  Church  of  England,  under  the  name  of  feasts,  banquets, 
suppers,  churchales,  drinkings,'  &c. 

'  As  well  as  he  knew  how.  It  seems  that  sailors  have  always  been 
bad  horsemen. 

-  While  the  merchants,  or  supercargo,  to  whom  the  wine  belonged, 
were  asleep,  he  used  to  tap  a  caok. 


THE   PROLOGUE.  9i 

He  kiu'w  wel  alle  the  liavencs,  as  thei  were, 

From  .ScoLlond  to  tlie  cape  of  Fyuestere, 

And  every  cryk  in  Bretayne  and  in  Spayne; 
i^CO  Hi»  barge  y-clopud  was  the  Magdelayue. 
Thcr  was  also  a  DocTOUR  of  riiisiic, 

In  al  this  world  ne  was  ther  non  him  lyk 

To  speke  of  phisik  and  of  surgery e; 

For  he  was  groundiul  in  nstmnomye.' 
l^  fy  He  kepte  liis  pacdont  wondurly  wcl 

In  houres  by  his  magik  naturel.' 

Wei  cowde  he  fortune  the  ascendent 

Of  his  ymages  for  his  pacieut. 

He  knew  the  cause  of  every  nialadye, 
i^l'O  Were  it  of  cold,  or  hete,  or  moyst,  or  drye, 

And  where  thei  engendrid,  and  of  what  humour; 

He  was  a  verrey  parfight  practisour. 

The  cause  i-kuowe,  and  of  his  harm  the  roote, 

Anon  he  gaf  the  syke  man  his  l)00te. 
^  l-b   Ful  redy  hadde  he  his  apotecaries, 

To  sende  him  di-agges,  and  his  letuariea, 

For  eche  of  hem  made  othur  for  to  wynne; 

Here  friendschipe  was  not  newe  to  beg}'une. 

Wei  knew  he  the  olde  Esculapius, 
U  i  y  And  Deiscorides,  and  eeke  Ruius ; 

Old  Ypocras,  Haly,  and  Galieuj* 

Serapyon,  Razis,  and  Avycen ; 


1  A  prcat  part  of  the  medical  practice  of  the  middle  ages  consisted 
in  aflmini.stcrinfr  rtiuedics  according  to  the  position  of  tlie  planets  in 
the  lioavens,  as  Mr.  Wrifjlit  observes.  At  the  present  time  the  horses 
and  cows  in  most  of  the  farms  in  England  are  dosed  according  to  the 
astrological  directions  in  Zadkicl's  Alnianuck. 

-  The  reading  in  the  text,  which  is  from  the  Ilarl.  MS.,  conveys  a 
piece  of  irony  wliich  is  lost  in  the  common  one,  a  ful  r/ret  del.  'J'he 
practice  of  natural  magic  is  alluded  to  in  the  Iloitae  of  Fame.  It  wa« 
probably  derived  I rom  ihe  classical  heatliinism. —  i'Ule  Mok.  5«/.,  lib. 
i.  8. 

••  Hippocrates  and  Galen  were  spelled  Ypocras,  or  Hippocras, 
and  (Jallien  by  writers  iu  the  middle  ages.  These  and  the  rest 
of  the  authors  here  named  were  tlie  great  medical  authorities  oi 
thooe  times. 


96  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

AveiTois,  Damescen,  and  Constantyn; 

Bernard,  and  Gatisden,  and  Gilbertyn, 
l^ijj     Of  his  diete  mesurable  was  he, 

Por  it  was  of  no  super  finite, 

But  of  gret  norisching  and  digestible. 

His  studie  was  but  litel  on  the  Bible.' 

In  sangwin  and  in  pers  he  clad  was  al, 
L(Ui)  Lined  with  taffata  and  with  sendal. 

And  yit  he  v.'as  but  esy  in  dispence; 

He  kepte  that  he  wan  in  pestilence.* 

For  gold  in  phisik  is  a  cordial ; 

Therfore  h?  lovede  gold  in  special. 
e^  Ui'      A  good  WiF  was  ther  of  byside  Bathe, 

But  sche  was  somdel  deef,  and  that  was  skathe. 

Of  cloth-makyng^  she  hadde  such  an  haimt, 

Sche  passed  hem  of  Ypris  and  of  Gaunt. 

In  al  the  parisshe  wyf  ne  was  ther  noon 
l^ljO  That  to  the  offiyng*  byfom  hire  schulde  goon, 

And  if  ther  dide,  certeyn  so  wroth  was  sche. 

That  sche  was  thanne  out  of  alle  charite. 

Hire  keverchefs  weren  ful  fyne  of  grounde ; 

I  durste  swere  they  weyghede  ten  pounde* 
(j$b   That  on  the  Sonday  were  upon  hire  heed. 

Hir  hosen  were  of  fyn  scarlett  reed, 

Ful  streyte  y-teyed,  and  schoos  ful  moyste  and  newe- 

Bold  was  hir  face,  and  fair,  and  reed  of  hewe. 


•  See  post.  Pardoner's  Prologue. 

2  Perhaps,  as  Mr.  "VVright  suggests,  in  allusion  to  the  great  pesti- 
lence which  devastated  Europe  in  the  thirteenth  century,  and  of 
which  there  is  such  a  magnificent  description  in  the  opening  of  the 
Decamtron. 

3  The  AVest  of  England  to  this  day  vies  with  Yorkshire  in  the  excel- 
lence of  its  cloth. 

■*  This  was  probably  the  offering  on  relic-Sunday,  when  the  congre- 
gation went  up  to  the  altar  in  succession  to  kiss  the  relics.  '  But  the 
relics  we  must  kiss  and  offer  unto,  especially  on  relic-Sunday.' — Book  of 
Homilies. 

5  The  high  and  massive  head-dresses  of  this  period,  often  to  be  seen 
on  brasses,  are  still  worn  by  the  peasants  of  Caux,  in  Normandy, 
called  Cauchoises,  and  are  very  becoming. 


THE   PROLOGUE.  97 

Sche  was  a  worthy  wommfin  al  hire  lyfe, 
[^  ^(^'Housbondes  atte  cliirclie  doiu'  hadde  sche  fyfe, 

Withouten  othur  companye  in  youthe; 

But  thereof  needetli  nont^ht  to  speke  as  nouthe. 

And  thries  liadde  sche  lieu  at  Jerusalem; 

Sche  hadde  passed  many  a  straunge  streem ; 
1^0!}'  At  Rome  sclie  hadde  ben,  a:ul  at  Boloyne, 

In  Galice  at  seynt  Jame,  and  at  Coloyne.* 

Sche  cowde  nioche  of  wandryjig  by  the  weye. 

Gattothud^  was  sche,  sothly  for  to  seye. 

Uppon  an  amblere  esely  sche  sat, 
i4  1C  Wyniplid  ful  wel,  and  on  hii-e  heed  an  hat 

As  brood  as  is  a  bocler  or  a  targe ; 

A  foot-mantel  aboute  hire  hupes  large, 

And  on  hire  feet  a  paire  of  spores  scharpe/ 

In  felawschipe  wel  cowde  lawghe  and  carpe. 
L{  yy  Of  remedyes  of  love  sche  knew  parchaunce, 

For  of  that  art  sche  knew  the  oldc  daunce. 
A  good  man  was  ther  of  religioun, 

And  was  a  pore  Persoun  of  a  toun  ;* 

But  riche  he  was  of  holy  thought  and  werk. 
lj$0  He  was  also  a  lerned  man,  a  clerk 

That  Cristes  gospel  gladly  wolde  preche ; 

His  parischens  devoutly  wolde  he  teche. 


'  According  to  the  old  custom,  the  priest  married  the  couple  at  the 
church  door,  and  immediately  afterwards  proceeded  to  the  altar  to 
celebrate  mass,  at  which  the  newly-married  persons  communicated. 
The  rubrics  in  the  modern  English  ollice  arc  to  tlie  same  efTcct. 

'  Sl>e  had  probably  gone  to  Cologne  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  relics  of 
the  Tliree  Kings,  or  Wise  ^len  of  tlie  East,  said  to  be  there  preserved. 
The  body  of  St.  James  the  Apostle  was  supposed  to  liave  been  carried 
in  a  ship  without  a  rudder  to  Galicia,  and  was  preserved  at  Conipos- 
tella,  whither  there  was  a  prodigious  resort  of  pilgrims. 

•*  .Speght  reads  cat-tothcd,  of  wliicli  the  sense  seems  more  obvious.  It 
would  mean  of  teeili  uneven  and  far  asunder,  a  peculiarity  wliicli 
gives  a  bold  look,  and  so  may  be  considered  characteristic. 

*  It  appears  she  bestrode  her  horse,  like  the  paysannes  in  France. 

5  Parson  or  parish  priest,  so  called  because  he  is  the  perfojia  ecclesi(r, 
the  representative  or  mouth-piece,  through  whom  the  Church,  that  ii 
the  Christians,  in  that  particular  parish,  addrei*es  its  worship  to  (JoJ. 
— See  Blackstone's  Osmtn. — Town  here  means  toicnland  or  parish. 

VOL.  I.  H 


98  THE   CANTERBUKY   TALES. 

Benigiie  ho  was,  and  wonder  diligent, 
And  in  adversite  ful  pacient; 
Ifffy  And  such  he  was  i-proved  ofte  sithes. 

Ful  loth  were  him  to  curse  for  his  tythes/ 
Eut  rather  wolde  he  geven  out  of  dowte. 
Unto  his  pore  parisschens  aboute. 
Of  his  ofFrynge,  and  eek  of  his  substaunce.* 

l^ijfi  He  cowde  in  litel  thing  han  suffisance. 

Wyd  was  his  parisch,  and  houses  fer  asondur, 
But  he  ne  lafte  not  for  reyne  ne  thondur, 
In  siknesse  ne  in  meschief  to  visite 
The  ferrest  in  his  parissche,  moche  and  lite, 

(4^6'  Uppon  his  feet,  and  in  his  hond  a  staf. 

This  noble  ensample  unto  his  scheep  he  gaf, 
That  ferst  he  wroughte,  and  after  that  he  taughte, 
Out  of  the  gospel  he  tho  wordes  caughte, 
And  this  figure  he  addid  }dt  therto, 

y0fi  That  if  gold  ruste,  what  scliulde  yren  dool 
For  if  a  prest  be  foul,  on  whom  we  truste, 
No  wondur  is  a  lewid  man  to  ruste; 
And  schame  it  is,  if  that  a  prest  take  kepe, 
A  schiten  schepperd  and  a  clene  schepe; 

S^pl}*  Wei  oughte  a  prest  ensample  for  to  give, 

By  his  clennesse,  how  that  his  scheep  schulde  lyve. 
He  sette  not  his  benefice  to  huyre. 
And  lefte  his  scheep  encombred  in  the  myre, 
And  ran  to  Londone,  unto  seynte  Poules, 

^(0  To  seeken  him  a  chaunterie  for  soules,^ 
Or  with  a  brethurhede  be  withholde;* 
But  dwelte  at  hoom,  and  kepte  wel  his  folde, 


'  Refusal  to  pay  tithes  was  punishable  with  the  lesser  excommuni- 
cation. 

2  Of  what  he  obtained  by  the  voluntary  offerings  of  his  parishioners, 
as  well  as  by  his  benefice. 

3  A  chantry  for  souls  was  an  endowment  for  a  priest  to  sing  or 
chant  masses  for  tlie  benefit  of  the  souls  01  the  founders.  The  parson 
did  not  leave  a  ciwatc  to  perform  his  parocliial  duties,  and  seek  one  of 
these  sinecures  for  himself  in  Saint  Paul's. 

*  To  be  maintained  in  a  religious  house. 


THE   ruOLOGUE.  99 

So  that  tlie  "wolfe  ne  iiiatlo  it  not  myscai-ye. 
He  Wiis  ci  scheppei'de  and  no  mcrccnarie  ;* 

yi  Ij   And  though  he  holy  were,  and  vertuoiis, 
He  was  to  scnful  man  noiiifht  dis{)itous, 
Ne  of  his  speche  danngerous  ne  digne, 
But  in  his  tcchini?  discret  and  l^eniicne. 
To  drawe  folk  to  heven  by  faimesse, 

^"IC  By  good  euiiauiple,  was  his  busynesse : 
But  it  were  eny  persona  obstinat, 
What  so  he  were  of  high  or  lowe  estat, 
Him  wolde  he  snybbe  scharply  for  the  nones. 
A  bettre  precst  1  ti'owe  ther  nowher  non  is. 

({Uii'  He  waytud  after  no  pompe  ne  reverence, 
Ne  maked  him  a  spiced  conscience,"" 
But  Cristes  lore,  and  his  apostles  twelve, 
He  taught,  and  ferst  he  folwed  it  himselve. 

With  him  ther  Avas  a  Ploughmax,  liis  brothur, 

6»*  be   That  hadde  i  lad  of  dong  ful  many  a  fothur. 
A  trewe  swynker  and  a  good  was  hee, 
Lysynge  in  pecs  and  paiiight  charitee. 
God  loved  he  best  with  al  his  trewe  herte 
At  alle  tymes,  though  him  gained  or  smei*te, 
And  thanne  his  neighebour  right  as  himselve. 
He  wolde  thrcisshe,  and  therto  dyke  and  delve, 


^3^' 


'  John  X.  II. 

*  The  meaiiin<:  is  not  obvious,  and  Tyrwhitt  professes  not  to  under- 
stand it.  It  may  signify  that  liis  conscience  was  not  sophisticated  hy 
tlie  sublilties  of  casuistry,  compared  to  far-fetched  spices,  but  guided 
by  the  plain  words  of  Scripture. 

It  is  quite  natural  that  Chaucer,  the  friend  of  John  of  Gaunt, 
should  praise  the  parochial  clergy  who  were  poor,  and  therefore  not 
formidable,  at  the  expense  of  the  rich  monastic  orders,  who  formed  the 
only  barrier  which  then  existed  against  the  despotic  power  of  the 
aristocracy.  It  should  nrlso  be  remembered  that  the  same  poverty 
which  made  the  secular  clergy  humble  and  frugal,  left  them  also  illite- 
rate ;  and  that  it  is  to  the  IV'nedictines,  and  their  magnificent  libraries, 
that  we  owe  the  preservation,  in  an  iron  age,  not  only  of  the 
Fathers,  but  of  Homer,  of  Virgil,  and  of  Cicero. — See  Ixl.  JIncaulay's 
excellent  remarks  upon  this  subject  in  his  IlUtory  qf  Ensiand, 
TOl.  i.  p.  6. 

II    2 


100  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

For  Crktes  sake,  witli  every  pore  wiglit, 
Withouten  liiiyre,  if  it  laye  in  his  might. 
His  tythes  payede  he  ful  fau-e  and  wel, 

tfi^if  Bathe  of  his  owno  swynk  and  his  catel. 
In  a  tabbard  he  rood  upon  a  mere.^ 

Ther  was  also  a  reeve  and  a  mellere, 
A  sompnour  and  a  pardoner  also, 
A  maunciple,  and  my  self,  ther  was  no  mo. 

^''Hi'       The  Mellere  was  a  stout  carl  for  the  nones, 
Ful  big  he  was  of  braun,  and  eek  of  boones ; 
That  prevede  wel,  for  over  al  ther  he  cam. 
At  wrastlynge  he  wolde  here  awey  the  ram.'' 
He  was  schort  schuldred,  broode,  a  thikke  knarre, 

y/i?  Ther  nas  no  dore  that  he  nold  heve  of  harre, 
Or  breke  it  with  a  rennyng  with  his  heed. 
His  berd  as  ony  sowe  or  fox  was  reed, 
And  therto  brood,  as  though  it  were  a  spade. 
Upon  the  cop  right  of  his  nose  he  hade 

iCifif  A  werte,  and  theron  stood  a  tuft  of  hei-es, 
Reede  as  the  berstles  of  a  souwes  eeres. 
His  nose-thurles  blake  were  and  wyde. 
A  swerd  and  a  bocler  baar  he  by  his  side, 
His  mouth  as  wyde  was  as  a  gret  forneys. 
if(f^  He  was  a  jangler,  and  a  golyardeys, 

And  that  was  most  of  synne  and  hai'lotries. 
"Wel  cowde  he  stele  corn,  and  tollen  thries ;' 
And  yet  he  had  a  thombe  of  gold  parde.* 
A  whight  cote  and  blewe  hood  wered  he. 


'  The  ploughman's  tabard  was  probably  what  we  should  call  a 
blouse,  or  smock-frock.  No  one  of  any  pretensions  rode  upon  a  mare 
in  the  middle  ages. 

*  A  ram  was  the  usual  prize  at  wrestling  matches. — See  the  Col:c's 
Tale  of  Gnmelyn. 

3  Besides  the  usual  payment  In  money  for  grinding  corn,  millers  are 
always  allowed  what  is  called  '  toll,'  amounting  to  4lbs.  out  of  every 
sack  of  flour. 

^  If  the  allusion  be,  as  is  most  probable,  to  the  old  proverb.  Every 
honest  miller  has  a  thumb  of  (joUl.  tlic  passage  may  mean,  that  our  mil- 
ler, notwithstanding  his  thefts,  was  an  honest  miller, — ».  e.,  as  honest  an 
his  brethren. — T. 


THE   PROLOGUE.  101 

Ij};})'  A  bagi^cpipc^  cowdc  lie  blowe  and  sowne, 

Ami  therwithal  lie  brought  us  out  of  towne. 
A  geiitil  ^Maun'ciple  was  tlier  of  a  temple, 
Of  which  achatoui's  mighten  take  exemple 
For  to  be  wys  in  beyyiug  of  vitaillo. 
$10  For  whethur  that  he  payde,  or  took  by  taille,' 
Algate  he  wayted  so  in  his  acate, 
That  he  was  ay  biforn  and  in  good  state. 
Xow  is  not  that  of  God  a  ful  fair  grace, 
That  such  a  lewed  mannes  wit  schal  pace 

^Tif  The  wisdom  of  an  heep  of  lernede  men  ? 
Of  niaystres  hadde  moo  than  thries  ten, 
That  were  of  lawe  expert  and  curious  ; 
Of  which  ther  were  a  doseyn  in  an  house, 
Worthi  to  be  stiwardes  of  route  and  lond 

ijSO  Of  any  lord  that  is  in  Engelond, 

To  make  him  lyre  by  his  propre  good, 
In  honour  detteles,  but  if  he  were  wood, 
Or  lyve  as  scarsly  as  he  can  desire  ; 
And  able  for  to  helpen  al  a  scliire 

^y  In  any  caas  that  mighte  falle  or  happe  ; 

And  yit  this  maunciple  sette  hero  aller  cappe.' 

The  PtEEVE  was  a  sklendre  colerik  man, 
His  berd  wa.s  scliave  as  neigh  as  ever  he  can. 
His  heer  was  by  his  eres  iieighe*  i-shorn. 

cCfQ  His  top  was  dockud  lyk  a  preest  biforn. 

'  The  ba.crpipe  has  long  since  disappeared  from  England,  wljere  it 
was  once  a  favourite  among  tlie  lower  orders.  In  Albert  Diirer's  etcli- 
wg  of  tlie  Nativity,  one  of  the  sliepherds  carries  a  bagpipe;  and  it  may 
yet  be  seen  in  Italy. 

-  Marked  the  reckoning  on  a  tally,  bought  on  credit ;  from  lailUr, 
to  cut. 

^  To  set  a  man's  cap  is  to  cheat  him.  Aller  is  the  genitive  plural  of 
alle,  and  the  passage  means,  therefore,  set  the  cap  of  them  all, — i.e., 
cheated  them  all.  The  same  construction  occurs  afterwards — '  Up  roos 
our  hoste,  and  was  our  althur  (aller)  cok,'  was  cock  for  us  all, — i.  «'.. 
wakened  and  gathered  us  togetlier  as  a  cock  does  his  hens.  In  modern 
(jerman,  aUer  is  used  in  the  same  way,  as  der  aller  besU,  the  best 
of  all. 

*  This  ia  the  reading  of  the  Harl.  MS.  Mr.  'Wright  subslitutct 
rotuuie. 


102  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Ful  longe  wern  liis  leggus,  and  ful  lene, 

Al  like  a  staff,  ther  was  no  calf  y-sene. 

Wei  cowde  he  kepe  a  gerner  and  a  bynne  ; 

Ther  was  non  auditour  cowde  on  him  wynne. 
S^if  "VVel  wist  he  by  the  drought,  and  by  the  reyn, 

The  yeeldyng  of  his  seed,  and  of  his  greyn. 

His  lordes  scheep,  his  nete/  and  his  dayerie, 

His  swyn,  his  hors,  his  stoor,  and  his  pultrie, 

"Was  holly  in  this  reeves  governynge, 
If  ffO    And  by  his  covenaunt  gaf  the  rekenynge, 

Syn  that  his  lord  was  twenti  yeer  of  age ; 

Ther  couthe  noman  bringe  him  in  arrerage. 

Ther  nas  ballif,  ne  herde,  ne  other  hyne, 

That  they  ne  knewe  his  sleight  and  his  covyne ; 
If  0i3   They  were  adrad  of  him,  as  of  the  deth. 

His  wonyng  was  ful  fair  upon  an  heth, 

With  gi-ene  trees  i-schadewed  was  his  place. 

He  cowde  bettre  than  his  lord  purchace. 

Ful  riche  he  was  i-stored  prively, 
(flO   His  lord  wel  couthe  he  plese  subtilly, 

To  geve  and  lene  him  of  his  owne  good, 

And  have  a  thank,  a  cote,  and  eek  an  hood. 

In  youthe  he  lerned  hadde  a  good  mester ; 

He  was  a  wel  good  wright,  a  carpenter. 
^Hj   This  reeve  sat  upon  a  wel  good  stot,^ 

That  was  a  pomely  gray,  and  highte  Scot. 

A  long  surcote  of  pers*  uppon  he  hadde, 

And  by  his  side  he  bar  a  msty  bladde. 

•  The  Harl.  MS.  reads  meet,  but  all  the  editions  ncte,  which  is  evi- 
dently the  true  reading.  The  neat  stock  comes  in  naturally  in  the 
enumeration  of  the  different  kinds  of  cattle ;  but  the  Reeve  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  keeping  of  his  landlord's  meat. 

'  Speght  interprets  this  a  young  horse.  It  properly  means  a  young 
bullock;  but  the  names  of  young  animals  are  apt  to  be  indiscriminately 
applied  to  different  sjjecies.  The  name  given  to  the  horse  of  the  Kceve, 
who  lived  at  Bawdcswtll,  in  Norfolk,  is  a  curious  instance  of  Chaucer's 
accuracy :  for  to  this  day  tliere  is  scarcely  a  farm  in  Norfolk  or  Suffolk 
in  which  one  of  the  liorses  is  not  called  Scot.  As  tlie  name  has  no 
meaning,  it  must  be  attributed  to  an  immemorial  tradition. 

3  Harl.  MS.,  bkw.     Pers,  Mr.  Wright  says,  was  of  a  sky-blue  colour. 


Tin:  PROLOGUE.  103 

Of  Nortlifolk  was  this  reeve  of  which  I  telle, 
^tC    Bysido  a  touii  men  civlleu  Baklcswclle. 
'i'ukkiitl  lie  was,  as  is  a  frere,  aboute. 
And  ever  he  rood  the  hynderest  of  the  route. 

A  SoMPNOfU  was  ther  with  lis  in  that  place, 
That  hadde  a  fyr-rocd  chcrubynes  face,' 

^  ^*For  sawcf'iiera  he  was,  with  eyj^hen  narwe. 
As  hoot  ho  was,  and  leccherous,  a.s  a  spa.rwe, 
With  skalled  browes  blak,  and  piled  Ijcrd ; 
Of  his  visage  children  woren  sore  aferd. 
Ther  nas  quyksilver,  litnrge,  ne  brimstone, 

{^$^  Boras,  ceruce,  ne  oille  of  tartre  noon,' 

Ne  oynement  that  wolde  dense  and  byte, 
That  him  might  heljien  of  his  whelkes  white, 
Ne  of  the  knobbcs  sittyng  on  his  cheokes. 
Wei  loved  he  gavleek,  oynonns,  and  ek  leekes, 

0^y  And  for  to  drinke  strong  wyn  reed  as  blood. 

Thanne  wolde  he  speke,  and  crye  as  he  were  wood- 
And  whan  that  he  wel  dronken  hadde  the  wyn, 
Than  wolde  he  speke  no  word  but  Latyn. 
A  fewe  termes  hadde  he,  tuo  or  thre, 

^UO  That  he  hadde  lerncd  out  of  som  decree; 
No  woudur  is,  he  horde  it  al  the  day; 
And  eek  ye  knowe  wel,  how  that  a  jay 
Can  clepe  Watte,  as  wel  as  can  the  pope. 
But  who  so  wolde  in  othur  thing  him  gi'ope, 

^L'/Thanno  hadde  he  spent  al  his  jihilosophie, 
Ay,  Questio  quid  jurist  wolde  he  crye. 
He  was  a  gentil  harlot*  and  a  kynde  ; 
A  bettre  felaw  schulde  men  nowher  fynde. 


'  n.  Stejihens,  Apol.  Ihrod,  lib.  i.  c.  3o,  quotes  the  s.nine  thought 
from  a  French  eiiigruni : — •  Nos  grand  doctcurs  au  Cherubin  visajjc' 
— T. 

-  L'sual  remeUics  in  the  5I.itcria  Mcdicn  of  tliat  period  for  scorbutic 
eruptions. 

•'  This  kind  of  qui'-tion  occurs  ft-cqnently  in  lialph  de  Ilnuihnm. 
After  hfivin?  stated  a  case  he  adds,  Quiiljuriat  and  tlien  proceeds  to 
pive  tl\e  answer  to  it. — T. 

*   llie  name  of  harlot  was  originally  given  to  men  as  well  as  women, 


10-i  THE   CAKTERBURY   TALES, 

He  wolde  suffre  for  a  quart  of  -wyn 
[ffifO    A  good  felawe  to  ban  his  conciibyn 

A  twelve  moneth,  and  excuse  him  atte  fulle, 

And  prively  a  fynch  eek  cowde  he  pulle. 

And  if  he  fond  owher  a  good  felawe, 

He  wolde  teche  him  to  have  non  awe 
^^6'  111  such  a  caas  of  the  ai-chedecknes  curs/ 

But  if  a  mannes  sole  were  in  his  purs ; 

For  in  his  purs  he  scholde  punyssche-d  be. 

'  Purs  is  the  ercedeknes  helle,'  quod  he. 

But  well  I  woot  he  lyeth  right  in  dede  ; 
ffiltO  Oi  cursyng  oweth  ech  gulty  man  to  drede  ; 

For  curs  wol  slee  right  as  assoillyng  saveth  ; 

And  also  ware  of  him  a  significavit.'^ 

In  daunger'  he  hadde  at  his  own  assise 
^  The  yonge  gurles  of  the  diocise, 
^t^' And  knew  here  counseil,  and  was  al  here  red.* 

A  garland^  had  he  set  upon  his  heed, 

As  gret  as  it  were  for  an  ale-stake ; 

A  bokeler  had  he  maad  him  of  a  cake.* 
With  him  ther  rood  a  gentil  Pardoner 
^  "^p  Of  Rouncival/  his  frend  and  his  comper, 


as  in  the  Eoman  de  la  nose,  roi  des  Rihaulx  is  translated  king  of  harlots. 

•  Tlie  meaning  is,— he  would  teach  his  friends  to  consider  the  Arch- 
deacon's excommunication  as  a  mere  matter  of  money,  because  it  could 
be  bought  olT. 

*  Slfjnifimvit  means  the  writ  de  excommunicato  capiendo,  being  its 
initial  word. 

'*  In  his  jurisdiction. 

•*  Speght  reads,  loas  of  her  red,  which  gives  a  more  obvious  sense;  but 
in  either  case  the  passage  means,  was  of  their  counsel,  gave  them  his 
advice. 

■'  Of  this  custom  there  is  an  example  in  the  .ffn/^y/frs  Tale,  page  159. 

*■•  A  grotesque  trick,  such  as  the  common  people  delight  in.  The 
peasants  of  Rouen,  on  their  march  to  Paris  to  join  hi  the  Kevolution  of 
1830,  in  the  same  spirit,  carried  their  loaves  of  bread  stuck  on  ihcir 
pikes. 

7  Of  Hounceval.  'lyrwhitt  supposed  that  this  was  the  name  of  some 
fraternity,  and  states  that  there  was  an  Hospital  Beatce  Maricc  dc 
Roujweyvalle,  in  Cliaring,  London. 


THE   PROLOGUE.  106 

That  sti'cyt  was  comen  from  the  court  of  Rome. 

Fill  lowile  ho  saiiiii,  C(jme  liidor,  love,  to  me.' 

This  sompiiour  bar  to  him  a  stif  bunlouu, 

Was  nevere  trompe  of  half  so  gret  a  soun. 
/  yj'  This  pardoner  hadde  heer  as  yelwe  as  wex, 

But  smothe  it  heng,  as  doth  a  strike  of  flex ; 

By  unoes  hynge  his  lokkcs  that  he  hadde, 

And  therwith  he  his  schuldres  overspradde. 

Ful  tlieune  it  lay,  by  culpons  on  and  oon, 
^fiO  But  hood,  for  jolitee,  ne  wered  he  noon, 

For  it  was  trussud  up  in  his  walet. 

Him  thought  he  rood  al  of  the  newe  get,' 

Dischevele,  sauf  his  cappe,  he  rood  al  bare. 

Suche  glaryng  eyghen  hadde  he  as  an  hare. 
^^If  A  verniele'  hadde  he  sowed  on  his  capjje. 

His  walet  lay  byforn  liinx  in  his  lappe, 

Bret  ful  of  pardoun*  come  from  Rome  al  hoot. 

A  voys  he  hadde  as  smale  as  eny  goot. 

No  berd  ne  hadde  he,  ne  nevdr  scholde  have, 
LC(0  As  smothe  it  was  as  it  ware  Lite  i-schave ; 

I  trowe  he  Avere  a  geldyng  or  a  mare. 

But  of  his  craft,  fi'o  Berwyk  unto  Ware, 

Ne  was  ther  such  another  pardoner. 

For  in  liis  male  he  hadde  a  pilwebeer, 

'  This  was  probably  the  burthen  of  some  popular  song.  The  fact  of 
to  me  rhymins  to  Home,  illustrates  the  mauncr  in  wliich  the  final  e 
must  be  pronounced  in  Chaucer's  poetry. 

-  Of  the  new  fashion.  Getie  or  <jett  (for  the  MSS.  differ)  is  used  in 
the  same  sense  by  Uccleve,  de  Heg.  Princ.  The  I'ardoner  rode  without 
the  usual  hood  on  his  head,  dischevele  or  uncovered  ;  he  had  only 
his  cappe,  cope,  or  short  cloak. 

3  A  painting  of  the  face  of  Christ.  '  Inter  has  fcminas  una  fuit 
Bernice,  sive  Veronice,  vulgo  Veronica,  quie  sudarium  Christoc.xhibens, 
ut  faciem  sudore  ct  sanguine  madentem  abstorgeret,  ab  eo  illud  recepit, 
cum  imprcssa  in  illo  ejusdem  Cliristi  efligie,  ut  habet  Christiana 
traditio.' — Corn,  a  Lnjnde  in  S.  Matt,  xxvii.  It. 

*  Brim-full  of  imlulgcnccs  granted  by  the  Court  of  Kome.  The 
theory  of  pardons  or  indulgences  is  that  they  are  commutations,  in 
consideration  of  some  act  of  devotion,  of  tlie  long  temporal  peualtiea 
for  sin  required  by  the  Canons  of  the  Primitive  Church. 


106  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

(r  f  6     Whicli,  that  lie  saide,  -was  oure  lady  veyl : 
He  seide.  he  hadde  a  gobet  of  the  seyl 
That  seynt  Petur  hadde,  whan  that  he  wente 
Upiion  the  see,  till  Jhesu  Crist  him  hente. 
He  hadde  a  cros  of  latoiin  ful  of  stones, 

7^     And  in  a  glas  he  hadde  pigges  bones. 

But  with  thise  reliques,  whanne  that  he  fand 
A  pore  persoun  dwellyng  uppon  land. 
Upon  a  day  he  gat  him  more  moneye 
Than  that  the  persoun  gat  in  monthes  tweye. 

7<?y  And  thus  with  feyned  flaterie  and  japes. 

He  made  the  persoun  and  the  people  his  apes. 
But  trewely  to  tellen  atte  laste. 
He  was  in  cluxrche  a  noble  ecclesiaste. 
Wei  cowde  he  rede  a  lessoun  or  a  storye, 

7  lO   But  althei-best^  he  sang  an  offertorie  f 

For  wel  wyst  he,  whan  that  song  was  songe, 
He  moste  preche,  and  wel  alFyle  his  tuuge, 
To  Wynne  silver,  as  he  right  wel  cowde ; 
Therefore  he  sang  ful  meriely  and  lowde. 

7/^      Now  have  I  told  you  schortly  in  a  clause 

Thestat,  tharray,  the  nombre,  and  eek  the  cause 

Why  that  assembled  was  this  companye 

In  Southwerk  at  this  gentil  ostelrie, 

That  highte  the  Tabbard,  faste  by  the  Belle. 

7'^0  But  now  is  tyme  to  yow  for  to  telle 

How  that  we  bare  us  in  that  ilke  night, 
Whan  we  were  in  that  ostelrie  alight : 
And  affcur  wol  I  telle  of  oure  viage. 
And  al  the  remenaunt  of  oure  pilgrimage. 


'  AUlierhest  means  best  of  all ;  so  the  German  a?Zer6esfe— See  emte, 
p.  1 01,  note  3. 

-  A  text  of  Scripture  said  or  sunp  after  the  Niccnc  Creed  in  the 
mass,  dtirinfT  wliicli  the  people  ni;ide  tlieir  oli'orings  ;  and  immediately 
after  followed  tlie  sermon.  'And  while  we  oiler  (that  we  should  not 
be  weary  or  repent  us  of  our  cost)  tlie  music  and  minstrelsy  goeth 
merrily  all  the  olfertory  time.' — Book  of  Homilies. 


THE    PROLOGUE.  107 

7V^  But  ferst  I  pray  you  of  your  curtesie, 

That  ye  no  rcttc'  it  n:it  my  vilanye, 

Though  that  I  si)eko  al  pleyii  in  this  matere, 

To  telle  you  hero  wordes  and  here  cheere ; 

Ne  though  I  spoke  here  ■vvonles  propurly. 
liO    F'Ji"  this  yo  knowen  al  so  wel  as  I, 

^^'ho  so  schal  telle  a  tale  aftur  a  man, 

He  moste  reherce.  as  neigh  as  ever  he  can, 

Every  word,  if  it  be  in  his  charge, 

Al  speke  he  never  so  rudely  ue  large ; 
73^    Or  elles  he  moot  telle  his  tale  untrewe, 

Or  feyne  thing,  or  fynde  wordes  newe. 

He  may  not  spare,  though  he  were  his  brothur ; 

He  moste  as  wel  sey  oo  word  as  anothur. 

Crist  spak  himself  ful  broode  in  holy  writ, 
7<<o   And  wel  ye  woot  no  vilanye  is  it. 

Eke  Plato  seith,  who  so  that  can  him  rede. 

The  wordes  mot  be  cosyn''  to  the  dede. 

Also  I  pray  you  to  forgeve  it  me, 

Al  have  I  folk  nat  set  in  here  degre 
finb'  Here  in  this  tale,  as  that  thei  schulde  stonde ; 

My  witt  is  schorte,^  ye  may  wel  undurstonde. 
Greet  cheere  made  oure  ost  us  everichon, 

And  to  the  souper  sette  he  us  anon  ; 

And  served  us  with  vitaille  atte  beste. 
'^i3C>  Strong  was  the  wyn,  and  wel  to  drynke  us  leste. 


'  Tliat  j-ou  interpret  it  not  as  a  proof  of  my  base  brooding.  [The 
wdnl  r««e,  sometimes  arette,  is  from  tlie  Icelandic  ritta,  wliich  means  to 
adjudge,  to  give  sentence.] 

-  From  IJoetliius,  I)e  ConsoUUione,  lib.  iii.,  tlius  translated  by 
Chaucer — '  That  needs  the  words  mote  been  cosins  to  the  things  of 
which  they  speakcn.'  His  excuse  for  the  broadness  of  the  language 
which  he  puts  into  the  mouths  of  his  pilgrims  goes  ujwn  the  assump- 
tion that  he  is  relating  an  incident  wliich  actually  took  place,  and 
which  he  is  therefore  bound  not  to  falsify.  This  piece  of  iimrtti  is 
affected  to  give  an  air  of  reality  to  the  tiction  upon  wliich  the  poem  ia 
founded. 

s  Harl.  MS.,  thvnM. 


108  THE   CANTLRBUKY   TALES. 

A  semely  man  cure  ooste  was  Avdthalle 
For  to  lian  been  a  mai^chal  in  an  halle  ; 
A  large  man  was  he  with  eyghen  stepe, 
A  fairere  burgeys  is  ther  noon  in  Chepe  : 
7i'i'  Bold  of  his  speche,  and  Avys  and  well  i-taught, 
And  of  manhede  lakkede  he  right  naught. 
Eke  therto  he  was  right  a  mery  man, 
And  after  soper  pi  ay  en  he  bygan, 
And  spak  of  myrthe  among  othnr  thinges, 

7  ^/>   Whan  that  we  hadde  maad  our  rekenynges; 
And  sayde  thus  :  '  Lo,  lordynges.  trewely 
Ye  ben  to  me  right  welcome  hertily  : 
For  by  my  trouthe,  if  that  I  schal  not  lye, 
I  ne  saugli  this  yeer  so  mery  a  companye 

-J  Ipjj'  At  oones  m  this  herbei'gh  as  is  now. 

Fayn  wold  I  do  yow  merthe,  wiste  I  how. 
And  of  a  merthe  I  am  right  now  bythought, 
To  doon  you  eese,  and  it  schal  coste  nought. 
Ye  goon  to  Caunturbury ;  God  you  speede, 

•ifO  The  blisful  martir  quyte  you  youre  meede! 
And  wel  I  woot,  as  ye  gon  by  the  weye, 
Ye  schapen  yow  to  talken  and  to  pleye; 
For  trewely  comfort  ne  merthe  is  noon 
To  lyde  by  the  weye  domb  as  a  stoon; 

7  7"^  And  therfore  wol  I  make  you  disport, 

As  I  seyde  erst,  and  do  you  som  confort. 
And  if  yow  liketh  alle  by  oon  assent 
Now  for  to  standen  at  my  juggement; 
And  for  to  werken  as  I  schal  you  seye, 

^9  J?  To  morwe,  whan  ye  riden  by  the  weye, 
Now  by  my  fadres  soixle  that  is  deed. 
But  ye  be  merye,  smyteth  of  myn  heed. 
Hold  up  youre  hond  withoute  more  speche.' 
Ouie  counseil  was  not  longe  for  to  seche; 
1%if\]?,  thought  it  nas  nat  woi'th  to  make  it  wys,* 
And  graunted  him  mthoute  more  avys, 

'  To  make  it  a  matter  of  wisdom  or  deliberation.  So  in  the  Reeve't 
Tale,  straum/e  made  it  signifies  tlie  priest  made  it  a  matter  of  difficulty. 
— T.     See  p.  Hi. 


THE    PROLOGUE.  109 

And  bad  liim  scie  his  verditc,  as  him  leste. 

'  Lordynges,'  quoth  ho,  '  nowherkeuetli  for  the  beste; 

But  taketh  not,  T  pray  you,  iu  di-sdayii ; 

I^^P    This  is  the  poynt,  to  speken  schort  and  phiyn, 
That  ech  oi  yow  to  schorte  with  youre  weie, 
In  this  viage,  schal  telle  tales  tweye, 
To  Caunturburi-ward,  I  mene  it  so,* 
And  hom-ward  he  schal  tellen  othur  tuo, 

l^ii'  Of  avciitures  that  ther  hau  bifalle. 

And  which  of  yow  that  bereth  him  best  of  alle, 
That  is  to  seye,  that  telleth  in  this  caas 
Tales  of  best  sentence  and  of  solas, 
Schal  ban  a  soper  at  your  alther  cost 

^^0  Hei-e  in  this  place  sittynge  by  this  post, 

Whan  that  we  comen  ageyn  from  Cauturbery. 
And  for  to  make  you  the  more  mery, 
I  wol  myselven  gladly  with  you  ryde, 
Right  at  myn  owen  cost,  and  be  youre  gyde. 

^O!^  And  whoso  wole  my  juggement  withseie 
Schal  paye  for  al  we  spenden  by  the  weye. 
And  if  ye  vouchesaut  that  it  be  so, 
Telle  me  anoon,  withouten  wordes  moo, 
And  I  wole  erely  schappe  me  thcrfore.' 

0/i)   This  thing  was  graunted,  and  oure  othus  swore 
With  ful  glad  herte,  and  prayden  him  also 
That  he  would  vouchesauf  for  to  doon  so, 
And  that  he  wolde  ben  oure  governour, 
And  of  our  tales  jugge  and  reportour, 

9/i' And  sette  a  soupcr  at  a  certe}Ti  prys; 
And  we  wolde  rewled  be  at  his  devys, 


'    Tyrwhitt  proposes  to  read, — 

/  mene  it  o. 
And  homward  he  shall  tellen  other  to, 

in  order  to  reconcile  the  orijrinal  agreement  with  tlie  actual  number  <'i 
t;il'73  recounted.  Hut  besides  tlie  awlvardncss  of  tlie  expression,  and 
tht  fact  that  there  is  no  authority  for  it  in  the  ilSS.,  it  seems  much 
preferable  to  adopt  Jlr.  Wright's  judicious  tluory,  tliat  the  poem  uaj 
left  in  an  unfinished  state  by  Chaucer  at  his  death,  and  was  arrange<i 
for  publication,  from  detached  papers,  by  his  literary  executor. 


t*i*f, 


110  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

In  hej'gli  and  lowe ;  and  thus  by  oon  assent 
We  been  acorded  to  bis  juggoment. 
And  therupon  the  wjn  was  fet  anoon ; 

9  ^^   We  dronken,  and  to  reste  wente  echoon, 
Withouten  eny  lengere  taryinge. 
A  morwe  whan  that  the  day  bigan  to  sprynga 
Up  roos  cure  ost,  and  was  oure  althur  cok/ 
And  gaderud  us  togider  all  in  a  flok, 

^  >^     And  forth  we  riden  a  litel  more  than  paas,'' 
Unto  the  waterynge  of  seint  Thomas/ 
And  there  oure  ost  bigan  his  hors  areste, 
And  seyde;  '  Lordus,  herkeneth  if  yow  leste. 
Ye  woot  youre  forward,  and  I  it  you  records. 

9^^   If  eve-song  and  morwe-song  accorde/ 
Let  se  now  who  scbal  telle  ferst  a  tale. 
As  evere  I  moote  drinke  wyn  or  ale, 
Who  so  be  rebel  to  my  juggement 
Schal  paye  for  al  that  by  the  weye  is  spent. 

^5^    Now  draweth  cut/  er  that  we  forther  twynne; 
Which  that  hath  the  schortest  schal  bygynne.' 
'  Sire  knight,'  quoth  he,  '  maister  and  my  lord, 
Now  draweth  cut,  for  that  is  myn  acord. 
Cometh  ner,'  quoth  he,  'my  lady  prioresse; 

^HO  And  ye,  sir  clerk,  lat  be  your  schamfestnesse, 
Ne  studieth  nat;  ley  hand  to,  every  man.' 

Anon  to  drawen  every  wight  bigan, 
And  schortly  for  to  tellen  as  it  was, 
Were  it  by  aventure,  or  sort,  or  cas, 


1  See  ante,  p.  loi,  note  3. 

2  To  pace  means  to  walk;  a  little  more  than  pace  will  therefore 
mean  a  little  faster  than  walking,  i.  e.,  at  a  slow  trot. 

3  Mr.  "Wright  says,  that  the  Watering  of  St.  Thomas,  mentioned  fre- 
quently by  the  old  dramatists,  was  at  the  second  milestone  on  the  old 
Canterbury -road. 

••  Apparently  a  proverbial  expression  alluding  to  the  services  of  the 
Church,  and  meaning,  if  you  are  resolved  in  the  morning  to  keep  the 
promise  made  over  night. 

5  Draw  lots.  Froissart  calls  it,  tircr  d  la  longne  paille,  to  draw  for 
the  long  straw.     Cut,  then,  means,  the  straw  cut  into  dilTerent  lengths. 


r»7v      t/ ^ 


THE    KMGIITES    TALE.  IIJ 

$l^y)  The  soth  is  this,  the  cut  fil  to  the  knight, 

Uf  which  full  glad  and  blithe  was  every  wight; 
And  telle  he  uioste  liis  tale  as  was  resoun, 
By  forward  and  liy  coinposicioim, 
As  ye  hau  herd;  what  ueedeth  wordes  moo^ 

i  i)^  An;  I  whau  this  goode  man  seigh  that  it  was  so, 
As  he  that  wys  was  and  obedient 
To  kepe  his  forward  by  his  fre  assent, 
He  seyde :  '  Syn  I  schal  bygynne  the  game, 
What,  welcome  be  thou  cut,  a  Goddus  name ! ' 

§6^  Now  lat  us  ryde,  and  herkueth  what  I  seye.' 

And  with  that  word  we  ridden  forth  oure  weye; 
And  he  bigan  with  right  a  merle  chere 
His  tale,  and  seide  right  in  this  manere. 


THE    KNIGIITES    TALE. 

[TilE  outline  of  this  tale  is  taken  from  the  Thcseida,  an 
heroic  poem  in  twelve  books  by  Boccaccio.  Tyrwhitt  con- 
jectures that  a  literal  translation  of  the  Theseida  had  already 
appeared  from  the  pen  of  Chaucer,  who  enumerates  it  along 
with  his  other  works  in  the  Legende  of  Gode  Women,  mider 
the  name  of  Al  the  Love  oj  Palamon  and  Arcite.  This  trans- 
lation, if  it  ever  existed,  is  now  lost;  but  it  has  reappeai'ed, 
as  he  supposes,  in  the  Canterbury  Tales,  concentrated  and 
improved  in  this  charming  story  of  chivalry,  so  appropriately 
narrated  by  the  '  perfight,  gentil  knight.' 

The  origin  of  the  story  Is  involved  in  obscurity.  T^'rwhitt 
thinks  it  scarcely  credible  that  it  is  of  Boccaccio's  own  inven- 
tion; and  the  assertion  of  the  novelist  that  he  translated  it 
into  '  vulgar  Latin,' meaning  Italian,  from  una  antlchissimit 
sforia,  he  conceives  to  be  a  mere  literaiy  fiction,  after  the 
maimer  of  the  French  writers  of  romances,  who  almost  alwayn 


'  It  is  cliaracteristic  of  tho  Knight's  good  breeding  an<i  knowlcrige 
of  tlie  world  to  tell  his  tale  Iroukly  aud  cheerfully,  aud  without  endea- 
vouring to  excuse  him;>elf. 


112  THE  KNIGHTES  TALE. 

profess  to  have  translated  from  some  old  Latin  chronicle 
preserved  at  St.  Denys.  He  inclines  to  the  theory  that  it  is 
of  Greek  original,  and  that  it  assumed  its  present  form  as  a 
popular  romance,  after  the  Norman  princes  had  introduced 
the  manners  of  chivalry  into  their  Sicilian  and  Italian 
dominions. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  should  be  remembered  that  the 
opening  of  the  Theseida,  as  well  as  of  the  KnigJites  Tale, 
and  many  passages  throughout  both  poems,  are  palpably 
taken  from  the  Thehais  of  Statins ;  and  therefore,  in  the 
absence  of  any  evidence  of  the  existence  of  such  a  romance  as 
Tyrwhitt  supposes,  it  does  not  seem  to  be  claiming  too  much 
lor  Boccaccio's  powers  of  invention,  to  suppose  that  he 
adapted  to  his  conception  of  heroic  times,  derived  from  the 
Thehais,  the  very  ordinary  plot  of  rival  lovers  staldng  the 
possession  of  their  mistress  on  the  fortune  of  single  combat. 
The  incognito  of  (Edipus  at  the  court  of  Laius,  and  the 
sojourn  of  Polynlces  at  that  of  Adrastus,  might  have  sug- 
gested the  idea  of  Areite's  return  in  disguise  to  Athens :  and 
if  the  Lady  Emilia,  in  accordance  with  cliivalrous  ideas,  be 
substituted  for  the  kingdom  of  Thebes,  and  Palamon  and 
Arcite  for  Eteocles  and  Polynices,  the  Thehais  supplies  the 
story  at  once.  If  this  theory  be  tenable,  the  change  which 
the  story  undergoes  in  its  transition  from  the  spirit  of  the 
old  mythology,  delighting  in  the  contemplation  of  a  family 
goaded,  from  generation  to  generation,  by  the  decrees  of  fate 
to  the  commission  of  incest  and  murder  in  then.-  most  horrible 
forms,  to  that  of  Christianity,  even  when  demoralized  by 
hatred,  jealousy,  and  war,  is  deeply  suggestive. 

In  obedience  to  the  literary  canon  which  requires  that  every 

epic  poem  shall  consist  of  twelve  books,  the    Theseida   is 

swelled  by  tedious  descriptions,  which  the  English  poet,  either 

from  taste  or  the  necessities  of  his  plan,  has  happily  curtailed, 

or  wholly  omitted.     In  the  lines — 

His  spiryt  chaunged  was,  and  wente  ther 
As  I  cam   never,  I  can  nat  tellen  vrher; 
Tlicrefore  I  stynt. 

Chaucer  is  supposed  by  Tyrwhitt  to  have  intended  to  ridicule 


IKTRODUCTIOK.  113 

Boccaccio's  pompous  description  of  the  passa^'o  of  Arcite's 
soul  to  Heaven,  and  the  reader  cannot  but  feel  obliged  ta 
hiin  for  abridging  the  pedantic  catalogue  given  in  th(j 
Tlieseida  of  the  heroes  of  antiquity  who  took  part  in  the 
tournament. 

Although  all  readers  must  appreciate  Tyrwhitfs  extensive 
learning  and  zealous  industry  in  illustrating  The  Canterbury 
Tales  from  every  possible  source,  few  will  now  agree  with  his 
criticism  on  the  incongruity  of  Chaucer's  treatment  of  heroic 
subjects.  A  story  of  heroic  times,  clothed  in  the  costume  of 
chivalry,  appears  to  him  as  incongruous  as  Macbeth  attired  in 
the  square-tailed  coat  and  knee-breeches  of  the  reign  of 
George  the  Second.  But  if  Chaucer,  instead  of  giving  us 
his  own  conception  of  how  Theseus  looked  and  spoke,  and 
how  Palamon  and  Arcite  loved  and  fought,  had  searched  the 
ancients  for  precedents  of  heroic  speeches,  and  classic  loves 
and  combats,  it  may  safely  be  aGirmed  that  a  new  edition 
of  The  Canterbury  Tales  would  not  now  be  called  for.  The 
poet's  aim  should  be  to  give  an  accurate  picture,  not  necessa- 
rily of  scenes  as  they  actually  took  place,  but  of  the  concep- 
tion he  had  of  them  in  his  own  mind.  In  order  to  move  the 
passions  of  his  readers,  it  is  necessary  that  his  descriptions 
should  be  drawn  direct  from  the  stores  of  his  own  experience. 
What  can  be  more  insipid  than  a  cento  from  the  works  of 
the  ancients,  in  which  no  word  or  idea  is  permitted  to  appear 
unless  it  be  authenticated,  so  to  speak,  by  classical  authority  ? 

But  it  may  still  be  objected,  why  then  lay  the  scene  in 
the  heroic,  rather  than  in  the  chivalrous  ages  ?  And  to  this 
it  may  be  answered,  that  the  remoteness  of  the  scene  enables 
the  poet  to  indulge  his  fancy  with  greater  freedom,  and  to 
invest  with  some  degree  of  verisimilitude  adventures  which, 
if  assigned  to  the  contemporary  age,  would  be  rejected  as 
improbable.  It  may  be  added,  also,  that  the  shadowy  and 
mysterious  forms  of  periods  anterior  to  authentic  history  pre- 
dispose the  mind  to  those  emotions  which  it  is  the  poet's 
object  to  awaken. 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  Chaucer,  like  Shakespeare, 

TOL.  I.  I 


TlA 


114  THE   KNIGHTES   TALE. 

eared  little  from  whence  he  obtained  the  raw  material  of  his 
tales,  provided  he  could  impress  them  with  the  stamp  of  his 
own  genius.     He  plagiarises,  not  only  from  others,  but  even 
from  himself.     This  can  hardly  be  attributed  to  poverty  of 
imagination  in  the  author  of  the  House  of  Fame.    It  appears 
rather  to  be  an  instance  of  that  economy  of  genius  observable 
in  the  art  of  the  middle  ages,  when  every  figure  in  a  picture 
had  its  distinctive  form  and  attitude,  and  when  even  the  colour 
of  each  personage's  dress  was  settled  by  tradition.   The  object 
of  the  artist,  whether  poet,  painter,  or  architect,  was  to  move 
the  passions,  not  to  display  his  own  power  of  invention ;  he 
therefore,  without  scruple,  adopted  the  historical  form,  or  the 
well-known  legend ;  and  trusted  to  his  mode  of  treatment, 
within  the  prescribed  limits,  for  producing  his  effect.     But, 
in  truth,  the  interest  of  a  poem  is  not  in  the  least  impaired  by 
the  knowledge  that  the  incidents  are  not  the  product  of  the 
poet's  own  mvention ;  on  the  contrary,  if  they  are  supposed  to 
be  founded  on  fact,  the  interest  is  increased.     It  is  when  the 
reader  suspects  that  he  is  called  upon  to  sympathise  with 
feelings  and  passions  which  the  poet  himself  never  felt,  and 
to  picture  to  his  imagination  usages  which  the  poet  him- 
self never  realized,  that  he  resents  the  attempt  to  impose 
upon  him  by  fine  words,  and  to  harrow  his  soul  with  emotions 
at  second-hand.     Such  is  not  Chaucer's  plan;  the   leading 
incidents  of  the  story  he  has  received  from  others,  but  the 
conception  and  working  out  of  the  characters  are  all  his  own. 
The  reader  feels  convinced  that,  in  Theseus,  the  poet  has  given 
his  own  idea,  probably  derived  from  actual  observation,  of  a 
chivalrous  monarch,  arbitrary  from  the  habit  of  command, 
and  hot-tempered,  but  generous  and  easily  appeased ;  tenderly 
alive  to  the  feelings  and  weaknesses  of  others,  and  endowed 
with  that  light-hearted  gaiety   and    keen    appreciation    of 
humour,  which  are-  so  often  observed   to  accompany    high 
breeding  and  a  noble  nature. 

Tyrwhitt,  in  hi-s  matter-of-fact  way,  has  noticed  three  prin- 
cipal circumstances  in  which  Chaucer,  departing  from  his 
original,  has  shown  his   superiority  in  the   knowledge   of 


r-tr 


THE   KXICHTES   TALE.  11,5 

human  nature  and  in  poetiral  jud^'ment.  '  i.  By  supposing 
Emilia  to  be  seen  first  by  Palamon,  he  gives  him  an  advan- 
tage over  his  rival,  which  makes  the  catastrophe  more  cons-o- 
nant  to  poetical  justice.  2.  Tlie  picture  which  Boccaccio  has 
exhibited  of  two  young  princes,  violently  enamoured  of  the 
same  object  without  jealousy  or  rivalship,  if  not  absolutely 
unnatural,  is  certainly  very  insipid  and  unpoetical.  3.  As  no 
consequence  is  to  follow  from  their  being  seen  by  Emilia  at 
this  time,  it  is  better,  I  think,  to  suppose,  as  Chaucer  has 
done,  that  they  are  not  seen  by  her.'  He  might  have  added, 
that  a  strict  adherence  to  the  Theseida  in  this  last  particular, 
would  have  deprived  Theseus  of  one  capital  point  in  his 
witty  reflections  upon  the  folly  of  lovers.] 

TI7HIL0M,  as  olde  stories  tellen  us,  ^J'^ 

^^     Thex'  was  a  duk  that  highte  Theseus; 

Of  Athenes  lie  was  lord  and  governour, 

And  in  his  tyme  swich  a  conqiierour, 
ff    That  gi'etter  was  ther  non  under  the  sonne. 

Ful  many  a  riche  contre  hadde  he  wonne ; 

That  with  his  wisdam  and  his  chivaliie  iUy 

He  conquered  al  the  regne  of  Femyuye,* 

That  whilom  wtis  i-clepcd  Cithea  ;* 
to    And  weddede  the  queen  Jpolita, 

And  brought  hire  hoom  with  him  in  his  contre 

With  moche  glorie  and  gret  solempnite,  f*  7o 

And  eek  hire  yonge  suster  Emelye. 

And  thus  with  victorie  and  with  melodye 
/6*  Lete  I  this  noble  duk  to  Athenes  ryde, 

And  al  his  ost,  in  amies  him  biside. 

And  certes,  if  it  ncre  to  long  to  lieere,  S  T-i' 

I  wolde  han  told  yow  fully  the  manere, 

How  wonucii  was  the  regne  of  Femenye 
1.0  By  Theseus,  and  by  his  chivalrye; 

And  of  the  grete  bataille  for  the  nones 

Bytwix  Athenes^  and  the  Amazoncsj  j  ^^S 

'  Kingdom  of  the  Amazons,  so  called  from /(einina,  a  woman. 
-  Scythia.  a  Athenians. 

I    2 


^:f-^^ 


116 


THE   CANTERBURY  TALEi. 


And  how  asegid  was  Ypolita, 
j  The  faire  hardy  quyen  ot  Cithea; 

j    %:b'  And  of  the  feste  that  was  at  hire  weddynge. 
And  of  the  tempest^  at  hire  hoom  comynge  ; 
%%ir  But  al  that  thing  I  most  as  now  forbere, 

I  I  have,  God  wot,  a  large  feeld  to  ere, 

I  And  wayke  ben  the  oxen  in  my  plough, 

ho    The  remenaunt  of  the  tale  is  long  inough  • 
'  I  wol  not  lette  eek  non  of  al  this  rowte 

$^0  Lat  every  felawe  telle  his  tale  aboute, 

And  lat  see  now  who  schal  the  soper  wynne, 
And  ther  I  lafte,  I  wolde  agayn  begynne. 
3  ar        This  duk,  of  whom  I  make  mencioun. 
Whan  he  was  comen  almost  unto  the  toun, 
»  7*^  In  al  his  wele  and  in  his  moste  pryde. 

He  was  war,  as  he  cast  liis  eyghe  aside, 
Wher  that  ther  kneled  in  the  hye  weye 
friO  K  companye  of  ladies,  tweye  and  tweye, 
Ech  after  other,  clad  in  clothes  blake ; 
^0^  But  such  a  cry  and  such  a  woo  they  make, 

That  in  this  world  nys  creature^  lyvynge. 
That  herde  such  another  waymentynge. 
My  And  of  that  cry  ne  wolde  they  never  stenten, 
;  Til  they  the  reynes  of  his  biidel  henten. 

^(fS  '  '  What  folk  be  ye  that  at  mjra  horn  comynge 

Pertovirben  so  my  feste  with  cryengel' 
Quod  Theseus,  '  have  ye  so  grot  envye 
jno   Of  myn  honour,  that  thus  compleyne  and  crie? 


^A- 


1  Tyrwhitt  for  tempest  reads  temple,  on  the  authority  of  two  5ISS., 
and  supports  his  reading  by  a  reference  to  the  ThescUla,  wliieli  says 
nothing  of  a  tempest,  but,  on  the  contrary,  states  that  the  passage — 

'  Tosto  fornito  (finito?)  fu  e  senza  pene  ;' 
whereas  Theseus  is  represented  as  malcing  an  offering,  on  his  return,  in 
the  Temple  of  Pallas,  on  the  same  principle  on  which  the  knijrlit 
makes  his  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  St.  Thomas,  on  his  safe  return 
from  the  wars.  Mr.  Wright,  however,  rejects  Tyrwhitt's  reading,  con- 
sidering the  MSS.  not  of  sufficient  authority.  And  it  must  be  owned 
that  to  express  a  pilgrimage  to  a  temple  by  the  word  '  temple'  is  very 
unusual. 

2  This  word  is  always  a  trisyllable,  as  in  French. 


'^  r 


THE   KNIGHTES   TALE.  117 

Or  who  hath  yow  misboden,  or  offendid? 
C!  fO  And  tflletli  ino  if  it  may  hen  amendid  ; 

And  -why  tliat  ye  ben  clad  thus  al  iu  blakl' 
The  oldest  lady  of  hem  allc  spak, 
^'A'When  sche  had  swowned  with  a  dedly  chere, 
That  it  was  routhe  for  to  sccu  or  heere; 
A  /y  And  seyde  :  '  Lord,  to  whom  Fortune  hath  geven 

Victorie,  and  as  a  conquerour  lyven/ 
Nought  gi-evcth  us  youre  glorie  and  honour; 
60  But  we  besoken  mercy  and  socour. 

Have  mercy  on  oure  woo  and  oure  distresse. 
§1,0  Som  di-ope  of  pitee,  thurgh  youre  gentilnesse, 

Uppon  \is  wrecchede  Avommen  lat  thou  falle. 
For  certus,  lord,  ther  nys  noon  of  us  alle, 
6*'  That  sche  nath  ben  a  duchesse  or  a  queene; 
Now  be  we  caytifs,  as  it  is  well  seene : 
.  , ,- '  Thanked  be  Fortune,  and  hire  false  wheel, 

That  noon  estat  assureth  to  ben  week 
And  certus,  lord,  to  abiden  youre  presence 
70  Here  in  the  temple  of  the  goddesse  Clemence 
We  han  ben  waytynge  al  this  fourtenight ; 
%iO  Now  heljje  us,  lord,  syn  it  is  in  thy  might. 

I  wrecche,  which  that  wepe  and  waylle  thus, 
Was  whilom  wyf  to  kyng  Capaneus, 
7^~That  starf  at  Thebes,  cursed  be  that  day; 
And  alle  we  that  lien  in  this  array, 
And  maken  all  this  lamentacioun, 
We  leften  alle  oure  housbondes  at  the  toun, 
Whil  that  the  sege  ther  aboute  lay. 
io  And  yet  the  olde  Creon,  welaway! 
That  lord  is  now  of  Thebes  the  citee, 
^i40  I  Fulfilde  of  ire  and  of  iniquite, 

He  for  despyt,  and  for  his  tp-annye. 
To  do  the  deede  bodyes  vilonye, 


n^\ 


'  Tyrwhitt's  reading  tobjven,  by  making  '  victory'  one  foot,  improvn 
the  metre,  though  it  gives  a  redundant  syllable.  It  seems  iuiponutlt 
to  scan  the  line  as  it  here  standi. 


^^^-10% 


118  THE   CANTERBURY  TALES. 


^6'  Of  alle  oure  loi-des,  wliicli  that  ben  i-slawe. 
Hath  alle  the  bodies  on  an  heep  y-drawe, 
And  wol  not  sufFren  hem  by  noon  assent 
Nother  to  ben  y-buried  nor  y-brent, 
But  maketh  houndes  ete  hem  in  despite.' 

(io    And  with  that  word,  withoute  more  respite, 
They  fillen  gruf,  and  ciiden  pitously, 
'  Have  on  us  wrecched  wommen  som  mercy, 
And  lat  om-e  sorwe  synken  in  thyn  herte.' 
This  gentil  duke  doun  from  his  courser  sterte 

^5  With  herte  pitoixs,  whan  he  herde  hem  speke. 
Him  thoughte  that  his  herte  wolde  breke. 
Whan  he  seyh  hem  so  2:iiteous  and  so  maat, 
That  whilom  weren  of  so  gret  estat. 
And  in  his  armes  he  hem  all  up  hente, 
lo^    And  hem  confoi'teth  in  ful  good  entente; 
And  swor  his  oth,  as  he  was  trewe  knight, 
He  wolde  do  so  ferforthly  his  might 
Upon  the  tyraunt  Creon  hem  to  wreke, 
That  all  the  people  of  Grece  scholde  speke 
3-  How  Creon  was  of  Theseus  y-served, 

As  he  that  hath  his  deth  right  wel  deserved. 
And  right  anoon,  withoute  euy  abood 
His  baner  he  desplayeth,^  and  forth  rood 


'  The  displayinp:  of  the  banner  was  the  summons  to  the  troops  to 
assemble  for  military  service.  So  when  Charles  I.  formally  dis- 
played the  royal  standard,  he  intended  by  that  act  to  assert  his  prero- 
gative, denied  by  the  Parliament,  of  calling  out  the  militia,  then  the 
only  military  force  of  the  kingdom.  The  follovfing  description  of  the 
banner  or  standard  of  Richard  I.  may  serve  to  illustrate  this  passage. 
'  It  was  formed  of  a  long  beam,  like  the  mast  of  a  ship,  made  of  most 
solid  ceiled  work,  on  four  wheels,  put  together  with  joints,  bound  with 
iron,  and  to  all  appearance  no  sword  or  axe  could  cut,  or  fire  injure  it. 
A  chosen  body  of  soldiers  were  generally  appointed  to  guard  it,  espe- 
cially in  a  combat  on  the  plains,  lest  by  any  hostile  attack  it  should  be 
broken  or  fall  down;  for  if  it  fell  by  any  accident,  tlie  army  would  be 
dispersed  and  put  into  confusion.  For  they  are  dismayed  wlien  itdoes 
not  appear,  and  think  that  tlieir  general  must  be  overcome  by  faint- 
lieartedness  when  they  do  not  see  liis  standard  flying. .  .  .  Xear  it  the 
weak  are  strengthened,  the  wounded  soldiers,  even  those  of  rank  and 
celebrity,  who  fall  in  the  battle,  are  carried  to  it,  and  it  is  called  the 


/<3f  ~  Ihi 


THE    KXIGHTES   TALE.  119 

To  Tliebes-Tvai'd,  ami  al  his  oost  bysyde; 

/'^    No  uox"  Atlieues  woUlo  ho  go  ne  i"yde, 
Ne  take  liis  ecse  lidly  half  a  day, 
But  onward  ou  his  waye  that  nyght  he  lay; 
And  sente  anoon  Yjwlita  the  queeue, 
And  Emclye  hir  yongc  suster  schene, 

/  lit  Unto  tlic  touu  of  Athenes  to  dwolle ; 

And  forth  he  vyX;  ther  is  no  more  to  telle. 

The  rcede  statue  of  !Mars  with  .spere  and  targe 
So  schvneth  in  his  wliitc  baner  larj'e, 
That  alle  the  feeldes'  gliteren  up  and  doun; 

1^^    And  by  his  baner  was  born  his  pynoun 
Of  gold  ful  riclic,  ill  which  ther  was  i-bete 
The  Minatour  which  that  he  slough  in  Crete. 
Thus  ryt  this  duk,  thus  ryt  this  conquerour, 
And  in  his  oost  of  chevalrie  the  flour, 

/  2-6"  Til  that  he  cam  to  Thebes,  and  alighte 

Fayre  in  a  feeld  wher  as  he  thoughte  to  fighte. 
But  schoi-tly  for  to  speken  of  this  thing, 
With  Creon,  which  that  was  of  Thebes  kyng, 
He  faught,  and  slough  him  manly  as  a  knight 

iZo  In  ])le}ii  bataille,  and  putte  his  folk  to  flight; 
And  by  assaut  he  wan  the  cite  aftui', 
And  rente  doun  bothe  wal,  and  sj>arre,  and  raftur; 
And  to  the  ladies  he  restored  agayn 
The  bones  of  here  housbondes  that  were  slayn, 

l^if*Yo  do  exequies,  as  was  tho  the  gyse. 
But  it  wer  al  to  long  for  to  devyse 
The  grete  clamour  and  the  waymentynge 
Which  that  the  ladies  made  at  the  brennynge 

'  standard,'  from  its  standiiij;  a  most  compact  signal  to  the  army.'— 
Itinerary  of  Richard  I.  and  otiurs  to  the  Holy  Land,  by  GtorrUEV  or 

ViNSAL'F. 

1  The  field  ia  the  heraldic  term  for  the  f^ound  upon  which  tlie  various 
chnrires,  as  tliey  are  called,  are  emblazoned.  1  he  banner  was  large 
and  broad,  and  upon  it  was  emblazoned  the  knipht's  coat  of  arms.  Tlie 
pennon  was  small,  forked,  and  usually  bore  his  personal  device  or  crest. 
The  whole  of  this  description  is  taken  from  the  Thibau,  lib.  xii.  The 
contrast,  and  at  the  same  time,  the  similarity  between  the  lieroic  and 
the  chivulroua  ideas  is  curious. 


/39-  f^^ 


120  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Of  the  bodj^es,  and  the  grete  honour 

ti^o    That  Theseus  the  noble  conquerour 

Doth  to  the  hidyes,  whan  they  from  him  wente. 
But  schortly  for  to  telle  is  myn  entente. 
Whan  that  this  worthy  duk,  this  Theseus, 
Hath  Creon  slayn,  and  Thebes  wonne  thus, 

/«/jr  Stille  in  the  feelde  he  took  al  night  his  reste, 
And  dide  with  al  the  contre  as  him  leste. 

To  ransake  in  the  cas^  of  bodyes  dede 
Hem  for  to  streepe  of  herneys  and  of  wede, 
The  pilours  diden  businesse  and  cure, 

/yw  After  the  bataile  and  discomfiture. 

And  so  byfil,  that  in  the  cas  thei  founde, 
Thurgh  girt  with  many  a  grevous  blody  wounde, 
Two  yonge  knightes  liggyng  by  and  by, 
Both  in  oon^  avmes  clad  ful  richely; 

lirft"  Of  whiche  two,  Arcite  hight'  that  oon. 
And  that  othur  knight  hight  Palamon. 
Nat  fully  quyk,  ne  fully  deed  they  were, 
But  by  here  coote  armure,  and  by  here  gere, 
Heraudes  knewe  hem  wel  in  special, 

/  \^ti  As  they  that  weren  of  the  blood  real 
Of  Thebes,  and  of  sistren  tuo  i-born. 
Out  of  the  chaas  the  pilours  han  hem  torn, 
And  han  hem  caried  softe  unto  the  tente 
Of  Theseus,  and  ful  sone  he  hem  sente 


•  Instead  of  cas  in  this  line,  and  clmcK  in  the  Knir/Mes  Tale,  Speght  and 
Tynvhitt  read  tarn,  meaning  heap,  as  in  modern  French  tas.  Mr.  "Wright 
adopts  the  reading  given  in  the  text  from  the  Harl.  and  other  MSS.,  but 
does  not  attempt  to  explain  it;  nor  indeed  does  it  seem  capable  of  a  satis- 
factory exphuKition.   [Tlie  light  word  is  las,  which  means  a  heap.— W.W.SJ 

2  Bearing  the  same  coat  of  arms,  which  denoted  that  they  belonged 
to  the  same  house.  Even  in  Homer  there  are  indications  of  the  idea  of 
coat  armour,  but  it  was  not  until  much  later  that  particular  coats  were 
appropriated  to  families.  This  is,  therefore,  an  anachronism,  as  13 
indeed  the  whole  iioem. 

3  Preterite  tense  of  the  verb  to  hntcn,  to  be  called.  Tyrwhitt,  in  a 
note  upon  this  word,  says, '  It  is  difficult  to  determine  what  part  of 
speech  it  is.'  But  it  appears  evidently  to  be  a  verb,  of  neuter  form 
and  passive  signification,  exactly  analogous  to  the  Latin  vapnlo,  to  \>e 
beaten.    The  madern  German  islmssen,  with  the  same  meaning, 


/^\f    11^ 


THE   KKIGIITES   TALK.  121 

/^i"  Tathenes,  for  to  dwellen  in  prisoiin 
Periietneily,  he  woldo  no  r.iiin<x-oun. 
And  this  iluk  wlmu  ho  IukUIu  thus  i-doon, 
He  took  his  host,  and  liom  he  ryt  anoon 
With  laun-r  crowned  as  a  conqiierour ; 

llo  And  tliere  he  lyveth'  in  joye  and  in  honour 
Ternie  of  his  lyf ;  what  wolle  ye  wordes  moo? 
And  in  a  tour,  in  angwische  and  in  woo, 
This  Palamon,  and  his  fclawe  Arcite, 
For  evermo,  ther  mny  no  gold  hem  quyte. 

/  75"  This  passeth  yeer  by  yeer,  and  day  by  day, 
Till  it  fel  oones  in  a  morwe  of  May 
That  Emclie,  that  fairer  was  to  seene 
Than  is  the  lilie  on  hire  stalkes  grene. 
And  fresscher  than  the  May  with  iioures  new&— 

/  to  For  with  the  rose  colour  stroi'  hire  hewe, 
I  not  which  was  the  fyner  of  hem  two — 
Er  it  was  day,  as  sche  was  wont  to  do, 
Sche  was  arisen,  and  al  redy  dight ; 
For  May  wole  have  no  sloggardye  a  night. 

1^6"  The  sesoun  priketh  every  gentil  herte, 
And  maketh  him  out  of  his  sleepe  sterte. 
And  seith,  '  Ar}-s,  and  do  thin  observance.* 
This  makcd  Emelye  han  remembrance 
To  do  honour  to  May,"  and  for  to  ryse. 

/^  I-clothed  was  sche  fressh  for  to  devyse. 

'  He  lyveth  must  be  read  as  one  foot  ;  another  instance  of  the  rule 
80  common  in  Liitin  anil  Greek  metres,  of  considering  two  short  unac- 
cented syllables  equivalent  to  one  long. 

-  The  return  of  genial  weather  in  ilay  has  invested  this  month,  in 
the  customs  of  all  nations,  with  something  of  a  festive  character. — See 
Ovid's  Fasti,  lib.  v.  J'he  Koman  Catholic  devotion  to  the  blessed  Virgin 
in  May,  and  our  own  Whitsuntide  holidays,  are  indications  of  the  same 
feeling.  It  was, until  very  lately,  the  customin  remote  places  foryouths 
and  maidens  to  go  into  the  fields  before  sunrise,  and  bring  home  in  gay 
procession  boughs  of  trees,  with  which  they  decorated  tlie  church  and 
their  houses.  The  .'ilay-pole  is  not  yet  (juite  abandoned.  Stubbs,  in 
the  Aivatomie  of  Abuses,  i58S,  p.  94,  says—'  Against  Male,  every  parishe, 
towne,  and  village,  assembled  themselves  together,  bothe  men,  women, 
and  children,  olde  and  younge,  even  all  indilferently,  and  either  going 
all  together,  or  dcvidyng  themselves  into  companies,  they  goe,  .-^ome  to 


f'fl^i.0'6. 


122  THE!   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Hire  yolwe  heer  was  browdid  in  a  tresse, 
Byliynde  hire  bak,  a  yerde  long  I  gesse. 
And  in  the  gardyn  at  the  sonne  upriste 
Sche  walketh  \\])  and  doun  wher  as  hire  liste. 

/^S~  Sche  gadereth  floures,  partye  whyte  and  reede, 
To  make  a  sotel*  gerland  for  hire  heede, 
And  as  an  aungel  hevenly  sche  song. 
The  grete  tour,  that  was  so  thikke  and  strong, 
Which  of  the  castel  was  the  cheef  dongeoun,''' 

^^^yt  (Ther  as  this  knightes  weren  in  prisoun, 
Of  which  I  tolde  yow,  and  telle  schal) 
Was  evene  jojTiyng  to  the  gardeyn  wal, 
Ther  as  this  Emely  hadde  hire  pleyj^ng. 
Bright  was  the  sonne,  and  cleer  that  morwenynge, 

1^5"  And  Palamon,  this  woful  prisoner, 
As  was  his  wone,  by  leve  of  his  gayler 
Was  risen,'  and  romed  in  a  chambre  on  heicrh. 
In  which  he  al  the  noble  cite  seieh, 


the  woodes  and  groves,  some  to  the  hills  and  mountaines,  some  to  one 
place,  some  to  another,  where  they  spend  all  the  night  in  pastimes,  and 
in  the  morninge  they  return,  bringing  with  them  birclie  bowes  and 
branches  of  trees  to  deck  their  assemblie  withalle.' — See  also  Mid- 
summer KirjM's  Dream,  Act  i.,  scene  i. 

'  The  Harl.  MS.  reads  certeyn,  which  seems  unmeaning.  Sotel  is 
from  Tyrwhitt,  and  signities,  of  course,  curiously  or  subtly  braided. 
The  twining  of  garlands  of  the  young  branches  and  flowers  always 
formed  a  principal  part  of  the  May-day  rites.  In  a  ballad  called 
the  Milkmaid's  Life,  printed  about  1630,  we  are  told, — 

•  Upon  the  first  of  May, 
■With  garhmds  fresh  and  gay. 
With  mirth  and  music  sweet. 
For  such  a  season  meet. 
They  passe  their  time  away.' 

The  dongeoun,  sometimes  called  the  donjon  keep,  from  Iceep,  which 
meant  guard.  It  was  the  principal  guard  of  tlie  castle,  in  conse- 
quence of  its  strengtli.  Beneath  the  kei'i)  were  the  vaults  in  which 
prisoners  were  confined,  whence  the  modern  acceptation  of  the  word 
dungeon. 

3  iVas  risen  must  be  considered  as  one  foot  for  the  sake  of  the  metre, 
and  the  final  e  in  cluxmbre  must  be  elided  before  the  succeeding 
on. 


/-^  Y  -*'«/• 


THE   KNIGHTES  TALE.  123 

And  eck  the  gardeyn,  ful  of  brauuches  grene, 
1^0  Tliev  as  tlio  frcsshe  Eiuelye  tlie  schecne' 

Was  iu  hire  walk,  aud  romed  up  and  doiiix 

This  sorweful  prisoner,  this  Palamon, 

Gooth  in  the  chambre  roinyng  to  and  fro. 

And  to  iiimself  compleyiiyng  of  his  woo ; 
;,/^That  he  was  born,  ful  ofte  he  seyd,  alas! 

And  so  byfel,  by  aventure  or  cas, 

That  thurgh  a  wyndow  thikke  and  many  a  barre 

Of  ireu  greet  anil  squar  as  eny  sparre, 

He  cast  his  eyen  upon  Emelya, 
J,  yc  And  therwithal  lie  bleynte  and  cryed,  a ! 

As  that  he  stongen  were  unto  the  herte. 

And  with  that  crye  Arcite  anon  up  sterte, 

Aud  seyde,  '  Cosyn  myn,  what  eyleth  the, 

That  art  so  pale  and  deedly  for  to  see? 
|,J^  Wliy  crydestow?-  who  hath  the  doon  ofiencet 

For  Goddes  love,  tak  al  in  pacience 

Oure  prisoun,  for  it  may  non  otliir  be; 

Fortune  hath  gevon  us  this  adversite, 

Som  wikke  aspect  or  disposicioun 
l^^O  Of  Satume,  by  sum  constellacioun, 

Hath  geven  us  this,  although  we  hadde  it  sworn; 

Bo  stood  the  heven  wlian  that  we  were  born ; 

We  moste  endure  it :  this  is  the  schort  and  pleyn.' 
This  Palamon  answered,  and  seyde  ageyn, 
%.  kf '  Cosyn,  for  sothe  of  this  opynyoun 

Thou  hast  a  veyn  ymaginacioun. 

This  prisoun  caused  me  not  tor  to  crye. 

But  I  was  hurt  right  now  thurgh  myn  yhe 

'  In  the  orthofrraphy  of  the  MS.  from  which  the  text  is  derived, 
ich^  as  in  modem  German,  lias  the  same  force  as  »A. 

*  CryJeatow  t  for  criaht  thou  t  So  seigtow  for  sayest  thou,  slepi.<tow 
for  sh'fpest  thou.  It  often  happens  that  the  difliculty  of  understanding 
old  English  depends  entirely  upon  the  orthography;  wlien  a  passage 
therefore  appears  to  he  unintelligihlc,  an  excellent  way,  sometimes,  of 
ascertaining  the  meaning  is  to  read  it  aloud,  and  to  be  guided  entirely 
by  the  sound,  as  in  reading  the  Fonetic  A'uz. 


^3?-  ^/^- 


124  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Into  myn  herte,  that  wol  my  bane  be. 
5-  ^  r  The  faimesse  of  the  lady  that  I  see 

Yonde  in  the  gardyn  rome  to  and  fro, 

Is  cause  of  my  ciyying  and  my  wo. 

I  not  whethur  sche  be  womman  or  goddesse; 

But  Venus  is  it,  sothly  as  I  gesse.' 

pif  6'  And  therwithal  on  knees  adoun  he  fil. 
And  seyde :  '  Venus,  if  it  be  yotire  wil 
Yow  in  this  gardyn  thus  to  transfigure, 
Biforn  me  sorwful  v/recched  creature, 
Out  of  this  prisoun  help  that  we  may  scape. 

J,  (fO  And  if  so  be  oure  destine  be  schape 
By  eterne  word  to  deyen  in  prisoun. 
Of  oure  lynage  haveth  sum  compassioun. 
That  is  so  lowe  y-brought  by  tyrannye.' 
And  with  that  word  Arcite  gan  espye 

^*>^  Wher  as  this  lady  romed  to  and  fro. 

And  with  that  sight  hire  beaute  hiu't  him  so, 
That  if  that  Palamon  was  wounded  sore, 
Arcite  is  hurt  as  moche  as  he,  or  more. 
And  ^vith  a  sigh  he  seyde  pitously : 

l^(,0  *  The  freissche  beaute  sleeth  me  sodeynly 
Of  hir  that  rometh  yonder  in  the  place ; 
And  but  I  have  hir  mercy  and  hir  grace, 
That  I  may  see  hir  atte  leste  weye, 
I  nam  but  deed;  ther  nys  no  more  to  seye. 

j,6^This  Palamon,  whan  he  tho  wordes  herde, 
Dispitously  he  loked,  and  answerde: 
*  Whether  seistow  in  ernest  or  in  pley  ?' 
'  Nay,'  quoth  Arcite,  '  in  ernest  in  good  fey. 
God  helpe  me  so,  me  lust  ful  evele  pleye.' 
v,-^^  This  Palamon  gan  knytte  his  browes  tweye : 
'  It  nere,'  quod  he,  '  to  the  no  gret  honour, 
For  to  be  fals,  ne  for  to  be  traytour 
To  me,  that  am  thy  cosyu  and  thy  brother 
I-swore^  ful  deepe,  and  ech  of  us  to  other, 


'-  Formal  compacts  for  the  purpose  of  mutual  counsel  and  assist* 


f  I' 


TUE    KMGIITCS  TALE.  126 

%TS^  That  never  for  to  deyen  in  the  payne,* 

Til  that  dectli  departe  schul  us  twayne, 

Keythcr  of  us  in  love  to  hynder  other, 

Ne  in  non  other  cas,  my  leeve  brother; 

But  that  thou  schuldest  trowly  forther  me 
^%t  In  every  caas,  and  1  schal  forther  the. 

This  was  thyn  othe,  and  myu  eek  certayn ; 

I  wot  right  wel,  thou  dai-st  it  nat  withsayn. 

Thus  art  thou  of  my  couuseil  out  of  doute. 

And  now  thou  woldest  falsly  ben  aboute 
\,%S^  To  love  my  lady,  whom  I  love  and  serve, 

And  evere  schal,  unto  myn  herte  sterve. 

Now  certcs,  fals  Arcite,  thou  sclial  not  so. 

I  loved  hir  first,  and  toldo  the  my  woo 

As  to  my  counseil.  and  to  brother  sworn 
2^(7  To  forther  me,  as  I  have  told  biforn. 

For  which  thou  art  i-bounden  as  a  knight 

To  helpe  me,  if  it  lay  in  thi  might, 

Or  elles  art  thou  fals,  I  dar  wel  sayn.' 

This  Arcite  ful  proudly  spak  agayn. 
y^  *  Thou  schalt,'  quoth  he,  '  be  rather  fals  than  L 

But  thou  art  fals,  I  telle  the  uttirly. 


nnce  in  love  and  w.ir  were  common  to  the  heroic  and  chivalrous  ages. 
Theseus  and  rcirithous,  Acliilk-s  and  ratroclus,  Pylades  and  Orestes, 
Nysu3  and  Eiiryalus,  and,  in  tlic  Thebais,  Tydcus  and  I'olyniccs,  are 
instances  familiar  to  every  one,  in  the  former  period  ;  in  tlie  latter, 
cxaiapks  may  be  found  in  innumeraViIe  romances.  Authentic  history 
furnishes  many  similar  cases,  of  wliich  we  have  an  interesting  illustra- 
tion in  a  book  entitled  Ancient  Irish  Hiitoriei,  in  wliich  are  narrated 
the  adventures  of  Sir  .John  de  Courcy  and  Sir  Arnioric  de  St.  Law- 
rence, Norman  kiii;;hts,  :iii(l  anccstorsof  the  present  Lords  Kinsale  and 
llowth,  to  whom  Henry  II.  had  granted  districts  in  Ireland,  and  who, 
in  virtue  of  a  compact  of  this  sort,  rendered  each  other  valuable  assist- 
ance in  their  continual  wars  with  the  wild  Irish  or  kerns. 

'  A  translation  of  a  French  expression.  Froissart,  quoted  by 
Tyrwhitt,  relates,  that  Kdward  IIL  declared  he  would  not  return 
'  jusques  ii  tant  qu'il  auroit  hn  de  guerre,  ou  paix  a  sa  sulfisance,  cu  a 
sou  grand  honneur;  ou  it  mourroit  en  la  jicinc' — See  nUo  Jiuir.aiice  of 
tht  i:ost,  vol.  iv.  p.  m'>. 

'  All  that  ye  saine  i?  but  in  vaine, 
Me  were  lever  die  iu  the  |aiue.' 


I'^l'i^^ 


126  THE  CANTERBURY  TALES. 

For  par  amour^  I  leved  hir  first  then  thuw. 

What  wolt  thou  sayn?  thou  west  not  yit  now 

Whether  sche  be  a  womman  or  goddesse. 
5  <tO   Thyn  is  afFeccioun  of  holynesse, 

And  myn  is  love,  as  of  a  creature ; 

For  which  I  tolde  the  myn  aventure 

As  to  my  cosyn,  and  my  brother  sworn. 

I  pose/  that  thou  lovedest  hire  biforn; 
^  0^    Wost  thou  nat  wel  the  olde  clerkes'  sawe^ 

That  who  schal  geve  a  lover  eny  lawe, 

Love  is  a  grettere  lawe,  by  my  pan,* 

Then  may  be  geve  to  eny  erthly  man? 

Therfore  posityf  lawe,  and  such  decre, 
3  /  f>   Is  broke  alway  for  love  in  ech  degree. 

A  man  moot  needes  love  maugre  his  heed. 

He  may  nought  fle  it,  though  he  schulde  be  deed, 

Al  be  sche  mayde,  or  be  sche  widewe  or  wyf. 

And  that  it  is  nat  likly  al  thy  lyf 
^  ly  To  stonden  in  hire  grace,  no  more  schal  I ; 

For  wel  thovi  wost  thyselven  verrily. 

That  thou  and  I  been  dampned  to  prisoun 

Pei-petuelly,  us  gayneth  no  raunsoun. 

We  stryve,  as  doth  the  houndes  for  the  boon, 
%  ^,0  They  foughte  al  day,  and  yit  here  part  was  noon 

Ther  com  a  kyte,  whil  that  they  were  wrothe, 

And  bar  awey  the  boon  bitwixe  hem  bothe. 

And  therfore  at  the  kynges  court,  my  brother, 

Eche  man  for  himself,  ther  is  non  other. 
%  ^^''JLiOve  if  the  list ;  for  I  love  and  ay  schal  j 

And  sothly,  leeve  brother,  this  is  al. 

1  In  the  way  of  love.  You  loved  her  as  a  matter  of  religion,  sup- 
posing her  to  be  the  goddess  Venus.  The  expression  to  love,  paramour, 
was  also  used  in  contradistinction  to  chaste  love ;  hence  the  modern 
eubstantive  paramour. 

-  Je  pose,  I  put  it,  that  is,  I  suppose,  for  the  sake  of  argument. 

3  The  '  clerke  '  is  Boethius,  and  the  proverb  is  taken  from  his 
De  Consolatione,  lib.  iii.  met.  iz: — 

•  Quis  legem  det  amantibus  ? 
Major  lex  amor  est  sibi.' 

*  By  my  pan  means  brain-pan  or  skull. 


a  1^1     *^^ 


THE    KXICHTES   TALE.  127 

Eke  in  this  jn-isoun  inoote  we  endure, 

Ami  f  vt.'iy  of  us  take  liis  aventurc' 

Gret  was  the  stryf  and  long  bytwixe  hem  tweje. 
^  it^  If  that  I  hadde  leysir  for  to  seye; 

But  to  the  ellect.     It  happed  on  a  day, 

(To  telle  it  yow  as  schortly  as  I  may) 

A  worthy  duk  that  highte  Perotheus, 

That  folaw'  wa-s  to  tlie  duk  Theseus 
J^i'  Syu  thilke  day  tliat  they  were  children  lyte, 

Was  come  to  Atheues,  his  felawe  to  visite, 

And  for  to  pley,  as  he  was  wont  to  do, 

For  in  this  world  he  loved  noman  so : 

And  he  loved  him  as  tendurly  agayn. 
J  ^  t?  So  wel  they  loved,  as  olde  bookes  sayn, 

That  whan  that  oon  was  deed,  sothly  to  telle. 

His  felawe  went  and  sought  him  doun  in  helle/ 

But  of  that  story  lyst  me  nought  to  write. 

Duk  Perotheus  loved  wel  Arcite, 
hl^^  And  hadde  him  knowe  at  Thebes  yeer  by  yeer; 

And  fynally  at  requeste  and  prayer 

Of  Perotheus,  withoute  any  raunsoun 

Duk  Theseus  him  leet  out  of  prisouu, 

Frely  to  go,  wher  him  lust  over  al, 
J  ^P  In  such  a  g}'se,  as  I  you  telle  schal. 

This  was  the  forward,  pla}Tily  to  endite, 

Betwixe  Theseus  and  him  Arcite: 

That  if  so  were,  that  Arcite  were  founde 

Evere  in  his  lyf,  by  daye  or  night,  o  stound 
^^'iTlu  eny  centre  of  this  Thesevis, 

And  he  were  caught,  it  was  acorded  thus, 


'  Brother  in  arms.  See  nn/c  p.  124,  note  i.  '  Theseus  did  not  only 
release  him  (IVirithou?)  of  nil  the  dainape  he  had  done,  hut  retjuestt-d 
him  he  would  become  liis  friend  and  brother  in  arms.  Hereupon  they 
were  presently  sworn  brothers  in  the  Held.' — Plutarch,  Lives,  trans- 
lated by  Sir  Thomas  North,  Knipht,  1C31. 

-  An  allusion  to  Tluseus  accompanying  Peirithous  in  his  expedition 
to  carr>'  oil  Proserpina,  daughter  of  Aidoneus,  king  of  the  Molossians, 
ivhen  both  were  taken  prisoners,  and  Peirithous  torn  in  pieces  by  the 
dog  Cerberus. — Plutakcu,  'J'liaeus. 


iil'jX'^ 


128  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

That  with  a  swercl  he  scholde  lese  his  heed ; 

Ther  nas  noon  other  remedy  ne  reed, 

But  took  his  leeve,  and  homward  he  him  spedde; 
S^O    Let  him  be  war,  his  nekke  lith  to  wedde.^ 
How  gi-et  a  sorwe  suffreth  now  Arcite ! 

The  deth  he  feleth  thorugh  his  herte  smyte ; 

He  weepeth,  weyleth,  cryeth  pitously; 

To  slen  himself  he  wayteth  pryvyly. 
}bb'  He  seyde,  '  Alias  the  day  that  I  was  born ! 

Now  is  my  prisoun  werse  than  was  biforne ; 

Now  is  me  schape  eternally  to  dwelle 

Nought  in  purgatorie,  but  in  helle.' 

Alias!  that  ever  knewe  I  Pei-otheus! 
J  7^   For  elles  had  I  dweld  with  Theseus 

I-fetered  in  his  prisoun  for  evere  moo. 

Than  had  I  ben  in  blis,  and  nat  in  woo. 

Oonly  the  sight  of  hir,  whom  that  I  serve, 

Though  that  I  hir  grace  may  nat  deserve, 
3  "jS  Wold  han  sufficed  right  ynough  for  me. 

O  dere  cosyn  Palamon,'  quod  he, 

'  Thyn  is  the  victoire  of  this  aventure, 

Ful  blisfully  in  prisoun  to  endure; 

In  prisorm?  nay,  certes  but  in  paradys! 
^  ^   Wei  hath  fortune  y-tomed  the  the  dys, 

That  hath  the  sight  of  hir,  and  I  the  absence. 

For  possible  is,  sjti  thou  hast  hir  presence, 

And  art  a  knight,  a  worthi  and  an  able. 

That  by  som  cas,  syn  fortune  is  chaungable, 
J  ^5'  Thou  maist  to  thy  desir  somtyme  atteyne. 

But  I  that  am  exiled,  and  bareyne 

Of  alle  grace,  and  in  so  gret  despeir, 

That  ther  nys  water,  erthe,  fyr,  ne  eyr, 

Ne  creature,  that  of  hem  maked  is. 
i^O  That  may  me  helpe  ne  comfort  in  tliis. 

Wei  ought  I  sterve  in  wanhope  and  distresses 

Farwel  my  lyf  and  al  my  jolynesse. 


'  Lies  in  pledge.    Wad  is  still  used  provincially  in  tliis  sen.^9. 
*  In  purgatory  there  is  hope  of  redemption  ;  not  so  in  hell. 


%/  I  v^ 


THE   KNIGHTES  TALE.  12^ 

Alias,  why  playncn  folk  so  in  comune 

3f  purveauce  ot"  CIo<i,  or  of  fortune, 
^^y  That  geveth  hem  ful  ofte  in  many  a  gyse 

Wei  better  than  thoi  can  hernself  devyse? 

Soui  man  desircth  for  to  liave  richesse, 

That  cause  is  of  his  morthre  or  gret  seeknesse. 

And  som  man  wolde  out  of  his  prisoun  fayn, 
Li^X}  That  in  his  hous  is  of  his  mayne  slayn. 

Infinite  harmes  ben  in  this  mateere; 

We  wote  nevere  what  thing  we  prayen  heere. 

"We  fareu  as  he  that  dronke  is  as  a  mows. 

A  dronke  man  wot  wcl  he  hath  an  hous,* 
t^t'yLut  he  not  nat  which  the  righte  wey  is  thider, 

And  to  a  dronke  man  the  wey  is  slider, 

And  certes  in  this  world  so  faren  we. 

We  seeken  faste  after  felicite, 

But  we  gon  wrong  ful  ofte  trewely. 
mC  Thus  may  we  seyen  alle,  namely  I, 

That  wende  have  had  a  gret  opinioun, 

That  gif  I  mighte  skape  fro  prisoun. 

Than  had  I  be  in  joye  and  parfyt  hele, 

Ther  now  I  am  exiled  fro  my  wele. 
(jI$  Syn  that  I  may  not  se  yow,  Emelye, 

I  nam  but  deed  ;  ther  nys  no  remedye.' 
Uppon  that  other  syde  Palamon, 

Whan  he  wiste  that  Arcite  was  agoon, 

Such  sorwe  maketh,  that  the  grete  tour 
(fl^  Eesowneth  of  his  yollyng  and  clamour. 

The  pure"  feteres  of  his  schynes  grete 

Weren  of  his  bitter  salte  teres  wete. 

'  Alias !'  quod  he,  '  Arcita,  cosyn  myn, 

Of  al  oure  strif,  God  woot,  the  fruyt  is  thin. 


•  This  is  also  from  r.oothius,  Tie  Consolalione,  lib.  iii.,  thus  translated 
by  Chaucer.  '  But  1  rcturne  again  to  the  studies  of  men,  of  whiclj  men 
the  corage  ahvay  reherseth  and  seeketh  the  soveraine  pood,  al  he  it  so 
that  it  be  witli  a  dyrked  memory  ;  but  he  not  by  which  pathe,  rii;>U  as 
a  ilronkcn  man  vote  nought  by  tchich  jMthe  he  may  rttttrne  home  to  his 
house.' 

•  The  very  fetters.  So  in  the  Duchess,  vol.  ii.  p.  404,  the  '  pure  deth.*  Aud 
in  Fierce  the  Vloughman's  Crede,  1.  217,  'otixpure  pore  man.' 

VOL.  I.  K 


130  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

LflS   Thow  walkest  now  in  Thebes  at  thi  large, 
And  of  my  woo  thou  gevest  litel  charge. 
Thou  maiste,  sya  thou  hast  wysdom  and  manhede, 
Assemble  al  the  folk  of  oure  kynrede, 
And  make  a  werre  so  scharpe  in  this  cit6, 
Li  it    That  by  som  aventure,  or  by  som  trete, 

Thou  mayst  hire  wynne  to  lady  and  to  wyf, 
For  whom  that  I  most  needes  leese  my  lyf. 
For  as  by  wey  of  possibilite, 
Syn  thou  art  at  thi  large  of  prisoun  free, 

^^^'And  art  a  lord,  gret  is  thin  avantage, 

More  than  is  myn,  that  sterve  here  in  a  kage. 
For  I  moot  weepe  and  weyle,  whil  I  lyve, 
With  al  the  woo  that  prisoun  may  me  gyve, 
And  eek  with  peyne  that  love  me  geveth  also, 

L{HO  That  doubleth  al  my  torment  and  my  wo.' 
Therwith  the  fuyr  of  jelousye  upsterte 
Withinne  his  brest,  and  hent  him  by  the  herte 
So  wodly,  that  lik  was  he  to  byholde 
The  box-tree,  or  the  asschen  deed  and  colde. 

Hklf  Tho  seyde  he  ;  '  O  goddes  cruel,  that  governe 
Thi-s  world  with  byndyng  of  yom-e  word  eterne, 
And  writen  in  the  table  of  athamaunte 
Youre  parlement  and  youre  eterne  graunte. 
What  is  mankynde  more  to  yow  holde 

Ult'O  Than  is  a  scheep,  that  rouketh  in  the  folde  ? 
For  slayn  is  man  right  as  another  beste, 
And  dwelleth  eek  in  prisoun  and  arreste. 
And  hath  seknesse,  and  greet  adversite, 
And  ofte  tymes  gilteles,  parde. 

U$B  What  governaunce  is  in  youre  prescience. 
That  gilteles  tormenteth  innocence  % 
And  yet  enci-eceth  this  al  niy  venaunce. 
That  man  is  bounden  to  his  obsa^vii-^^iice 
For  Goddes  sake  to  letten  of  his  wille, 
Uho  Ther  as  a  beste  may  al  his  lust  fullille. 

And  whan  a  beste  is  deed,  he  ne  hath  no  peyne; 
But  man  after  his  deth  moot  wepe  and  pleyne. 


THE   KNIOHTES  TALE.  131 

Though  in  this  world  he  have  care  and  woo  : 

Withouteu  douto  it  may  stondo  so. 
U^b"  The  answer  of  this  I  lete  to  divinis, 

But  well  I  woot,  that  in  this  world  gret  pyne  is. 

Alias  !  I  se  a  serpent  or  a  theef, 

That  many  a  trewe  man  hath  doon  mescheef, 

Gon  at  his  large,  and  whor  him  lust  may  tume. 
L(  yc  But  I  moste  be  in  prisoun  thurgh  Saturne, 

And  eek  thorugh  Juno,  jalous'  and  eke  wood, 

That  hath  destruyed  wel  neyh  al  the  Mood 

Of  Thebes,  with  his  waste  walles  wyde. 

And  Venus  sleeth  me  on  that  other  syde 
i^7S For  jelousye,  and  fere  of  him  Arcyte.' 
Now  wol  I  stynte  of  Palamon  a  Ute, 

And  lete  him  stille  in  his  prisoun  dwelle, 

And  of  Aj-cita  forth  than  wol  I  telle. 

The  somer  passeth,  and  the  nijihtes  lonjxe 
t/>^  Encrescen  double  wise  the  peynes  stronge 

Bothe  of  the  lover  and  the  prisoner. 

I  noot  which  hath  the  wofiillere  cheer. 

For  schortly  for  to  sey,  this  Palamon 

Perpetuelly  is  dampned  to  prisoun, 
i^jS  In  che\Ties  and  in  feteres  to  be  deed  ; 

And  Arcite  is  exiled  upon  his  heed 

For  evere  mo  as  out  of  that  contr6, 

Ne  nevere  mo  he  schal  his  lady  see. 

Now  lo^'yeres  axe  I  this  question,* 
^^^Who  hath  the  worse,  Arcite  or  Palamon? 

That  on  may  se  his  lady  day  by  day, 

But  in  prisoun  he  moot  dwelle  alway. 

That  otlier  may  wher  him  lust  rj'de  or  go, 

But  seen  his  lady  schal  he  never  mo. 


•  Jealons,  because  of  Jupiter's  love  of  Semele,  dunghter  of  Cadmus, 
founder  of  Thebes,  and  of  the  devotion  of  the  Thebans  to  Bacchu?, 
the  fruit  of  the  amour. 

-  Mr.  Wri^iht,  in  a  note  upon  the  place, says,  that  this  is  an  allusion 
to  the  nicdixval  Courts  of  Love,  in  which  such  questions  were  seriously 
discussed. 

K    2 


132  THE   CAKTERBURY  TALES. 

Now  deemeth  as  you  luste,  ye  that  can, 
For  I  wol  telle  foi-tli  as  I  bigan. 

Whan  that  Arcite  to  Thebes  come  was, 
Ful  ofte  a  day  he  swelde  and  seyde  alas, 
For  seen  his  lady  schal  he  never  mo. 
And  schortly  to  concluden  all  his  wo. 
So  moche  sorwe  had  never  creature, 
That  is  or  sehal  whil  that  the  world  wol  dure. 
His  sleep,  his  mete,  his  drynk  is  him  byraft. 
That  lene  he  wexe,  and  drye  as  eny  schaft. 
His  eyen  holwe,  grisly  to  biholde  ; 
His  hewe  falwe,  and  pale  as  asschen  colde, 
And  solitary  he  was,  and  ever  alone, 
And  dwelljmg  all  the  night,  making  his  moone. 
And  if  he  herde  song  or  instrument. 
Then  wolde  he  wepe,  he  mighte  nought  be  stent; 
So  feble  were  his  spirites,  and  so  lowe. 
And  chaunged  so,  that  no  man  couthe  knowe 
His  speche  nother  his  vois,  though  men  it  herde. 
And  in  his  gir,^  for  all  the  world  he  ferde 
Nought  oonly  lyke  the  lovers  maladye 
Of  Hereos,^  but  rather  lik  manye, 
Engendrud  of  humour  melencolyk, 
Byforne  in  his  selle  fantastyk.^ 


'  In  his  manner  he  appeared  not  like  an  ordinary  lover,  but  like  a 
madman,  whose  brain  is  disordered  by  bile. 

^  '  Whereas  some  copies  have  Hercos,  some  Hermes,  and  some  such 
like  counterfeit  word,  whereof  can  be  given  no  reason,  I  have  get  down 
JSros,  i.  e.,  Cupid,  as  most  agreeing,  in  my  opinion,  with  the  matter, 
which  I  gather  thus.  Lucian,  in  his  second  dialogue,  bringeth  in  Cupid 
teaching  Jupiter  how  to  become  amiable,  and  in  him  how  lovers  may 
\)ecorae  acceptable  to  their  ladies;  not  by  weeping,  watching,  and 
fasting,  nor  i>y  furious  melancolicke  fits,  but  by  comely  behavioui".' — S. 
It  is  thus  rendered  by  Dryden  : — 

'  Unlike  the  trim  of  love  and  gay  desire; 
But  full  of  muscful  mopings, ' 

lEreos,  or  ITereos,  is  a  false  genitive  of  Gk.  epco9,  love,  or '  Cupid.' — W.  W.  S.] 
3  In  the  forehead,  where  Ls  situated  the  cell  of  the  brain  in  which 
the  fancy  resid&s.  So  it  appears  that  Dr.  Spurzheim  might  appeal,  in 
support  of  his  '  science  of  phrenology,'  to  the  natural  philosophy  of  the 
middle  ages. 


THE   KNIGIITKS   TALE.  133 

And  schortly  turned  was  al  up-so-doun 

Bothe  abyt  and  eek  disposicioun 

Of  liim,  this  woful  lovore  daun  Arcite. 

What  schulde  I  alway  of  his  wo  endite  1 

Wlian  he  endured  hadde  a  veer  or  tuoo 

This  cruel  torment,  and  this  peyne  and  woo, 

At  Thebes,  in  his  centre,  as  I  seyde. 

Upon  a  night  in  sleep  as  he  him  Icyde, 

Him  thought  that  how  the  -wenged  god  Mercurie 

Byforn  him  stood,  and  bad  him  be  murye. 

His  slepy  yerd^  in  hond  he  bar  upright ; 

An  hat  he  wered  upon  his  heres  Vjright. 

Arrayed  was  this  god  (as  he  took  keepe) 

As  he  was  whan  that  Argous"  took  his  sleep ; 

And  seyde  him  thus :  'To  Athenes  schalt  thouwende; 

Tlier  is  the  schapen  of  thy  wo  an  ende.'^ 

And  with  that  word  Arcite  wook  and  sterte. 

'  Now  trewely  how  sore  that  me  smerte.' 

Quod  he,  'to  Athenes  right  now  wol  I  fare ; 

Ne  for  the  drede  of  dcth  schal  I  not  spare 

To  see  my  lady,  that  T  love  and  serve  ; 

In  hire  presence  I  recclu;  nat  to  sterve.' 

And  with  that  word  he  caught  a  gret  myrour, 

And  saugli  that  chaunged  was  al  his  colour, 

And  saugh  liis  visage  was  in  another  kynde. 

And  right  anoon  it  ran  him  into  mynde. 

That  seththen  his  face  Avas  so  disfigured 

Of  maladie  the  which  he  hath  endured, 

He  mighte  we!,  if  that  he  bar  him  lowe, 

Lyve  in  Athenes  evere  more  unknowe, 

And  see  his  lady  wel  neih  day  by  day. 

And  right  anon  he  chaunged  his  aray. 

And  clothed  him  as  a  pore  laborer. 

And  al  alone,  save  oouly  a  squyer, 


1  The  Caduceus. 

2  Sec  Ovid's  Mdamorph.,  lib.  i.,  line  714- 

»  Wtere  an  cud  of  thy  wot  is  shaped,  or  contrived,  for  theo. 


134  THE   CANTERBURY  TALES. 

That  knew  his  pryvyte  and  al  his  cas, 

Which  was  disgysed  povrely  as  he  was, 

To  Athenes  is  he  go  the  nexte  way. 

And  to  the  court  he  went  upon  a  day, 

And  at  the  gate  he  profred  his  servyse, 

To  drugge  and  drawe,  what  so  men  wolde  devysa 

And  schortly  of  this  matier  for  to  seyn, 

He  fel  in  office  with  a  chambirleyn, 

The  which  that  dwellyng  was  with  Emelye. 

For  he  was  wys,  and  couthe  sone  aspye^ 

Of  every  servaunt,  which  that  served  here. 

Wei  couthe  he  hewe  woode,  and  water  here, 

For  he  was  yonge  and  mighty  for  the  nones, 

And  therto  he  was  strong  and  bygge  of  bones 

To  doon  that  eny  wight  can  him  devyse. 

A  yeer  or  two  he  was  in  this  servise, 

Page  of  the  chambre  of  Emelye  the  bright ; 

And  Philostrate^  he  seide  that  he  hight. 

But  half  so  wel  beloved  a  man  as  he 

Ne  was  ther  never  in  court  of  his  degree. 

He  was  so  gentil  of  his  condicioun, 

That  thorughout  al  the  court  was  his  renoun. 

They  seyde  that  it  were  a  charity 

That  Theseus  would  enliaunsen  his  degree, 

And  putten  him  in  worschipful  servyse, 

Ther  as  he  might  his  vertu  excersise. 

And  thus  within  a  while  his  name  spronge* 

Bothe  of  his  dedes,  and  of  goode  tonge. 

That  Theseus  hath  taken  him  so  neer 

That  of  his  chambre  he  made  him  squyer, 

'  This  appears  to  mean — lie  knew  how  to  watch,  or  espy, opportuni- 
ties of  recommending  himself  to  his  master,  sooner  tlian  any  servant 
In  the  family. 

-  Tyrwhitt  says,  tliat  in  the  Tlics-cula,  Arcitc  assumes  the  name  of 
Penthmo,  and  conjectures  that  the  name  of  Pliilostrate  was  suggested  by 
Boccaccio's  poem,  entitled  Philistrato,  or  by  one  of  the  characters  in 
the  Decameron.  In  t)ie  Midsummer  Kirjht's  Dream,  a  Philostrate  is  also 
introduced  as  a  favourite  servant  of  Tlieseus. 

3  His  good  name  began  to  spring  up ;  a  beautiful  metaphor  froni 
the  growth  of  plants. 


THE   KXIGHTES   TALE.  1 


f»  r 


And  gaf  him  gold  to  mayntene  his  degree  : 
Aud  ffk  men  lirouglit  liiin  out  of  his  countiu 
Flu  yeer  to  yev  ful  pnvyly  his  rente  ; 
But  honestly  and  sleighly  he  it  spente, 
That  no  man  wondred  how  that  he  it  liadde. 
And  thre  yeer  in  this  wise  his  lyf  he  ladde, 
And  bar  him  so  in  pecs  and  eek  in  werre, 
Ther  nas  no  man  that  Theseus  hath  so  derre. 
Aud  in  thisblisse  lete  I  now  Arcite, 
And  spcke  I  wole  of  Palamon  a  l}-te. 

In  derknes  orrible  and  strong  prisoun 
This  seven  yeer  hath  seten  Palamon, 
Forpyncd,  what  for  woo  and  for  destresse, 
"Who  feleth  double  sorwe  and  he\'ynesse 
But  Palamon  ]  that  love  destreyneth  so, 
That  wood  out  of  his  witt  he  goth  for  wo ; 
And  eek  therto  he  is  a  prisoner 
Perpetuelly,  nat  oonly  for  a  yeer. 
Who  couthe  ryme  in  Englissch  propurly 
His  martirdam  1  for  sothe  it  am  nat  1  ; 
Therfore  I  passe  as  lightly  as  I  may. 
It  ful  that  in  the  seventhe  yeer  in  May 
The  thriddo  night,  (as  olde  bookes  seyn, 
That  al  this  storie  tellen  more  pleyn) 
"Were  it  by  aventure  or  desten6, 
(As,  whan  a  thing  is  schapcn,  it  schal  be,) 
That  soone  allur  the  mydnyght,  Palamon 
By  helpyng  of  a  freend  brak  his  prisoun, 
And  flet'th  the  cite  fast  as  he  may  goo, 
For  he  hath  give  drinke  liis  gayler  soo 
Of  a  clarre,'  maad  of  a  certayn  wati, 
With  nercotykes  and  opye  of  Thebes  fyn, 
That  al  that  night  though  that  monwolde  him  schake. 
The  gayler  sleep,  he  mighte  nought  awake. 


'  Spiced  wine,  pivcn  to  pucsts  ilip  last  thing  before  goinp  to  betl,  t« 
promote  sleep.  The  red  wine  of  bonlenux,  being  generally  used  for 
thi!i  purpose,  at  length  obtained  exclusive  possession  of  the  nanie  of 
claret. 


136 


THE   CANTERBURY  TALES. 


And  thus  he  fleeth  as  fast  as  ever  he  may. 

Tlie  night  was  schort,  and  faste  by  the  day, 

That  needes  cost^  he  moste  himselven  hyde, 

And  til  a  grove  ther  faste  besyde 

\\"ith  dredful  foot  than  stalketh  Palamon. 

For  schortly  this  was  his  opynyoun, 

That  iu  that  grove  lie  wolde  him  hyde  al  day, 

And  in  the  night  then  wolde  he  take  his  way 

To  Thebes-ward,  his  frendes  for  to  preye 

On  Thesevis  to  helpe  him  to  werreye. 

And  schortelich,  or  he  wolde  lese  his  lyf, 

Or  wynnen  Emelye  unto  his  wyf. 

This  is  theffect  of  his  entente  playn. 

Now  wol  I  tome  unto  Arcite  agayn, 

That  litel  wiste  how  nyh  that  was  his  care, 

Til  that  fortune  hath  brought  him  in  the  suaro. 

Tlie  busy  larke,  messager  of  daye, 
Salueth  in  hire  song  the  morwe  gray ; 
And  fyry  Phebus  ryseth  up  so  bright, 
That  all  the  orient  laugheth  of  the  light. 
And  with  his  stremes  dryeth  in  the  greves 
The  silver  dropes,  hongyng  on  the  leeves. 
And  Ai'cite,  that  is  in  the  court  ryal 
With  Theseus,  his  squyer  principal, 
Is  risen,  and  loketh  on  the  mery  day. 
And  for  to  doon  his  observance  to  May,' 
Eemembryng  of  the  poynt  of  his  desire, 
He  on  his  courser,  stertyng  as  the  fire, 
Is  riden  into  feeldes  him  to  pleye, 
Out  of  the  court,  were  it  a  myle  or  tweye. 
And  to  the  grove,  of  which  that  I  yow  tolde, 
By  aventure  his  wey  he  gan  to  holde, 
To  make  him  a  garland  of  the  greves. 
Were  it  of  woodewynde  or  hawthorn  leves. 


'  Apparently  a  proverbial  expression  of  the  same  signification  at; 
needs  must.    It  occurs  in  the  Leg.  of  Gode  Women.— 

'  Or,  needes  coste,  tliis  thing  mote  have  an  end.' 
•  See  ante,  p.  121,  note  a. 


THE    KXIGUTES    TALE.  137 

And  lowdo  he  song  ;iLjens  tlic  sonne  schcene  : 

'  3Iay,  with  all  thyu  tloiu-cs  and  thy  grccne, 

Welcome  be  thou,  wel  faive  tVeisschc  May, 

I  hope  that  I  som  grene  gete  may." 

And  tVo  his  courser,  witli  a  lusty  herte, 

Into  the  grove  ful  lustily  he  sterte, 

And  in  a  pathe  he  romed  up  and  doun, 

Ther  by  aventure  this  Palamoun 

Was  in  a  busche,  that  no  man  niiglit  him  see. 

Ful  sore  afered  of  his  deth  was  he, 

Nothing  ne  knew  he  that  it  was  xircite  : 

God  wot  he  wolde  have  trowed  it  ful  lite. 

For  sotli  is  seyde,  goon  ful  many  yeres, 

That  feld  hath  eyen,  and  the  woode  hath  eeres.* 

It  is  ful  fair  a  man  to  here  him  evene, 

For  al  day  lueteth  men  atte  unset  stevene.* 

Ful  litel  woot  Arcite  of  his  felawe, 

That  was  so  neih  to  herken  of  his  sawe, 

For  in  the  busche  he  stynteth  now  ful  stille. 

Whan  that  Arcite  had  romed  al  his  fille, 

And  songen  al  the  roundel  lustily, 

Into  a  studie  he  fel  sodeynly, 

As  doth  thus  lovers  in  here  queynte  geeres, 

Now  in  the  croppe,  now  doun  in  the  breres,* 

Now  up,  now  doun,  as  boket  in  a  welle. 

Right  as  the  Friday,  sothly  for  to  telle, 

Now  it  schyneth,  now  it  reyneth  faste, 

Right  so  gau  gery  Venus  overcaste 

The  hertes  of  hire  folk,  right  as  hir  day' 

Is  gerful,  right  so  chaungeth  hix'e  aray. 

'  This  is  a  singularly  bald  conclusion  to  his  song,  for  which,  and  loi 
the  two  following  lines,  the  only  excuse  is  Horace's 'Bonus  dormitat 
Homerus.' 

^  A  proverbial  expression,  rendered  into  mediaeval  Latin.  '  Campus 
habet  lumen,  et  habct  nemus  aiiris  acumen.' 

■*  It  is  right  that  men  bear  themselves  warily  at  all  times,  for  it  liap- 
pens  every  day  that  they  meet  when  tliey  least  expect  it,  witliout 
making  an  appointment. 

■*  Ao(o  in  the  croppe,  now  at  the  top  of  the  wood,  in  high  spirits  ;  now 
in  the  breres,  now  low  on  the  ground  among  the  briars,  dcpressud. 

^  Friday,  sacred  to  the  tiaxon  goddess  Friga,  corresponding  to  the 


138  THE   CAXTERBURT   TALES. 

Selde  13  the  Fryday  al  the  wyke  i-like. 

Wlian  that  Arcite  hadde  songe,  he  gan  to  sike. 

And  sette  him  doiin  withouten  any  more : 

'  Alas !'  quod  he,  '  that  day  that  I  was  lx)re  1 

How  longe  Juno/  thurgh  thy  cruelte 

"NViltow  werreyen  Thebes  the  citee  1 

Alias !  i-brought  is  to  confusioun 

The  blood  royal  of  Cadme  and  Amphioun ; 

Of  Cadynus,  the  which  was  the  furst  man 

That  Thebes  bulde,  or  first  the  toun  bj^gan, 

And  of  that  cite  first  was  crowned  kyng, 

Of  his  lynage  am  I,  and  his  ofspring 

By  vorray  lyne,  and  of  his  stok  ryal : 

And  now  I  am  so  caytyf  and  so  thi-al, 

That  he  that  is  my  mortal  enemy, 

I  serve  him  as  his  squyer  povrely. 

And  yet  doth  Juno  me  wel  more  schame, 

For  I  dar  nought  byknowe  myn  owne  name, 

But  ther  as  I  was  wont  to  hote  Arcite, 

Now  hoote  I  Philostrate,  nought  worth  a  myte. 

Alias !  thou  felle  Mars,  alias !  Juno, 

Thus  hath  youre  ire  owre  lynage  fordo. 

Save  oonly  me,  and  wrecchid  Palamon, 

That  Theseus  martyreth  in  prisoun. 

And  over  all  this,  to  slee  me  utterly, 

Love  hath  his  fyry  dart  so  brennyngly 

I-stykid  thorugh  my  trewe  careful  lierte. 

That  schapen  was  my  deth  erst  than  my  scherte.* 

classical  Aphrodite  or  Venus.  The  superstitions  opinion  that  Friday 
is  unlucky  appears  to  have  had  a  Christian  orijrin,  being  the  day  on 
vhich  the  Kedeemer  was  cruciiicd.  Tlie  proverb,  'Friday's  moon, 
come  when  it  will,  it  comes  too  soon,'  is  an  instance  of  thia  feeling.  In 
the  next  line  gerfid,  meaning  changeable,  which  is  the  reading  of  the 
two  Cambridge  MSS.,  has  been  adopted,  instead  of  grkjal. 

1  See  ante,  p.  i3i,notc  i. 

2  My  death  was  doomed  from  the  moment  I  was  born,  even  before  I 
was  clothed.  Tyrwliitt  says,  it  seems  to  mean  the  linen  in  which  a 
new-born  babe  is  M,Tapi)ed.    Compare  Ja:;/.  of  Code  Women,  vol.  iii.  p.  jgS  :— 

'Sens  first  that  day  tliat  .shapen  was  my  sherte. 
Or  by  the  fatal  suster  had  my  dome." 


THK    KXIGHTES   TALE.  139 

Ye  slen  me  with  youre  eyhcn,  Emelye  ; 

Ye  bon  the  cause  wlierfore  that  I  dye. 

Of  al  the  remenant  of  al  inyu  other  care 

Ne  sette  I  nought  the  mountaunce  of  a  tare, 

So  that  I  couthe  do  ouglit  to  youre  plesaunce.' 

And  with  tluit  word  he  fcl  douu  in  a  traunce 

A  louge  tyme  ;  and  aftirward  upsterte 

This  Palainon,  that  thouglite  thurgh  his  herte 

He  felt  a  cold  swerd  sodo}niliche  glyde  ; 

For  ire  he  quook,  he  iiohle  no  lenger  abyde. 

And  whan  that  he  hath  herd  Arcites  tale, 

As  he  were  wood,  with  face  deed  and  pale, 

He  sterte  him  up  out  of  the  bussches  thikke, 

And  seyd  :  *  Arcyte,  false  traitour  wikke, 

Now  art  thou  lient,  that  lovest  my  lady  so, 

For  whom  that  I  liave  al  this  peyne  and  wo, 

And  art  my  ])lood,  and  to  my  couusoil  sworn, 

As  I  ful  ofte  have  told  the  heere  b}ibrn. 

And  hast  byjaped  here  the  duke  TheseuSj 

And  falsly  chaunged  hast  thy  name  thus ; 

I  wol  be  deed,  or  elles  thou  schalt  dye. 

Thou  schalt  not  love  my  lady  Emelye, 

But  I  wil  love  hire  oonly  and  no  mo; 

For  I  am  Palamon  thy  mortal  fo. 

And  though  that  I  no  wepen  have  in  this  place, 

But  out  of  prisoun  am  y-stert  by  grace, 

I  drede  not  that  other  thou  schalt  dye, 

Or  thou  ne  schalt  not  love  Emelye. 

Chese  which  thou  wilt,  for  thou  s-chalt  not  asterte.' 

This  Arcite,  with  ful  despitous  herte. 

Whan  he  him  knew,  and  had  his  tale  herde. 

As  fers  as  a  lyoun  pulleth  out  a  swerde, 

And  seide  thus :  '  By  God  that  sitteth  above, 

K ere  it  that  thou  art  sike  and  wood  for  love, 

And  eek  that  thou  no  wepne  hast  in  tliis  j)lace, 

Thou  schuldest  never  out  of  this  grove  pace,' 

'  The  Ilarl.  3Ii*.  ri'inl.-*,  But  out  of  prison  art  y-stert  by  <irua\  which 
probably  arose  Iroin  a  mistake  of  the  scribe,  who,  seeing  that  the  prft- 


140  THE   CANTERBURY  TALES. 

That  thou  ne  schuldest  deyen  of  myn  hond. 
For  I  defye  the  seurte  and  the  bond 
Wliich  that  thou  seyst  I  have  maad  to  the. 
For,  verray  fool,  thenk  that  love  is  fre  ; 
And  I  wol  love  hire  mawgre  al  thy  might. 
But,  for  thou  art  a  gentil  perfight  knight, 
And  wenest  to  dereyne  hire  by  batayle, 
Have  heere  my  trouthe,  to  morwe  I  nyl  not  faylo, 
Withouten  wityng  of  eny  other  wight, 
That  heer  I  wol  be  founden  as  a  knight. 
And  bryngen  harneys  right  inough  for  the ; 
And  ches  the  best,  and  lef  the  worst  for  me. 
And  mete  and  drynke  this  night  wil  I  bryng 
Inough  for  the,  and  cloth  for  thy  beddyng. 
And  if  so  be  that  thou  my  lady  wynne, 
And  sle  me  in  this  wood  that  I  am  inne, 
Thou  maist  wel  have  thy  lady  as  for  me.' 
This  Palamon  answereth,  '  I  graunt  it  the.' 
And  thus  they  ben  departed  til  a-morwe, 
Whan  ech  of  hem  had  leyd  his  feith  to  borwe. 

0  Cuj^ide,  out  of  al  charite! 
O  regne,  that  wolt  no  felaw  have  with  the ! 
Ful  soth  is  seyde,  that  love  ne  lordschipe 
Wol  not,  his  thonkes,^  have  no  felaschipe. 
Wel  fynden  tlmt  Arcite  and  Palamoun. 
Arcite  is  riden  anon  to  the  toun, 
And  on  the  morwe,  or  it  were  day  light, 
Ful  prively  two  harneys  hath  he  dight, 
Bothe  sufficaunt  and  mete  to  darreyne 
The  batayl  in  the  feeld  betwix  hem  tweyne. 
And  on  his  hors,  alone  as  he  was  born, 
He  caryed  al  this  harneys  him  byforn; 
And  in  the  grove,  at  tyme  and  place  i-sette, 
This  Arcite  and  this  Palamon  ben  mette. 


vious  line  was  a  repetition  of  one  tliat  had  occurred  just  before,  thought 
that  the  next  line  was  to  be  rejjoatod  also. — W. 

1  With  his  goodwill.  In  otlur  passage.s,  liir  t?ia»l-cs;  with  their 
;C00d  will.  So,  observes  Tyrwliitt,  in  the  Stur.  Citron,  p.  243  : — '  Sume 
htre  thankes,  and  sume  here  unthankcs;  aliqui  libmter,  et  aliqui  ingraiis. 


THE    ICNIGIITES   TALE.  141 

Tho  chaimgen  gan  here  colour  in  here  face. 

Iiiglit  as  the  houter  in  the  regne  of  Trace' 

That  stondetli  in  the  gappe  witli  a  spere, 

Whan  honted  i.s  the  lyoiin  or  tlie  here, 

And  hereth  him  come  riisshyng  in  tlie  grevea, 

And  brekcth  bothe  the  bowes  and  the  leves, 

And  theuketh,  *  Hero  cometh  my  mortcl  enemy, 

Withoute  faile,  he  mot  be  deed  or  I ; 

For  eyther  I  mot  slen  him  at  the  gappe, 

Or  he  moot  slee  me,  if  it  me  myshappe  :' 

So  ferdcn  they,  in  chaungyng  of  here  hew, 

As  fcr  as  e}'ther  of  hem  other  knewe. 

Ther  nas  no  good  day,  ne  no  saluyng  ; 

But  streyt  -withouten  wordes  rehersyng, 

Every  of  hem  helpeth  to  armcn  otlier, 

As  frondly  as  he  were  his  owen  brotlier ; 

And  thanne  with  here  scharpe  speres  stronge 

They  fojTiieden  ech  at  other  wonder  longe. 

Tho  it  semed  that  this  Palamon 

In  his  fightyng  Avere  as  a  wood  lyoun. 

And  as  a  cruel  tygre  was  Arcite  : 

As  wilde  boores  gonne  they  togeder  smyte. 

That  frothen  white  as  fome  for  ire  wood. 

Up  to  the  ancle  they  faught  in  here  blood. 

And  ill  this  wise  I  lete  hem  fightyng  welle; 

And  fortliere  I  wol  of  Theseus  telle. 

The  destine,  mynistre  general. 
That  executeth  in  the  world  over  al 
The  purveans,  that  God  hath  seye  byfom  ; 
So  stx'oug  it  is,  tliat  they'  the  world  had  sworn 


1  This  fine  simile  appears  to  liavc  been  taken  from  the  Thfbais,  lib. 
Iv.,  494.  The  passage  is  Riven,  that  tlio  reader  may  see  how  Chaucer 
has  excelled  the  Latin  poet: — 

•  Qualis  Ga:tula:  stabulantem  ad  confrapa  sylvte 
Venator  longo  niotum  claniore  leoncm 
Expectat.  tirmans  animiini,  et  sudantia  nisu 
Tela  premcns.     Gelat  ora  pavor,  gressusfiue  tremiscunt, 
Quis  veniat,  quantusqiio;  scd  horrida  signa  prementis 
Accipit,  ct  c.tc&  metitur  murmura  cura.' 

2  They  is  written  for  thougli.    Sir  Harris  Xicolas  cites  this  passage 


142  THE    CANTERBURY    TA.LES. 

The  contrary  of  a  thing  by  ye  or  nay, 

Yet  som  tyme  it  schal  falle  upon  a  clay 

That  falleth  nought  eft  in  a  thousend  yeero. 

For  certeynly  oure  appetites  heere, 

Be  it  of  werre,  of  pees,  other  hate,  or  love, 

Al  is  it  reuled  by  the  sight  above. 

This  mene  I  now  by  mighty  Theseus, 

That  for  to  honte  is  so  desirous, 

And  namely  the  grete  hert  in  May, 

That  in  his  bed  ther  daweth  him  no  day, 

That  he  nys  clad,  and  redy  for  to  ryde 

With  liont  and  horn,  and  houndes  him  byside. 

For  in  his  hontyng  hath  he  such  delyt, 

That  is  his  joye  and  his  appetyt 

To  been  himself  the  grete  herts  bane. 

For  after  Mars  he  serveth  now  Diane. 

Cleer  was  the  day,  as  I  have  told  or  this, 
And  Theseus,  with  alle  joye  and  blys. 
With  his  Ypolita,  the  fayre  queene, 
And  Emelye,  clothed  al  in  greene, 
On  honting  be  they  riden  ryally. 
And  to  the  grove,  that  stood  ther  faste  by, 
In  which  ther  was  an  hert  as  men  him  tolde, 
Duk  Theseus  the  streyte  wey  hath  holde. 
And  to  the  launde  he  rydeth  him  ful  right, 
There  was  the  hert  y-wont  to  have  his  flight, 
And  over  a  brook,  and  so  forth  in  his  weye. 
This  duk  wol  have  of  him  a  cours  or  tweye 
With  houndes,  which  as  him  lust  to  comaunde. 
And  whan  this  duk  was  come  into  the  launde. 
Under  the  sonne  he  loketh,^  right  anon 
He  was  war  of  Arcite  and  Palamon, 

as  a  proof  of  Chaucer's  belief  in  predestination,  meaning,  apparently, 
the  doctrine  of  absolute  decrees.  It  proves  his  belief  in  God's  provi- 
dential government  of  the  world,  wliich  is  a  very  different  tiling. 

'  This  passage  is  an  example  of  Chaucer's  power  of  description.  We 
think  we  must  have  actually  witnessed  the  scene.  Theseus  rides  into 
the  forest  glade,  or  lawn,  in  which  I'alamoii  and  Arcite  are  tiglifing; 
then,  seeing  and  hearing  something  unusual,  but  indistinctly,  ho  shades 


THE   KNIGHTES  TALE.  143 

That  fougliten  breeme,  as  it  were  boores  tuo; 

The  brighte  swenles  wente  to  aud  fro 

So  hidously,  that  with  the  leste  strook 

It  seemetli  as  it  wokle  felle  an  ook ; 

But  what  they  were,  notliiug  yit  he  woot. 

This  duk  with  spores  his  courser  he  smoot, 

Aud  at  a  stcrt  lie  was  betwixt  liem  tuoo, 

And  pullid  out  a  swerd  aud  cride,  *  Hoo ! ' 

Nomore,  up  pcyne  of  leesyug  of  your  heed. 

By  mighty  Mars,  anon  lie  soiial  be  deed, 

That  sinyteth  eiiy  strook,  tliat  I  may  seen! 

But  telleth  me  what  mestir  men  ye  been, 

That  ben  so  hardy  for  to  tighten  heere 

Withoute  jugge  or  otlier  otHcore,' 

As  it  were  in  a  lyste  really  /' 

This  Palamon  answerde  hastily, 

And  seyde:  '  Sire,  what  nedeth  wordes  mo? 

We  han  the  deth  deserved  Ijothe  tuo. 

Tuo  woful  wrecches  been  we,  and  kaytyves. 

That  ben  encombred  of  om-e  o^vne  ly  ves ; 

And  as  thou  art  a  rightful  lord  and  juge, 

Ne  geve  us  neyther  mercy  ne  refuge. 

And  sle  me  first,  for  seynte  charity ; 

But  sle  my  felaw  eek  as  wel  as  me. 

Or  sle  him  first ;  for,  though  thou  kuowe  him  lytc. 

This  is  thy  mortal  fo,  this  is  Arcite, 

That  fro  thy  loud  is  bauyscht  on  his  heed. 

For  which  he  hath  i-served^  to  be  deed. 


his  eyes  \vith  his  hand  from  the  Rlaro  of  the  Rnn,  and,  IxHjomiiig  aware  ot 
the  state  of  the  case,  he  puts  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  dashes  in  between  the 
combatants. 

'  The  exclamation  used  by  the  heralds  to  stop  the  fight. — See  poit, 
p.  170,  note  1. 

-  The  trial  by  battle,  beinp;  a  legal  mode  of  settling  a  dispute  between 
gentlemen,  and  to  be  conducted  by  a  proi)er  judjie  and  olficer,  it  was, 
of  course,  considered  an  olfunce  and  high  contempt  of  the  laws  to  figlit 
without  observing  the.se  formalities. 

3  For  i-served,  Spcght  and  Tyrwhitt  read  deserved.  The  iensc  is  the 
same  in  both  cases. 


144  THE  CANTERBURY  TALES. 

For  this  is  he  that  come  to  thi  gate 

And  seyde,  that  he  highte  Philostrate. 

Thus  hath  he  japed  the  many  a  yer, 

And  thou  hast  maad  of  him  thy  cheef  squyer. 

And  this  is  he  that  loveth  Emelye. 

For  sith  the  day  is  come  that  I  schal  dye, 

I  make  pleynly  my  coufessioun, 

That  I  am  the  woful  Palamoun, 

That  hath  thy  prisoun  broke  wikkedly. 

I  am  thy  mortal  foo,  and  it  am  I 

That  loveth  so  hoote  Emely  the  bright, 

That  I  wol  dye  present  in  hire  sight. 

Therfore  I  aske  deeth  and  my  juwyse; 

But  slee  my  felaw  in  the  same  wyse, 

Tor  bothe  we  have  served  to  be  slajm.' 

This  worthy  duk  answerde  anon  agajTi, 
And  seide,  '  This  is  a  schort  conclusioun : 
Your  owne  mouth,  by  your  owne  confessioun, 
Hath  dampned  you  bothe,  and  I  wil  it  recorde. 
It  nedeth  nought  to  pyne  yow  mth  the  corde. 
Ye  schul  be  deed  by  mighty  Mars  the  reedel'* 
The  queen  anon  for  verray  wommanhede 
Gan  for  to  wepe,  and  so  dede  Emelye, 
And  alle  the  ladies  in  the  company e. 
Gret  pite  was  it,  as  it  thought  hem  alle, 
That  evere  such  a  chaunce  schulde  falle  ; 
For  gentil  men  thi  were  and  of  gret  estate, 
And  nothing  but  for  love  was  this  debate. 
And  saw  here  bloody  woundes  wyde  and  sore  j 
And  alle  they  cryde  lesse  and  the  more, 
'  Have  mercy,  Lord,  upon  us  wommen  alle  !' 
And  on  here  bare  knees  anoon  they  falle. 
And  wolde  have  kissed  his  feet  right  as  he  stood. 
Til  atte  laste  aslaked  was  his  mood ; 


>  Mara  is  called  red  from  the  colour  of  blood,  in  wliich  he  is  sujh 
posed  to  delif-'lit.  Tlie  planet  remarkable  for  its  redness  was  called 
Mars  on  account  of  its  colour. 


THK    KNIGHTES    TALE.  145 

For  pitc  renneth  sone  in  gentil  herte. 

And  thoui^h  he  fii"st  for  ire  quok  and  sterte, 

He  luith  it  al  considered  in  a  clause, 

The  trespas  of  hem  botlic,  and  hei-e  cause  : 

And  althoufjh  his  ire  here  gylt  accused, 

Yet  in  liis  rcsoun  he  hem  bothe  excused ; 

And  thus  he  thought  that  every  maner  man 

Wol  help  himself  in  love  if  that  he  can, 

And  eek  delyver  himself  out  of  prisouu. 

And  eek  in  his  hort  had  compassioun 

Of  wommen,  for  they  wepen  ever  in  oon ; 

And  in  his  gentil  hert  he  thought  anoon, 

And  sothly  he  to  himself  seyde  :  '  Fy 

Upon  a  lord  that  wol  have  no  mercy, 

But  be  a  lyoun  bothe  in  word  and  dede, 

To  hem  that  ben  in  repentaunce  and  di-ede, 

As  wel  as  to  a  proud  clispitious  man, 

That  wol  raaynteyne  that  he  first  bigan. 

That  lord  hath  litel  of  disci-ecioim, 

That  in  such  caas  can  no  divisioun  ; 

But  wayeth  pride  and  humblenesse  after  oon, 

And  schortly,  whan  his  ire  is  over  gon. 

He  gan  to  loke  on  hem  with  eyen  light,* 

And  spak  these  same  wordes  al  in  hight. 

'  The  god  of  love,  a  !  henedicile^ 

How  mighty  and  how  gret  a  lord  is  he  ! 

Agayne  his  might  ther  gajnieth  nou  obstacle, 

He  may  be  cleped  a  god  of  his  miracle  ; 

For  he  can  maken  at  his  owen  gyse 

Of  ever  herte,  as  him  lust  devyse. 

Lo  her  is  Arcite  and  Palamon, 

That  quytely  were  out  of  my  prisoun, 

And  might  have  lyved  in  Thebes  ryally, 

And  witeu  I  am  here  mortal  enemy. 


'  Cheerful  looks. 

-  Benedicile  is  the  first  word  of  the  Sotvf  of  the  Three  Children  in  the 
old  ofTices  said  at  Lauds,  and  in  the  book  of  Common  Prayer  at  morning 
service,  and  is  commonly  used  to  cxpregs  adminitiun. 

VOL.  I.  L 


146  THE    CA2<TERBURY    TALES. 

And  that  here  cletla  litli  in  my  miglit  also, 

And  yet  hatli  love,  maugre  here  eyghen  tuo, 

I-broiight  hem  hider  bothe  for  to  dye. 

Now  loketh,  is  nat  that  an  heih  folye  ] 

Who  may  not  be  a  fole,  if  that  he  love  1 

Byholde  for  Goddes  sake  that  sitteth  above, 

Se  how  they  blede  !  be  they  nought  wel  arrayed  ? 

Thus  hath  here  lord,  the  god  of  love,  hem  payed 

Here  waores  and  here  fees  for  here  servise. 

And  yet  wenen  they  to  ben  ful  wise, 

That  serven  love,  for  ought  that  may  bifalle. 

But  this  is  yette  the  beste  game  of  alle. 

That  sche,  for  whom  they  have  this  jelousye, 

Can  hem  therfore  as  moche  thank  as  me.^ 

Sche  woot  no  more  of  al  tliis  hoote  fare, 

By  God,  than  wot  a  cuckoo  or  an  hare. 

But  all  moot  ben  assayed  hoot  or  colde  ; 

A  man  moot  ben  a  fool  other  yong  or  olde  ; 

I  woot  it  by  myself  ful  yore  agon  ; 

For  in  my  tyme  a  servant  was  I  on. 

And  sythen  that  I  knewe  of  loves  peyne. 

And  wot  how  sore  it  can  a  man  destreyne. 

As  he  that  hath  often  ben  caught  in  his  lace, 

I  you  forgeve  holly  this  trespace. 

At  the  i-equest  of  the  queen  that  kneleth  heere, 

And  eek  of  Emely,  my  suster  deere. 

And  ye  schullen  bothe  anon  unto  me  swere, 

That  never  ye  schiillen  my  corowne  dere,^ 

Ne  make  werre  on  me  night  ne  day. 

But  be  my  freendes  in  alle  that  ye  may. 

1  you  forgeve  this  trespas  every  dele.' 

And  they  him  swore  his  axyng  fayi'e  and  wele, 


1  Can  means  literally  tnoirs;  here  it  means  to  acknowledge  an  obli- 
gation. In  the  T/icseida,  Emilia  is  made  to  see  the  lovers  when  they  are 
first  enamoured  of  her  in  tlie  garden.  Chaucer's  plan  is  an  improve- 
ment, were  it  only  because  it  gives  him  an  opportunity  of  putting  this 
witty  speech  in  the  mouth  of  Theseus. 

'  Dere  means  literally  to  injure,  or  to  harm.  The  meaning  of  the 
expression  here  is,  to  undertake  any  enterprise  against  my  royal 
authority. 


THE    KXIGHTES   TALE.  147 

And  him  of  lordscliip  and  of  mercy  prayde, 

And  lie  lieni  graiiutcd  niorcy,  and  thus  he  saj'de  : 

*  To  spoke  of  real  lynage  and  riches, 

Tliough  that  sche  wei-e  a  queen  or  a  prynces, 

Ilk  of  vow  bothe  is  worthy  douteles 

To  wedde  when  tyme  is,  but  natheles 

I  speke  as  for  my  suster  Emelye, 

For  whom  ye  have  this  stryf  ancl  jelousye, 

Ye  woot  youreself  sche  may  not  Avedde  two 

At  oones,  though  ye  faughten  ever  mo  : 

That  oon  of  yow,  or  be  him  loth  or  leef, 

He  may  go  pypen  in  an  ivy  leef;* 

This  is  to  say,  sche  may  nought  have  bothe, 

Al  be  ye  never  so  jelous,  ne  so  lothe. 

For-thy  I  put  you  bothe  in  this  degre, 

That  ilk  of  you  schall  have  his  destyne,' 

As  him  is  schape,  and  herkeu  in  what  \vyse ; 

Lo  here  your  eude  of  that  I  schal  devyse. 

My  wil  is  this,  for  playn  conclusioun, 

Withouten  eny  repplicacioun, 

If  that  you  liketh,  tak  it  for  the  best, 

That  every  of  you  schal  go  wher  him  lest 

Frely  withouten  raunsouu  or  daungeer ; 

And  this  day  fyfty  wykes,  fer  ne  neer, 

Everich  of  you  schal  bryng  an  hundred  knightes, 

Armed  for  lystes  up  at  alle  rightes 

Al  redy  to  dorayne  hir  by  batayle. 

And  thus  byhote  I  you  withouten  fayle 

Upon  my  troutlie,  and  as  I  am  a  knight, 

That  whethir  of  yow  bothe  that  hath  might, 


'  This  appears  to  be  a  proverbial  expression,  like  '  he  may  go  blow 
In  a  horn,'  meaning  he  may  console  himself  witli  any  frivolous  amuse- 
ment he  pleases.  It  occurs  in  the  Destruction  of  Thebes,  I'art  II.,  by 
Lydgate : — 

•  But  let  his  brother  blowe  in  an  horn. 
Where  that  him  list,  or  pipe  in  a  reede.' 

Uow  any  one  was  to  pipe  in  an  ivy  leaf  is  not  so  clear. 

-  In  the  trial  by  buttle,  nhieli  was  supposed  to  be  an  appeal  to  the 
judgment  of  God.  . 

L   2 


148  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

This  is  to  seyn,  that  whethir  he  or  thou 
May  with  his  hundred,  as  I  spak  of  now, 
Sle  his  contrary,  or  out  of  lystes  dryve, 
Him  sclial  I  geve  Emelye  to  wyve, 
To  whom  that  fortune  gevetli  so  fair  a  grace. 
The  lyste  schal  I  make  in  this  place, 
And  God  so  wisly  on  my  sowle  rewe, 
As  I  schal  even  juge  ben  and  trewe. 
Ye  schul  non  othir  ende  with  me  make, 
That  oon  of  yow  schal  be  deed  or  take. 
And  if  you  thinketh  this  is  wel  i-sayde. 
Say  youre  avys,  and  holdeth  yow  apayde. 
This  is  youre  ende  and  youre  couclusioun.' 
Who  loketh  lightly  now  but  Palamoun  ? 
"Who  spryngeth  up  for  joye  but  Arcite  1 
Who  couthe  tell,  or  who  couthe  endite. 
The  joye  that  is  made  in  this  place 
Whan  Theseus  hath  don  so  fair  a  grace  1 
But  down  on  knees  wente  every  wight. 
And  thanked  him  with  al  here  hertes  miht, 
And  namely  the  Thebanes  ofte  sithe. 
And  thus  with  good  hope  and  herte  blithe 
They  taken  here  leve,  and  hom-ward  they  ryde 
To  Thebes-ward,  with  olde  walles  wyde. 
I  trow  men  wolde  it  deme  necligence, 
If  I  forgete  to  telle  the  dispence 
Of  Theseus,  that  goth  so  busily 
To  maken  up  the  lystes  rially. 
And  such  a  noble  theatre  as  it  was, 
I  dar  wel  say  that  in  this  world  ther  nas. 
The  circuite  ther  was  a  myle  aboute. 
Walled  of  stoon,  and  dyched  al  withoute. 
Round  was  the  schap,  in  manor  of  compaas, 
Ful  of  degre,^  the  height  of  sixty  paas, 
That  whan  a  man  was  set  in  o  degre 
He  letted  nought  his  felaw  for  to  se. 

'  Seats  placed  one  above  another,  in  the  manner  of  steps  or  degreot, 
M  in  an  amphitheatre. 


THE    KXIGIITES   TALE.  Ii9 

Est-warJ  thcr  stood  a  gate  of  marbul  whit, 
West-ward  such  another  in  opposit. 
And  .schortly  to  conchule,  s\ich  a  ])hice 
Was  non  in  crthe  in  so  litel  S]iace. 
In  al  the  lend  thor  nas  no  craftys  man, 
That  geometry  or  arsmetrike  can, 
Ne  jiortreyour,  ne  korvcr  of  ymagcs, 
Tliat  Theseus  ue  gaf  heni  mete  and  wages 
The  theatre  for  to  maken  and  devyse. 
And  for  to  don  his  right  and  sacrihse,* 
He  est-ward  liath  upon  the  gate  above, 
In  worschip  of  Venus,  goddos  of  love, 
Don  make  an  auter  and  an  oratory ; 
And  west-ward  in  tliu  mynde  and  in  memory 
Of  Mai-s,  he  hath  i-maked  such  another. 
That  coste  largely  of  gold  a  fother. 
And  north-ward,  in  a  toret  on  tlie  walle, 
Of  alabaster  whit  and  reed  coralle 
An  oratory  riche  for  to  see, 
In  woi-schip  of  Dyane,  goddes  of  chastity. 
Hath  Theseus  i-wrought  in  noble  wise. 
But  yit  had  I  forgeten  to  dev'yse 
The  nobil  kervyng,  and  the  purtrctures. 
The  schap,  the  contynauuce  of  the  figures, 
That  weren  in  these  oratories  thre. 

Furst  in  the  temple  of  Venus  thou  may  se 
Wrought  in  the  wal,  ful  pitous  to  byholde, 
The  broken  slepes,  and  the  sykes  colde ; 
The  sacred"  teeres,  and  the  waymeutjiig ; 
The  fu}iy  strokes  of  the  desiryng, 

'  See  ante,  p.  147.  note  3. — The  plan  of  the  lists  is  taken  strictly  from 
that  of  a  classical  ampliitheatrcsuch  as  it  is  described  in  Tertullian,  Ue 
SpectariUis.  Upon  this  subject  Mr.  Currcy,  in  his  vahiable  edition  of  fliis 
treatise,  remarks : — '  The  giimes  of  tlie  circus  were  introduced  with  a 
religious  procession,  and  sacritices  to  the  idols,  placed  in  vast  numbers 
within  the  circus.  Tlie  blood  shed  at  the  gladiatorial  shows  was  sup- 
posed to  propitiate  the  god  Dis,  whose  altar  was  in  the  an»phitheatre. 
The  theatre  was  expressly  dedicated  to  Venus,  being  ajmejced  to  a 
temple  oj  that  gcxUlesa.' 

2  Secret. 


150  THE    CANTEKBURY   TALES. 

That  loves  servauntz  in  her  lyf  enduren  : 
The  othes/  that  hei'  covenantz  assiiren. 
Plesance  and  hope,  desyr,  fool-hardynesse, 
Beaute  and  youthe,  baudeiy  and  richesse, 
Charmes  and  sorcery,^  lesynges  and  flateiy, 
Dispense,  busynes,  and  jelou.sy, 
That  werud  of  yolo  gnldes  a  gerland, 
And  a  cukkow^  sittyng  on  hire  hand  ; 
Festes,  instrumentz,  carols,  and  daunces, 
Lust  and  array,  and  al  the  circumstauncea 
Of  love,  which  I  rekned  and  reken  schal, 
Ech  by  other  were  peynted  on  the  wal. 
And  mo  than  I  can  make  of  mencioun. 
For  sothly  al  the  mount  of  Setheroun,* 
Ther  Venus  hath  hir  principal  dwellyng, 
Was  schewed  on  the  wal  here  portraying,' 
With  alle  the  gardyn,  and  al  the  lustynes. 
Nought  was  forgete  ;  the  porter  Ydelnes, 
Ne  Narcisus  the  fayr  of  yore  agon, 
Ne  yet  the  foly  of  kyng  Salamon, 
Ne  eek  the  grete  strengthe  of  Hercules, 
Thenchauutementz  of  Medea  and  Cerces, 
Ne  of  Turnus  the  hard  fuyry  corage. 
The  riche  Cresus  caytif  in  servage. 
Thus  may  we  see,  that  wisdom  and  riches, 
Beaute  ne  sleight,  strengthe  ne  hardynes, 


1  The  Harl.  MS.  reads  '  The  othes,  that  by  her  covenantz  assuren  ;• 
but  '  by'  has  been  omitted  in  the  text,  following  Speght  and  Tyrwhitt 

-  Sorcenj,  the  true  reading  has  been  restored  by  Mr.  Wright.  Tyr- 
whitt reads  force.  The  use  of  charms  for  procuring  love  is  very  ancient 

See  TlIEOCRITUS'S  <l>ap|U.aKei;Tptai. 

3  A  cuckoo  is  the  emblem  of  unfaithfulness  to  the  marriage  vow.  It 
is  frequently  alluded  to  by  the  Elizabethan  writers,  and  supplies  the 
burthen  of  many  songs. — See  Love's  Labour  Lost,  Act  v.,  sc.  2. 

■*  Citlijeron,  sacred  to  Venus. 

5  Chaucer  in  this  description  has  before  him  a  church  of  the  time  in 
which  he  lived.  Wlicn  tlie  whitewash  is  removed  from  the  walls  of 
our  village  churches,  tlioy  are  generally  found  to  have  been  covered 
with  fresco  paintings  of  Scripture  subjects. 


THE   KXIGHTES  TALE.  151 

Ne  may  with  Venus  liolde  champartye,' 

For  as  sche  lustc  the  world  than  may  sche  gye. 

Lo,  all  this  folk  i-caught  were  iu  hire  trace, 

Till  they  for  wo  ful  often  saytle  alias. 

Sutficeth  this  ensaniple  con  or  tuo, 

And  though  I  couthe  roken  a  thouscnd  mo. 

The  statu  of  Venus,  glorious  for  to  see, 

Was  naked  fletyiig  iu  the  large  see, 

And  fro  the  navel  doun  all  covered  was 

With  wawes  greue,  and  bright  as  eny  glas. 

A  citole  in  hire  right  hand  hadde  sche, 

And  on  hir  heed,  ful  seuiely  on  to  see, 

A  rose  gaidand  ful  swete  and  wel  smellyng, 

And  aboven  hire  heed  dowves  fleyng. 

Biforn  hir  stood  hir  sone  Cupido, 

TJpon  his  schuldres  were  wyuges  two  ; 

And  blyud  he  was,  as  it  is  often  scene ; 

A  bowe  he  bar  and  arwes  fair  and  kene.' 

WTiy  schuld  I  nought  as  wel  telle  you  alls 

The  portraiture,  that  was  upon  tlie  walle 

Within  the  temple^  of  mighty  Mars  the  reede  1 

Al  peynted  was  the  "w^al  in  length  and  breede 


'  Champarty  is  a  legal  tenn  signifying  a  conspiracy,  in  which  one 
party  agrees  to  help  nnothcr  to  obtain  an  estate,  on  condition  that,  if 
obtained,  it  is  to  be  divided  between  tlitm.  The  meaning  lierewill  be, 
that  wisdom  and  riches  and  the  rest,  though  all  conspiring  together, 
cannot  maintain  a  cause  against  Venus. 

-  The  Harl.  M.S.  reads  jirccne.  'Ihe  reading  in  the  text,  which  i* 
evidently  the  true  one,  is  that  of  some  other  .'MtjS.,  and  is  followed  by 
Tyrwhitt. 

3  The  description  of  the  Temple  of  Mars  is  derived  from  the  TTiebais, 
lib.  vii.,  40.  The  introduction  of  familiar  images  of  crime  and  suf- 
fering into  this  fine  symbolical  picture  is  objected  to  by  Tyrwhitt, 
Scott,  and  other  critics,  as  incongruous;  and  Jlr.  ^Vrigllt,  in  extenua- 
tion of  the  incongruity,  suggests  tliat  it  arises  from  the  confusion  In 
the  media;val  mind  between  the  god  JIars  and  the  planet  of  that  name, 
which  was  supposed  to  shed  its  intluencc  on  these  undignitied  callings 
and  calamities.  This  is  true  as  far  as  it  goes,  but  it  only  removes  the 
ditliculty  one  step;  for  why  should  the  butcher,  the  barber  (or  surgeon), 
the  pickpurse,  and  all  sanguinary  ml.>ichances,  be  supposed  to  be  under 
the  inUuence  of  the  planet  Mars,  unless  they  were  held  to  be  pleasing  to 


152  THE   CAXTERBURY   TALES. 

Like  to  the  estres  of  the  grisly  place, 

That  hight  the  gret  tempul  of  Mars  in  Trace/ 

In  that  colde  and  frosty  regiovm, 

Ther  as  Mars  hath  his  sovereyn  manciovin. 

First  on  the  wal  was  peynted  a  forests, 

In  which  ther  dwelled  neyther  man  ne  beste, 

With  knotty  knarry  bareyn  trees  olde 

Of  stubbes  scharpe  and  hidous  to  byholde  ; 

In  which  ther  ran  a  swymbul  in  a  swough," 

As  it  were  a  storme  schuld  bcrst  every  bough  : 

And  downward  on  an  hil  under  a  bent, 

Ther  stood  the  tempul  of  ]\Iarz  armypotent,* 

the  god  Mars  ?  If, however,  the  subject  be  carefully  considered,  it  will  ap- 
pear that  Chaucer's  is  really  the  more  sublime  idea,  and  the  truer  symbol- 
ism. He  paints  no  common-place  picture  of  the  '  pomp  and  circumstance 
of  glorious  war' — this  may  do  for  a  tournament — but  describes  the  geniug 
of  war  as  it  manifests  itself  in  the  malignant  passions  wliich  lead  to 
strife  and  bloodshed  :  in  the  spirit  of  covetousness,  which,  contami- 
nating commonwealtlis  no  less  than  individuals,  generates  hatred  and 
contention ;  and  in  the  development,  even  by  tlie  lower  animals,  of 
those  evil  propensities  which  become  the  more  revolting  when  tlicy 
assume  the  character  of  instincts.  If  some  images  seem  at  first  siglit 
ludicrous,  such  as  the  cook  scalded  for  all  his  long  ladle,  let  it  be  re- 
membered, as  a  principle  of  art,  how  miicli  the  grotesque  adds  to  the 
horror  with  whicli  the  sight  of  suffering  atfects  the  mind.  Dryden,  who 
rightly  deemed  himself  informed  by  Chaucer's  spirit,  has  hardly  at  all 
refined  or  elevated  that  grotesqueness,  because  he  knew  the  power  of 
familiar  images.  Neither  magnitude  nor  remoteness,  which  are  held  to 
be  elements  of  the  sublime,  strikes  the  imagination  so  forcibly  as  ex- 
amples drawn  from  every-day  experience.  The  general  description  of 
a  battle  is  less  impressive  than  tlie  details  of  a  single  death ;  and  the 
dignified  fall  of  C»sar  in  the  Senate-house  produces  less  terror  than 
the  execution  of  a  common  malefactor,  Tlie  poet's  object  Is  to  depict 
suffering  in  hideous  and  ordinary  forms,  in  order  to  display  the  univer- 
sality of  the  influence  of  the  god,  not  only  in  great  occurrences,  but 
in  the  meanest  incidents  of  life. 

^  The  principal  temple  of  Mars  is  described  in  the  Thehais  as  being 
in  Thrace,  because  of  the  warlike  spirit  of  the  inhabitants. 

-  Speght  and  Tyrwhitt,  after  some  MSS.,  read  roinhle,  and  aswoiifih. 
The  reading  in  the  text  is  from  the  Harleian  MS.,  followed  by  Mr. 
Wright,  who,  however,  furnishes  no  exjilunation  of  it.  The  swymbid,  or 
sighing,  heard  through  the  general  swouffh,  or  commotion,  is  finely 
imagined. 

'■^  This  line  has  a  redundant   syllable,  which  makes  it  necessary  to 
read  tempul  of  as  one  foot.  Dryden,  with  a  just  appreciation  of  its  merit, 
has  retained  it,  only  thus  correcting  the  irregularity  of  the  metre  ;— 
•  The  temple  stood  of  Mars  armipotent.' 


THE   KNIGHTES   TALE.  153 

Wrought  al  of  burned  steel,  of  which  thentrn 

Was  long  and  streyt,  and  gastly  for  to  seo. 

And  tliorout  came  a  rage  and  suche  a  prise,* 

That  it  nuuid  al  tlie  gates  for  to  rise. 

The  northen  light"  in  at  the  dore  schon, 

For  ^v^•ndo^v  on  tlie  walle  ne  was  tlier  noon, 

Thorngh  the  which  men  might  no  light  disccrue. 

The  dores  wer  alle  ademauntz  eterne, 

I-clenched  overthward  and  endelong 

With  iren  tough ;  and,  for  to  make  it  strong, 

Every  piler  the  tempul  to  susteene 

Was  tonne  greet,  of  iren*  bright  and  schene. 

Ther  saugh  I  furst  the  derk  ymaginyng 

Of  felony,  and  al  the  compassyng; 

The  cruel  ire,  as  reed  as  eny  gleede ; 

The  pikepurs,  and  cek  the  pale  drede  ; 

The  smyler  with  tlie  kuyf  under  liis  cloke; 

The  schipne  brenuyng  v/ith  the  blake  smoke; 

The  tresoun  of  the  murtheryng  in  the  bed;* 

The  open  werres,  with  woundes  al  bi-bled ; 

Contek  with  bloody  knyf,  and  scharp  manace. 

Al  ful  of  chirkyng  was  that  sory  place. 


'  .Spojrht  read's,  tnch  a  rape  and  a  vise ;  Tyrwhitt,  swiche  a  vise.  The 
mcaiiin;,'  of  the  readiiiff  in  tlio  text  is  not  obvious.  [The  ripht  readin;;  is 
itst.  ^'lov^j^d  by  imprtus  in  tho  Kllcsinore  MS.,  and  apparently  from  the  same 
."■onrce  as  pheeze.  The  A.-S../'(i«  means  iin|>etuous,  and  X.-ii.  fysan  U  to  riisli, 
to  drive;  cf.  Swed.  fi'sa,  to  drive,  'lliu.s  uejc  means  a  rush,  a-*  of  a  bhi-^t. 
Jn  the  nc.\t  lino  the  ri;,'lit  reading  is  rcse,  to  .sliake,  to  rattle.  The  reading 
rite  makes  nonsense. — \V.  W.  jj.j 

*  Aurora  borcalis. 

I,.cditur  adversum  Thcebi  jubar,  ipsaqne  sedem 

Lux  timet,  et  dims  contristat  sidera  fulgor. — Thelais,  vil.,  4S. 

I'ynvliitt  docs  not  notice  the  idea  of  the  temple  being  illumined  by  the 
northern  light,  as  derived  from  the  Thiseida ;  Chaucer,  therefore,  is 
probably  entitled  to  the  full  credit  of  this  fine  image. 

3  The  poet  probably  had  in  his  mind  a  Norman  cathedral,  with  its 
roimd  massive  piers,  so  different  from  the  light  elegant  clustered  shafts 
of  the  architecture  uf  his  own  time,  and  so  appropriate  to  the  temple  of 
the  stem  god  of  arms. 

'*  In  allusion  to  the  Daiioidae. 


154  THE  CANTERBURY  TALES. 

The  slcer  of  himself  yet  saugh  I  there, 
His  hei-te-blood  hath  bathed  al  his  here ; 
The  nayl  y-dryve  in  the  schode  a-nyght  ;^ 
The  colde  deth,  with  mouth  gapyng  upright. 
Amyddes  of  the  tempul  set  mischaunce, 
With  sory  comfort  and  evel  contynaunce. 
I  saugh  woodnes"  laiighying  in  his  rage; 
Armed  comphaint,  outhees,  and  fiers  outrage.* 
The  caroigne  in  the  busshe,  with  throte  y-corve: 
A  thousand  slaine,  and  not  of  qualme  y-storve; 
The  tiraunte,  with  the  preye  by  force  y-raft; 
The  toun  destroied,  ther  was  no  thynge  laft. 
Yet  sawgh  I  brente  the  schippes  hoppesteres  ;* 
The  hixnte  strangled  with  the  wild  beres : 
The  sowe^  freten  the  child  right  in  the  cradel ; 
The  cook°  i-skalded,  for  al  his  longe  ladel. 


1  An  allusion,  perhaps,  to  the  deatli  of  Sisera. — Judges,  iv. 

5  Laetusque  furor. — Thebais,  vii. 

3  The  Harl.  MS.  reads— 

'  The  hunt  strangled  with  wilde  bores  corage,' 
which  is  evidently  corrupt,  for  the  boar  does  not  strangle,  but  rips  up 
his  pursuer ;  and  the  same  words  are  applied  immediately  afterwards 
with  greater  propriety  to  the  bear.  Tyrwhitt's  reading,  wliich  is  more 
consonant  with  the  accurate  character  of  Chaucer's  imagery,  is  tlierefore 
adopted  in  the  text.  The  poet  probably  had  in  his  mind  the  predatory 
incursions  of  the  boraerers  of  England  and  Scotland,  whicli  often 
involved  the  two  countries  in  feuds,  such  as  led  to  the  battle  of  Chevy 
Chase  or  Otterbourne.  The  word  oufhee>!,  meaning  outcry,  is  from  the 
barbarous  Latin  Hutes'mm,  and  enters  into  the  composition  of  our 
expression,  '  Hue  and  cry,'  and,  indeed,  of  outcry. 

■*  Bellatrices  carina;. — Thebais.  Speght  interprets  this  word  pilots 
(gubernaculum  tenentes) ;  Tyrwhitt,/em«?e  dancers,  applied  to  ships  as 
dancing  on  the  waves.  None  of  the  commentators  appear  to  have 
met  the  word  elsewhere. 

5  This  is  not  an  uncommon  accident  in  countries  where  the  swine 
are  allowed  to  roam  at  large,  as  was  usual  witli  ou.-  Saxon  ancestors, 
»nd  in  Ireland  at  the  present  day.  Dryden  has  not  improved  upon  the 
passage  by  rendering  it — 

'  Tlic  now-born  babe  by  nurses  overlaid.' 

•i  We  have  here  an  illustration  of  tlie  time  wlien  men  lived  in  large 
communities,  and  cookery  was  performed  on  a  grand  scale,  as  when  tlie 
whole  garrison  of  a  feudal  castle,  or  an  entire  brotherhood  of  mouk^ 
la  an  abbey,  dined  together  in  the  common  hall. 


THE    KNIGHTES   TALE.  155 

Nought  beth  forgeten  the  infortuue  of  Mart : 

Tlie  cai-tcr*  over-rvdcn  with  his  cart, 

Under  the  "svhel  I'ul  lowe  ho  ]iiy  adoim. 

Ther  wer  also  of  Martz  divisiinin, 

The  barbour,''  and  the  bowcher,  and  the  smjth, 

That  forgeth  scharpe  swerdes  on  his  stith. 

And  al  a]>ove  dcpcpited  in  a  tonr 

Saw  I  conquest  sittyng  in  gret  honour, 

With  the  scharpe  swerd  over  his  heed 

Hangj'nge  by  a  sotil  twjTie  thrced.' 

Depeynted  was  ther  the  shiuglit  of  Julius, 

Of  grete  Nero,  and  of  Anthonius ; 

Al  be  that  ilke  tyme  they  were  unborn, 

Yet  was  here  deth  depeynted  ther  byforn, 

By  manasyng  of  !Mai*tz,  riglit  by  figure, 

So  was  it  schewed  right  in  the  purtreture 

As  is  depeynted  in  sterres  above, 

Who  schal  be  slayn  or  elles  deed  for  love. 

Sufficeth  oon  ensample  in  stories  olde, 

I  may  not  reken  hem  alle,  though  I  wolde. 

The  statue  of  Mars  upon  a  carte  stood, 
Armed,  and  loked  grym  as  he  were  wood; 
And  over  his  heed  ther  schyneth  two  figures 
Of  sterres,  that  been  cleped  in  scriptures, 
That  oon  Puella,  that  othur  Rubins.* 
This  god  of  armes  was  arayed  thus. 


'  Et  vacui  CUITU3,  protritaque  curribus  ora. — Thebaii. 

2  The  barber  in  the  middle  aRcs  exercised  the  ofiice  of  blood 
letter  and  chirurgeon  gcniTally:  hence  one  of  the  mercantile  com 
panics  iu  the  Corporation  of  London  i?  still  called  the  Barber-surgeoi.3 
Company.  The  pole,  usually  fixed  out.side  barbers'  shops, '  was  lo  show 
that  the  master  of  the  shop  practised  surgery,  and  could  breathe  a  vein 
ai  well  as  mow  a  beard  ;  such  a  staff  being  to  this  day,  by  every 
villajre  practitioner,  put  into  the  hand  ot  a  patient  undergoing  the 
operation  of  phlebotomy.' — Antuiiiarian  I!ej>osUory. 

3  Apparently  an  allusion  to  the  sword  of  Damocles. 

•*  The  names  of  two  figures  in  gcomancy,  representing  two  constel- 
lations in  Heaven.  I'uella  signitieth  Mars  retrograde,  and  Kubeus 
aiars  direct. — S. 


156  THE   CAl^TERBURY   TALES. 

A  wolf  ther  stood  byforn  him  at  his  feet 

With  eyen  reed,  and  of  a  man  he  eet ; 

With  sotyl  pencel  depeynted  was  this  storie. 

In  redoutyng  of  Mars  and  of  his  glorie. 
Now  to  the  temple  of  Dyane  the  chaste 

As  schortly  as  I  can  I  wol  me  haste, 

To  telle  yon  al  the  descripcionn. 

Depeynted  ben  the  walles  iip  and  down, 

Of  huntyng  and  of  schamefast  chastity. 

Ther  saugh  I  how  woful  Calystope,^ 

Whan  that  Dyane  was  agreved  with  here, 

Was  turned  from  a  womman  to  a  here, 

And  after  was  sche  maad  the  loode-sterre ; 

Thus  was  it  peynted,  I  can  say  no  ferre ; 

Hire  son  is  eek  a  sterre,  as  men  may  see. 

Ther  sawgh  I  Dyane"  turned  intil  a  tree, 

I  mene  nought  the  goddes  Dyane, 

But  Peneus  doughter,  the  whiche  hight  Dane. 

Ther  saugh  I  Atheon^  an  hert  i-maked, 

For  vengance  that  he  saugh  Dyane  al  naked; 

I  saugh  how  that  his  houndes  han  him  caught, 

And  freten  him,  for  that  they  knew  him  naught. 

Yit  i-peynted  was  a  litel  forthermore. 

How  Atthalaunce*  huntyd  the  wild  bore. 

And  Melyagre,  and  many  another  mo. 

For  which  Dyane  wrought  hem  care  and  woo. 

Ther  saugh  I  eek  many  another  story. 

The  which  me  list  not  drawe  to  memory. 

This  goddes  on  an  hert  ful  hye  seet, 

With  smale  hoimdes  al  aboute  hire  feet, 

And  undernethe  hir  feet  sche  had  the  moone, 

Wexyng  it  was,  and  schulde  wane  soone. 

In  gaude  grcene  hire  statue  clothed  was, 

With  bowe  in  hande,  and  arwes  in  a  cas. 

'  Callisto,  a    daughter  of  Lycaon,  king  of  Arcadia.-^See   OviD'S 
Fasti,  ii.  153.  -  Dapline. — OviD's  Metamorph.,  i.,  450. 

3  Actaeon. — Ovid's  Metamorph.,  iii.,  i  38. 
*  Atalanta. — Ovio's  Metamorph.,  x.,  56o. 


THE    KNICIITES    TALE.  157 

Hir  eyghen  caste  sclie  ful  lowe  adoun, 

Ther  Pluto  hath  liis  derke  re!;^^!!!. 

A  wonunau  tmvailyng^  was  liiro  hiforn, 

But  for  hire  child  so  longe  was  unborn 

Ful  pitously  Lucyna  gau  sche  calle, 

And  seyde,  '  Help,  for  tliou  mayst  best  of  alle.' 

Wei  couthe  he  peynte  lyfly  that  it  wrought, 

With  many  a  floren  he  the  hewes  bought. 

Now  been  thise  listes  maad,  and  Theseus 
Tliat  at  his  grete  cost  arayed  thus 
Tiie  temples  and  the  theatres  every  del, 
Whan  it  was  don,  it  liked  him  right  wel. 
But  st}Tit  I  wil  of  Theseus  a  lite, 
And  spcke  of  Palamon  and  of  Arcite. 

The  day  approcheth  of  her  attournyng,* 
That  every  schuld  an  hundred  knightes  bryng, 
The  batail  to  dcrreyne,  as  I  you  tolde ; 
And  til  Athenes,  her  covenant  to  holde, 
Hath  eveiy  of  hem  brought  an  hundred  knightes 
Wol  armed  for  the  werre  at  alle  rightes. 
And  sikcrly  ther  trowed  many  a  man 
That  never,  siththen  that  this  world  bigan. 
For  to  speke  of  knighthod  of  her  bond, 
As  fer  as  God  has  maked  sea  or  loud, 
Nas,  of  so  fewe,  so  good  a  comf)any. 
For  every  wight  that  loveth  chyvalry. 
And  wold,  his  thankes,'  have  a  passant  name, 
Hath  preyed  that  lie  might  be  of  that  game ; 
And  wel  was  him,  that  therto  chosen  was. 
For  if  ther  fclli!  to  niorsve  such  a  c;ias, 
I  knowe  wel,  that  evoiy  lusty  knight, 
That  loveth  paramours,  and  hath  his  might. 
Were  it  in  Engclond,  or  elloswhere, 
They  wold,  here  thankes,  wilne  to  be  there. 


'  Diann,  when  invoked  aa  the   goddess   presiding  over  child-birth, 
was  called  Lucina. 

-  Speghtajid  Tyrwhitt  read,  rettirnhig.      3  gee  ante,  p.  140,  note  1. 


158  THE    CAKTERBURY   TALES. 

To  figlite  for  a  lady ;  benedicite  / 
It  were  a  lustv  sisrlite  for  to  see. 
And  right  so  ferdeu  they  with  Palamon. 
With  him  ther  wente  kiiyghtes  many  oou ; 
Some  wol  ben  armed  in  an  haburgotin, 
In  a  bright  brest  plat  and  a  gypoun ; 
And  som  wold  have  a  peyre  plates  large ; 
And  som  wold  have  a  Pruce  scheld,  or  a  targe; 
Som  wol  been  armed  on  here  legges  weel, 
And  have  an  ax,  and  eek  a  mace  of  steel. 
Ther  nys  no  newe  gyse,  that  it  nas  old. 
Armed  were  they,  as  I  have  you  told, 
Everich  after  his  owen  opinioun. 

Ther  maistow^  se  comyng  with  Palamoun 
Ligurge  himself,  the  grete  kyng  of  Trace ; 
Blak  was  his  berd,  and  manly  was  his  face. 
The  cercles  of  his  eyen  in  liis  heed 
They  gloweden  bytwixe  yolw  and  reed, 
And  lik  a  gxiffoun  loked  he  aboute, 
With  kempe  heres  on  his  browes  stoAvte; 
His  lymes  gi'eet,  his  brawnes  hard  and  stronge, 
His  schuldres  brood,  his  armes  rounde  and  longe. 
And  as  the  gyse  was  in  his  contre, 
Ful  heye  iipon  a  chare  of  gold  stood  he, 
With  foure  white  boles  in  a  trays. 
In  stede  of  cote  armom'  in  his  harnays, 
With  nales  yolwe,  and  briglit  as  eny  gold. 
He  had  a  here  skyn,  cole-blak  for  old. 
His  langc  heer  y-kempt  byhynd  his  bak, 
As  eny  raven  fether  it  schon  for  blak.^ 
A  wrethe  of  gold  arni-gret,  and  huge  of  wight, 
Upon  his  heed,  set  ful  of  stoones  bright, 
Of  fyne  rubeus  and  of  fyn  dyamauntz. 
Aboute  his  chare  wente  white  alaimz,* 


'  Mayest  thou. — Sec.  ante,  p.  ii3,  notez.  -  For  blackness. 

^  SiJCglit  interprets  afa?M?3,  greyhounds;  Tyrwhitt,  mastill's.  The 
latter  was  apparently  misled  liy  the  fact  that  the  wolf-dog,  generally 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Jriah  greyhound,  because  used  most  recently 


THE   KNIOIITES  TALE.  159 

Twenty  and  mo,  aa  grete  as  eny  stere, 
To  liuute  at  the  lyoun  or  at  tlio  licre, 
Aud  folwed  him,  with  niosL-l  fast  i-boiinde, 
Colerd  with  golde,  and  torette.-.  I'yled  roundo. 
An  bundled  lindes  had  he  in  his  route 
Armed  ful  wel,  with  hcrtes  stern  and  stoute. 

With  Arcita,  in  stories  as  men  tynde, 
The  gi'et  Emetreus,  the  kyng  of  Ynde, 
Uppon  a  steede  bay,  trappeil  in  steel. 
Covered  with  cloth  of  gold  dyapred  wel, 
Cam  rydyng  lyk  tlie  god  of  armes  ]\Iars. 
His  coote  armour  was  of  a  cloth  of  Tai-s, 
CowcLed  of  perlys  why te,  round  and  grete. 
His  sadil  was  of  brend  gold  newe  bete ; 
A  mantelet  upon  his  schuldre  hangyng 
Bret-ful  of  rubies  reed,  as  lir  spare!  \ug. 
His  ciispe  her  lik  rynges  was  i-ronne, 
And  that  was  yalwe,  and  gliterjnig  as  the  sonne. 
His  nose  was  heigh,  his  eyen  were  cytryne, 
His  lippes  rounde,  his  colour  was  sangwyn, 
A  fewe  freknes  in  his  face  y-spreynd, 
Betwixe  yolwe  and  somdel  blak  y-meynd, 
And  as  a  lyoun  he  his  lokyng  c;iste. 
Of  fy ve  and  twenty  yeer  Lis  age  I  caste. 
His  herd  was  wel  bygonne  for  to  sprynge  ; 
His  voys  was  as  a  trumpe  thundeiynge. 
Upon  his  heed  he  wered  of  hiurer  grene 
A  garlond  freisch  and  lusty  for  to  sene. 
Upon  his  bond  he  bar  for  his  delyt 
An  egle*  tame,  as  eny  lylie  whyt. 


In  that  country,  ia  called  by  Buflbn  U  matiji.  It  was  a  dog  of  great 
jwwtT  and  swiftness,  of  which  specimens  were  preserved  till  within 
a  few  years  by  gentlemen  of  fortune  as  curiosities. 

'  The  rage  fur  hawking  reached  so  great  a  height  in  the  middle  apt?, 
that  falcons  wore  carried  on  the  fist  and  petted  on  the  most  solemn 
occasions,  and  when  not  wanted  for  tlie  sport.  Tliere  arc  many 
examples  of  kings  requiring  so  many  falcons  as  ransom  or  trilmte.  To 
make  Kmetrius  carry  ii  tame  eagle  on  his  hand  must,  however,  be  an 
exaggeration,  intended  to  give  an  idea  «f  the  gigantic  strcngtli  and 


160  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

xVn  liundred  lordes  had  he  with  him  ther, 

Al  armed  sauf  here  hedes  in  here  ger, 

Ful  richely  in  alle  maner  thinges. 

For  trusteth  wel,  that  dukes,  erles,  kyngei, 

Were  gadred  in  this  noble  companye, 

For  love,  and  for  encres  of  chivalrye. 

Abonte  the  kyng  ther  ran  on  every  part 

Ful  many  a  tame  lyoun  and  lepart. 

And  in  this  wise  thes  lordes  alle  and  some 

Been  on  the  Sonday  to  the  cite  come 

Aboute  prime,  and  in  the  tonn  alight. 

This  Theseus,  this  duk,  this  worthy  knight, 

Whan  he  had  brought  hem  into  his  cite, 

And  ynned  hem,  everich  at  his  degi'6 

He  festeth  him,  and  doth  so  gret  labour 

To  esen  hem,  and  do  hem  al  honour. 

That  yit  men  wene  that  no  mannes  Avyt 

Of  non  estat  that  cowde  amenden  it. 

The  mynstralcye,  the  servyce  at  the  feste. 

The  grete  giftes  to  the  most  and  leste, 

The  riche  aray  of  Theseus  paleys, 

Ne  who  sat  first  ne  last  upon  the  deys, 

What  ladies  fayrest  ben  or  best  daunsyng, 

Or  which  of  hem  can  daunce  best  or  sing, 

'Ne  who  most  felyngly  speketh  of  love ; 

What  haukes  sitten  on  the  perche  above, 

What  houndes  lyen  in  the  floor  adoun : 

Of  al  this  make  I  now  no  mencioun ; 

-But  of  theffect ;  that  thinketh  me  the  bests ; 

Now  comth  the  poynt,  and  herkneth  if  you  leste. 

The  Sonday  night,  or  day  bigan  to  springe. 
When  Palamon  the  larke  herde  synge, 
Although  it  were  nought  day  by  houres  tuo, 
Yit  sang  the  lai-ke,  and  Palamon  also 


etature  of  the  Indian  king,  and  the  strangeness  of  his  tastes.  The  same 
remark  applies  to  his  being  accompanied  by  manf/  tame  lioas  and 
leopards. 


THE    KKIGIITES   TALE.  IGl 

With  holy  heile,  and  with  an  heih  corage 
He  roos,  to  wondt-'ii  on  liis  j>ilgryinagt. 
Unto  tlie  blistul  Cithei-a  benijiue, 
I  nu'ne  Venus,  lionorulilo  and  digne. 
Anil  iu  hire'  hour  he  walketh  forth  a  paas 
Unto  the  lystes,  ther  hir  temple  was, 
And  doun  he  kueleth,  and,  with  humble  cheer 
And  herte  soi-e,  he  seide  i\s  ye  sclial  heer. 

'  Fairest  of  faire,  o  lady  myii  Venus, 
Doughter  of  Jove,  and  spouse  to  Vulcanus, 
Tliou  glader  of  the  mount  of  Citheronn, 
For  thilko  love  tho\i  haddest  to  Adeouu' 
Have  pite  on  my  bitter  teeres  smerte. 
And  tak  myn  humble  prayer  to  thin  Jierte. 
Alias !  I  ne  have  no  lansajre  for  to  telle 
Theffectes  ne  the  tormentz  of  myn  helle  ; 
Myn  herte  may  myn  harmes  nat  bewreye  ; 
I  am  so  confus,  that  I  may  not  scye. 
But  mercy,  lady  bright,  that  knowest  wel 
]My  thought,  and  felest  what  harm  that  I  fel, 
Consider  al  this,  and  rew  upon  my  soi-e. 
As  wisly  as  I  schal  for  evermore 
Enforce  my  might  thi  trewe  servant  to  be, 
And  holde  wen-e  alday  with  chastite  ; 
That  make  I  njyn  avow,  so  xe  me  helpe. 
I  kepe  nat  of  armes  for  to  yelpe.* 


'  In  a  lonp  note  upon  this  place,  Tyrwhitt  quotes  from  the  Kalen- 
drier  di  Bcrgiers,  published  in  the  year  iSoo,  from  which  it  appean 
that  the  hours  of  the  day  were  assigned  to  the  several  planets  in  the 
following  order: — Saturn,  Jupiter,  Mars,  Sol,  Venus,  Slercury,  Luna. 
The  first  iiour  after  sunrise  belonged  to  the  phmet  which  gave  its  name 
to  the  day  ;  in  tliis  case,  biing  Sunday,  the  first  hour  belonged  to  .^ul. 
Now,  if  the  hours  be  counted,  it  will  be  found  that  the  twenty-second,  or 
two  hours  before  sunrise  on  Monday  morning,  at  which  time  Pulanion  s..t 
out  for  the  Temple,  belonged  to  Venus  ;  and  that  Arcite  and  Emily 
were  equally  accurate  in  observing  the  proper  hours  for  their  several 
devotions. 

-  Adonis. 

3  1  care  not  to  whine  about  success  in  arms,  spoken  in  contempt  of 
mere  glory. 

VOL.  L  „ 


162  THE    CAXTERBURY    TALES. 

Ne  nat  I  aske  to  morn,  to  have  victori^ 

Ne  renoun  in  this  caas,  ne  veyne  glorie 

Of  pris  of  armes,  blowyng  up  and  doun, 

But  I  wolde  have  ful  possessioun 

Of  Emelye,  and  dye  in  thi  servise  ; 

Fynd  thou  the  maner  how,  and  in  what  wyse. 

I  recche  nat,  but  it  may  better  be, 

To  have  victorie  of  him,  or  he  of  me, 

So  that  I  have  my  lady  in  myn  armes. 

For  though  so  be  that  Mai-s  be  god  of  armes, 

And  ye  be  Venus,  the  goddes  of  love, 

Youre  vertu  is  so  gret  in  heven  above, 

Thy  temple  wol  I  worschipe  evermo, 

And  on  thin  auter,  wher  I  ryde  or  go, 

I  wol  do  sacrifice,  and  fyres  beete. 

And  if  ye  wol  nat  so,  my  lady  sweete, 

Than  pray  I  the,  to  morwe  with  a  spere 

Tliat  Arcita  me  thurgh  the  herte  bere. 

Thanne  rekke  I  nat,  whan  I  have  lost  my  lyf, 

Though  that  Arcite  have  hir  to  his  wyf. 

This  is  thelTect  and  end  of  my  prayere ; 

Gif  me  my  love,  thou  blisful  lady  deere.' 

Whan  thoi'isoun  was  doon  of  Palamon, 

His  sacrifice  he  dede,  and  that  anoon 

Ful  pitously,  with  alle  circumstances, 

Al  telle  I  nat  as  now  his  observances. 

But  at  the  last  the  statu  of  Venus  schook, 

And  made  a  signe,  wherby  that  he  took 

That  his  prayer  accepted  was  that  day. 

For  though  the  signe  schewed  a  delay. 

Yet  wist  he  wel  that  graunted  was  hi?  boone ; 

And  with  glad  herte  he  went  him  horn  ful  soone. 

The  thrid  hour  inequaP  that  Palamon 
Bigan  to  Venus  temple  for  to  goon. 


1  [The  nsual  clock-hours  were  equal.  Hut  the  astrological  were  'un- 
equal,' because  th(^  day  from  sunrise  to  sunset  was  dividi'il  into  twelve 
portions,  whicli  varied  daily,  and  were,  exce))t  at  the  eiiuiuoxes,  oiicctiuil 
ill  leuj^Ui  to  the  '  liovirs '  of  the  )uV//U.--W.  W.S.] 


TUE    IvNIGlITES   TALE.  163 

Uii  roos  the  sonnc,  and  up  roos  Emclye, 
And  to  the  tuniplo  of  Dian  gan  sche  live. 
Hir  maydens,  that  sche  with  hir  thider  ladda, 
Fill  ivdily  with  hem  the  fyr  they  hadde, 
Theucens,  the  clothes,  and  the  remeuant  al 
That  to  the  sacritice  lougen  schal ; 
The  homes  ful  of  meth,  as  is  the  gyse  ; 
Ther  lakketh  nought  to  do  here  sacrifise. 
Smokyng  the  temple,  ful  of  clothes  faii-e, 
This  Emelye  with  herte  debouaire 
Hir  body  wessch  with  watir  of  a  wellc ; 
But  how  sche  dide  I  ne  dar  nat  telle, 
But  it  be  eny  thing  in  general ; 
And  yet  it  wei'e  a  game  to  here  it  al ; 
To  him  that  meneth  wel  it  were  no  charge  : 
But  it  is  good  a  man  be  at  his  large. 
Hir  brighte  her  was  kempt,  untressed  al ; 
A  corone  of  a  grene  ok  cerial 
Upon  hir  heed  was  set  ful  fair  and  meete. 
Tuo  f}Tes  on  the  auter  gan  sche  beete, 
And  did  liir  thinges,  as  men  may  biholde 
In  Stace  of  Thebes'  and  the  bokes  olde. 
Whan  kynled  was  the  fyre,  with  pitous  cheere 
Unto  Dyan  sche  spak,  as  ye  may  heere. 

'  O  chaste  goddes  of  the  woodes  greeue, 
To  whom  bothe  lieven  and  erthe  and  see  is  scene 
Queen  of  the  regne  of  Pluto  derk  and  lowe, 
Goddes  of  maydenes,  that  myn  hert  has  knowe 
Ful  many  a  yeer,  ye  woot  what  I  desire, 
As  keep  me  fro  the  vengans  of  thilk  yre, 
That  Atheon"  aboughte  trewely : 
Chaste  goddesse,  wel  wost  thou  that  I 
Desire  to  ben  a  mayden  al  my  lyf, 
Ne  never  wol  I  be  no  love  ne  wyf. 


^  In  the  Thelitis  of  Stalius,  a  Latin  poet,  who  lived  ia  the  reign  oi 
Domitian,  already  quoted. 

-  Acta:on. 


164  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

I  am,  thou  wost,  yit  of  thi  company, 
A  mayden,  and  love  huntyng  and  veiiery, 
And  for  to  walken  in  the  woodes  wylde. 
And  nought  to  ben  a  wyf,  and  be  with  chylda 
Nought  wol  I  knowe  the  company  of  man. 
Now  helpe  me,  lady,  sythnes  ye  may  and  kan, 
For  the  thre  formes^  that  thou  hast  in  the. 
And  Palamon,  that  hath  such  love  to  me, 
And  eek  Arcite,  that  loveth  me  so  sore, 
This  grace  I  praye  the  withouten  more, 
As  sende  love  and  pees  betwix  hem  two ; 
And  fro  me  torne  awey  here  hertes  so, 
That  al  here  hoote  love,  and  here  desii-e, 
Al  here  besy  torment,  and  al  here  fyre 
Ee  queynt,  or  turned  in  another  place. 
And  if  so  be  thou  wol  do  me  no  grace, 
Or  if  my  destyne  be  schapid  so, 
That  I  schal  needes  have  on  of  hem  two. 
So  send  me  him  that  most  desireth  me. 
Biholde,  goddes  of  clene  chastite. 
The  bitter  teeres  that  on  my  cheekes  falle. 
Syn  thou  art  mayde,  and  keper  of  us  alle, 
My  miaydenhode  thou  kepe  and  wel  conserve 
And  whil  I  lyve  a  mayde  I  wil  the  serve.' 

The  fyres  bren  upon  the  auter  cleer, 
Whil  Emelye  was  in  hii-e  preyer  ; 
But  sodeinly  sche  saugh  a  sighte  queynt, 
For  right  anon  on  of  the  fyres  queynt. 
And  quyked  agayn,  and  after  that  anon 
That  other  fyr  was  queynt,  and  al  agon  ; 
And  as  it  quejoit,  it  made  a  whistelyng, 
As  doth  a  wete  brond  in  his  brennyng. 
And  at  the  brondes  end  out  ran  anoou 
As  it  were  bloody  dropes  many  oon  j^ 

1  In  Ilarl.  MS.  thre  is  omitted,  evidently  by  mistake.  Diana  is 
called  Diva  Trifoiniis,  in  heaven  Luna,  ou  earth  Diana  and  Lucina 
and  in  hell  Pro.serpina. 

-  The  quenching  of  one  of  the  fires  denoted  the  defeat  of  Palamon, 
and  the  quickening  again  liis  final  success.    The  quenching  of  the  other 


THE   KNIGHTES   TALE.  165 

For  which  so  sore  agast  was  Eiiielyc, 

That  sche  was  wcl  neih  mad,  and  gau  to  crie, 

Fur  sche  ue  wisto  what  it  siguifyed  ; 

But  oonely  for  leei-e  thus  sche  cryed. 

And  wepte,  that  it  was  pite  to  heere. 

And  therewithal  Dyane  gan  appeere, 

With  bow  in  hond,  right  as  a  hunteresse, 

And  seyd  ;  '  A !  doughter,  stynt  tliyn  hevynesse. 

Among  the  goddes  hye  it  is  atiermed, 

And  by  etenie  word  write  and  confermed, 

Thou  schalt  be  wedded  unto  oon  of  the, 

That  have  for  tlie  so  moche  care  and  wo ; 

But  unto  which  of  hem  may  I  nat  telle. 

Farewel,  for  I  may  her  no  lenger  dwelle. 

The  fyres  which  that  on  niyn  auter  breu 

Schuln  the  declare,  or  that  thou  go  hen, 

Thj-n  adventure  of  love,  and  in  this  caas.' 

And  with  that  word,  the  arwes  in  the  caaa 

Of  the  goddesse  clatren  faste  and  rynge. 

And  forth  sche  went,  and  made  vanysschyuge, 

For  which  this  Emelye  astoneyd  was, 

And  seide,  '  What  amounteth  this,  alias ! 

I  put  me  under  thy  proteccioun, 

Dyane,  and  in  thi  disposicioun.' 

And  hoom  sche  goth  anon  the  nexte  way. 

This  is  thetfect,  ther  nys  no  mor  to  say. 

The  next  houre  of  Mars  folwj'nge  this,* 
Arcite  to  the  temple  walkyd  is, 
To  {yrj  Mars  to  doon  his  sacrifise. 
With  al  the  rlghtes  of  his  payen  wise. 
With  pitous  herte  and  heih  devocioun, 
Fd'1'ht  thus  to  Mars  he  Siiyd  his  orisoun  : 
'  O  stronge  g<  'd,  that  in  the  reynes  cold 
Of  Trace  honoured  and  lord  art  y-hold, 


noi.'e. 


fire,  tind  its  droppinjf  blood,  and  goinjf  out  witli  a  whistlir.g 
uiguilies  Arcite's  violi'iit  death  ami  last  ?ighs. 

'  Tlie  next  hour  of  JIars  following  this,  will  be  found  to  be  thre« 
bour*  aAvr  tijat  of  Diana. 


1G6 


THE    CANTEKEL-RY    TALES. 


And  hast  in  every  regne  and  every  land 
Of  armes  al  the  bi-idel  in  thy  hand, 
And  hem  fortunest  as  the  lust  devyse 
Accept  of  me  my  pitous  sacrifise. 
If  so  be  that  my  youthe  may  deserve, 
And  tliat  my  might  be  worthi  for  to  serve 
Thy  godhed,  that  I  may  ben  on  of  thine, 
Then  pray  I  the  to  rewe  on  my  pyne, 
For  thilke  peyne,  and  that  hoote  fuyre. 
In  which  whilom  thou  brendest  for  desyre, 
When  that  thou  usedest  the  gret  bewte 
Of  faire  freissche  Yenus,  that  is  so  free, 
And  haddest  hir  in  armes  at  thy  wille  ; 
And  though  the  ones  on  a  tyme  mysfille, 
"When  Vulcanus  had  caught  the  in  his  laas, 
And  fand  the  ligg}aig  by  his  wyf,  allaas ! 
For  thilke  sorwe  that  was  in  thin  herte, 
Have  reuthe  as  wel  upon  my  peynes  smerte. 
I  am  yong  and  unkonnyng,  as  thou  wost, 
And,  as  I  trowe,  with  love  offendid  most, 
That  ever  was  eny  lyves  creature  ; 
For  sche,  that  doth  me  al  this  wo  endure, 
Ne  rekketh  never  whether  I  synke  or  flete. 
And  wel  I  woot,  or  sche  me  mercy  heete, 
I  moot  with  strengthe  wyn  hir  in  the  place ; 
And  wel  I  wot,  withouten  help  or  grace 
Of  the,  ne  may  my  strengthe  nought  avayle. 
Then  help  me,  lord,  to  morn*  in  my  batayle, 
For  thilke  fyr  that  whilom  brende  the, 
As  wel  as  this  fire  now  brenneth  me ; 
And  do  to  mom  that  I  have  the  victorie. 
]\Iyn  be  the  travail,  al  thin  be  the  glorie. 
Thy  soverein  tempul  wol  I  most  honouren 
Of  any  place,  and  alway  most  labouren 
In  thy  plesaunce  and  in  thy  craftes  strong. 
And  in  tliy  tempul  I  wol  my  baner  hong," 


To-morrow,  in  the  morning;  j.  e.,the  morning  which  is  cominff. 
U  was  usual  loi-  a  kuiglit  to  hang  up  his  banner  iu  the  chui-^b. 


THE   KNIGHTES   TALE.  1C7 

And  alle  the  amies  of  my  companye, 

And  e\er  more,  unto  that  day  T  dye, 

Eterne  lyr  I  "^vol  bifnre  the  fynde. 

And  eek  to  this  avow  1  wol  nie  Kynde  : 

My  herd,  myu  heer  that  hangeth  longe  adouo, 

That  never  yit  ue  felt  otlensioun 

Of  rasour  ne  of  schere,  I  wol  tlit>e  give/ 

And  be  thy  trewe  servaunt  whiles  I  lyve. 

Lord,  have  rowthe  uppon  my  sorwes  sore, 

Gif  me  the  victorie,  I  aske  no  more.' 

The  preyer  stynt  of  Arcita  the  strange. 
The  rj-nges  on  the  terapul  dore  that  hange, 
And  ec'k  the  dores,  clateredeu  ful  fast, 
Of  which  Arcita  somwhat  wa.s  agast. 
The  fyrt-s  brenden  on  the  auter  briglit. 
That  it  gan  al  the  tempul  for  to  light; 
A  swote  smel  anon  the  ground  upgaf, 
And  Arcita  anon  his  hand  up  hut', 
And  more  encens  into  the  fyr  yet  cast, 
With  othir  rightes,  and  than  atte  last 
The  statu  of  ISIars  bigan  his  hauberk  rjTig. 
And  with  that  soun  he  herd  a  murnuiryug 
Ful  lowe  and  dym,  and  sayde  this,  '  Victorie.* 
For  which  he  guf  to  Mars  honour  and  glorie. 
And  thus  with  joye,  and  hope  wel  to  fare, 
Arcite  anoon  mito  his  inne  is  fare, 
As  favn  as  foul  is  of  the  bright  sonne. 
And  right  anon  such  stryf  is  bygonne' 
For  that  giuuntyng,  in  the  heven  above, 
Eitwix  Venus  the  goddes  of  love. 


fvfter  the  oonclnsion  of  his scnicc,  in  acknowledgment  that  the  praee 
to  preserve  it  without  reproach  was  from  above.  The  banners  of 
tlie  Kniglits  of  the  Garter  are,  to  this  day,  hnng  up  in  St.  George's 
Chapel. 

'  This  custom  appears  to  have  been  derived  from  the  Jewish  law. 
St.  Paul  is  8aiil  to  have  '  shorn  his  head  at  Cenchrea,  for  he  had  a 
vow."  Acts  xviii.  Cutting  off  the  hair  is  a  ceremony  still  observed  at 
tJie  l>rofes3ion  of  nuns. 

-  Thi;  strJJ'e  in  Heaven  is  taken  from  the  Tliebaia,  i.,  m. 


168  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

And  Mai-tz  the  sterne  god  armypotent, 

That  Jupiter  was  busy  it  to  stent ; 

Til  that  the  pale  Saturnes  the  colde, 

That  knew  so  many  of  aventures  olde, 

Fond  in  his  olde  experiens  an  art, 

That  he  ful  sone  hath  plesed  every  partv 

As  soth  is  sayd,  eelde  hath  gret  avantage, 

Tn  eelde  is  bothe  wisdom  and  nsage ; 

Men  may  the  eelde  at-ren,  but  nat  at-rede. 

Satui'ne  anon,  to  stynte  stiyf  and  drede, 

Al  be  it  that  it  be  agayns  his  kynde, 

Of  al  this  sti'yf  he  can  a  remedy  fynde. 

'  My  deere  doughter  Venus,'  quod  Satourne, 

'  My  cours,  that  hath  so  wyde  for  to  tourne,* 

Hath  more  power  than  woot  eny  man. 

Myn  is  the  drenchyng  in  the  see  so  wan  ; 

Myn  is  the  prisoun  in  the  derke  cote ; 

Myn  is  the  stranglyng  and  hangyng  by  the  throte; 

The  murmur,  and  the  cherles  rebellyng; 

The  groyning,  and  the  pryve  enpoysonyng, 

I  do  vengance  and  pleyn  cori-ectioun. 

Whiles  I  dwelle  in  the  signe  of  the  lyoun. 

Myn  is  the  ruen  of  the  hihe  halles, 

The  fallyng  of  the  toures  and  the  walles 

Upon  the  mynour  or  the  carpenter. 

I  slowh  Sampsoun  in  schakyng  the  piler. 

And  myne  ben  the  maladies  colde, 

The  derke  tresoim,  and  the  castes  olde; 

Myn  lokyng  is  the  fadir  of  pestilens. 

Now  wepe  nomore,  I  schal  do  my  diligence, 

That  Palamon,  that  is  myn  owen  knight, 

8chal  have  his  lady,  as  thou  him  bihight. 

Thow  Martz  schal  kepe  his  knight,  yet  iievertheles 

Bitwixe  you  ther  moot  som  tyme  be  pees ; 

Al  be  ye  nought  of  oo  complexioun, 

That  ilke  day  causeth  such  divisioun. 

'  Saturn  being,  of  the  planets  then  known,  the  most  distant  from 
tlie  8un. 


THE    KNIGHTES   TALE.  169 

1  am  thi  ayel,  redy  at  thy  wille; 
Wepe  tliou  nomore,  I  wol  thi  hist  fiilfille.' 
Now  wol  I  styut  of  tlie  gockles  above, 
Of  Mars,  aud  of  Venus  goddes  of  love, 
And  telle  you,  as  plainly  as  T  can, 
The  grete  eflecte  for  that  I  bigan. 

Gret  was  tlie  fest  in  Athenus  that  day, 
And  eek  that  lusty  sesoun  of  that  INIay 
Made  every  wight  to  ben  in  such  plesaunce. 
That  al  the  Monday  jousten  they  aud  daunce. 
And  spende  it  in  Venus  heigh  servise. 
But  by  the  cause  that  they  schuln  arise 
Erly  a-morwe  for  to  see  that  fight, 
Unto  their  reste  wente  they  at  nyght. 
And  on  the  morwe  whan  the  day  gan  spryng, 
Of  liors  and  hernoys  noyse  aud  clateryug 
Ther  wavS  in  the  oostes  al  aboute ; 
And  to  the  paleys  rood  ther  many  a  route 
Of  lordes,  upon  steede  and  palfreys. 
Ther  mayst  thou  see  devysyng  of  herneys 
So  uncowth  aud  so  riche  wrought  aud  wel 
Of  goldsmithry,  of  browdyng,  and  of  steel ; 
The  scheldes  bright,  testers,  and  trappures ; 
Gold-beten  helnies,  hauberks,  and  cote  armures; 
Lordes  in  paramentes  on  her  coursers, 
Knightes  of  retenu,  and  eek  squyers 
Eayhyng  the  speres,  and  holmes  bokelyng, 
Girdyng  of  scheeldes,  with  layneres  lasyng; 
Ther  as  need  is,  they  wex-e  nothing  ydel ; 
Ther  fomen  steedes,  on  the  golden  bridel 
Gnawyng,  and  faste  arniurers  also 
With  fyle  and  hamer  prikyug  to  and  fro; 
Yemen  on  foote,  and  kuaves  many  oon 
With  schorte  staves,  as  thikke  as  they  may  goon; 
PvpL'S,  trompes,  nakers,  and  clarioiuies. 
That  in  the  batail  blewe  bloody  sowiies ; 
The  paleys  ful  of  pt'ind  up  and  doun, 
Heer  thre,  ther  ten,  haldyng  her  questioun. 


I'^O  THE    CANTERBUKY    TALES. 

Dyvynyng  of  tliis  Thebans  kuightes  two. 
Som  seyden  thus,  som  seyd  it  schal  be  so ; 
Som  heelde  with  him  with  the  blake  herd, 
Som  with  the  ballyd,  some  with  thikke  liered ; 
Som  sayd  he  loked  grym  as  he  wold  fight ; 
He  ]iath  a  sparth  of  twenti  pound  of  wight. 
Thus  was  the  halle  ful  of  devynyng, 
Lang  after  tliat  the  sonne  gan  to  spring. 
The  gret  Theseus  that  of  his  sleep  is  awaked 
With  menstralcy  and  noyse  that  was  maked, 
Held  yit  the  chambre  of  his  paleys  riche, 
Til  that  the  Thebanes  knyghtes  bothe  i-liche 
Honoured  weren,  and  into  paleys  fet. 
Duk  Theseus  was  at  a  wyndow  set, 
Araved  right  as  he  were  trod  in  trone. 
The  pepul  preseth  thider-ward  fal  sone 
Him  for  to  seen,  and  doon  him  reverence, 
And  eek  herken  his  hest  and  his  sentence. 
An  herowd  on  a  skafFold  made  a  hoo,^ 
Til  al  the  noyse  of  the  pepul  was  i-doo ; 
And  whan  he  sawh  the  pepul  of  noyse  al  stille, 
Thus  schewed  he  the  mighty  dukes  Aville. 
'  The  lord  hath  of  his  heih  discrecioun 
Considered,  that  it  were  destruccioun 
To  gentil  blood,  to  fighten  in  this  wise 
Of  mortal  batail  now  in  this  emprise ; 
Wherfore  to  schapen  that  they  schuld  not  dye, 
He  wol  his  firste  purpos  modiifye. 
No  man  therfore,  up  peyne  of  los  of  lyf, 
No  maner  schot,  ne  pollax,  ne  schort  knyf 
Into  the  lystes  sende,  or  thider  bryng ; 
Ne  schorte  swerd  for  to  stoke  the  point  bytyng 
No  man  ne  draw,  ne  here  by  his  side. 


'  Cried  Ho  I  to  enjoin  silence.  Tyrwhitt,  who  reads  0,  supposes  that 
it  may  be  a  contraction  for  Oyez,  but  quotes  a  passage  from  Holinslieil 
which  confirms  the  otlier  supposition.  '  The  Duke  of  Norfolk  was  not 
fully  set  forward  when  the  king  cast  down  his  warder,  and  the 
lieralds  cried  Ho  I  Ho  1' 


Tin:    KMOllTES    TALE.  171 

"So  noman  sclial  unto  his  felawe  n'cle 

l!ut  uou  cours,  with  a  scharpe  spere  ; 

Feyue  if  liiiu  lust  on  footc,  himself  to  were. 

And  he  that  is  at  mcschief,  schal  be  take, 

And  nat  slayn,  bnt  be  brouglit  to  the  stake, 

Tliat  schal  bu  ordcyiied  on  eytlier  syde  ; 

But  thider  he  schal  by  force,  and  tlier  abyde. 

And  if  so  falle,  a  choventeu  be  take 

On  eyther  side,  or  elles  sle  his  make, 

No  longer  schal  the  turucynge  laste. 

God  spede  you ;  gotli  forth  and  ley  on  faste. 

With  long  swerd'  and  with  mace  tiglit  your  fille. 

Goth  now  your  way;  this  is  the  lordes  wille.' 

The  voice  of  the  poepul  touchith  heven, 
So  Icwde  cried  thei  with  mery  steven  : 
'  God  save  such  a  lord  that  is  so  good. 
He  wilneth  no  destruccioun  of  blood !' 
TJp  goth  the  trompes  and  the  mclodye. 
And  to  the  lystes  ryde  the  companye 
By  ordynaunce,  thurgh  the  cite  large, 
Hangyng  with  cloth  of  gold,  and  not  with  sarge. 
Ful  lik  a  loi'd  this  nobul  duk  can  ryde, 
These  tuo  Thebans  on  eyther  side  ; 
And  after  rood  the  queen,  and  Emelye, 
And  after  hem  of  ladyes  another  comjianye, 
And  after  hem  of  comuues  after  here  de<rre.* 
And  thus  they  passeden  thurgh  that  cite, 


'  A  knight  in  armour  was  in  very  little  danfrer  from  a  cut  of  a 
broadsword,  or  even  fruiii  tliu  blow  of  a  mace,  but  a  thrusting  sword 
might  easily  pierce  tiirougli  the  joints  of  his  armour.  '  Still  the  Chris- 
tians proved  good  nu-n.  and.  serure  in  their  unconquerable  spirits,  kept 
constantly  advancing,  while  the  Turks  kept  constantly  tin-eatening 
them  in  the  rear  ;  but  their  blows  fell  fuirmlexs  ujion  the  dcku.iive 
armour:  this  caused  the  Turks  to  slacken  in  courage  at  the  failure  of 
their  attempts,  and  they  began  to  murmur  in  whispers  of  disappoint- 
ment, crying  out  in  their  rage,  '  that  our  people  were  of  iron  aiid 
would  yii'ld  to  no  blow.' — Itinerary  o/Jiichard  1.,  by  GEOrrREY  de  Yin- 
SAVr,  book  iv.  c.  19. 

-  These  two  lines  are  rejected  by  Mr.  Wright,  but  are  here  restored 
from  the  Harl.  MS.  instead  of  the  common  reading.     They  are  more  in 


172  THE    CAXTI,RBURY    TALES. 

And  to  the  lystes  con?e  tliei  by  tyme. 
It  nas  not  of  the  day  yet  fully  pryme, 
Whan  sette  was  Theseus  riche  and  hye, 
Ypolita  the  queen  usid  Emelye, 
And  other  ladyes  in  here  degrees  aboute. 
Unto  the  settes  passeth  al  the  route  ; 
And  west-ward,  thorugh  the  gates  of  INIart, 
Arcite,  and  eek  the  hundred  of  his  part, 
With  baners  red  ys  entred  right  anoon  ; 
And  in  that  selve  moment  Palamon 
Is,  under  Yenus,  est- ward  in  that  place. 
With  baner  whyt,  and  hardy  cheer  of  face. 

In  al  the  world,  to  seeke  up  and  doun, 
So  even  without  variacioun 
Ther  nere  siiche  companyes  tweye. 
For  ther  nas  noon  so  W3's  that  cowtbe  seye, 
That  any  had  of  other  avauutage 
Of  worthines,  ne  staat,  ne  of  visage, 
So  evene  were  they  chosen  for  to  gesse. 
And  in  two  renges  faire  they  hem  dresse. 
And  whan  here  names  i-rad  were  evervchon, 
That  in  here  nombre  gile  were  ther  noon, 
Tho  were  the  gates  schitt,  and  cried  lowde  : 
'Doth  now  jour  devoir,*  yonge  knightes  proude!' 
The  heraldz  laften  here  prikyng  tip  and  doun  ; 
Now  ryngede  the  tromp  and  clarioun  ; 
Ther  is  nomore  to  say,  but  est  and  west 
In  goth  the  speres  into  the  rest  ;^ 
Ther  seen  men  who  can  juste,  and  who  can  ryde ; 
In  goth  the  schai^pe  spere  into  the  side. 
Ther  schyveren  schaftes  upon  schuldves  thyk ; 
He  feeleth  thurgh  the  herte-spon  the  prik. 

Chaucer's  manner,  from  the  minuteness  of  their  description  of  the 
scene.    The  reader  will  remark  that  they  are  both  Alexandrines. 

'  The  tisual  word  of  oneouragement  on  such  occasions.  It  is  curious 
that  Nelson,  in  his  celebrated  signal  before  tlie  battle  of  Trafalgar, 
should  have  adopted  the  very  words  of  cliivalry. 

-  The  rest  was  a  sort  of  holster  attached  to  the  stirrup,  in  which  the 
butt  end  of  the  lauce  was  placed  to  keep  it  steady. 


THK    KXIGIITES   TALE  173 

Up  spi'engor.  spercs  on  twenty  foot  on  higlit ; 

(Jut  goon  the  swerdes  as  tlie  silver  liriglit. 

The  hehiies  thei-n  to-hewen  and  to-sehrede ; 

Out  bni.st  the  blood,  with  stoute  strcmes  reede 

With  mighty  macfs  the  bones  thay  to-brestc. 

He  thurgh  the  thikkest  of  the  throng  gan  threste. 

TIkt  stoniblun  stecdes  strong,  and  doiin  can  falle. 

He  rolleth  under  foot  as  doth  a  balle. 

He  fevneth  on  his  foot  with  a  tronchoun. 

And  him  liui-teleth  with  his  hors  adonn. 

He  thurgh  the  body  hurt  is,  and  siththen  take 

]\Iaugre  his  heed,  and  brought  unto  the  stake, 

As  forward  was,  right  ther  he  most  abyde. 

Another  lad  is  on  that  other  syde. 

And  som  tyme  doth  Theseus  hem  to  rest, 

Hem  to  refreissche,  and  drinke  if  hem  lest. 

Ful  ofte  a-day  have  this  Thebans  twoo 

Togider  y-met,  and  wroiight  his  felaw  woo  ; 

Unhoi"sed  hath  ech  other  of  hem  tweye. 

Ther  nas  no  tygyr  in  the  vale  of  Galgoj)leve,' 

Whan  that  hir  whelpe  is  stole,  whan  it  is  lite, 

So  cruel  on  the  hunt,  as  is  Arcite 

For  jelous  hert  upon  this  Palamon  : 

Ne  in  Belmaiy  ther  is  no  fel  lyoun. 

That  hunted  is,  or  is  for  hunger  wood, 

Ne  of  his  prey  desireth  so  the  blood, 

As  Palamon  to  sle  his  foo  Arcite. 

The  jelous  strokes  on  here  helmes  b}'te  ; 

Out  renneth  blood  on  bothe  here  sides  reede. 

Som  tyme  an  ende  ther  is  on  every  dede  ; 

For  er  the  sonne  unto  the  reste  went, 

The  strange  kyug  Emetreus  gan  hent 


'  This  word  is  variously  written;  Colaphey,  Galgaphey,  Galapey. 
There  was  a  town  called  Galaiilia.in  Mauritania  Taiigitana.  upon  the 
river  Malva  {Cellar.  a<ixj.  Ant.,v.\\..  p.  935),  which,  peihaps.  may 
have  given  name  to  the  vale  here  meant. — T.  lielmarie  was  noticed, 
ante,  p.  78.  note  3- 


174  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

This  Palamon,  as  he  faught  with  Arcite, 

And  his  swerd  in  his  fleissch  he  did  byte ; 

And  by  the  force  of  twenti  he  is  take 

Unyolden,  and  i-drawe  unto  the  stake. 

And  in  tlie  rescous  of  this  Palamon 

The  stronge  kyng  Ligurgius  is  born  adoun  ; 

And  kyng  Enietreus  for  al  his  strengthe 

Is  born  out  of  his  sadel  his  swerdes  lengthe, 

So  hit  him  Palamon  er  he  were  take  ; 

But  al  for  nought,  he  was  brought  to  the  stake. 

His  hardy  herte  might  him  helpe  nought ; 

He  most  abyde  whan  that  he  was  caught, 

By  force,  and  eek  by  coraposicioun.^ 

Who  sorweth  now  but  woful  Palamoun, 

That  moot  nomore  gon  agayn  to  fight  1 

And  whan  that  Theseus  had  seen  that  sight, 

He  cryed,  '  Hoo !  nomore,  for  it  is  doon ! 

Ne  noon  schal  lenger  unto  his  felaw  goon. 

I  wol  be  trewe  juge,  and  nought  party e. 

Arcyte  of  Thebes  schal  have  Emelye, 

That  hath  by  his  fortune  hire  i-wonne.' 

Anoon  ther  is  noyse  bygonne 

For  joye  of  this,  so  lowde  and  hey  withalle, 

It  semed  that  the  listes  wolde  falle. 

What  can  now  fayre  Venus  doon  above  1 

What  seith  sche  now?   what  doth  this  queen  of 

love? 
But  wepeth  so,  for  wantyng  of  hir  wille, 
Til  that  hire  teeres  in  the  lystes  fille ; 
Sche  seyde  :  '  I  am  aschaxned  douteles.' 
Satournus  seyde  :  '  Doughter,  liold  thy  pees. 
Mars  hath  his  wille,  his  knight  hath  his  boone, 
And  by  myn  heed  thou  schalt  be  esed  soone.' 
The  trompes  with  the  lowde  mynstralcy, 
The  herawdes,  that  ful  lowde  yolle  and  cry, 
Been  in  here  joye  for  dauu  Avcyte. 
But  herkneth  me,  and  stynteth  but  a  lite. 


'  15)'  a^reemenx. 


THE    KXIGHTES   TALE.  175 

Wliicli'  a  miracle  bifel  anoon. 

Tliis  Arcyte  t'ersly  liath  dmi  his  holm  nJoun, 

And  on  his  courser  for  to  scliewe  his  face, 

Ho  prikfd  endlango"  in  the  larije  place, 

I.okyng  upward  upon  this  Emclye  ; 

And  sche  agayn  him  cast  a  frcndly  yghe, 

(For  \v<iniiiion,  as  for  to  spoke  in  comune, 

Thay  fohve  alio  the  favour  of  fortune) 

And  was  alle  his  in  cheer,  and  in  his  hert 

Out  of  the  ground  a  fyr  infernal  stert, 

From  Pluto  send,  at  the  request  of  Saturne, 

For  which  his  hoi-s  for  feere  gan  to  turue. 

And  leep  asyde,  and  foundred  as  he  leep ; 

And  or  that  Arcyte  may  take  keep, 

He  pight  him  on  the  pomel  of  his  heed, 

That  in  that  place  he  lay  as  he  were  deed. 

His  brest  to-broken  with  his  sadil  bowe. 

As  blak  he  lay  as  eny  col  or  crowe, 

So  was  the  blood  y-ronne  in  his  ftice. 

Anon  he  was  y-bom  out  of  the  place 

With  herte  sore,  to  Theseus  paleys. 

Tho  was  ho  corven^  out  of  his  harueys, 

And  in  a  bed  y-brought  ful  lair  and  blyve, 

For  yit  he  was  in  memory  and  on  lyve. 

And  alway  cryeng  after  Emolye. 

Duk  Theseus,  and  al  his  compauye. 

Is  comen  horn  to  Athenes  his  cite, 

With  alle  blys  and  great  solompnit6, 

Al  be  it  that  this  aventure  was  fallc, 

He  nolde  nought  discomforten  hem  alle. 

Men  seyde  eok,  that  Arcita  schuld  nought  dye, 

He  schal  be  helyd  of  his  maladye. 

And  of  another  thing  they  were  as  fayn. 

That  of  hem  alle  ther  was  noon  y-slayn, 

'  tHidt  a  miracle. 

'  A  feat  of  the  manege,  ust-d  for  dis|)l;iy.  By  f  purring  a  horse  on 
one  silk',  and  at  the  same  time  holding  him  tight  with  a  severe  bit.  ha 
is  made  to  curvet,  or  advance  end-long  in  short  bounds. 

3  Cut  out  of  his  armour,  t.  e.,  tlie  lacej  Avhich  held  it  togetlicr  were 
cat  lor  greater  expeditioiu 


176  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Al  were  tliey  sore  hurt,  and  namely  oon, 
That  with  a  spere  was  thirled  his  brest  boon. 
To  other  woundes,  and  to  broken  amies, 
Some  hadde  salve,  and  some  hadde  charmes, 
Fermacyes  of  herbes,  and  eek  save^ 
They  dronken,  for  they  wolde  here  lyves  have. 
For  which  this  noble  duk,  as  he  wel  can, 
Oomforteth  and  honoureth  eveiy  man, 
And  made  revel  al  the  lange  night, 
Unto  the  straunge  lordes,  as  was  right. 
Ne  ther  was  liolden  to  discomfytyng. 
But  as  a  justes  or  as  a  turneying ; 
For  sothly  ther  was  no  discomfiture. 
For  fallynge  is  but  an  adventure. 
Ne  to  be  lad  with  fors  unto  the  stake 
Unyolden,  and  with  twenty  knightes  take, 
A  person  allone,  withouten  moo, 
And  rent  forth  by  arme,  foot,  and  too. 
And  eke  his  steede  dryven  forth  with  staves. 
With  footemen,  botlie  yemen  and  eke  knaves, 
It  was  aretled  him  no  vylonye,* 
Ne  no  maner  man  heldn  it  no  cowardye. 
For  which  Theseus  lowd  anon  leet  crie, 
To  stynten  al  rancour  and  al  envye, 
The  gree  as  wel  on  o  syde  as  on  other, 
And  every  side  lik,  as  otheres  brother; 
And  gaf  hem  giftes  after  here  degr6. 
And  fully  heeld  a  feste  dayes  thre ;' 


*  Sage,  or  salvia,  was  considered  a  sovereign  remedy  in  the  middle 
ages,  whence  the  proverb  of  the  school  of  Salerno— 

'  Cur  moriatur  Iiomo, 
Dum  salvia  crescit  in  horto.' 

'^  See  a7ite,  p.  107,  note  i. 

3  Mr.  Wriglit,  in  a  note  upon  the  place,  says,  that  three  days  were 
the  usual  duration  of  a  feast  in  the  middle  ages,  and  quotes  from 
Eddius,  yU.  S.  ]VUf.  c.  1 7,  who,  when  he  consecrated  his  chmxh  at 
Itipon,  held  magnum  convivium  trium  dierum. 


THE   KNIGIITES   TALE.  Ill 

And  conveyed  the  knightes  wortliily 

Out  of  his  toun  a  jouruee'  hirgely. 

And  horn  went  every  man  the  righte  way. 

Ther  was  no  more,  but  '  Farwcl,  have  good  day !' 

Of  this  batayl  I  wul  no  more  eudite, 

But  speke  of  Palamon  and  of  Arcyte. 

Swellcth  tlie  bre.st  of  Arcyte,  and  the  sore 
Eucresceth  at  his  herte  more  and  moie. 
The  clothred  blood,  for  eny  leche-craft, 
Con-umpith,  and  is  in  his  bouk  i-laft, 
That  nother  vevne  blood,  ne  ventusATicr, 
Ne  diynk  of  herbcs  may  ben  his  helpyug. 
The  vertu  expulsif,  or  animal, 
Fro  thilke  vertu  cleped  natural, 
Ne  may  the  venym  voyde,  ne  expelle. 
The  pypcs  of  his  lounges  gan  to  swelle, 
And  eveiy  lacerte  in  his  brest  adoun 
Is  schent  with  venym  and  coi'rupciouu. 
Him  gayneth  nother,  for  to  get  his  lyf, 
Vomyt  up-ward,  ne  doun-ward  laxatif ; 
Al  is  to-broken  thilke  regioun; 
Nature  hath  now  no  dominacioun. 
And  certeynly  wher  natur  will  not  wirche, 
Farwel  phisik ;  go  bere  the  man  to  chirche. 
This  al  and  som,  that  Arcyte  moste  dye.'' 
For  which  he  sendeth  after  Emelye, 
And  Palamon,  that  was  his  cosyn  deere. 
Than  seyd  he  thus,  as  ye  schul  after  heere. 

'  Naught  may  the  woful  spiiit  in  myn  herte 
Declare  a  poynt  of  my  sorwes  smerte 
To  you,  my  lady,  that  I  love  most; 
But  I  byquethe  the  service  of  my  gost 
To  you  aboven  every  creature, 
Syn  that  my  lyf  may  no  lenger  dure. 

'  A  day's  journey. 
*  Tynvhitt  rciuis, — This  is  all  and  some;  it  means,  this  i«  the  short 
and  long  of  it,  that  Arcite  must  die. 

VOL.  I.  U 


178  THE   CA>'TERBURY   TALES. 

Alias,  the  woo!  alias,  tlie  peynes  stronge, 

That  I  for  you  have  sufifred,  and  so  longe ! 

Alias,  the  deth !  alas,  myn  Emelye ! 

Alias,  departyng  of  our  companye ! 

Alias,  myn  hertes  queen!  alias,  my  wyf! 

ISIyn  hertes  lady,  ender  of  my  lyf ! 

What  is  this  world?  what  asken  men  to  havet 

Now  with  his  love,  now  in  his  colde  grave 

Allone  withouten  any  companye. 

Farwel,  my  swete :  farwel,  myn  Emelye  ! 

And  softe  take  me  in  your  armes  tweye. 

For  love  of  God,  and  herkneth  what  I  seye. 

I  have  heer  with  my  cosyn  Palamon 

Had  stryf  and  rancour  many  a  day  i-gon, 

For  love  of  yow,  and  eek  for  jelousie. 

And  Jupiter  so  wis  my  sowle  gye, 

To  speken  of  a  servaunt  proprely, 

With  alle  circumstaunces  trewely, 

That  is  to  seyn,  truthe,  honour,  and  knighthede, 

Wysdom,  humblesse,  astaat,  and  by  kynrede, 

Fredam,  and  al  that  longeth  to  that  art, 

So  Jupiter  have  of  my  soule  part. 

As  in  this  world  right  now  ne  know  I  non 

So  worthy  to  be  loved  as  Palamon, 

That  serveth  you,  and  wol  do  al  his  lyf. 

And  if  that  ye  scliul  ever  be  a  wyf, 

Forget  not  Palamon,  that  gentil  man.' 

And  with  that  word  his  speche  faile  gan ; 

For  fro  his  heii;e  up  to  his  brest  was  come 

The  cold  of  deth,  that  him  had  overcome. 

And  yet  moreover  in  his  armes  twoo 

The  vital  strength  is  lost,  and  al  agoo. 

Only  the  intellect,  withouten  more, 

That  dwelled  in  his  herte  sik  and  sore, 

Gan  fayle,  when  the  herte  felte  death, 

Duskyng  his  eyghen  two,  and  fayled  breth. 

But  on  his  lady  yit  he  cast  his  ye ; 

HLs  laste  word  was,  '  Mercy,  Emelye !' 


THE    KXIGHTES   TALE.  179 

IJ'in  spiryt  cliaimgcd  was,  and  wente  ther, 

As  I  cam  never,  I  can  nat  tellen  wlier. 

Theretnre  I  styute,  I  nam  no  dy\'A-nistre;' 

Of  soules  fynde  I  not  in  this  registre, 

Ne  me  list  nat  thopynyouns  to  telle 

Of  hem,  though  that  tliei  ^\yten  wher  they  dwelle. 

Arcj-te  is  cold,  ther  Mars  his  soule  gye; 

Now  wol  I  speke  forth  of  f]melye. 

Shright  Emely,  and  howled  Palamon, 
And  Theseus  his  sustir  took  anon 
Swownyng,  and  bar  hir  fro  the  corps  away. 
What  helpeth  it  to  tarye  forth  the  day, 
To  telle  how  sche  weep  bothe  eve  and  morwe? 
For  in  swich  caas  wommen  can  have  such  sorwe. 
Whan  that  here  housbonds  ben  from  hem  ago, 
That  for  the  more  part  they  sorwen  so, 
Or  elles  fallen  in  such  maladye, 
That  atte  laste  certeynly  they  dye.* 
Infynyt  been  the  sorwcs  and  the  t«eres 
Of  olde  folk,  and  folk  of  tender  yeeres ; 
So  gret  a  wepyng  was  ther  noon  certayn, 
Whan  Ector  was  i-brought,  al  freissh  i-slayn. 
As  that  ther  was  for  deth  of  this  Theban ; 
For  sorwe  of  him  ther  weepeth  bothe  child  and 

man 
At  Trove,  alias  !  the  pit^  that  was  there, 
Cracchyug  of  cheekes,  ivnding  eek  of  here. 
'  Why  woldist  thou  be  deed,'  this  wommen  crye, 
'  And  haddest  gold  ynowgh,  and  Emelye?'* 
No  man  mighte  glade  Theseus, 
Sa\'yng  his  olde  fader  Egeus, 


•  See  introduction  to  this  tale.  '■'  Ironical. 

'  This  custom  of  expostuliitinp  witli  the  dead  and  eiMimornting  all 
the  advantages  they  have  left  is  still  common  at  funerals  of  the  lower 
orders  in  Ireland.  The  wordi,  varied  according  to  the  circumstances 
of  the  person,  arc  sung  to  a  jilaintive  wailing  tune,  called  a  heeii.  by 
women  hired  for  the  purpose,  who  are  called  kefners.  .Specimen*  of 
tbeM  keeiis  are  to  be  found  in  Crofton  Croker's  Irish  Dallads. 

N    2 


180  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

That  knew  this  worldes  transmutacioun, 
As  he  hadde  seen  it  torne  np  and  doun, 
Joye  aftei'  woo,  and  woo  aftir  gladnesse : 
And  schewed  him  ensample  and  likenesse. 

'  Right  as  theii'  deyde  never  man,'  quod  he, 
'  That  he  ne  lyved  in  erthe  in  som  degree, 
Yit  ther  ne  lyvede  never  man,'  he  seyde, 
'  In  al  this  world,  that  som  tyme  he  ne  deyde. 
This  world  nys  but  a  thui'ghfare  ful  of  woo, 
And  we  ben  pilgrjons,  passyng  to  and  froo; 
Deth  is  an  ende  of  every  worldly  sore.' 
And  over  al  this  yit  seide  he  mochil  more 
To  this  effect,  ful  wysly  to  enhorte 
The  peple,  that  they  schulde  him  recomforte> 

Duk  Theseus,  with  al  his  busy  cure. 
Cast  busyly  wher  that  the  sepulture 
Of  good  Arcyte  may  best  y-maked  be, 
And  eek  most  honurable  in  his  degre. 
Ai«i  atte  last  he  took  conclusioun, 
That  ther  as  first  Arcite  and  Palamon 
Hadden  for  love  the  batail  hem  bytwene, 
That  in  the  selve  grove,  soote  and  greene, 
Ther  as  he  hadde  his  amorous  desii'es, 
His  compleynt,  and  for  love  his  hoote  fyres. 
He  wolde  make  a  fyr,  in  which  thoffice 
Of  funeral  he  might  al  accomplice ; 
And  leet  comaunde  anon  to  hakke  and  hewe 
The  okes  old,  and  lay  hem  on  a  re  we 
In  culpouns  well  arrayed  for  to  brenne. 
His  officers  with  swifte  foot  they  renne, 
And  ryde  anon  at  his  comaundement. 
And  after  this,  Theseus  hath  i-sent 
After  a  beer,  and  it  al  overspradde 
With  cloth  of  golde,  the  richest  that  he  hadda 
And  of  the  same  sute  he  clad  Arcyte; 
Upon  his  hondes  were  liis  gloves  white ; 
Eke  on  his  heed  a  croune  of  laurer  grene ; 
And  in  his  hond  a  swerd  ful  bright  and  kene. 


THE    lOsIGIITES    TALE.  ISl 

He  loyde  him  bare  the  visage  on  the  beere,* 
Thcrwith  he  woei)  tliat  pite  was  to  hcere. 
And  lor  the  poejile  schulile  see  him  alle, 
Whau  it  was  day  he  brought  hem  to  the  halle, 
That  roreth  of  the  cry  and  of  the  soun. 
Tho  cam  this  woful  Thcban  Pahimoun, 
With  flotery  herd,  and  ruggy  asshy  heeres, 
In  clothis  blak,  y-droi)ped  al  with  teeres, 
And,  passyng  other,  of  wepyng  Emelye, 
The  re\viullest  of  al  the  compauye. 
And  in  as  moche  as  tlie  service  schukle  be 
The  more  nobul  and  riche  in  his  degre, 
Duk  Theseus  leet  forth  thre  steedes  bryng, 
Tliat  trapped  were  in  steel  al  gliteryng, 
And  covered  with  armes  of  dan  Arcyte. 
Upon  the  steedes,  that  weren  grete  and  white, 
Ther  seeten  folk,  of  which  oon  bar  his  scheeld, 
Anotlier  his  spere  up  in  his  hondes  heeld ; 
The  thridde  bar  with  him  his  bowe  Tiu-keys, 
Of  brend  gold  was  the  caas  and  eek  the  herneys; 
And  riden  forth  a  paas  with  sorwful  chere 
Toward  the  grove,  as  ye  schul  after  heere. 
The  nobles  of  the  Grekes  that  ther  were 
Upon  here  schuldres  carieden  the  beere, 
With  slak  paas,  and  eyhen  reeil  and  wete, 
Thurghout  the  cite,  by  the  maister  streete, 
That  sprad  was  al  with  blak,  and  wonder  hye 
Eight  of  the  same  is  al  the  stret  i-wrye. 
Upon  the  right  hond  went  olde  Egeus, 
And  on  that  other  syde  duk  Theseus, 


'  Tynvhitt  observes  on  this  lino — '  If  this  expression  were  in  Milton, 
the  critics  would  not  fail  to  call  it  an  (Icfjani  Grccisrn.  In  Chancer  we 
can  only  hope  that  it  may  be  allowed  to  be  an  elegant  AnglicUm. 
I'roissart  says,  that  the  corpse  of  Edward  III.  was  carried  '  tout  au 
long  de  la  cit(5  de  Londres,  d  viaire  decouvcrt,  j\i»ques  a  Westmonsticr, 
vol.  i.  c.  3j6.  This  appears  to  have  been  the  general  custom.  It  it 
alluded  to  in  the  Friar  of  Orders  Grey,  in  Percy's  Rdiques : — 
•  Here  bore  him,  bare-faced  on  his  bier, 
Six  proper  youths  and  tall." 


182  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

With  vessels  in  here  hand  of  gold  wel  fyn, 

As  ful  of  hony,  niylk,  and  blood,  and  wyn; 

Eke  Palamon,  with  a  gret  conipanye ; 

And  after  that  com  woful  Einelye, 

With  fyr  in  hond,  as  was  at  that  time  the  gyse,' 

To  do  thoffice  of  funeral  servise. 

Heygh  labour,  and  ful  gret  apparailyng 
Was  at  the  service  and  at  the  fyr  makyng, 
That  with  his  gTene  top  the  heven  raughte, 
And  twenty  fadme  of  brede  thai-me  straughte ; 
This  is  to  seyn,  the  boowes  were  so  brode, 
Of  stree  first  was  ther  leyd  ful  many  a  loode. 
But  how  the  fyr  was  makyd  up  on  highte, 
And  eek  the  names  how  the  trees  highte, 
As  ook,  fyr,  birch,  asp,  aldir,  holm,  popler, 
Wilw,  elm,  plane,  assch,  box,  chesteyn,  lynde,  laurer 
Mapul,  thorn,  beech,  hasil,  ew,  wyppyltre, 
How  they  weren  felde,  schal  nought  be  told  for  me 
!Ne  how  the  goddes  ronnen  up  and  doun, 
Disheryt  of  here  habitacioun, 
In  which  they  whilom  woned  in  rest  and  pees, 
Kymphes,  Faunes,  and  Amadryes  ; 
Ise  how  the  beestes  and  the  briddes  alle 
Fledden  for  feere,  whan  the  woode  was  falle ; 
Tie  how  the  ground  agast  was  of  the  light. 
That  was  nought  wont  to  see  no  sonne  bright ; 
Ne  how  the  fyr  was  couchid  fii'st  with  stree. 
And  thanne  with  drye  stykkes  cloven  in  thi'ee, 
Aiid  thaune  with  grene  woode  and  spicerie. 
And  thanne  with  cloth  of  gold  and  with  perry? 
And  gerlandes  hangyng  with  ful  many  a  flour, 
The  myri'e,  thensens  with  al  so  gret  odour; 
"Ne  how  Arcyte  lay  among  al  this, 
Ne  what  richesse  aboute  his  body  is; 
Ne  how  that  Emely,  as  was  the  gyse, 
Putt  in  the  fyr  of  funei-al  servise ; 

■  The  whole  description  of  the  funeral  &nd  games  is  taken  from  the 
sixth  book  of  the  Tlubais. 


THE   KNIGUTES   TALE.  183 

Ne  how  she  swowned  when  sche  made  the  fyre, 

Ne  what  sche  spak,  ne  what  was  hire  desire; 

Ne  what  jowi'ls  men  in  the  fyr  tlio  cast, 

Whan  thai/  tlie  fyr  was  grot  and  brente  fast ; 

Ne  how  sum  caste  her  scheeM,  and  sumnie  her  spere, 

And  of  here  vestimentz,  which  that  they  were, 

And  cuppes  ful  of  wjti,  and  mylk,  and  blood, 

Unto  the  fyr,  tliat  brent  as  it  were  wood ; 

Ne  how  the  Grekes  with  an  huge  route 

Thre  tymes  ryden  al  the  fyr  abtmte 

Upon  tlu"  lefte  hond,  with  an  heih  schoutyng, 

And  thries  with  here  spm-es  clateryng  ; 

And  thries  how  the  ladyes  gan  to  crye  ; 

Ne  how  that  lad  was  home-ward  Emelye  ; 

Ne  how  Arcyte  is  brent  to  aschen  colde ; 

Ne  how  the  liche-wake^  was  y-holde 

Al  thilke  night,  ne  how  the  Grekes  pleye 

The  wake-pleyes,  kepe  i  nat  to  seye  ; 

Who  wrastleth  best  naked,  with  oyle  enoynt, 

Ne  who  that  bar  him  best  in  no  disjoynt. 

I  wol  not  telle  eek  how  they  ben  goon 

Horn  til  Atheues  whan  the  pley  is  doon. 

But  schortly  to  the  poynt  now  wol  I  wende. 

And  maken  of  my  longe  tale  an  ende. 

By  pvoces  and  by  leugthe  of  certcyn  yeres 
Al  styntyd  is  the  mornyng  and  the  teeres 
Of  alle  Grekys,  by  oon  general  assent. 
Than  semed  me  ther  was  a  parlement 


'  From  the  Saxon  lie,  a  corpse,  like  the  German  Mrh,  and  wake,  ft 
vigil.  The  custom  of  watching  with  dead  bodies  is  very  ancient  in 
this  country,  and  lingered  till  lately  among  the  Roman  Catholics  in 
the  North.  See,  in  Scott's  Border  Minstrelsy,  a  curiou.M  rhyme  sung  on 
each  occasions.  The 'wake-pleycs,' mentioned  two  lines  lower  down, may 
still  be  traced  in  the  gamed  usual  at  wakes  among  the  Iri-h  peasantry. 
These,  as  well  as  our  own  custom  of  laying  out  in  state  the  bodies  o( 
persons  of  distinction,  axe  no  doubt  derived  from  the  Pagan  funeral 
ceremonies,  which  the  rulers  of  the  early  church,  in  deference  lo  the 
Inveterate  prejudices  of  their  heatlien  converti",  permitted  to  remain,  and 
cudeavoured  to  christianize.    [Compare  iicA-gate ;  also  iu/ifieldj 


184  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

At  Athenes,  on  a  certeyn  poynt  and  cas ; 

Among  the  whiche  poyntes  spoken  was 

To  lian  with  certeyn  conti-ees  alliaunce, 

And  have  fully  of  Thebans  obeissance. 

For  which  this  noble  Theseus  anon 

Let  senden  after  gentil  Palamon, 

TJn-wist  of  him  what  was  the  cause  and  why ; 

But  in  his  blake  clothes  sorwfuUy 

He  cam  at  his  comauD  dement  on  hye. 

Tho  sente  Theseus  for  Emelye. 

Whan  they  were  sette,  and  husshtwas  al  the  place. 

And  Theseus  abyden  hadde  a  space 

Or  eny  word  cam  fro  his  wyse  brest, 

His  even  set  he  ther  as  was  his  lest, 

And  with  a  sad  visage  he  syked  stille, 

And  after  that  right  thus  he  seide  his  wille. 

'  The  firste  moevere  of  the  cause  above, 
Whan  he  first  made  the  fayre  cheyne  of  love,^ 
Gret  was  thefiect,  and  heigh  was  his  entente ; 
Wei  wist  he  why,  and  what  therof  he  mente  ; 
For  with  that  faire  cheyne  of  love  he  bond 
The  fyr,  the  watir,  the  eyr,  and  eek  the  lond 
In  certeyn  boundes,  that  they  may  not  flee  ; 
That  same  prynce  and  moevere  eek,'  quod  he, 
'  Hath  stabled,  in  this  wrecched  world  adoun, 
Certeyn  dayes  and  duracioun 
To  alle  that  er  engendrid  in  this  place, 
Over  the  which  day  they  may  nat  pace, 
Al  mowe  they  yit  wel  here  dayes  abregge ; 
Ther  needeth  non  auctorite  tallegge  ; 
For  it  is  preved  by  experience. 
But  that  me  lust  declax'e  my  sentence. 


'  This  sublime  philosophy  is  derived  from  Boethius,  De  Consolatione. 
Phil.  ii.  met.  8  : — 

'  ITanc  rerum  seriem  lipat, 
Terras  ac  pelagus  regens, 
Et  coelo  imperitans,  amor.* 

Here  Platonism  is  elevated  by  Christianity. 


TUE   KNIGIITES   TALE.  135 

Than  may  men  wel  by  this  ordro  discerue, 
Tluit  tliilke  moevcre  stiibul  is  and  etorne. 
Wel  may  men  kuowe,  but  it  be  a  fciol, 
That  eveiy  partye  dyryveth  from  his  hooL 
For  nature  hath  nat  tiike  his  bygynnyug 
Of  no  partye  ne  cantui  of  a  thing, 
But  of  a  thing  that  parfyt  is  and  stable, 
Descendyng  so,  til  it  be  corumpable. 
And  thorfore  of  his  wyse  purveaunce 
lie  hath  so  wd  biset  his  ordenaunce, 
That  spices'  of  thinges  and  progressiomis 
SchuUen  endure  by  successiouns, 
And  nat  eterne  be  withoute  lyo  : 
This  maistow  understand  and  se  at  ye.* 

'  Lo  the  ook,*  that  hath  so  long  norisschyng 
Fro  tyme  that  it  gynneth  fii-st  to  spring. 
And  hath  so  long  a  lyf,  as  we  may  see, 
Yet  atte  laste  wasted  is  tho  tree. 

'  Considereth  eek,  how  that  the  hai-de  stoon 
Under  oure  foot,  on  which  we  trede  and  goon, 
Yit  wasteth  it,  as  it  lith  by  the  weye. 
The  brode  ryver  som  tyme  wexeth  dreye. 
The  Errete  townes  see  we  wane  and  wende. 
Then  may  I  see  tliat  al  tiling  hath  an  ende. 

*  Of  man  and  womman  se  we  wel  also, 
That  wendeth  in  oon  of  this  termes  two. 
That  is  to  seyn,  in  youthe  or  elles  in  age, 
He  moot  ben  deed,  the  kyng  a.s  schal  a  page ; 
Sum  in  his  bed,  som  in  the  deepe  see, 
Som  in  the  large  feeld,  as  men  may  se. 
Ther  helpeth  naught,  al  goth  thilke  weye. 
Thanne  may  I  see  wel  that  al  thing  schal  deye. 


•  Species.  -  Sec  nt  eye,  by  experience. 

'  This  passage  is  taken  from  the  Thesrida.  It  is  in  whnt  Chaucer 
sails '  high  sty  if,' ami  is  in  accordance  with  the  meilia;val  taste  for 
J polopues,  ridiculed  by  .Shakespeare  in  FalstalTs  jxTsonation  of  lliiiry 
IV.  '  For  though  tlic  camoinille,  the  more  it  is  trodden  on,  tlie  more  it 
growetli,  &c.' — Utnnj  ly.,  i'art  I.,  Act  ii. 


1S6  THE  CAKTERBURY   TALES. 

Wliat  maketli  this  but  Jubiter  the  kjTi\*  ? 
The  which  is  prynce  and  cause  of  alle  thiag, 
Convertyng  al  unto  his  propre  wille, 
From  which  he  is  dereyned,  soth  to  telle. 
And  here  agayn  no  creature  on  lyve 
Of  no  degre  avayleth  for  to  stryve. 

'  Than  is  it  wisdom,  as  thenketh  me, 
To  maken  vertu  of  necessite, 
And  take  it  wel,  that  we  may  nat  eschewe, 
And  namely  that  that  to  us  alle  is  dewe. 
And  who  so  gruccheth  aught,  he  doth  folye, 
And  rebel  is  to  him  that  al  may  gye. 
And  certeynly  a  man  hath  most  honour 
To  deyen  in  his  excellence  and  flour, 
Whan  he  is  siker  of  his  goode  name. 
Than  hath  he  doon  his  freend,  ne  him,  no  schame 
And  glader  ought  his  freend  ben  of  his  deth, 
Whan  with  honour  is  yolden  up  the  breth, 
Thanne  whan  his  name  appelled  is  for  age; 
For  al  forgeten  is  his  vasselage. 
Thanne  is  it  best,  as  for  a  worthi  fame, 
To  dye  whan  a  man  is  best  of  name. 
The  contrary  of  al  this  is  wilfulnesse. 
vVhy  grucchen  we?  why  have  we  hevynesse, 
That  good  Arcyte,  of  chy^^alry  the  flour, 
Departed  is,  with  worschip  and  honour 
Out  of  this  foulc  prisoun  of  this  lyf  ? 
Why  gruccheth  heer  his  cosyn  and  his  wyf 
Of  his  welfare,  that  loven  him  so  wel  1 
Can  he  hem  thank  1  nay,  God  woot,  never  a  del. 
That  bothe  his  soule  and  eek  heniself  ofFende, 
And  yet  they  may  here  lustes  nat  amende. 

'  What  may  I  conclude  of  this  longe  serye, 
But  aftir  wo  I  rede  us  to  be  merye. 
And  thanke  Jubiter  of  al  his  gi'ace? 
And  or  that  we  departe  fro  this  place, 
I  rede  that  we  make,  of  sorwes  two, 
O  parfyt  joye  lastyng  ever  mo  : 


TIIK    KXIGIITES    TALE.  157 

And  lokoth  now  wher  most  sorwe  is  her-iune, 
Ther  wol  wo  first  aniemlcu  aud  bygynne. 

'  Sustyr,'  quod  he,  '  this  is  my  ful  assont, 
With  all  tlui\-y3  heer  of  my  parlement, 
That  guiitil  Palamon.  your  owne  knight, 
That  scrveth  yow  with  lierte,  will,  and  might, 
And  ever  hath  doon,  syn  fyret  tyme  ye  him  knewe, 
That  ye  schul  of  your  gi^ace  upon  him  rewe, 
And  take  him  for  your  housbond  and  for  lord  : 
Lene  mc  youre  hand,  for  this  is  cure  acord- 
Let  see  now  of  your  wommanly  pite. 
He  is  a  k}Tiges  brothir  sone,  pardee  ; 
And  though  he  were  a  pore  bachiller,' 
S}Ti  lie  hath  served  you  so  many  a  yeer, 
And  had  for  you  so  gret  adversite, 
It  moste  be  considered,  trusteth  me. 
For  gentil  mercy  aughte  passe  right.* 
Than  seyde  he  thus  to  Palamon  ful  right ; 
'  I  trowe  ther  needeth  litel  sermonyng 
To  make  you  assente  to  this  thing. 
Com  neer,  and  tak  your  lady  by  the  hond.' 
Bitwix  hem  was  i-maad  anon  the  bond, 
Tluit  highte  matrimoyn  or  mariage, 
By  alle  the  counseil  of  the  baronage. 
And  thus  with  blys  and  eek  with  melodye 
Hath  Palamon  i-wedded  Emelye. 
And  God,  that  al  this  wyde  world  hath  wi-ought 
Send  him  liis  love,  that  hath  it  deere  i-bought 
For  now  is  Palamon  in  al  his  wele, 
Ly^ynge  in  blisse,  richesse,  and  in  hele. 
And  Emelye  him  loveth  so  tendirly, 
And  he  hir  serveth  al  so  gentilly, 
That  never  was  ther  wordes  hem  bitweene 
Of  jelousy,  ne  of  non  othir  tene. 
Thus  endeth  Palamon  and  Emelye  ; 
And  God  save  al  this  fayre  couipanye  ! 


^  Bachelor,  the  lowest  rank  of  knighthood. 


188  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

THE    PROLOGE    OF    THE    MYLLER. 

WHAN  that  the  Knight  had  thus  his  tale  i-told, 
In  al  the  route  nas  ther  yong  ne  old, 
That  he  ne  seyde  it  was  a  noble  stoiy, 
And  worthi  to  be  drawen  to  memory; 
And  namely  the  gentils  everichoon. 
Our  Host  tho  lowh  and  swoor,  '  So  moot  I  goon, 
This  goth  right  wel ;  unbokeled  is  the  male  ;^ 
Let  se  now  who  schal  telle  another  tale ; 
For  trewely  this  game  is  wel  bygonne. 
Now  telleth  ye,  sir  Monk,  if  that  ye  konne 
Somwhat,  to  quyte  with  the  knightes  tale.' 
The  ISIyller  that  for  drunken  was  al  pale,'* 
So  that  unnethe  upon  his  hors  he  sat, 
He  wold  avale  nowther  hood  ne  hat, 
Ne  abyde  no  man  for  his  curtesye, 
But  in  Pilates*  voys  he  gan  to  crye, 

1  Apparently  a  proverbial  expression  derived  from  the  market,  and 
meaning,  literally,  that  the  male,  or  bale  of  goods,  is  opened  and  the 
ware  exposed  for  the  customers' inspection ;  metapliorically,  that  the 
business  is  well  begun. 

^  All  pale  for  drunkenness.  It  does  not  seem  here  the  German 
particle  rertrunken,  but  a  preposition  meaning  d  force  de,  for  very 
drunkenness.  There  are  several  examples:  sae  two,  'for  old'  and  •  for 
blak,' a/i^e,  p.  iS8.     Others  occur  elsewhere. 

3  In  the  gruff,  hoarse  voice  assumed  by  the  actors  who  played  the  cha- 
racter of  Pilate  in  the  popular  mysteries  of  the  Passion.  The 
'  mysteries '  or  '  miracles,'  founded  on  Scripture,  or  the  Lives  of  the 
Christian  JIartyrs,  were  often  performed  by  ecclesiastics  in  churches, 
for  the  purpose  of  instructing  the  unlearned  people  in  the  substance  of 
Scripture  history,  or  exciting  them  to  zeal  by  the  force  of  example. 
So  early  as  the  time  of  William  I.,  Matt.  Paris  relates  that  Geoffrey, 
a  learned  Norman, composed  a  play  on  the  martyrdom  of  St.  Catherine. 
Mr.  Price,  the  learned  editor  of  VV'arton,  says,  that  the  earliest 
miracle  play  extant  in  English  is  Oiir  Sririmir's  Descent  into  Hell,  in 
MS.  of  the  time  of  Edward  II.  There  is  this  curious  passage  in 
Lambarde's  Topograpltical  Dictionary,  \\T\Hiii\  about  the  year  i57o.  'In 
the  dayes  of  ceremonial  religion,  they  used  at  Wytncy  (in  Oxfordshire) 
to  set  fourthe  yearly,  in  manner  of  a  shew  or  interlude,  the  Resur- 
rection of  our  Lord,  &c The  like  to  which  I  myselfe,  being 

then  a  childe,  once  sawe  in  Poule's  Churche  in  London,  at  a  feast  of 
Whitsuntide ;  wheare  the  comynge  down  of  the  Holy  Gost  was  set 
fcirthe  by  a  white  pigeon,  that  was  let  to  fly  out  of  a  hole  that  yet  is  to 
be  sene  in  the  mydst  of  the  roofe  of  the  greate  ile,'&c.  See  also  rlie  seriou 


THE    PROLOGE    OF   THE    MVI.LEK.  189 

And  swor  hy  amies  and  by  blood  and  bones, 

'  I  can  a  noblo  talc  for  the  noones, 

With  which  I  wol  now  quyte  the  knightes  tale.' 

Oure  Hoost  saw  wul  how  dronke  he  was  of  ale, 

And  seyde,  '  Rol>yii,  abyde,  my  leve  brother, 

tSum  bettre  man  schal  telle  first  another ; 

Abyd,  and  let  us  worken  thriftyly.' 

'  By  Goddes  soule !'  quod  he,  '  that  wol  nat  1, 

For  I  wol  speke,  or  cllcs  go  my  way.' 

Oui-e  Host  answerd,  '  Tel  on,  a  devel  way ! 

Thou  art  a  fool ;  thy  witt  is  overcome.' 

'  Now  herkneth,'  quod  this  Myller,  '  al  and  some ; 
But  lirst  I  make  a  j)rutestacioun, 
That  I  am  dronke,  I  knowe  wel  by  my  soun ; 
And  therfore  if  that  I  mys-speke  or  seye, 
^^'^•te  it  the  ale  of  South werk,  1  you  preye  ; 
For  T  wol  telle  a  legende  and  a  lyf 
Bothe  of  a  carpenter  and  of  his  wyf. 
How  that  the  clerk  hath  set  the  svrightes  cappe.' 

The  Reve  answered  and  seyde,  '  Stynt  thi  clappe. 
Let  be  thy  lewed  drunken  harlottrj'e. 
It  is  a  synne,  and  eek  a  greet  folye 
To  apeyren  eny  man,  or  him  defame, 
And  eek  to  brynge  ^vyves  in  ylle  name. 
Thou  mayst  ynowgh  of  other  thinges  seyn.' 
This  dronken  Miller  spak  ful  sone  ageyu. 
And  seyde,  '  Leeve  brother  Osewold, 
Who  hath  no  wyf,  he  is  no  cokewold- 


of  plays  exhibited  at  Cliestir,  in  i  3i7,  at  the  expense  of  tlie  different 
trailing  companies,  of  which  an  edition  was  edited  by  Mr.  Wright  for 
the  Shakspeijxe  Society ;  al.-io  The  Towneley  ami  Coventry  Myslrrks.  It 
appears  from  Strype's  Grimlal,  p.  8i,  that  this  practice  of  acting  plays 
in  churches  lingered  even  after  the  Kefonnation,  except  that  profane 
stories  had  taken  the  place  of  religious.  The  celebrated  ceremonies  ol  tha 
Holy  Week  in  the  Sistine  Chapel,  to  which  the  English  abroad  alway.s 
tlock  in  such  numbers,  are  something  of  the  same  character.  The  events 
of  the  Passion  are  read  from  one  of  the  Evangelists  in  a  simple  but  very 
toucliing  chaunt.by  different  divisions  of  the  choir,  onr  division  taking 
the  words  of  our  Lord,  another  of  the  .Scribes  and  Pharisees,  anothei 
of  the  people,  and  a  fourth  reading  the  narrative. 


190  THE   CA>'TERBURY  TALES. 

But  I  seye  not  therfore  tliat  tlaou  art  oon, 

Therbeen  ful  goode  wyves  many  oon. 

And  ever  a  thousand  goode  agayns  oon  badde  ; 

That  knowest  thou  wel  thyself,  bat  if  thou  madde.' 

Why  art  thou  angry  with  my  tale  now  1 

I  have  a  Avyf,  parde !  as  well  as  thow, 

Yet  nolde  I,  for  the  oxen  in  my  plough, 

Take  upon  me  more  than  ynough ; 

Though  that  thou  deme  thiself  that  thou  be  con," 

I  wol  bileeve  wel  that  I  am  noon. 

An  housbond  schal  not  be  inquisityf 

Of  Goddes  pryvete,  ne  of  his  wyf. 

So  that  he  may  fynde  Goddes  foysoun  there, 

Of  the  remenaunt  needeth  nought  enquere.' 

What  schuld  I  seye,  but  that  this  proud  Myllere 

He  nolde  his  wordes  for  no  man  forbere, 

But  tolde  his  cherlisch  tale  in  his  manere. 

Me  athinketh,  that  I  schal  reherce  it  heere; 

And  therfor  every  gentil  wight  I  preye, 

For  Goddes  love,  as  deme  nat  that  I  seye, 

Of  yvel  entent,  but  for  I  moot  reherse 

Here  wordes  alle,  al  be  they  better  or  werse, 

Or  elles  falsen  som  of  my  mateere." 

And  therfor  who  so  list  it  nat  to  heere, 

Tume  over  the  leef,  and  cheese  another  tale  ; 

For  he  schal  fynde  yuowe  bothe  gret  and  smale, 

Of  storial  thing  that  toucheth  gentilesse, 

And  eek  moralite,  and  holynesse.* 

Blameth  nat  me,  if  that  ye  cheese  amys. 

The  IMiller  is  a  cherl,  ye  know  wel  this  ; 

'  Mndde  is  here  a  verb,  meaning  to  be  going  mad.  Tyrwhitt  in  his  f  t-xt 
omits  tliese  two  lines,  but  gives  tliem  in  his  notes  in  a  less  correct  form. 
The  Miller  probably  meant  this  compliment  ironically. 

-  There  is  much  humour  in  the  Miller's  taking  it  for  granted  thnt 
the  reason  Oswald  objects  to  his  tale,  even  before  he  has  heard  it,  is 
because  he  thinks  it  must  needs  apply  to  his  own  case. 

^  See  ante,\>.  107,  note  2. 

■»  It  may  be  mentioned,  as  a  specimen  of  the  errors  wiOi  which 
even  the  best  MSS.  abound,  tliat  in  the  Ilarleian  MS.  this  line  ii 
written — 

•  And  eek  more  ryalte  and  Lolinessc  • 


THE   MILLERES   TALE. 


191 


So  was  the  Reeve,  and  othir  many  mo, 
And  harlotry  they  toldcn  bothe  two. 
Avyseth  you.  and  put  me  out  of  blame  ; 
And  men  schulde  nat  make  ernest  of  game. 


TUE    MILLERES    TALE. 

[TnE  origin  of  this  story  has  not  been  ascertained.  Mr. 
Wright  thinks  that  it  is  probably  founded  upon  afahVuiu, 
current  in  Chaucer's  time,  but  now  either  lo.st  or  buri«d 
among  the  MSS.  of  some  public  library  ;  an  opinion  to  which 
Tyrwhitt  also  inclines.  For  the  licentiousness  of  this  and 
some  of  the  other  tales,  no  valid  excuse  can  be  oflered.  The 
necessities  of  the  plan,  and  the  manners  of  the  age,  are  some- 
times urged  in  extenuation,  and  the  plea  may  be  allowed  to 
some  extent  in  mitigation  of  judgment ;  but  even  Chaucer 
himself  felt  that  an  apology  was  due,  and  has  attempted  one, 
which,  as  has  been  shown  before,  is,  in  fact,  no  apology  at 
all.  In  his  treatment  of  the  subject,  the  poet  has  introduced 
the  various  incidents  and  characters  with  great  comic  power 
and  art.  No  circumstance  is  omitted  which  could  add 
grotesqueness  to  the  general  effect.  The  contrast  between 
Nicholas's  outward  manners  and  real  pursuits ;  the  incon- 
gruity between  the  hymn  he  chooses  to  sing  and  the  plan  he 
is  concocting;  hisoracvilar  mode  of  declaring  his  vision;  the  car- 
penter's excessive  distress  at  the  prospect  of  losing  his  Alison, 
who  is  all  the  time  plotting  against  his  honour:  his  complacency 
in  the  superiority  of  his  own  common  sense  over  the  clerk's 
book-learning ;  Absolon's  devices  to  make  himself  agreeable ; 
his  preparations  for  the  hoped-for  accolade,  and  his  sudden 
disgust  for  his  former  objects  of  pursuit,  are  all  thrown  iu 
with  the  hand  of  a  master  in  this  kuid  of  broad  humour. 
The  antiquarian  and  historical  aspects  of  this  tale  are  not 
without  interest  as  illustrating  the  manners  of  the  times. 
•  In  the  description  of  the  young  wife  of  our  philosopher's 
host,'  says  Warton,  '  there  is  gi-eat  elegance,  with  a  mixture 
oi'  burlesque   allusions ;   not  to  mention  the  curiosity  of  a 


192  TUE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

female  portrait  drawn  with  so  much  exactness  at  s\ich  a  dis- 
tance of  time.'  Here,  too,  the  poet  exhibits  that  growing 
feeling  of  hostility  to  the  clergy  which  prompted  the  writers 
of  the  latter  part  of  the  middle  ages  to  rejoice  in  placing  them 
and  the  service  of  the  Church  in  a  ludicrous  point  of  view ; 
for  Ahsolon,  heing  a  parish  clerk,  was  of  course,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  custom  of  the  primitive  and  mediteval  churches, 
in  minor  orders.] 

WHILOM  ther  was  dwellyng  at  Oxenford 
A  riche  gnof,*  that  gestes  heeld  to  boorde,* 

And  of  his  craft  he  was  a  carpenter. 

With  him  ther  was  dwellyng  a  pore  scoler, 
r      Had  lerned  art,  but  al  his  fantasye 

Was  torned  for  to  lerne  astrologye, 

And  cowde  a  certeyn  of  conclusiouns 

To  deme  by  interrogaciotins, 

If  that  men  axed  him  in  certeyn  houres, 
(6     Whan  that  men  schuld  ban  drought  or  ellys  schoures , 

Or  if  men  axed  him  what  schulde  bifalle 

Of  everything,  I  may  nought  reken  hem  alle. 

This  clerk  was  cleped  beende  Nicholas; 

Of  demo  love  be  cowde  and  of  solas ; 
(y   And  tberwitb  he  was  sleigh  and  ful  privi, 

And  lik  a  may  den  meke  for  to  se. 

A  chambir  had  be  in  that  hostillerye* 

Alone,  witbouten  eny  compaignye, 

Ful  fetisly  i-digbt  with  berbes  soote, 
X<?   And  he  himself  as  swete  as  is  the  roote 

Of  lokorys,  or  eny  cetewale. 

His  almagest*,  and  bookes  gret  and  smale, 

1  An  example  of  the  way  in  which  the  final  n  of  the  indefinite 
nrticle  is  made  the  agent  of  changes  in  words ;  thus,  a  gnof  becomes  au 
oaf  i  a  nediler,  an  adder ;  a  nowch.  an  ouch  ;  an  eft,  a  newt :  &c. 

'  It  appears  from  this  passage  that  the  re-established  system  of  permittmg 
students  at  the  University  to  live  in  private  lodgings  was  the  ancient 
practice.  Tlie  abuses  to  which  it  led,  as  exemplified  in  the  tale,  were 
l)robably  the  cause  of  its  discontinuance. 

'  The  Harl.  M.S.  reads  in  his  hostillerye.  It  may  be  observed,  that 
it  was  usual  in  the  University  for  two  or  more  students  to  have  one 
room.— VV. 

*  The  Arabs,  from  wlijui  the  Western  nations  derived  a  great  part 


THK    MILLKRES   TALE.  103 

His  astiTlabo/  longynpf  for  his  art, 
HLs  augryni  stooncs,*  Icycn  faire  apart 

J^y    Oil  schclves  coiiclit'cl  at  his  beddes  heed, 
His  presse  i-covered  with  a  faldyng  reed. 
And  all  above  thor  lay  a  gay  sawtrye, 
Ou  wliich  he  made  a-uightes  mclodye, 
So  swetely,  that  al  the  chauibur  i-ang  j 

i  0   And  Angclus  ad  vmjinem'^  he  sang. 

And  after  that  he  sang  the  kynges  note  ;* 
Ful  often  blissed  was  his  meiy  throte, 
And  thus  this  sweete  clerk  his  tynie  spente, 
After  his  frendes  fyndyng  and  his  rente.* 


of  their  early  knowledge  of  science  (see  IIallam,  Middle  Ages,  c.  i., 
77),  called  the  MeyoAT)  ^uirafis  of  Ptolemy  Almegisthi,  IVom  n/,  Arabic 
for  the,  and  /ieytorr),  greatest.  It  was  the  handbook  of  astrology  at  that 
time. 

'  An  instrument  for  taking  the  sun's  altitude,  and  making  other 
ajtrouoniical  observations.  Cluiucer  has  left  a  treatise  on  its  use,  of 
which  the  introduction,  addressed  to  his  '  litel  son  Louis,"  is  a  charming 
e-xaniple  of  the  poet's  familiar  prose  style.  In  J?peght's  time  this  treati^6 
was  still  considered  the  best  authority  on  the  branch  of  astronomy  of 
which  it  treats. 

-  Augrim  is  a  corruption  of  algorithm,  the  Arabic  for  numeration. 
Augrim  stones  were  the  counters  or  pebbles  anciently  used  to  facilitate 
calculations,  which  last  word  is  tlcrived  from  calculus,  a  pebble. 

■>  Uu  the  Sundays  in  Advent  and  Feast  of  the  Annunciation,  the 
antiplions  and  responses,  appointed  to  be  sung  in  the  processions  and 
other  parts  of  the  Human  service,  are  taken  from  the  evangelical 
liistory  of  the  appearance  of  the  Angel  Gabriel  to  the  blessed  Virgin, 
beginning,  '  ilissus  est  Gabriel  aiigelus  ad  virgiiiem,'  This  was  per- 
haps the  song  intended  in  the  te.xt.  i!ut  it  is  more  probably  a 
metrical  hymn  to  be  found  only  in  the  Salisbury  or  some  other  local 
Breviary. 

^  All  the  commentators  acknowledge  themselves  unable  to  point  out 
the  piece  of  music  intended  by  '  the  kynges  note.'  Warton  supposes 
it  to  mean  a  chant  royal,  or  ballad  royal, — that  is,  as  I'asquer  describes 
it,  ■  a  song  in  honour  of  God,  the  holy  Virgin,  or  any  other  argument 
of  dignity.'  Hawkins  and  Hurney  cite  the  passage  as  illustrative  of 
thu  cultivation  of  music  in  the  14th  century.  The  former  passes  over 
'  tlie  kynges  note'  without  observation;  the  latter  lias  the  following:— 
'  The  chant  royal  was  an  appellation  given  to  jioems  on  lofty  subjects 
in  the  early  times  of  Kren.'h  poetry.' — His.  of  Mas.,  ii.,  375.  This  loose 
e.\pliination  increases  the  obscurity.  It  is  more  likely  that  the  chant 
Toyal  was  a  .itrain  0/  mii^ic,  like  the  '  Cantus  I'eregriuus'  of  Gregorian 
Psalmody,  or  (of  later  date)  our  '  Grand  Chant.' 

^  Living  upon  what  his  friends  found  him,  and  his  own  income. 

VOL.  I.  O 


194  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

ii'  This  carpenter  liad  weddid  newe  a  wyf; 

Which  that  he  loved  more  than  his  lyf ; 
Of  eyghteteene  yeer  sche  was  of  age, 
Gelous  he  was,  and  heeld  hir  narwe  in  cage, 
For  sche  was  wild  and  yong,  and  he  was  old, 
//^     And  demed  himself  belik  a  cokewold, 

He  knew  nat  Catoun,'  for  his  wit  was  rude. 
That  bad  man  schulde  wedde  his  similituda 
INIen  schulde  wedde  aftir  here  astaat, 
For  eelde  and  youthe  ben  often  at  debaat. 
(fS'   But  syn  that  he  was  brought  into  the  snare, 
He  moste  endure,  as  othere  doon,  his  care. 
Fair  was  the  yonge  wyf,  and  therwithal 
As  eny  wesil  hir  body  gent  and  smal. 
A  seynt  sche  wered,  barred  al  of  silk  ; 
jf'O    A  barm-cloth'  eek  as  whit  as  morne  mylk 
Upon  hir  lendes,  ful  of  many  a  gore. 
Whit  was  hir  smok,  and  browdid  al  byfore 
And  eek  byhynde  on  hir  coler  aboute, 
Of  cole-blak  silk,  withinne  and  eek  withoute. 
^if  The  tapes  of  hir  white  voluper 

Weren  of  the  same  sute  of  hire  coler  ; 
Hir  filet  brood  of  silk  y-set  ful  heye. 
And  certeynly  sche  hadd  a  licorous  eyghe; 
Ful  smal  y-pulled  weren  hir  browes  two, 
^0  And  tho  were  bent,  as  blak  as  a  slo. 
Sche  was  wel  more  blisful  on  to  see 
Than  is  the  newe  perjonette  tree; 


:  Tyrwhitt  says  that  the  maxim  here  ascribed  to  Caton  the  French 
form  of  So,  is  to  be  fonnd  in  a  supplement  to  the  mora  d:st,chs  en- 
titled Facetus,  inter  Auctores  odo  Morales,  Lugdun.  i5a8,  m. 

'  Due  tibi  prole  parem  sponsam  moresque  venustam, 
Si  cum  pace  velis  vitani  deducere  justam.' 
s  This  word  is  derived  from  the  Saxon  6cam.  the  lap.  and  i^  therefore 
intcrnreteTin  the  glossaries  an  apron;  but  it  seems  rather  to  mean  a 
s"rt  in  general,  as  being  worn  '  upon  her  lendes,'  and  made  to  fi    h. 
irson^rith  'many  a  gore.'  The  «7/«<  means  not  only  the  gudle.butl.e 
CSuke  he  LaUu  zo^u.;  and  so  the  whole  of  her  dress  xs  uccomited  for. 


TlIK   MILLERES   TALE.  195 

And  softer  than  the  wol  is  of  a  wetliir. 

And  l)y  liir  fjuidil  liyni,'  a  jmrs  of  h-tliir, 
(?S'  Tassid  witli  silk,  and  perlcd'  with  hituun. 

In  al  this  worki  to  seken  up  and  doun 

There  nys  no  man  so  wys,  that  couthe  thenche 

80  gay  a  popillot,  or  such  a  wenchc. 

For  brighter  was  the  schynyng  of  hir  hewe, 
7^    Than  in  the  Tour  the  noble  i-forged  newe," 

But  of  hir  song,  it  was  as  lowde  and  ycrne 

As  euy  swalwe  chiteryng  on  a  berne. 

Therto  sche  cowde  skippe,  and  make  game, 

As  eny  kyde  or  calf  folwyng  liis  dame. 
jy  Hir  mouth  was  sweete  as  bragat  is  or  meth, 

Or  hoord  of  apples,  layd  in  hay  or  heth.  • 

WynsjTig  sche  was,  as  is  a  joly  colt; 

Long  as  a  mast,  and  upright  as  a  bolt.' 

A  broch  sche  bar  upon  hir  loue  coleer, 
$0    As  brod  as  is  the  bos  of  a  bocleer. 

Hir  schos  were  laced  on  hir  lejrces  hcvirhe : 

bche  was  a  primerole,  a  piggesneyghe,* 

For  eny  lord  have  liggyng  in  his  bedde, 

Or  yet  for  eny  good  yeman  to  wedde. 
^'        Now  sir,  and  eft  sir,  so  bifel  the  cas. 

That  on  a  day  this  heende  Nicholas 


'  Ornamented  with  knobs  of  latten,  like  pearls. 

2  The  gold  noble  of  this  period  was  a  very  beautiful  coin:  speci- 
mens are  engraved  in  Ituding's  Annals  of  the  Coi>ta(ie.  It  was  coined  in 
the  Tower  of  London,  the  place  of  the  principal  Loudon  mint. — \V. 

3  These  two  lines  are  quoted  by  Drydcn  as  perfect  specimens  of  the 
heroic  metre,  and  it  is  ditlicult  to  believe  that  Cliaucer  could  li;ive  pro- 
duced tlieni,  and  many  others  as  perfect,  by  chance,  as  the  advocates 
of  the  rhytlimical  theory  must  necessarily  suppose. 

*  A  term  of  endearment,  supfxised  by 'lyrwhitt  to  mean  pig's  eye,  like 
the  L;itin  a  ellus,  tlie  uyos  of  the  pig  lx!ing  very  small.  fSo  Doll  Tearsheet, 
intending  to  be  very  tender,  aill.s  Falstalf,  'Thou  whorcwon  little,  tidy 
Bartholomew  boar-pig."  Henry  IV.,  .Vet  ii.  sc.  4.  Sliadwell  (I'lays,  vol.  i. 
}S")  U'^js  in  this  sense,  not  only  the  word  pigxney,  but  binlsitey.  [Pigswy 
means  'pig's  eye;'  so  also  birdsney  may  be  either  'bird's  eye'  or  'birds 
egg,'  according  to  the  context.  Not  only  is  the  form  ny  for  tye  found,  but 
uynan  foreyt*;  see  llalliwell's  ViUionary.—W .  \V.S.j 

0  2 


rtJ^ 


196  -       THE   CANTERBURY  TALKS. 


Fil  with  this  yonge  wyf  to  rage  and  pleye 
Whil  that  hir  housbond  was  at  Oseneye/ 
As  clerkes  ben  ful  sotil  and  ful  queynte. 
^i)     And  pryvely  lie  caught  hir  by  the  queynte. 
And  seyde,  '  I- wis,  but  if  I  have  my  wille, 
For  derne  love  of  the,  lemman,  I  spille.' 
And  heeld  hir  harde  by  the  haunche  boones, 
And  seyde,  'Lemman,  love  me  al  at  ones, 
(iif   Or  I  wol  dye,  as  wisly  God  me  save.' 

And  sche  sprang  out  as  doth  a  colt  in  trave : 
And  with  hir  heed  sche  wried  fast  awey. 
And  seyde,  '  T  wol  nat  kisse  the,  by  my  fey ! 
Why  let  be,'  quod  sche,  'lat  be  thou,  Nicholas 
10^   Or  I  wol  crye  out  harrow  and  alias! 

Do  wey  pour  handes  for  your  curtesye !' 
This  Nicholas  gan  mercy  for  to  crye, 
And  spak  so  faire,  and  profred  him  so  faste, 
That  sche  hir  love  him  graunted  atte  laste, 
l^'  And  swor  hir  oth  by  seynt  Thomas  of  Kent, 
That  sche  wol  be  at  his  commaundement, 
Whan  that  sche  may  hir  leysii-  wel  aspye. 
'  Myn  housbond  is  so  ful  of  jelousie. 
That  but  ye  wayten  wel,  and  be  pryve, 
(lO  I  woot  right  wel  I  am  but  deed,'  quod  sche: 
'  Ye  mosteu  be  ful  derne  as  in  this  caas.' 
'  Therof  ne  care  the  nought,'  quod  Nicholas : 
*  A  clerk  hath  litherly  by  set  his  while, 
But  if  he  cowde  a  carpenter  bygyle.' 
//y  And  thus  they  ben  acorded  and  i-swom 
To  wayte  a  tyme,  as  I  have  told  biforn. 

Whan  Nicholas  had  doon  thus  every  del, 
And  thakked  hire  aboute  the  lendys  wel, 
He  kist  hir  sweet,  and  taketh  his  sawtrye, 
j\,0   And  pleyeth  fast,  and  maketh  melodye. 


I 


•  An  abbey  in  the  suburbs  of  Oxford,  founded  by  Edward  tlie  Con 
fessor  at  the  instance,  as  Lambarde  states  in  his  Toporimphiail  Dic- 
tionary, of  his  Queen  Editha,  who  waa  directed  to  the  place  '  by  tb« 
chatterynge  of  pies." 


//•/ 


THE   MILLERES   TALE.  197 

Than  fyl  it  thus,  that  to  the  parisch  cliirche 

Cristes  owen  workes  for  to  wirche,' 

This  goode  wyfwcnt  on  an  haly  flay; 

Hir  foi'heed  schon  as  bright  as  euy  day, 
/lb    So  was  it  waisschen,  whan  sche  leet  hir  werk. 

Now  thcr  was  of  that  chirche  a  parisch  clerk, 

Tlie  which  that  was  i-cleped  Ahsolou. 

Cmlle  was  his  hcer,  and  as  the  gold  it  schou, 

And  strowted  as  a  fan  right  large  and  brood ; 
/J<J    Ful  strcyt  and  evene  lay  his  jolly  schood. 

His  rode  was  reed,  his  eyghen  gray  asgoos, 

With  Powles  wyndowes''  corven  ou  his  schoos. 

In  hosen  reed  he  went  ful  fctusly. 

I-clad  he  was  ful  small  and  propurly, 
/JJf'  Al  in  a  kirtel  of  a  fyn  wachct, 

Schapen  with  goores  in  the  newe  get. 

And  therupon  he  had  a  gay  surplys, 

As  whyt  as  is  the  blosme  upon  the  rys. 

A  mery  chiUP  he  was,  so  God  me  save; 
/^  Wei  couthe  he  lete  blood,  and  clippe  and  schave,* 

And  make  a  chartre  of  lond  and  acquitaunce. 

In  twenty  maners  he  coude  skip  and  daunce, 


'  Ironical. 

-  Perhaps  this  means  that  liis  shoes  were  cut  in  squares  (rather 
lozenges)  like  panes  of  glass.  In  tlie  Cistercian  statutes  the  monks 
are  forbidden  to  wear  cnlcfos  fenegtratos. — T.  ."Mr.  Wright  states 
that  three  paintings  formerly  existing  on  the  walls  of  St.  Stephen's 
chapel,  Westminster,  represented  shoes  of  Chaucer's  time,  which  were 
cut  in  patterns  not  unlike  the  tracery  of  church  windows;  and  that  it 
has  been  conjectured  that  the  phrase  Powks  u-indows  refers  especially 
to  the  rose  window  of  old  St.  Paul's,  which  resembled  the  ornament  on 
one  of  some  beautiful  samples  of  ancient  shoes  preserved  in  tlie 
museum  of  Mr.  C.  Roach  Smith.  Mr.  Wright  gives  cuts  of  these  shoes 
in  his  edition  of  Chaucer,  published  by  the  Percy  Society.  Figures  of 
Buch  shoes  are  not  uncommon. 

3  The  term  child,  as  is  well  known  ever  since  the  publication  of 
ChiUle  Harold,  was  applied  in  the  middle  ages  to  young  men.  The 
hymn  supposed  to  have  been  sung  in  the  fire  by  Shadrach,  Mesliech, 
and  Abediugo,  is  called,  in  the  Hook  of  Common  Prayer,  the  Soug  oj 
th-  Thrie  Chi/dnn.  Cliilde  Waters,  the  Child  of  EUe,  and  other  ex- 
Oinples  Docur  in  Percy's  collection. 

•*  See  ante,  p.  i55i  note  2. 


198  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

After  tlie  scole  of  Oxenforde^  tlio, 
And  with  liis  legges  casten  to  and  fro  ; 
iHiT  And  pleyen  songes  on  a  small  rubible; 

Tliei--to  he  sang  som  tyme  a  lowde  qnynyble.* 
And  as  wel  coude  he  pleye  on  a  giterne. 
In  al  the  toiin  nas  brewhous  ne  taverne 
That  he  ne  visited  with  his  solas, 

Hf'O  Ther  as  that  any  gaylard  tapster  was. 

But  soth  to  say  he  was  somdel  squaymous 
Of  fartyng,  and  of  speche  daungerous. 
This  Absolon,  that  jolly  was  and  gay, 
Goth  with  a  senser  on  the  haly  day, 

/Jli'  Sensing"  the  wyves  of  the  parisch  fast ; 
And  many  a  lovely  look  on  hem  he  cast, 
And  namely  on  this  carpenteres  wyf ; 
To  loke  on  hire  him  thought  a  mery  lyf ; 
Sche  was  so  propre,  sweete,  and  licorous. 

l(/0\  dar  wel  sayn,  if  sche  had  ben  a  mous, 


'  See  ante.,  p.  83,  note  z. 

2  Qiiynyhle  is.  probably,  formed  from  the  verb  quintoire,  to  play  or 
sing  a  part  in  fifths.  The  extra  part,  above  four,  in  the  old  separate 
part-books  is  called  quintus,  the  next  scxtits,  and  so  on.  A  quymjble 
(or  quinible)  may,  therefore,  have  been  a  fifth  (generally  a  high  tenor, 
or  counter  tenor,  which  seems  implied  by  the  expression  '  lowde 
quynyble';)  and  this  view  is  supported  by  the  word  quatrihle,  which 
occurs  in  a  very  early  treatise  on  descant.  A  quynyble  then  means  a 
part  extemporized  a  fifth  above  the  rest ;  a  practice  called  also  by  the 
old  musicians  '  organizing,'  much  practised  by  boys,  and  consequently 
associated  with  youthfulness,  a  sufficient  reason  for  the  parish  clerk  to 
show  off  in  this  manner.  liubible,  or  ribible,  (absurdly  described  by 
Speght  as  a  gittern  <yr  fiddle,)  was,  no  doubt,  the  Arabian  rebcb,  or 
rrbab,  rendered  in  Italian  rebeca;  an  instrument  of  two  strings,  with  a 
finger-board  '  fretted,'  and  played  upon  by  a  bow  ;  in  short,  a  primitive 
violin.  The  yiterne,  or  cittern,  was  a  form  of  guitar,  (the  same  word,) 
each  string  of  which  had  a  duplicate  for  more  rapid  articulation,  as 
well  as  to  augment  the  tone.     It  was  played  upon  by  a  quill. 

•*  It  was  the  custom  for  the  clerks  who  carried  the  censers  to  swing 
them  in  front  of  the  congregation,  so  that  the  perfume  was  diffused 
over  the  whole  church.  Lord  Cloncurry,  in  his  Pcrsoiml  liecollections, 
gives  a  curious  illustration  of  the  jealousy  witli  which  personal  priority 
was  regarded  '  in  administering  the  honours  of  the  censer '  even  in  the 
last  century.  So  in  the  Pcrsime's  Tale  (de  superbid)  among  the  different 
kinds  of  pride  is  reckoned  the  desire  to  '  ben  enctiued,  or  gon  to  the 
offrynge  before  his  neghebore.' 


TUE   MILLERES   TALE.  199 

And  he  a  cat,  he  wold  hir  hent  anoon.* 
Til  is  parisch  clerk,  this  joly  Absolon, 

Hath  in  his  herte  such  a  love  longyiig, 

That  of  no  wyf  ne  took  he  noon  oliryng  ;* 
l(>yYov  curtesy,  he  seyde,  he  wolde  noon. 

The  moone  at  night  ful  cleer  and  In-ightc  schoon, 

And  Absolon  his  giterne  hath  i-tiike, 

For  paramours  he  seyde  he  wold  awake. 

And  forth  he  goth,  jolyf  and  amerous, 
/7^  Til  he  cam  to  the  carpeuteres  hous, 

A  litel  after  the  cok  had  y-crowe, 

And  di-essed  him  up  by  a  schot'  -wyndowo 

That  was  under  the  carpenteres  wal. 

He  syngeth  in  his  voys  gentil  and  smal — 

/  /J*  •  Now,  decre  lady,  if  tlii  wille  be, 

I  praye  yow  that  ye  wol  rewe  on  me.' 

Ful  wel  acordyng  to  his  gyternyng. 

This  carpenter  awook,  and  horde  him  syug, 
And  spak  unto  his  wyf,  and  sayde  anoon, 
/$0  'What  Alisoun,  herestow  not  Absolon, 

»  This  thought  occurs  in  a  less  ridiculous  form  in  the  Border  Miti>- 
rtre&y,  vol.  iii.: — 

'  0  gin  my  love  were  a  pickle  of  wheat, 
And  growing  upon  yon  lily  lea, 
And  I  myself  a  bonny  wee  bird, 

Awa  wi'  tliat  pickle  o'  wheat  I  wad  flee.' 

:  The  money  collected  at  the  offertory  was  formerly  applied  partly  to 
the  maintenance  of  the  ministers  of  the  church  (of  whom  Absolon  was 
an  inferior  one),  as  ajipears  from  the  verses  taken  from  i  Cor.  ix.,  ap- 
pointed in  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer  to  be  read  at  that  part  of  the 
eervice. 

s  This  word  occurs  in  the  beautiful  ballad  of  Clerk  Sounders,  in 
the  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.,  in  a  connexion  which  shows  that  it  cannot 
mean  shut,  aa  Tyrwhitt  supposes  : — 

*  Then  she  hasta'en  a  crystal  wand. 

And  she  has  stroken  her  troth  thereon; 

She  has  given  it  him  out  at  the  shot  window. 

With  mony  a  sad  sigh  and  heavy  groan.' 

A  ^hot  ^rindmc  was,  therefore,  probably  a  sort  of  bow  window,  from 
which  the  inmates  might  shoot  any  one  attempting  to  force  an  intruuc« 
by  the  door,  as  Mr.  Wright  well  obsenes. 


200  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

That  chauntetli  thus  under  oure  boures  "wal  !" 

And  sche  answered  hir  housbond  therwithal, 

*Yis,  God  woot,  Johan,  I  heere  it  every  del.' 
This  passeth  forth  ;  what  wil  ye  bet  than  wel  ? 
pti    Fro  day  to  day  this  joly  Absolon 

So  woweth  hii'e,  that  him  is  wo-bigon. 

He  waketh  al  the  night  and  al  the  day, 

To  kembe  his  lokkes  brode  and  made  him  gay. 

He  woweth  hire  by  mene  and  by  brocage,* 
ifO   And  swor  he  wolde  ben  hir  owne  page. 

He  syngeth  crowyng  as  a  nightyngale; 

And  sent  hire  pyment,  meth,  and  spiced  ale,    . 

And  wafres  pypyng  hoot  out  of  the  gleede  f 

And  for  sche  was  of  toune,  he  profred  meede. 
/  ^if  ^01'  som  folk  wol  be  wonne  for  richesse, 

And  som  for  strokes,  som  for  gentillesse. 

Som  tyme,  to  schewe  his  lightnes  and  maistrye. 

He  pleyeth  Herod*  on  a  scaflFold  hye. 

But  what  avayleth  him  as  in  tliis  caasi 
X,ff^  Sche  so  loveth  this  heende  Nicholas, 

That  Absolon  may  blowe  the  bukkes  horn;* 

He  ne  had  for  al  his  labour  bixt  a  skorn. 

And  thus  sche  maketh  Absolon  hir  ape, 

And  al  his  ernest  torneth  to  a  jape. 

1  The  narl. MS.  reads  houre  smal.    Boure  means  primarily  a  chamber. 

2  Woos  her  by  the  mediation  and  intervention  or  brolcerage  of  com- 
mon acquaintances. 

3  These  were  probably  the  French  gaufrcs  [which  word  is  in  fact  only  a 
corruption  of  the  English  vxtfer. — W.  W.  S.].  They  are  usually  suld  at 
liiirs,  and  are  made  of  a  kind  of  batter  poured  into  an  iron  instrument, 
which  shuts  up  like  a  pair  ol  suufl'ers.  It  is  then  tlirust  into  tlie  lire,  and 
when  it  is  withdrawn  aiid  opened,  the  gatifre,  or  wafer,  is  taken  out  and 
eiten, '  piping  liot  out  of  the  gleede,'  as  liere  dLScribed. 

4  This  is  much  in  character.  The  parish  clerks  always  took  a  prin- 
cipal share  in  the  representation  of  the  mysteries,  and  playing  the  part 
of  Herod  gave  Absolon  an  opportunity  of  showing  himself  off  to  advan- 
tage in  the  kingly  character.  In  the  years  1390  and  1409  tlie  parish 
clerks  of  London  .acted  plays  for  eiglit  days  successively  at  Clerkenwell, 
in  presence  of  most  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  the  kingdom. — See 
WAtiTON,  sect,  xxxiv. 

•i  This,  as  it  appears,  is  equivalent  to  the  phrase  '  to  pipe  in  an  ivy 
leaf.' 


Tin:   MILLERES   TALE.  201 

i^y      Fill  soth  is  this  proverbe,  it  is  no  lye, 
^len  seyn  right  thus  alway,  the  ney  slye 
Maketh  the  forre  Iccf  to  be  lotli.* 
Foi*  though  that  Ahsolon  bo  wood  or  wroth, 
Bycanse  that  he  for  was  from  here  sight, 

^/P  This  Nicholas  hath  stoudon  in  his  light. 
Now  bare  the  wel,  thou  heende  Nicholas, 
For  Absolon  may  wayle  and  synge  alias. 

And  so  bifelle  it  on  a  Satyrday 
This  carpenter  was  gon  to  Osenay, 

3,/d'  And  heende  Nicholas  and  Alisoun 
Acordid  ben  to  this  conclusioun, 
That  Nicholas  schal  schapen  hem  a  wylo 
This  sely  jelous  housbond  to  begyle; 
And  if  so  were  this  game  wente  aright, 

^t^  Sche  schulde  slepe  in  his  arm  al  night, 
For  this  was  hire  desir  and  his  also. 
And  I'ight  anoon,  withouten  wordes  mo, 
This  Nicholas  no  lenger  wold  he  tarye, 
But  doth  ful  softe  into  his  chambur  carye 

2.13'  Both  mete  and  drynke  for  a  day  or  tweye. 
And  to  hir  housbond  bad  hir  for  to  seye, 
If  that  he  axed  after  Nicholas, 
Sche  schulde  saye,  sche  wiste  nat  wher  he  "was ; 
Of  al  that  day  sche  saw  him  nat  with  eye; 

2. 3o  Sche  trowed  he  were  falle  in  som  maladye, 
For  no  cry  that  hir  mayden  cowde  him  calle 
He  nolde  answere,  for  nought  that  may  bifallo. 

Thus  passeth  forth  al  that  ilke  Satyrday, 
That  Nicholas  stille  in  his  charabre  lay, 

Z^^  And  eet,  and  cbank,  and  dode  what  him  Ie?te 
Til  Soneday  the  sonne  was  gon  to  reste. 

This  sely  carpenter  hath  gret  mervaile 
Of  Nicholas,  or  what  thing  may  him  ayle, 

•  Gower  has  this  proverb,  Conf.  Amnnt.  iii.  58  : — 

*  An  olde  sawe  is,  who  tliat  is  slyghe 
In  place  wher  he  may  be  nyghe. 
He  maketh  the  fcrre  leef  loth.* — T. 


202  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

And  seyde,  '  I  am  adrad,  by  seynt  Thomas! 
JL^^    It  stondetli  nat  aright  with  Nicholas; 

God  schilde  that  he  deyde  sodeinly. 

This  world  3£»  now  ful  tykel  sikerly; 

I  saugh  to-day  a  corps  y-born  to  chirche. 

That  now  on  Monday  last  I  saugh  him  wirche. 
IL^y  Go  up,'  quod  he  unto  his  knave,  '  anoon; 

Clepe  at  his  dore,  or  knokke  with  a  stoon; 

Loke  how  it  is,  and  telle  me  boldely.' 

This  knave  goth  him  up  ful  sturdily, 

And  at  the  chambir  dore  whil  he  stood, 
Cyo  He  cryed  and  knokked  as  that  he  were  woodj 

'  What  how?  what  do  ye,  mayster  Nicholay ! 

How  may  ye  slepen  al  this  longe  day?' 

But  al  for  nought,  he  herde  nat  o  word. 

An  hole  he  fond  right  lowe  upon  the  boord, 
2S^  Ther  as  the  cat  was  wont  in  for  to  creepe, 

And  at  that  hole  he  loked  in  ful  deepe^ 

And  atte  laste  he  hadde  of  him  a  sight. 

This  ISTicholas  sat  ever  gapyng  upright, 

As  he  had  loked  on  the  newe  moone. 
tjCrO  Adoun  he  goth,  and  tolde  his  mayster  soone, 

In  what  aray  he  sawh  this  ilke  man. 

This  carpenter  to  blessen^  him  bygan. 

And  seyde,  '  Now  help  us,  seynte  Frideswyde!' 

A  man  woot  litel  what  him  schal  betyde. 
2,^i*  This  man  is  falle  with  his  astronomye 

In  som  woodnesse,  or  in  som  agonye. 

I  thought  ay  wel  how  that  it  schulde  be. 

Men  schulde  nought  knowe  of  Goddes  pryvyt^ 

Ye,  blessed  be  alwey  a  lowed  man, 
ajP  That  nat  but  oonly  his  bileeve  can.' 

'  To  cross  himself. 

-  Seinte  Is  the  feminine  form  of  seint.  St.  Frideswide  was  patroness 
of  a  considerable  priory  at  Oxford,  and  being  a  Saxon  is  invoked  with 
the  more  propriety  by  the  carpenter. — T. 

•*  All  that  he  knew  in  the  way  of  learning  was  his  creed.  Learning 
eonsisted  primarily  in  knowing  Latin,  and  in  this  language  even  poor 
people  were  taught  to  repeat  theii-  credo,  or  beli^. 


THE    MILLERES   TALE.  203 

So  ferde  another  clerk  with  astronomye ; 

lie  walked  in  the  feeldes  for  to  prye 

\j\>»n  the  storres,  what  ther  schulde  bifalle, 

Til  he  was  in  a  marie  pit  i-falle.' 
ij^y  lie  aaugh  nat  that.     But  yet,  by  seint  Thomas! 

Me  rcweth  sore  for  heende  Nicholas; 

He  schal  be  ratyd  of  his  studyyng, 

If  that  I  may,  by  Jhesu  heven  kyng ! 

Gete  me  a  staf,  that  I  may  nnderspore, 
i  fo  Whil  that  thou,  Robyn,  hevest  up  the  dore : 

He  .schal  out  of  his  studyyng.  as  I  gesso.' 

And  to  the  chambir  dore  he  gan  him  dresse. 

His  knave  was  a  strong  karl  for  the  noones, 

And  by  the  hasp  he  liaf  it  up  at  oones; 
iJ^^And  in  the  floor  the  dore  fil  doun  anoon. 

This  Xicholas  sat  stille  as  eny  stoon, 

And  ever  he  gapyd  up-ward  to  the  ejT. 

This  carpenter  wende  he  were  in  de.speir, 

And  hent  him  by  the  schuldres  mightily, 
2,<J^    And  schook  him  harde,  and  cryed  spitously, 

'  What,  Nicholas?  what  how,  man?  loke  adoun; 

Awake,  and  thynk  on  Cristes  passioun. 

I  crowche  the  from  elves  and  from  wightes.' 

Thei'with  the  night-spel"  soyde  he  anon  rightes, 
1  ^J'  On  the  foiu-e  halves  of  the  hous  aboute. 

And  on  the  threisshfold  of  the  dore  withoute. 

1  He  alludes  to  a  story  told  of  Tliales  by  Plato  in  his  Thetetetiis,  but 
our  author  probably  read  it  in  the  C<^ito  Novelle  Antiche.     N.  36. — T. 

-  These  spells  were  probably  derived  from  the  ancient  exorcisms 
common  to  the  Jewish  and  Christian  churches. — (Acts  xix.  i3.)  When 
u.<iMi  by  the  vulgar  they  generally  consisted  of  a  string  of  unmeaning 
words  of  imposing  sound.  There  is  an  example  in  iear,  Act  iii.,3C.  iv. : — 
'  St.  Withold  footed  thrice  the  wold, 
He  met  the  night-niare  and  her  nine-fold, 
Bid  her  alight  and  her  troth  plight, 
And  aroint  tiiee,  witch  1  aroint  thee  !' 
Tvrwhitt,  for  nyghtes  v-rm;/.  re.ndt  niyliles  mare  (eeo  next  page).    A  curiou.s 
'si>eir  in  Anglo-Sa.xon,  rtscmliling  this  is  given  in  Uaskk'S  Urammar  and 
Thorpe's  Amilecta.    [Dr.  U   .Murris  (Aldine  ed.)  re.ids  Fro  nightes  mare 
wnje  then  v.'itk  /'nf-r/iw/'/',  i.e.  '  defend  the<\'  whieh,  tliuugh  speculative,  is 
ttie  only  iutelligible  reading  that  haa  been  suggested.] 


204  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

*  Lord  Jhesu  Crist,  and  seynte  Benediglit, 
Blesse  this  hous  from  every  wikkede  wight, 
Fro  nyghtes  verray,  the  white  Pater-noster; 
J  CV  Wher  wonestow  now,  seynte  Petres  soster]' 
And  atte  laste,  heende  Nicholas 
Gan  for  to  syke  sore,  and  seyde,  *  Alias ! 
Schal  al  the  world  be  lost  eftsones  nowf 
This  carpenter  answerde,  '  What  seystow? 

J  ^y  What?  thenk  on  God,  as  we  doon,  men  that  swinke.' 
This  Nicholas  answerde,  '  Fette  me  dryuke ; 
And  after  wol  I  speke  in  pryvytS 
Of  certeyn  thing  that  toucheth  the  and  me ; 
I  wol  telle  it  non  other  man  certayn.' 

J  /O    This  carpenter  goth  forth,  and  comth  agayn, 
And  brought  of  mighty  ale  a  large  quart. 
Whan  ech  of  hem  y-dronken  had  his  part, 
This  Nicholas  his  dore  gan  to  schitte, 
And  dede  this  carpenter  doun  by  him  sitte, 

J/>*  And  seide,  '  Johan,  myn  host  ful  leve  and  deere, 
Thou  schalt  upon  thy  troiithe  swere  me  heere. 
That  to  no  wight  thou  schalt  this  counsel  wreye ; 
For  it  is  Cristes  counsel  that  I  seye. 
And  if  thou  telle  it  man,  thou  art  forlore  ; 

^  JU>  For  this  vengaunce  thou  schalt  han  therfore, 
That  if  thou  wreye  me,  thou  scl:alt  be  wood.' 
'  Nay,  Crist  forbede  it  for  his  holy  blood !' 
Quod  tho  this  sely  man,  '  I  am  no  labbe. 
Though  I  it  say,  I  am  nought  leef  to  gabbe. 

^yif  Say  what  thou  wolt,  I  schal  it  never  telle 

To  cliild  ne  wyf,  by  him  that  harwed  helle!'^ 


•  It  was  the  prevailing  belief  in  the  middle  ages,  founded  on  !  Peter, 
lii.  19,  iv.  (5,  and  Coloss.  ii.  iS,  that  our  Lord,  when  he  descended  into  the 
place  of  departed  spirits,  preached  the  Gospel  to  those  who  before  His 
incarnation,  had  served  God  as  far  as  their  imperfect  knowledge  enabled 
them ;  tliat  he  thus  made  them  partakers  of  the  benefits  of  the  atone- 
ment, and  rescued  tlicm  from  the  prison  in  wliicli  they  had  been  con- 
fined, called  the  ;/m6«s;3ayr«m.  This  was  called  the  '  Harrowing  of 
Hell,'  of  which  tliere  is  a  beautiful  etching  in  Albert  Diirer's  Der  Kleine 
Passimi.  '  In  the  year  14S7,'  says  Warton, '  while  Henry  YII.  kept  his 
residence  at  the  Castle  of  Winchester,  on  occasion  of  the  birth  of  I'rince 


THE   MILLERES   TALE.  205 

'  Now,  Johan,'  quod  Nicholas,  '  I  wol  not  lye : 
I  have  i-tbiindo  in  inyn  a-strologye, 
As  I  have  loked  in  tlie  mooue  bright, 

33^  That  now  on  Monday  next,  at  quarter  night, 
Schal  talle  a  reyn,  and  that  so  wilde  and  wood, 
That  halt' so  gret  was  never  Noes  flood. 
This  worldc,'  he  seyde,  '  more  than  an  hour 
Schal  beu  i-dreynt,  so  hidous  is  the  schour: 

dSy  Thus  schal  mankyndo  drench,  and  leese  his  lyf.' 
This  carpenter  answered,  '  Alias,  my  wyf! 
And  shal  she  drenche?  alias,  myn  Alisoun!' 
For  sorwe  of  this  he  fel  almost  adoun. 
And  seyde,  *  Is  ther  no  remedy  in  this  caas?' 

tU^   '  Why  yis,  for  Gode,'  quod  lieende  Nicholas; 

*  If  thou  wolt  worken  aftir  loi'e  and  reed ; 
Thou  maist  nought  workc  after  thin  owen  heed- 
For  thus  seith  Salomon,  that  was  ful  trewe, 
Werke  by  counseil,  and  thou  schalt  nat  rewe.* 

3  i/jT  And  if  thou  woi-ken  wolt  by  good  couusail, 
I  undertake,  withouten  mast  and  sail, 
Yet  schal  I  saven  hir,  and  the,  and  me. 
Hastow  nat  herd  how  saved  was  Noe, 
Whan  that  our  Lord  had  wax-ned  him  biforn, 
That  al  the  world  with  watir  schulde  be  lorn?' 
'  Yis,'  quod  this  carpenter,  '  ful  yore  ago,' 
'  Hastow  nought  herd,'  quod  Nicholas,  '  also 
The  sorwe  of  Noe  with  his  felaschipe. 
That  he  hadde  or  he  gat  his  wyf^  to  schipe? 

Arthur,  on  a  Sunday,  during  the  time  of  dinner,  he  was  entertained 
with  a  relisioiis  drama  called  Chrixli  (lesctiitnis  nd  inleros,  or  Christ's 
descent  into  hell '  Kepi-'tr.  Priorat.  S.  Swithin.  Winton.  3IS.  He  also 
pive*,  from  the  Ilarl.  MSS.,  a  poem  on  the  same  subject  (since  printed 
by  llr.  llalliwell),  beginning — 

*  AUe  hcrkneth  to  me  now ; 

A  strif  woUe  I  tellen  ou 

Of  .Jhisu  ant  of  Sathan 

Tho  .Ihesu  wes  to  helle  y-gan.' 
The  first  edition  of  tlie  Thirty-nine  Articles  asserted  this  doctrine  ;  but 
It  was  afterwards  thoiipht  better  to  leave  the  members  of  the  Church 
of  England  to  their  liberty  in  interpreting  a  text  of  Scripture. 
1  I'rov.  ix.  14. 

•  This  ia  probably  an  allusion  to  a  supposed  dispute  between  Noah 


206  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Him  liadde  wel  lever,  I  dar  wel  undertake, 
At  tliilke  tyme,  than  alle  liis  wetheres  blake, 
That  sche  hadde  had  a  schij?  hirself  allone. 
And  therfore  wostow  what  is  best  to  doone? 
This  axeth  hast,  and  of  an  hasty  thing 
Men  may  nought  preche  or  make  taryyng. 
Anon  go  gete  us  fast  into  this  in 
A  knedyng  trowh  or  elles  a  kemelyn, 
For  ech  of  us ;  but  loke  that  they  be  large. 
In  which  that  we  may  rowe  as  in  a  barge, 
And  have  therin  vitaille  sufEsant 
But  for  o  day;  fy  on  the  remenant; 
The  water  schal  aslake  and  gon  away 
Aboute  prime  upon  the  nexte  day. 
But  Eobyn  may  not  wite  of  this,  thy  knave, 
Ne  ek  thy  mayde  Gille  I  may  not  save ; 
Aske  nought  why;  for  though  thou  aske  me, 
I  wol  nat  tellen  Goddes  pryvete. 
Sufficeth  the,  but  if  that  thy  witt  madde,^ 
To  have  as  gret  a  grace  as  Noe  hadde. 

and  his  wife,  as  represented  in  tlie  religious  plays  or  mysteries  (see  a  nfc, 
p.  1 88,  note  3),  of  which  the  following  specimen  is  taken  from  :Mr. 
AVright's  edition  of  the  Chester  Whitsun  Playes,  printed  for  the  Shak- 
speare  Society : — 

2fbe.  Wife,  come  in,  why  standes  thou  there  ? 
Thou  art  ever  froward,  that  dare  I  swere. 
Come  in  on  Godes  halfe  ;  tyme  it  were. 
For  fear  lest  that  we  drowne. 
Wife.  Yea,  sir,  set  up  your  saile, 

And  rowe  forth  with  evil  haile, 
For  withouten  anie  faile, 

I  wil  not  oute  of  this  towne ; 
But  I  have  my  gossepes  everich  one 
One  foote  further  I  \vil  not  gone  : 
They  shall  not  drown,  by  St.  John, 

And  I  may  save  their  life. 
They  loved  me  full  well,  by  Christ ; 
But  thou  will  let  them  into  thy  chist, 
Ellis  rowe  forth,  Noe,  when  thou  list, 
And  get  thee  a  newe  wife. 
At  last  Sem,  with  the  assistance   of  his  bretliren,  fetches  her  on  board 
by  torce;  and  upon  Koah's  welcoming  her,  she  gives  him  a  box  oq 
the  car.  ■  15e  mad ;  madde  is  here  a  verb. 


TUE    MILLERES   TALE.  207 

Tliy  wyf  sclial  I  wel  saven  out  of  doute. 

Go  now  thy  wey,  and  speed  the  heer  aboute : 

And  wliaii  tliDU  htist  for  liir,  and  tlie,  and  me, 

I-gotten  lis  this  kuedyng  tiibbcs  thre, 

Tlian  sch  lit  thou  hange  hem  in  the  roof  ful  hie, 

That  no  man  of  oure  purveaunce  aspye ; 

And  whau  thou  thus  liast  doou  as  I  have  seyd, 

And  hast  our  vitaillo  faire  in  hem  y-leyd, 

And  eek  an  ax  to  smyte  the  corde  a-two 

Whan  that  the  water  cometh,  that  we  may  goo, 

And  breke  an  hole  an  hye  upon  the  gable 

Into  the  gardyn-ward  over  the  stable, 

That  we  may  frely  passen  forth  oure  way, 

Whan  that  the  grete  schour  is  gon  away ; 

Than  schaltow  swymme  as  mery,  T  undertake, 

As  doth  the  white  doke  aftir  hir  drake; 

Than  wol  I  clepe,  How  Alisoun,  how  Jon,' 

Beoth  merye,  for  the  flood  passeth  anon. 

And  thou  wolt  seye,  Heyl,  maister  Nicholay, 

Good  morn,  I  see  the  wel,  for  it  is  day. 

And  than  schul  we  be  lordes  al  oure  lyf 

Of  al  the  world,  as  Noe  and  his  wyf. 

Lut  of  00  thing  I  warne  the  ful  right, 

Tm  wel  a\'ysed  of  that  ilke  uyght, 

That  we  ben  enti'ed  into  schippes  boord, 

That  non  of  us  ne  speke  not  a  word, 

Ne  clepe  ne  crye,  but  be  in  his  preyere. 

For  it  is  Goddes  owne  heste  deere. 

Thy  ^vyf  and  thou  most  haugen  fer  a-twyune, 

i'or  that  bitwixe  you  schal  be  no  synne,* 

'  Tlie  familiar  appellation  for  Jolian. 
•  It  was  part  of  the  moral  theology  of  that  age  that  matrimony 
almost  necosisarily  involved  the  commission  of,  at  least,  venial  sin. — 
Seo  Dens'  Tlieology.  In  the  Personc's  Tale  (remedium  contra  luxiiriam) 
this  doctrine  is  stated.  '  The  trewe  eflect  of  mariage  clensith  fornica- 
cipun,  and  replcnisciiith  holy  chirche  of  good  lynage;  for  that  is  the 
ende  of  mariage,  and  it  chaungeth  dedtij  synne  into  venijal  fynne  beticUe 
fum  thatlK-n  wcddal.'  This  almost  seems  a  form  of  .'Maniclieism,  a  belief 
that  matter,  and  therefore  the  body,  is  essentially  evil,  which,  while  con- 
demned in  terms  by  the  Church,   yet   became   deeply-roottd   in  her 


208  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

No  more  in  lokyng  than  tlier  sclial  in  dede. 
This  ordynaunce  is  seyd ;  ^  so  God  me  speede. 
To  morwe  at  night,  whan  men  ben  aslepe, 
Into  our  kiiedyng  tubbes  wol  we  crepe, 
And  sitte  ther,  abydyng  Goddes  grace. 
Go  now  thy  way,  I  have  no  longer  space 
To  make  of  thirf  no  lenger  sermonyng ; 
Men  seyn  thus,  send  the  wyse,  and  sey  no  thing; 
Thou  art  so  wys,  it  needeth  nat  the  teche. 
Go,  save  oure  lyf.  and  that  I  the  byseche. 
This  seely  carpenter  goth  forth  his  way, 
Ful  ofte  he  seyd,  '  Alias,  and  weylaway ! ' 
And  to  his  wyf  he  told  his  pryvete, 
And  sche  was  war,  and  knew  it  bet  than  he, 
What  al  this  queinte  caste  was  for  to  seye. 
But  natheles  sche  ferd  as  sche  schuld  deye. 
And  seyde,  '  Alks !  go  forth  thy  way  anoon, 
Help  us  to  skape,  or  we  be  ded  echon. 
I  am  thy  verray  trewe  wedded  wyf; 
Go,  deere  spouse,  and  help  to  save  oure  lyf.' 
Lo,  which  a  gret  thing  is  affeccioun !  * 
A  man  may  dye  for  ymaginacioun, 
So  deepe  may  im})ressioun  be  take. 
This  seely  carpenter  bygynneth  quake; 
Him  thenketh  verrayly  that  he  may  se 
Noes  flood  come  walldng  as  the  see 
To  drenchen  Alisoun,  liis  hony  deere. 
He  weepeth,  wayleth,  maketh  sory  cheere, 
He  siketh,  with  ful  many  a  sory  swough. 
And  goth,  and  geteth  him  a  knedyng  trough, 

theology.  Of  this  doctrine  Coleridge  observes,  in  his  Table-Talk,  'Even 
the  best  aiul  most  enliglitened  men  in  Romanist  countries  attach  a  no- 
tion of  impurity  to  the  marriage  of  a  clergyman  [he  might  have  carried 
it  farther] ;  and  can  such  a  fceUng  be  without  its  effect  on  wedded  life 
in  general?  Impossibh- !  and  the  morals  of  both  sexes  in  Spain, Italy, 
France,  &c.,  prove  it  abundantly.'  The  doctrine  was  probably  founded 
on  Matt.  xix.  13,  Exod.  xix.  15,  i  Sam.  xxi.  4,  i  Cor.  vU.,  and  forms 
Die  key  to  the  eremitic  and  monastic  system. 

'  An  alTectatiouof  the  oracular  solemnity  assumed  by  fortune-tellers. 

-  Fancy. 


THE   MILLEIIKS   TALE.  209 

And  after  that  a  tiibbe,  and  a  kymelyn, 

And  pryvely  he  sent  houi  to  his  in, 

And  heug  hem  in  the  i-oof  in  piyvete. 

His  owne  hond  than  made  laddres  thre, 

To  clymben  by  tlie  ronges  and  the  stalkes 

Unto  the  tubbes  hangyng  in  the  balkes ; 

And  hem  vitayled,  bothe  trough  and  tubbe, 

With  breed  and  cheese,  with  good  ale  in  a  jubbe, 

Suffisyng  right  ynougli  as  for  a  day. 

But  or  tliat  lie  had  maad  al  tliis  an-ay, 

He  sent  his  knave  and  eek  his  wenche  also 

Upon  his  needo  to  Londone  for  to  go, 

And  on  the  Monday,  whan  it  drew  to  nyght, 

He  schette  his  dore,  withouten  candel  light. 

And  dressed  al  this  thing  as  it  schuld  be. 

And  schortly  up  they  clumben  alle  thre. 

They  seten  stille  wel  a  forlong  way : 

*  Now,  Pater  noster,  clum,'  ^  quod  Nicholay, 

And  '  clum,'  quod  Jon,  and  '  clum,'  quod  Alisoun. 

This  carpenter  seyd  his  devocioun, 

And  stille  he  sitt,  and  byddeth^  his  prayere, 

Ay  waytyng  on  the  reyn,  if  he  it  heere. 

The  deede  sleep,  for  verray  bus}Tiesse, 

Fil  on  this  carpenter,  right  as  I  gesse, 

Abowten  courfew"  tjTiie.  or  litel  more. 

For  travail  of  his  goost  he  groneth  sore, 


'  Tyrwliitt  says  this  word  is  derived  from  the  Saxon,  clumian,  to 
miuter.  Clum,  however,  seems  to  have  meant  merely  silence,  the  sens* 
in  which  it  appears  to  be  used  in  the  text. 

-  To  bid  is  to  pray,  and  bmd  is  a  prayer  (German,  6i7?en),  hence  the 
old  expression  for  saying  tl:e  English  prayer  before  the  sermon  was, 
biiliUh'j  the  beads. 

■'  It  is  generally  supposed  that  the  origin  of  the  curfew  was  an  enact- 
ment of  Wilham  tlie  Conqueror ;  but  if  Feshall  (Ilitt.  of  City  of  Oxford, 
\>.  177)  is  to  be  believed,  it  is  of  much  earlier  date.  He  says,  '  The 
custom  of  ringing  the  bell  at  Carfax  every  night  at  eight  o'clock  (called 
ntrfeii:  bcU,  or  cover-fire  boll)  was  by  order  oj  King  Aliral,  the  restorer  of 
our  University,"  &c.  TIkio  are  indications  in  Shakespeare  (.Romeo  and 
Jiitiet,  iv.  4),  and  in  the  local  histories,  that  there  were  two  bells,  one  at 
eight  in  the  evening  (properly  called  the  citrfetc),  and  another  at  dawn, 
to  which  the  name  was  improperly  applied. 

VOL.  I.  p 


210  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

And  eft  he  roiiteth,  for  his  heed  myslay. 
Doun  of  the  hxddir  stalketh  Nicholay, 
And  Alisoun  ful  softe  adoun  hir  spedde. 
Withouten  wordes  mo  they  goon  to  bedde; 
Ther  as  the  carpenter  was  wont  to  lye, 
Ther  was  the  revel  and  the  melodye. 
And  thus  lith  Alisoun  and  Nicholas, 
In  busynesse  of  myrthe  and  of  solas, 
Till  that  the  belles  of  laudes^  gan  to  rynge, 
And  freres  in  the  chauncel  gan  to  synge. 

This  parissch  clerk,  this  amerous  Absolon, 
That  is  for  love  so  harde  and  woo  bygon, 
Upon  the  Monday  was  at  Osenay 
With  company,  him  to  desporte  and  play; 
And  axed  upon  caas^  a  cloysterer 
Ful  pi-y^^ely  after  the  carpenter  ; 
And  he  drough  him  apai-te  out  of  the  chirche, 
And  sayde,  '  Nay,  I  say  him  nat  here  wirche 
Syn  Satirday :  I  trow  that  he  be  went 
For  tymber,  ther  our  abbot  hath  him  sent. 
For  he  is  wont  for  tymber  for  to  goo, 
And  dwellen  at  the  Graunge^  a  day  or  tuo. 
Or  elles  he  is  at  his  hous  cei'tayn. 
Wher  that  he  be,  I  can  nat  sothly  sayn.' 

This  Absolon  ful  joly  was  and  light. 
And  thoughte,  '  Now  is  tyme  wake  al  night, 
For  sikerly  I  sawh  him  nought  styryng 
Aboute  his  dore,  syn  day  bigan  to  spryng. 

'  Lauds  was  a  short  service  sung  immediately  after  matins,  which  last, 
in  religious  houses, began  (or  ought  to  have  begun)  to  be  sung  at  midnight, 
and  could  hardly  have  been  concluded  in  less  than  two  hours  :  allowing, 
therefore,  a  short  interval  for  ringing  the  bells,  the  time  indicated  would 
be  between  two  and  three  o'clock. 

2  By  chance,  as  it  wore. 

s  Grange  is  a  French  word,  meaning  properly  a  barn,  and  was  ap- 
plied to  outlying  farms  belonging  to  the  abbeys.  The  manual  labour 
on  these  farms  was  performed  by  an  inferior  class  of  monks,  called  lay- 
brothers,  who  were  excused  from  many  of  the  requirements  of  the  mo- 
nastic rule  (see  Flcury,  Eccles.  Hist.),  but  they  were  superintended  by 
the  monks  themselves,  who  were  allowed  occasionally  to  spend  some 
days  at  the  Grange  for  this  purpose. — See  Schipnianncs  TtUe. 


Tim    MILLERES    TALE.  211 

So  mote  I  thiy\'e,  I  schal  at  cokkes  crowe 

Ful  pryvely  go  kuokke  at  his  wyndowe, 

That  stant  ful  lowe  upon  liis  bowrea  wal ; 

To  Alisouu  tliau  wol  I  tellen  al 

jMy  love-longyug ;  for  yet  1  schal  not  mysse 

That  atte  leate  wey  I  schal  hir  kisse. 

Som  maner  comfoi-t  schal  I  liave,  pai-fay  ! 

My  mouth  hath  icchud  al  this  longe  day; 

That  is  a  signe  of  kissyng  atte  leste. 

Al  nyght  I  mette  eek  I  was  at  a  feste. 

Therl'ore  I  wol  go  slepe  an  hour  or  tweye, 

And  al  the  night  than  wol  I  wake  and  pleye.' 

Whan  tliat  the  firste  cok  hath  crowe,  aiioon 

Up  ryst  this  jolyf  lover  Absolon, 

And  him  arrayeth  gay,  at  poynt  devys. 

But  fii-st  he  cheweth  gi'eyn  and  lycoris, 

To  sniellen  swete,  or  he  hadde  kempt  his  hecre. 

Under  his  tunge  a  trewe  love  he  beere, 

For  therby  wende  he  to  be  gracious. 

He  rometh  to  the  carpenteres  hous, 

And  stille  he  stant  imder  the  schot  wj'ndowe ; 

Unto  his  brest  it  rauglit,  it  was  so  lowe  ; 

And  softe  he  cowhith  with  a  semysoun  : 

'What  do  ye,  honycomb,  swete  Alisoun'? 

My  fayre  bryd,  my  swete  cynamome, 

Awake,  lemman  myn,  and  speketh  to  me, 

Ful  litel  thynke  ye  upon  m}'  wo, 

That  for  youre  love  1  swelte  ther  I  go. 

No  wonder  is  if  that  I  swelte  and  swete, 

I  morne  as  doth  a  lamb  after  the  tete. 

I-wis,  lemman,  I  have  such  love-longyng, 

That  like  a  turtil  trewe  is  my  moomyng. 

I  may  not  ete  more  than  a  mayde.' 

'  Go  fro  the  wyndow,  jakke  fool,'  sche  sayde; 
'As  lielp  me  God,  it  wol  not  be,  compame.' 
I  love  another,  and  elles  were  I  to  blame, 

'  Compame  Is  used  by  poetic  licence  for  cmnpaine,  companion,  witli 
the  force  oi friend,  or  nehjhbour. 


212  THE    CAyTERBURY   TALES. 

Wei  bet  than  the,  by  Jhesii,  Absolon. 

Go  forth  thy  wey,  or  I  wol  cast  a  stoon ; 

And  let  me  slepe,  a  twenty  devel  way !' 

'  Alias  !'  quod  Absolon,  '  and  weylaway ! 

That  trewe  love  was  ever  so  ylle  bysett ; 

Thanne  kisseth  me,  syn  it  may  be  no  bett, 

For  Jesus  love,  and  for  the  love  of  me.' 

•  Wilt  thou  than  go  thy  wey  therwith  f  quod  sche. 

'  Ye,  certes,  lemman,'  quod  tliis  Absolon. 

'  Than  mak  the  redy,'  quod  sche,  '  I  come  anon.' 

This  Absolon  doun  sette  him  on  his  knees, 

And  seide,  '  I  am  a  lord  at  alle  degrees  ; 

For  after  this  I  hope  ther  cometh  more  ; 

Lemman,  thy  grace,  and,  swete  bryd,  thyn  ore.'  * 

The  wyndow  sche  undyd,  and  that  in  hast ; 

'  Have  doon,'  quod  sche, '  com  of,  and  speed  the  fast, 

Lest  that  our  neygheboures  the  aspye.' 

This  Absolon  gan  wipe  his  mouth  ful  drye. 

Derk  Avas  the  night  as  picche  or  as  a  cole, 

Out  atte  wyndow  putte  sche  hir  hole  : 

And  Absolon  him  fel  no  bet  ne  wers. 

But  with  his  mouth  he  kist  hir  naked  ers 

Ful  savorly.     Whan  he  was  war  of  this, 

Abak  he  sterte,  and  thought  it  was  amys, 

For  wel  he  wist  a  womman  hath  no  berd. 

He  felt  a  thing  al  rough  and  long  i-herd, 

And  seyde,  '  Fy,  alias  !  what  have  T  do  f 

'  Te-hee  !'  quod  sche,  and  clapt  the  wyndow  to  ; 

And  Absolon  goth  forth  a  sory  paas. 

'  A  berd,  a  berd  !'  quod  heende  Nicholas  ; 

'  By  Goddes  corps,  this  game  goth  fair  and  wel.' 

This  seely  Absolon  herd  every  del, 

1  Ore  is  'favour.'  Thus,  in  a  love  song  of  the  reign  of  Edward  I., 
printed  by  Mr.  Wright  iu  his  volume  of  Lyric  tocti-y,  published  by  tlie 
Percy  Society: — 

'  Ich  haue  loued  al  this  yerthat  y  may  loue  na  more 
Ich  haue  siked  moni  syk,  kmmon,for  thin  ore.' 


THE    MILLEUES    TALE.  213 

And  on  his  lippe  he  gan  for  angir  hyte; 
And  to  himsflf  he  soyde,  '  I  schid  the  quyte.' 

Who  lubbith  now,  who  frotcth  now  his  lippes 
With  dust,  with  sand,  with  straw,  with  clot-h,  with 

chippo^s 
But  Absolon  ?  that  seith  ful  ofte, '  Alias, 
!My  soule  bytake  I  unto  Sathanas  ! 
But  me  were  lever  than  alle  this  toun,'  quod  he, 

*  Of  this  dispit  awroken  for  to  be. 

Alias  !'  quod  he,  '  alias  !  I  nadde  bleynt !' 

His  hoote  love  was  cold,  and  al  i-queint. 

For  fix)  that  tyme  that  he  had  kist  her  crs, 

Of  pai'aniours  ne  sctte  he  uat  a  kers. 

For  ho  was  helyd  of  his  maledye  ; 

Ful  ofte  paramours  he  gan  dcffye, 

And  wept  as  doth  a  child  that  is  i-bete. 

A  soft  paas  went  he  over  the  strcte 

Unto  a  smyth,  men  clcpith  daun  Gerveys, 

That  in  his  forge  smythcd  plowh-harneys  ; 

He  schai'pcth  schar  and  cultre  bysily. 

This  Absolon  knokketh  al  esily, 

And  seyde,  '  Undo,  Gerveys,  and  that  anoon.' 

'  What,  who  art  thou  V     '  It  am  I  Absolon.' 

'  What  ]     Absolon,  what  ]     Cristes  swete  tree  ! 

W^hy  ryse  ye  so  rathe  1  benedicite, 

What  eyleth  you  'i  some  gay  gurl,  God  it  woot. 

Hath  brought  you  thus  upon  the  veryferot ; 

By  seinte  Noet  !^  ye  wot  wel  what  I  mene.' 

This  Absolon  ne  roughte  nat  a  bene 

Of  al  his  ploye,  no  word  agayn  he  gaf ; 

For  he  hadde  more  tow  on  his  distaf ' 

Than  Gerveys  knew,  and  seyde,  *  Freend  so  deere, 

That  bote  cultre  in  the  chymney  heere 

•  St.  Neot  was  a  Saxon  saint,  and  therefore  appropriately  invoked 
hy  tlie  blacksmith. 

^  He  had  other  business  to  think  of.  The  same  expression  is  used 
by  Froi«sart,  as  quoted  by  Tyrwliiit— '  //  aura  en  irej  ttmps  autre* 
ai loupes  en  sa  quuwUie.' 


214  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

As  lene  it  me,  T  have  therwith  to  doone ; 

I  wol  it  bring  agayn  to  the  ful  soone.' 

Gerveys  answerde,  '  Certes,  were  it  gold, 

Or  in  a  poke  nobles  al  nntold, 

Ye  schul  him  have,  as  I  am  trewe  smj^th. 

Ey,  Cristas  fote  !^  what  wil  ye  do  therwith !' 

'  Therof,'  quod  Absolon,  *  be  as  be  may ; 

I  schal  wel  telle  it  the  to  morwe  day;' 

And  caughte  the  cultre  by  the  colde  stele. 

Ful  soft  out  at  the  dore  he  gan  it  stele, 

And  wente  unto  the  carpenteres  wal. 

He  cowheth  first,  and  knokketh  thenvithal 

Upon  the  wyndow,  right  as  he  dede  er. 

This  Alisoun  answerde,  '  Who  is  ther 

Tliat  knokketh  so  1     I  warant  it  a  theef.' 

'  Why  nay,'  quod  he,  '  God  woot,  my  sweete  leef, 

I  am  thyn  Absolon,  o  my  derlyng. 

Of  gold,'  quod  he,  *  I  have  the  brought  a  ryng ; 

My  mooder  gaf  it  me,  so  God  me  save  ! 

Ful  fyn  it  is,  and  therto  wel  i-gi-ave  ; 

This  -wol  I  give  the,  if  thou  me  kisse.' 

This  Nicholas  was  rise  for  to  pysse, 

And  thought  he  wold  amenden  al  the  jape, 

He  schulde  kisse  his  ers  or  that  he  shape. 

And  up  the  wyndow  dyde  he  hastily, 

And  out  his  ers  putteth  he  pryvely 

Over  the  buttok,  to  the  haunche  bon. 

And  therwith  spak  tliis  clerk,  this  Absolon, 

'  Spek,  sweete  bryd,  I  wot  nat  wher  thou  art.' 

This  Nicholas  anon  let  flee  a  fart, 

As  gret  as  it  had  ben  a  thundir  dent. 

And  with  that  strook  he  was  almost  i-blent ; 

And  he  was  redy  with  his  yren  hoot, 

And  Nicholas  amid  the  ers  he  smoot. 


'  This  strange  profanity  of  swearing  by  different  parts  of  the  Re- 
deemer's body  has  a  counterpart  in  the  devotions  addressed  to  tliein, 
'J  liis  particular  oath  may  be  considered  appropriate  to  the  blacksmith, 
part  of  whose  business  consisted  in  shoeing  horses. 


Tin;    MILLEKES   TALE.  -16 

Ot  goth  the  skyn  an  hande-brede  aboute, 

The  hoote  cultre  brente  so  his  toute  ; 

And  for  the  smert  he  wonde  for  to  dye  ; 

As  lie  were  wood,  anon  he  gan  to  crye, 

•  Help,  watir,  watir,  lielp,  for  Goddes  herte  !' 

This  carpenter  out  of  his  slumber  sterte, 

And  herd  on  crye  watir,  as  he  wer  wood, 

And  thou'dit,  '  Alhus,  now  cometh  Noes  flood  !' 

He  sit  him  up  withoute  wordes  mo, 

And  with  his  ax  he  smot  the  corde  a-two  ; 

And  doun  he  goth  ;  he  fond  nowthir  to  selle* 

No  breed  ne  ale,  til  he  com  to  the  sella 

Upon  the  floor,  and  ther  aswoun  lie  lay. 

Up  styrt  hir  Alisoun,  and  Nicholay, 

And  cryden,  '  out  and  harrow  !'  in  the  strete. 

The  neyghebours  bothe  smal  and  grete, 

In  ronuen,  for  to  gauren  on  this  man, 

That  yet  aswowne  lay,  bothe  pale  and  wan ; 

For  with  the  fal  he  brosten  had  his  arm. 

But  stond  he  muste  to  his  owne  harm, 

For  whan  he  spak,  he  was  anon  born  doun 

With  heende  Nicholas  and  Alisoun. 

They  tolden  every  man  that  he  was  wood  ; 

He  was  agast  and  feerd  of  Noes  flood 

Thurgh  fantasie,  that  of  his  vanite 

He  hadde  i-bought  him  knedyng  tubljes  thre, 

And  hadde  hem  lianged  in  the  roof  above  ; 

And  that  he  preyed  hem  for  Goddes  love 

To  sitten  in  the  I'oof  ^^ar  compaignye. 

The  folk  gan  lawhen  at  his  fantasye  ; 

Into  the  roof  they  kyken,  and  they  gape, 

And  tome  al  his  harm  into  a  jape. 

For  whatsoever  the  carpenter  answerde, 

It  was  for  nought,  no  man  his  resoun  herde, 

I  He  found  no  business  or  advantage  to  stop  him,  till,  &e.     Tyrwhitl 
quotcii  a  sixuilar  pliraae  from  the  Fabliaux,  torn,  ii.,  p.  aSi: — 
'  Ainc  tant  come  il  mist  ii.  dcsccndre, 
£ie  truuva  point  dc  pain  ^  VL-udre.' 


216  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Witli  otliis  greet  lie  was  so  sworn  adoun, 
That  lie  was  holden  wood  in  ai  the  toun. 
For  every  clerk  anon  right  heeld  with  othir ; 
They  seyde,  '  The  man  was  wood,  my  leeve  brother;' 
And  every  man  gan  lawhen  at  his  stryf. 
Thus  swyved  was  the  carpenteres  wyf 
For  al  his  kepyng  and  his  gelonsye ; 
And  Absolon  hath  kist  hir  nethir  ye ; 
And  Nicholas  is  skaldid  in  his  towte. 
This  tale  is  doon,  and  God  save  al  the  route. 


THE  PROLOGE  OF  THE  EEEVE. 

WHAN  folk  hadde  lawhen  of  this  nyce  caas 
Of  Absolon  and  heende  Nicholas, 
Dyverse  folk  dyversely  they  seyde, 
But  for  the  moste  part  they  lowh  and  pleyde  ; 
Ne  at  this  tale  I  sawh  no  man  him  greve. 
But  it  were  oonly  Osewald  the  Beeve. 
Bycause  he  was  of  carpentrye  craft,^ 
A  litel  ire  in  his  herte  is  laft ; 
He  gan  to  grucche  and  blamed  it  a  lite. 
'  So  theek,'^  quod  he,  '  ful  wel  coude  I  the  quyte 
With  bleryng  of  a  prowd  mylleres  ye/ 
If  that  me  luste  speke  of  ribaudye. 
But  yk  am  old  ;  me  list  not  pley  for  age  ; 
Gi-as  tyme  is  doon,  my  foddir  is  now  forage.* 


'  There  appears  to  have  been  a  strong  esiyrit  de  corps  amonj;  fellow- 
craftsmen  in  the  middle  ages,  arising  from  the  necessity  of  combination 
for  mutual  protection  at  a  time  when  the  laws  were  weak.  Hence  the 
guiUU  and  confraternities  then  so  prevalent. 

-  Put  for  so  thee  ich,  so  may  I  thrive.  Ich,  which  is  also  the  German 
for  I,  is  often  used  in  Chaucer  by  the  lower  orders,  who  may  be  sup- 
posed to  have  retained  most  of  the  Saxon  forms.  It  occurs  again 
ill  otlier  places.    [See  note  on  p.  70. — W.  W.  S.] 

i  With  a  trick  put  upon  a  proud  miller.  To  blear  the  eye  is,  literally,  to 
make  tlie  siglit  dim  ;  metapliorically,  to  cheat. 

<  Jly  gnvss  has  become  hay,  a  metaphor  common  in  Scripture,  as  in 
Isaiah  xl.  6. 


THE    PROLOGE    OF   THE    REEVE.  217 

Jly  whyte  toj)  writcth  myn  okle  yeercs ; 

^lyn  hert  is  al  so  mnulyd  as  myu  heeres ; 

But  yit  I  t'iiYO  as  doth  an  open-ers  ; 

That  ilke  fniyt  is  ever  longer  the  wers, 

Til  it  he  rote  in  mullok  or  in  stree. 

We  olde  men,  I  drcde,  so  fare  we, 

Til  we  he  roton,  can  we  nat  be  rype ; 

We  hoppen  alway,  whil  the  world  wol  pype ; 

For  in  oure  wil  ther  stiketh  ever  a  nayl, 

To  have  an  hoor  heed  and  a  greene  tayl,* 

As  hath  a  leek ;  for  though  oure  might  be  doou, 

Oure  wil  desireth  folye  ever  in  oon ; 

For  whan  we  may  nat  do,  than  wol  we  speke, 

Yet  in  oure  aisshen  old  is  fyr  i-reke.' 

Foure  gledys  have  we,  which  I  schal  devyse, 

Avantiug,  lyyng,  angur,  coveytise. 

This  foure  sparkys  longen  unto  eelde. 

Oure  olde  lymes  mowcn  be  unweelde, 

But  wil  ne  schal  nat  fayle  us,  that  is  suth. 

And  yet  I  have  alwey  a  coltes  toth. 

As  many  a  yeer  as  it  is  passed  henne, 

Syn  that  my  tappe  of  1}^  bygan  to  renne. 

For  sikirlik,  whan  I  was  born,  anon 

Deth  drough  the  tappe  of  lyf,*  and  leet  it  goon  ; 

And  now  so  longe  hath  the  tappe  i-ronne, 

Til  that  almost  al  empty  is  the  tonne. 

The  streem  of  lyf  now  droppcth  on  the  chymbe.* 

The  sely  tonge  may  wel  rynge  and  chimbe 

Of  wi'ecchedues,  that  passed  is  ful  yoore  : 

With  olde  folk,  sauf  dotage,  is  no  more.' 


'  Boccaccio  has  the  same  allusion.  Dec.  Introd.  to  D.  4,  '  Che  il 
porro  habbi  il  capo  biancbi,  che  la  coJa  sia  venlc' 

-  Tyrwhitt  remarks  that  this  beautiful  metaphor  has  been  used  in  his 
Eleyij  by  Gray,  who,  however,  refers  to  the  169th  Sonnet  of  Petrarch  as 
his  original. 

3  Another  and  more  refined  form  of  the  thought  occurs  in  the  Kiwjhtes 
Tale:— 

*  That  schapen  was  my  deth  erst  than  my  scherte.' 

'  Kiine,  Teut.,  means  the  prominence  of  the  staves  beyond  the  bead 


218  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Whan  tliat  oure  Host  had  herd  this  sermonyng, 
He  gan  to  spake  as  lordly  as  a  kyng, 
And  seyde,  '  What  amounteth  al  this  wit  1 
What  1  schul  we  spake  al  day  of  holy  wryt  1 
The  devyl  made  a  reve  for  to  prache, 
Or  of  a  sowter  a  schipman  or  a  leche.* 
Sey  forth  thi  tale,  and  tarye  nat  the  tyme; 
Lo  hear  is  Depford,  and  it  is  passed  prima  f 
Lo  Grenawich,  ther  many  a  schrewe  is  inne ;' 
It  were  al  tyma  thi  tale  to  bygynne.' 

'  Now,  sires,'  quod  this  Osewold  the  Reeve, 
*  I  pray  yow  alle,  that  noon  of  you  him  greeve. 
Though  I  answere,  and  somwhat  sette  his  howve,* 
For  leeful  is  with  force  force  to  showve. 
This  dronken  Myllere  hath  i-tolde  us  hear, 
How  that  bygiled  was  a  carpenter, 

of  the  barrel.  The  imagery  is  very  exact  and  beautiful. — T.  This 
word  is -still  used  in  Norfolk  and  Suffolk. 

1  Piobubly  an  allusion  to  Phcedrits,  lib.  i.  fab.  14.  Whence  the 
proverb,  ex  svtore  tncdicus.  Ex  sutore  nauderus  is  alluded  to  by 
I'ynson,  the  printer,  at  the  end  of  his  edition  of  Littleton's  Tamres, 
1525. 

-  The  ecclesiastical  day,  which  was  also  the  civil  in  those  ages  when 
the  Church  was  the  fountain  of  knowledge  and  authority,  was  divided 
into  portions,  for  each  of  which  an  office,  consisting  of  psalms,  metrical 
hymns,  and  prayers,  was  appointed  to  be  said  or  sung.  The  first  was 
»ia(HW,beginning  at  midnight;  the  next  prme,  at  six  in  the  morning;  the 
next  tierce,  at  nine ;  the  next  scxt,  at  twelve ;  and  the  next  none,  at  three ; 
the  next  was  vespers,  or  evensong,  at  six  ;  and  the  last,  before  retiring  to 
rest,  was  compline,  or  completorium.  It  would  appear,  however,  from  the 
fact  that  noon  means  twelve  o'clock  and  not  three,  that  time  was 
usually  counted  by  reckoning  so  much  6e/dre  each  of  these  hours ;  as 
in  the  Roman  Calendar,  the  days  of  the  month  are  counted  before 
the  calends,  ides,  and  nones,  and  are  called  pridie  calendas,  secunda 
calendas,  meaning  ante  calendas.  Thus,  as  soon  as  six  o'clock,  prime, 
was  past,  the  time  would  be  counted  as  so  much  before  tierce;  as  soon 
as  mid-day  was  past,  it  would  be  called  none  or  noon.  This  is  con- 
firmtMl  by  the  fact  that  in  the  Shepherd's  Almanac  noon  is  mid-day, 
hirjh  noon,  three  o'clock.  For  passed  prime  Tyrwhitt  reads  half-way 
jyrime,  which  is  probably  right ;  but  he  supposes  it  to  mean  half-way 
between  prime  and  tierce,  kcH.,  half-past  seven,  whereas  it  means  that 
the  middle  of  the  period  between  matins  and  prime  had  arrived ;  for, 
the  ,s<iuyer,  long  afterward-;,  says: — 'I  wol  not  tarien  you,  for  it  is  prime.' 
[This,  however,  probably  applies  to  another  day.     iiee  Scheme,   vol.   ii. 

I'P  i5i-?54] 
3  Greenwich  was  apparently  the  Billingsgate  of  that  time. 
*  net  his  hood,  meaning  the  same  as  set  his  cap.    See  ante,  p.  lot. 


THE   HEEVES  TALE.  -19 

Peraventure  in  scorn,  for  I  am  oon ; 

And  1))'  yoiu-  leve,  I  schal  him  quyte  anoon. 

Itight  in  his  clicrlcs  termcs  wol  I  speke; 

I  pray  to  God  his  nekke  mot  to-breke ! 

He  can  wel  in  myn  eye  see  a  stalke, 

But  in  his  ownie  he  can  nought  seen  a  balke." 


THE    REEVES   TALE. 


[Fob  the  snhjcct  of  this  tale  Tyrwliitt  supposes  that  Cliancer 
was  indebted  to  a,  fabliau,  printed  in  Barbazan  under  the  title 
of  De  Gomhert  et  des  Deux  Clercs;  but  Mr.  Wright  has  since 
discovered  and  pointed  out  to  notice  in  his  Anecdota  Lite- 
raria  s.noih'iv  fahliau  on  i\\e  same  subject,  which  is  more 
likely  to  have  been  the  original.  Tlie  fable  was  a  favourite 
in  the  middle  ages,  and  forms  the  basis  of  the  sixth  novel  of 
the  ninth  day  in  Boccaccio's  Decameron;  but  Chaucer's  ver- 
sion is  much  superior  to  Boccaccio's,  which  is  more  licentious, 
and  at  the  same  time  so  bald,  as  to  appear  like  the  mere 
argument  or  heading  of  a  chapter.  The  Reeve,  who  is  repre- 
sented as  a  '  choleric  man,'  certainly  takes  ample  vengeance 
for  the  Miller's  redections  on  his  trade.  The  poetical  justice 
of  the  catastrophe  is  well  preserved ;  Deynous  Symekyn  is 
punished  in  every  particular  in  which  he  exhibited  an  over- 
weening pride.  He  was  a  bully,  and  ho  is  well  beaten.  lie 
boasted  of  stealing  the  corn  belonging  to  thtJ  college,  and 
even  the  toll  to  which  he  is  entitled  is  taken  from  him.  He 
was  elated  by  the  high  extraction  of  his  wife  and  daughter, 
and  in  both  points  he  is  humbled ;  while  his  cunning  expe- 
dient to  overreach  the  two  clerks,  upon  which  he  dwells  with 
so  much  complacency,  is  the  proximate  cause  of  all  his  mis- 
fortunes. The  sharpness  ot  the  clerks  is  characteristic  of  their 
country,  the  West  Hiding  of  '  canny  Yorkshire."  It  might  at 
first  be  supposed  that  the  fact  of  the  miller's  wile's  being  repro- 

■  An  allusion  to  Uatt.  vii.  3* 


220  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

sented  as  the  daughter  of  a  priest  is  an  example,  among  many, 
of  the  hostility  with  which  Chaucer  regarded  the  clergy ;  hut  it 
seems  more  reasonable  to  suppose  that  he  intended  it  to  be 
understood  that  the  priest  was  a  widower,  and  that  Simkin's 
wife  was  the  issue  of  a  marriage  contracted  before  he  took 
orders ;  otherwise  the  cu-cumstauces  of  her  birth  could  hardly 
have  been  a  subject  of  pride  to  her  husband.] 

AT  TrompyBgtoun,  nat  fer  fro  Cantebrigge, 
Ther  gotli  a  brook,  and  over  that  a  brigge, 
Upon  the  wliiclie  brook  tlier  stant  a  nrelle : 
And  this  is  verray  sothe  that  I  you  telle. 
A  meller  was  tlier  dwelljrag  many  a  day, 
As  eny  pecok  he  was  prowd  and  gay ; 
Pipen  he  coude,  and  fisshe,  and  nettys  beete, 
And  turne  ciippes,  wrastle  wel,  and  scheete.' 
Ay  by  his  belt  he  bar  a  long  pauade, 
And  of  a  swerd  ful  trenchaunt  was  the  blade. 
A  joly  popper  bar  he  in  his  pouclie; 
Ther  was  no  man  for  perel  durst  him  touche. 
A  Scheffeld  thwitel  bar  he  in  his  hose. 
Round  was  his  face,  and  camois  was  his  nose. 
As  pyled  as  an  ape  was  his  skulle. 
He  was  a  market-beter  at  the  fulle. 
Ther  durste  no  wight  hand  upon  him  legge, 
That  he  ne  swor  anon  he  schuld  abegge. 

A  theef  he  was  for  soth  of  corn  and  niele, 
And  that  a  sleigh,  and  usyng  for  to  stele. 
His  name  was  hoote  deynous  Symekyn.'' 
A  wyf  he  hadde,  come  of  noble  kyn ; 

1  The  miller's  skill  in  fishing  and  mending  nets  Ls  characteristic  both  of 
his  trade  and  place  of  residence.  i:ete  is  still  used  in  Kast  Anglia  tir 
repa'r.  'Cups'  were  of  course  made  of  wood  with  a  latlie.  To  schette 
(German,  srliirsfen)  means,  of  course,  to  slioot  >vith  the  long-bow,  the 
redoubted  weapon  of  the  Knglish  yo<iman. 

-  Disdainful  Simon,  of  which  Siinkin  is  the  diminutive.  Tyrwhitt 
observes,  that  in  the  middle  ages,  and  even  to  a  comparatively  late 
period,  the  lower  orders  had  no  surnames,  the  want  of  which  was  sup- 
plied by  a  name  derived  from  some  personal  peculiarity.  Hence  the 
ixiiression  iiulliiis  jilitis,  a  man  with  no  patronymic.     'J'he  operatives 


THE    REEVES   TALE.  i'21 

The  persoun'  of  the  toun  hir  faiUr  was. 
With  hire  he  gaf  ful  many  a  panue  of  liraa, 
For  that  Symkyn  schuUl  in  his  blood  allye. 
Sche  was  i-fustryd  in  a  nonuerye; 
For  Symkyn  wolde  no  wyf,  as  he  sayde 
But  sche  were  wel  i-norissclicd  and  a  mayde, 
To  saven  his  estaat  and  yomanrye.* 
And  sclie  was  proud  and  pert  as  is  a  pye. 
A  ful  fair  sighte  was  tlier  on  hem  two ; 
Oil  haly  dayes  bifore  hir  wold  he  go 
With  liis  typet  y-bounde  about  his  heed; 
And  sche  cam  aftir  in  a  gyte  of  reed, 
And  Symkyn  hadde  hosen  of  the  same. 
Ther  durst  no  wight  clepe  hir  but  madams;* 
^Vas  noon  so  hardy  walkyng  by  the  weye, 
That  ^vith  hir  dorste  rage  or  elles  pleye, 
But  if  he  wold  be  slayn  of  Symekyn 
"With  panade,  or  with  knyf,  or  boydekyn ; 
For  gelous  folk  ben  perilous  evermo, 
Algate  they  wolde  here  wyves  wende  so. 
And  eek  for  sche  was  somdel  smoterlich, 
Sche  was  as  deyne  as  water  in  a  dich,* 

and  aiiricultiirni  labourers  in  France  are  to  this  day  known  only  by 
their  bapti.-inial  names.  When,  after  the  late  Revolution,  tlie  people 
c-Kcted  one  of  their  own  number  to  sit  in  the  National  Assembly, 
Ii;i\infr  no  surname,  he  was  called  simply  Allurt  Oiinier.  It  was 
u.-ual  to  distinj^uish  persons  who  had  risen  from  a  low  origin,  and  con- 
sequently had  no  patronymic,  by  the  place  of  tlieir  birth,  as  JIuttliew 
Paris,  Thomas  Aquinas,  Thomas  h  Kempis.  So,  in  the  Afankex  Pro- 
logue, the  '  Host  ■  had  no  idea  of  asking  the  3Ionk  his  surname : — 

'  Whether  shall  I  calle  you  my  lord  dan  Johan, 
Or  dauu  Tliomas,  or  elles  dan  Albon.' 

'  It  might  at  first  be  thought  that  this  was  a  little  bit  of  scandal 
about  the  clergy,  but  sec  introduction  to  tliis  tale. 

-  To  secure  his  standing  in  society  as  a  yeoman. 

3  In  the  opening  ProUx/w,  the  wives  of  the  haberdasher  and  the  otlier 
citizens  are  described  as  being  proud  of  this  title.  It  is  still  applied  by 
the  common  people  in  Norfolk  to  untitled  ladies. 

••  Tyrwhitt  says  tlie  whole  passage  is  obscure.  'As  deyne  as  water 
in  a  dich,'  seems  to  alliuie  to  some  fable  in  which  ditchwater  showed 
unwarrantable  prifle,  perhaps  like  the  common  one  of  tlie  Pot  atid  titc 
k'eltU.    [The  pbra-e  'ileyue  as  dich-water '  simply  means  disdainful  (.and 


222  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

As  fill  of  hokir,  and  of  bissemare. 

Hir  tlioiiglite  ladyes  oughten  liir  to  spare/ 

What  foi-  hir  kynreed  and  hir  nortelrye, 

That  sche  had  lerned  in  the  nonnerye. 

O  doughter  hadden  they  betwis  hem  two, 

Of  twenti  yeer,  withouten  eny  mo, 

Savyng  a  child  that  was  of  half  yer  age. 

In  cradil  lay,  and  was  a  proper  page. 

This  wenche  thikke  and  wel  i-growen  was, 

"With  camoys  nose,  and  eyghen  gray  as  glas ; 

And  buttokkes  brode,  and  brestes  ronnd  and  hye, 

But  right  fail'  was  hir  heer,  I  wol  nat  lye. 

The  persoun  of  the  toun,  for  sche  was  feir, 

In  purpos  was  to  maken  hir  his  heir, 

Bothe  of  his  catel  and  his  mesnage, 

And  straunge  made  it  of  hir  mariage.* 

His  purpos  was  to  bystow  hir  hye 

Into  som  worthy  blood  of  ancetrye ; 

For  holy  chirche  good  moot  be  despendid 

On  holy  chirche  blood  that  is  descendid. 

Therfore  he  wolde  his  joly  blood  honoure, 

Though  that  he  schulde  holy  chirche  devoure.* 

Gret  soken  hath  this  meller,  oute  of  doute. 
With  whete  and  malt,  of  al  the  loude  aboute ; 
And  namely  ther  was  a  gret  collegge, 
Men  clepe  ifc  the  Soler-halle^  of  Cantebregge, 


hence  repellent)  as  ditch-water.  It  is  a  sort  of  joke ;  such  water  keeps  folks 
at  a  distance,  if  very  e\il-snielling.  iSee  ricrce  the  IHouylimaa's  C'rtde, 
ed.  Skeat,  1.  375.— W.  W.  S.j 

1  Ladies  ought  to  treat  her  with  consideration. 

"  Made  it  a  matter  of  difficulty  to  obtain  her  in  marriage. 

3  A  satire  on  the  clergy  for  enriching  their  families  out  of  the  eccle- 
siastical revenues. 

••  The  hall  with  the  soler.  Before  the  students  in  the  Universities 
were  incorporated,  they  lived  in  lodging-houses,  called  inns,  halls,  and 
hostels,  which  were  often  distinguished  by  names  taken  from  some 
peculiarity  in  their  construction.  One  at  Cambridge  was  called  7'ijkd 
0<tlc.  And,  at  O.xford,  Oriel  College  probably  derives  its  name  from  a 
large  messuage,  vulgarly  known  by  the  name  of  Lc  OriV?c, upon  the  site 
of  which  it  stands.  An  oriel  or  oriol  was  a  porch,  as  a  aolcr  seems 
originally  to  have  signified  an  open  giillery  at  the  top  of  the  house, 
tljough  latterly  it  has  been  used  for  any  upper  room.  Froissakt,  vol.  i.. 


THE    REEVES   TALE.  223 

Tlier  was  licre  wliete  and  cek  here  malt  i-giounde. 

Ami  ou  !i  (lay  it  hapj)e<l  in  a  stnunde, 

Syk  lay  the  luauncyple  on  a  nialedye, 

Men  wondtMi  wisly  that  he  scliuKlo  dye; 

For  winch  this  meller  stal  both  mele  and  com 

A  thousend  part  more  than  by  torn. 

For  ther  biforn  he  stal  bat  curtoytily ; 

But  now  he  is  a  theef  outraireouslv. 

For  which  the  wardeyn  chidde  and  made  fare, 

But  therof  sctte  the  meller  not  a  tare ; 

He  crakked  boost,  and  swor  it  was  nat  so. 

Thanne  weren  there  poore  scoleres  tuo, 

That  dwelten  in  the  halle  of  which  I  seye; 

Testyf  they  w^'re,  and  lusty  for  to  i)leye ; 

And,  oonly  for  here  mirthe  and  revelrye, 

Uppon  the  wardeyn  bysily  they  ciye, 

To  geve  hem  leve  but  a  litel  stound 

To  go  to  melle  and  see  here  com  i-grounde; 

And  hardily  they  dursten  ley  here  nekke, 

The  meller  schuld  nat  stel  hem  half  a  })ekke 

Of  corn  by  sleighte,  ne  by  force  hem  reve. 

And  atte  last  the  warde}Ti  gaf  hem  leve. 

Johan  hight  that  oon,  and  AlajTi  hight  that  other ; 

Of  o  toun  were  they  born  that  highte  Strothir/ 

Fer  in  the  North,  I  can  nat  telle  where. 

This  Aleyn  maketh  redy  al  his  gere. 

And  on  an  hoi's  the  sak  he  cast  anoon : 

Forth  goth  AlejTi  the  clerk,  and  also  Jon, 

With  good  swerd  and  with  bocler  by  her  side. 

Johan  knew  the  way,  that  hem  needith  no  gj'de ; 

And  at  the  mylle  the  sak  adoun  he  layth. 

Alayn  spak  first:  '  Al  heil !  Symond,  in  faith 


c.  2  34,  •  Les  fcmnies  de  la  ville  monterent  en  leurs  lo/^is  et  en  sol- 
litr.i.' — T.  In  Norfolk  und  Sull'olk  the  loft  in  the  church  tower  on 
which  the  ringers  stuud  is  culled  the  beUsoler.  —  I'DUHy's  Vocabulary 
of  EoM  Aiif/lia. 

'  This  was  the  valley  of  Lnnpstroth,  or  LancJtrothdale,  In  the  West 
Ridint;  of  Yorkshire,  us  pointtd  out  by  l>r.  \\  liitaker,  J!i.'<t.  ol  Criiren, 
1)49  ?. — W.  Any  OIK'  who  has  lived  in  the  U  rst  ItidiiiK  will  recognize 
the  vhi'usculogy  of  the  clerks  us  still  uijcd  in  thut  county. 


224  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

How  fares  thy  faire  dovigliter  and  thy  wyf  V 

'  Alayn,  welcome,'  qiiod  Symond,  '  by  my  lyf ! 

And  Johan  also ;  how  now !  what  do  ye  here  V 

'  By  God  !'  quod  Johan,  '  Symond,  need  has  na  peere. 

Him  falles^  serve  himself  that  has  na  swayn, 

Or  elles  he  is  a  fon,  as  clerkes  sayn. 

Our  mancyple,  as  I  hope,^  wil  be  deed, 

Swa  werkes  ay  the  wanges  in  his  heed : 

And  therfore  I  is  come,  and  eek  Alayn, 

To  grynde  oure  corn,  and  carie  it  ham  ageyn. 

I  prey  you  speed  us  in  al  that  ye  may.' 

'  It  schal  be  doon,'  quod  Symkyn,  '  by  my  fay ! 

What  wol  ye  do  whil  that  it  is  in  hande  V 

'  By  God  !  right  by  the  hoper  wol  I  stande,' 

Quod  Johan,  '  and  se  how  that  the  corn  gas  inne. 

Yet  sawh  I  never,  by  my  fader  kynne  ! 

How  that  the  hoper  waggis  to  and  fra.' 

Aleyn  answerde,  'Johan,  and  wiltow  swal 

Than  wol  I  be  bynethe,  by  my  croun ! 

And  se  how  that  the  mele  fallys  doun 

Into  the  trough,  that  schal  be  my  desport ; 

For,  Jon,  in  faith,  I  may  be  of  your  sort. 

I  is  as  ille  a  meller  as  ei'e  ye.' 

This  mellere  smyleth  for  here  nycete, 

•  It  falls  to  his  lot.     Tyrwhitt  and  Speght  read  lehoves. 

-  This  is  the  vicious  mode  of  speech  called  by  the  Greeks  aKvpov 
'  Such  manner  of  uncoutli  speech  did  the  Tanner  of  Tamworth  use  to 
King  Edward  IV.;  which  tanner  having  a  great  while  mist:iken  him, 
and  used  very  broad  talk  with  him,  at  length,  perceiving  by  his  traine 
that  it  was  the  king,  was  afraid  he  should  be  punished  for  it,  and  said 
thus,  with  a  certain  rude  repentance  : — 

'  /  hope  I  shall  be  hanged  to-morrow,' 
'  for  I  fear  me  1  shall  be  hanged;  whereat  the  king  laughed  a  good,'  &c. 
— Arte.ofEiinJhh  Poetry.  Tyrwhitt  enumerates  some  of  the  peculiarities 
of  these  Yorkshiremen's  phraseology: — i.  They  terminate  the  third 
person  singular  and  the  whole  plural  number  in  es,  instead  of  eth,  or 
en.  X.  They  use  a  in  a  great  many  words  where  Chaucer  generally  uses 
o,  as  swa  for  so,  liame  for  home,  fra  for  from,  hanes  for  bones,  aiies  for  ones, 
ra  for  roe.  3.  Many  of  tlieir  words  are  in  the  obsolete  Saxon  form, 
as  heneti  for  Jieiis,  whilkc  (German,  ivelcher)  for  which,  alsiva  for  also,  and 
gar  for  let  or  7nal:e.  And,  finally,  lie  makes  them  speak  ungrammatically, 
as,  '■lis  as  ille  a  meller  as  ere  ye.' 


THE   REEVES   TALE.  225 

And  thought,  '  Al  this  is  doon  but  for  a  wyle; 

They  wcneti  that  uo  niaii  may  hem  bigile. 

But,  In'  my  tlirift,  yet  sclial  1  blere  here  ye/ 

For  al  here  8lei,u;ht  and  al  here  philosophie ; 

The  more  queynte  knakkes  that  they  make, 

The  more  wol  I  stele  whan  I  take. 

In  stede  of  mele,  yet  wol  I  give  hem  bren. 

The  gretLest  clerks  beth  not  the  wisest  men, 

As  whilom  to  the  wolf  thus  spak  the  mare  f 

Of  al  her  art  ne  counte  I  nat  a  tare.' 

Out  at  the  dore  he  goth  ful  pryvyly, 

^Vhan  that  he  saugh  his  tynie  sotyly; 

He  loketli  up  and  doun,  til  he  hath  founde 

The  clerkes  hors,  ther  as  it  stood  i-bounde 

Behynde  the  mylle,  under  a  levesel ; 

And  to  the  hors  he  goth  him  faire  and  wel. 

He  strepeth  of  the  bridel  right  anoon. 

And  whan  the  hors  was  loos,  he  gan  to  goon 

Toward  the  fen  there  wilde  mares  rennc,       [thenne. 

Forth  with  'wi-he!"^  thurgh  thikke  and  eek  thurirh 

This  mcller  goth  agajTQ,  and  no  word  seyde. 

But  doth  his  note,  and  with  the  clerkes  pleyde. 

Til  that  her  corn  was  fair  and  wel  i-grounde. 

And  whan  the  mele  wa.s  sakked  and  i-bounde, 

This  Johan  goth  out,  and  fynt  his  hors  away, 

And  gan  to  erye,  '  Harrow  and  weylaway ! 

Oure  hors  is  lost!  Alcyn,  for  Goddes  banes. 

Step  on  thy  feet,  cum  on,  man,  al  at  anes. 

Alias !  our  wai'deyn  hath  his  palfray  lorn !' 

This  Aleyn  al  forgeteth  mele  and  corn, 

'  See  ante,  p.  ii6,  note  3. 
-  Mr.  Wright  says  that  tlic  fable  of  the  Wolf  and  the  Mare  is  found  in 
the  o.irly  French  of  lyiKinl  le  Contrej'ait,  from  whence  it  appears  to 
liave  been  taken  into  the  V.naViAh  Ilefjiiurd  the  Fox.  Tyrwhitt  says  that 
the  story  alluded  to  iji  tolil  of  a  mule,  in  the  d'uto  Xov.  Antiche,  No.  9i . 
The  mule  pretends  that  his  name  is  written  on  the  bottom  of  his  hind- 
foot.  The  wolf  attoiiiptiiiK  to  read  it,  the  mule  gives  liim  a  kick  on 
the  forehead  and  kills  liim  ;  upon  which  the  fox  observet,  '  Ogni 
huoino  cbe  ea  lettere  nou  e  savio.' 

>  Iniitatiuu  of  the  sound  of  neighing. 

MT..  r.  U 


226  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Al  was  out  of  his  mynd  liis  liousbondrye ; 
'  What  wikkecl  way  is  he  gan  T  gan  he  orye. 
The  wyf  cam  lepyng  in-ward  with  a  ren, 
Sche  seyde,  '  Alias !  your  hors  goth  to  the  fen 
With  wylde  mares,  as  fast  as  he  may  go ; 
Tin  thank  come  on  his  heed  that  band  him  so, 
And  he  that  bettir  schuld  han  knyt  the  reyne !' 
'  Alias !'  quod  Johan,  '  Aleyn,  for  Cristes  peyne  \ 
Leg^  doun  thi  swerd,  and  I  sal  myn  alswa; 

I  is  ful  wight,  God  wat,  as  is  a  ra ; 

By  Goddes  hart !  he  sal  nat  scape  us  bathe. 
Why  nad  thou  put  the  capil  in  the  lathe  1 

II  hail,  Aleyn,  by  God!  thou  is  a  fon!' 
This  sely  clerkes  speeden  hem  anoon 
Toward  the  fen,  bothe  Aleyn  and  eek  J  on. 
And  when  the  myller  sawh  that  they  were  gon, 
He  half  a  busshel  of  the  flour  hath  take. 

And  bad  his  wyf  go  knede  it  in  a  cake. 

He  seyde,  '  I  trowe  the  clerkes  ben  aferd  ! 

Yet  can  a  miller  make  a  clerkes  herd,'' 

For  al  his  art ;  ye,  lat  hem  go  here  way ! 

TiO  wher  they  goon !  ye,  lat  the  children  play ; 

They  get  hym  nat  so  lightly,  by  my  croun !' 

This  seely  clerkes  ronnen  up  and  doun,         [derere! 

With  '  Keep  !  keep  !  stand  !  stand  !  jossa,^  ware 

Ga  wightly  thou,  and  I  sal  keep  him  heere.' 

But  schortly,  til  that  it  was  verray  night. 

They  cowde  nat,  though  they  did  al  here  might, 

Here  capil  cacche,  it  ran  away  so  fast, 

Til  in  a  diche  they  caught  him  atte  last. 


*  The  obsolete  Saxon  form  of  lay  (German,  Icgen),  as  lig  is  of  lie. 

»  Cheat  him.  Faire  la  barbe  is  tlie  French  for  to  shave,  as /aire  tcs 
angles  is  for  to  cut  the  nails;  but  Chaucer,  when  he  uses  the  expression 
metaphorically,  translates  it  literally. 

3  A  word  used  to  horses,  meaning,  apparently,  '  stand  still  to  be 
mounted;'  for  in  East  Anglia,  the  block  of  wood  up  to  which  the 
market  horse  used  to  be  brought  for  the  farmers  wife  to  mount  her 
pillion  from  is  called  the  jostling  (meaning  the  mounting)  iloclc. 


THE   REEVES  TALE.  227 

Wery  and  wete  as  bestys  in  the  reyn, 

Comth  sely  Johan,  and  with  him  comth  Aleyn. 

'  Alias!'  quod  Johan,  that  day  that  I  Avas  born! 

Now  are  we  dryve  til  hethyni,'  and  to  scorn. 

Oure  com  is  stole,  men  wohi  ns  foles  calle, 

Bathe  the  wardeyn  and  eek  our  fclaws  alle, 

And  namely  the  myller,  weyloway !' 

Thus  pleyneth  Johan,  as  he  goth  by  the  way 

Toward  the  mylle,  and  Bayard'  in  his  hand. 

The  myller  sittyng  by  the  f'yr  he  fand, 

For  it  was  night,  and  forther  might  they  nought, 

But  for  the  love  of  God  they  him  bisought 

Of  herberwh  and  of  ese,  as  for  her  peny.'' 

The  myller  sayd  agayn,  '  If  ther  be  eny, 

Swich  as  it  is,  yit  schul  ye  have  your  part. 

Myn  hous  is  streyt,  but  ye  han  lerned  art ; 

Ye  conue  by  argumentes  make  a  place 

A  myl  brood  of  twenty  foote  of  space. 

Let  se  now  if  this  place  may  sufTyse, 

Or  make  it  rom'  with  speche,  as  is  your  gyse.' 

'  Now,  Symond,'  seyde  this  Johan,  '  by  seynt  Cutli- 

Ay  is  thou  mery,  and  that  is  fair  answerd.      [herd  i* 

I  liave  herd  sey,  men  suld  take  of  twa  thinges, 

Slik  as  he  fynt,  or  tak  slik  as  he  bringes. 

But  specially  T  pray  the,  host  ful  deere. 

Get  us  som  mote  and  drynk,  and  mak  us  cheere, 


'  A  common  name  for  a  bay  horse,  as  lyart  is  for  a  grey. 

-  Besouglit  him  to  give  them  lodging  and  entertainment,  as  they 
would  pay  for  it. 

3  Make  it  roomier,  more  spacious.  Speght  reads  vomer,  but  tliis 
spoils  the  metre. 

•*  Johan  appropriately  swears  by  St.  Cuthbert,  a  saint  held  In  great 
reverence  in  the  North  of  England.  He  retired  to  the  'semi-island'  of 
Lindisfame,  as  liede  calls  it,  where  the  remains  of  a  monastery  of  great 
antiquity  still  exist;  and  his  body  after  lii.s  death,  in  the  year  6b6, 
was  interred  tinally  somewhere  near  l)urham,  after  it  had  been  re- 
moved to  various  places,  on  account  of  the  incursions  of  the  Danes;  but 
the  actual  place  ot  his  sepulture  is  said  to  b«  k«pt  tecret  by  the  Koman 
Catholics. — See  notes  to  Mannion. 

a  2 


228  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

And  we  wol  paye  trewely  at  the  fulle  ; 
With  empty  hand  men  may  na  hawkes  tulle.* 
Lo  heer  our  silver  redy  for  to  spende.' 
This  meller  into  toun  his  doughter  sende 
For  ale  and  breed,  and  rosted  hem  a  goos, 
And  band  her  hors,  he  schold  no  more  go  loos , 
And  in  his  owne  chambir  hem  made  a  bed, 
"With  schetys  and  with  chalouns  fair  i-spred, 
Nat  from  his  owen  bed  ten  foot  or  twelve. 
His  doughter  had  a  bed  al  by  hirselve, 
Bight  in  the  same  chambre  by  and  by; 
It  mighte  be  no  bet,  and  cause  why 
Ther  was  no  rommer  herberw  in  the  place. 
They  sowpen,  and  they  speken  of  solace, 
And  drouken  ever  strong  ale  atte  beste. 
Aboute  mydnyght  wente  they  to  reste. 
Wei  hath  the  myller  vernysshed  his  heed, 
Ful  pale  he  was  for  dronken,^  and  nat  reed  ; 
He  yoxeth,  and  he  speketh  thurgh  the  nose, 
As  he  were  on  the  quakke  or  on  the  pose. 
To  bed  he  goth,  and  with  him  goth  his  "wyf, 
As  eny  jay  sche  light  was  and  jolyf, 
So  was  hir  joly  whistel  wel  y-wet," 
The  cradil  at  hire  beddes  feet  is  set, 


'  To  lure,  a  term  of  falconry.  As  few  people  now-a-dnys  have  an 
opportunity  of  witnessing  this  sport,  it  may  be  meniioneil,  that,  when 
the  falcon  is  thrown  oif,  she  flies  round  tlie  falconer  in  circles,  which 
she  continually  enlarges  till  she  is  out  of  sight.  This  is  called  '  wait- 
ing on.'  When  she  has  got  sufficiently  distant,  tlie  game  is  flushed, 
and  she  immediately  darts  at  it.  To  recal  her  when  the  circles  become 
too  wide,  he  throws  up  a  piece  of  wood,  with  the  wings  of  a  bird  fixed 
on  it,  and  attached  to  a  string  ;  this  piece  of  wood  is  called  the  lure  or 
tulle.  Without  this  lure,  says  Joban,  a  falconer  cannot  recal  his  falcon. 
TVMe  appears  to  be  the  northern  word  for  lure,  for  the  Ifyf  of  Both* 
gays : — 

'  With  empty  hand  man  may  noon  hawkes  lure.' 

It  occurs  in  the  ballad  of  Kynge  Estmere : — 

'  For  an  thou  playest  as  thou  bcginnest, 
Thou'lt  till  my  bride  awaye.' 
-  lie  was  all  pale  for  drunkenness.     See  ante,  p.  i88,  note  a. 
3  To  wet  the  whistle  is  still  a  vulgar  expression  for  to  drink. 


TUE    REEVES   TALE.  229 

To  rokktn,  and  to  give  the  cliild  to  souke. 
Aiul  whan  that  dronken  wiis  al  in  the  cruuke, 
To  bedde  went  the  doughter  right  anon  ; 
To  bedde  goth  Aleyn,  and  also  Jon, 
Ther  nas  no  more,  him  needeth  no  dwale. 
This  meller  hath  so  wj'sly  bibbed  ale. 
That  as  an  hors  he  snortitli  in  his  sleep, 
Ne  of  his  tayl  bihynd  took  he  no  keep. 
His  wyf  bar  him  a  burdoun,  a  ful  strong, 
Men  might  her  rowtyng  heeren  a  forloug. 
The  wenolie  routeth  eek  par  companye. 
Aleyn  the  clerk,  that  herd  this  melodye. 
He  pokyd  Johan,  and  seyde,  '  Slepistow  ] 
Herdistow  ever  slik  a  sang  er  now? 
Lo,  slik  a  conplyng  is  betwix  hem  alle, 
A  wilde  fyr  upon  thair  bodyes  falle ! 
Wha  herkned  ever  swilk  a  ferly^  thing? 
Ye,  thei  sul  have  the  flour  of  ille  endyng ! 
This  lange  night  ther  tydes  me  na  rest. 
But  yet  na  foi's,  al  sal  be  for  the  best. 
For,  Johan,'  sayd  he,  '  as  ever  mot  I  thryve. 
If  that  I  may,  yone  wenche  sal  I  sw  y  ve. 
Som  esement  hath  la  we  schapen  us ; 
For  Johan,  ther  is  a  lawe  that  says  thus, 
That  if  a  man  in  a  point  be  agreved, 
That  in  another  he  sal  be  releeved.^ 
Oure  corn  is  stoln,  sothly,  it  is  na  nay, 
And  we  have  had  an  ylle  fitt  to  day; 
And  syn  I  sal  have  nan  aineudement 
Agayn  my  los,  I  wol  have  esement. 
By  Goddes  sale!  it  sal  nan  other  be.' 

'  A  northern  woni,  nicaninj;  nuirveUotui,  and  sometimes  applied  to 
a  fairy,  as  a  marvel,  or  marvellous  object.  Thus,  in  Thomas  tltt 
Jllij/mer : — 

'  True  Thomas  lay  on  Iluntlic  bank, 
A  J'erlie  he  spied  wi*  his  ee.' 

*  A  marginal  note  in  the  MS.  says,  'Qui  in  uno  grnvatur,  in  alio 
debet  relevari.' — W.  Wheuco  this  maxim  of  law  is  tuktu  Joes  uot 
»l)pear. 


230  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

This  Johan  answerd,  '  Aleyn,  avyse  the; 

The  miller  is  a  perlous  man,'  he  sayde, 

'  And  if  that  he  out  of  his  sleep  abrayde, 

He  mighte  do  us  bothe  a  vilonye.' 

Aleyn  answerd,  '  I  count  it  nat  a  flye !' 

And  up  he  roos,  and  by  the  wenche  he  crepte. 

This  wenche  lay  upright  and  faste  slepte, 

Til  he  so  neih  was  or  sche  might  aspye 

That  it  had  ben  to  late  for  to  crye. 

And  schortly  for  to  seye,  they  weren  at  oon. 

Now  pley,  Alein,  for  I  wol  speke  of  Jon. 

This  Johan  lith  stille  a  forlong  whyle  or  two, 
And  to  himself  compleyned  of  his  woo. 
'  Alias !'  quod  he,  '  this  is  a  wikked  jape  ; 
Now  may  I  say  that  I  am  but  an  ape. 
Yet  hath  my  felaw  somwhat  for  his  harm; 
He  hath  the  myllers  doughter  in  his  arm ;  » 
He  auntred  him,  and  has  his  needes  sped, 
And  I  lye  as  a  draf-sak  in  my  bed ; 
And  when  this  jape  is  tald  another  day, 
I  sal  be  held  a  daf,  a  cokenay.^ 


'  That  this  is  a  term  of  contempt,  borrowed  originally  from  the 
kitchen,  is  very  probable. — T.  He  shows  from  several  passages  in  old 
authors  that  it  sometimes  meant  simply  a  cook  But  in  the  sense  in 
which  it  is  here  used,  it  probably  means  an  inhabitant  of  that  lubber- 
land  so  humorously  described  in  the  satire  quoted  from  Ilickes  by 
Warton,  and  beginning — 

'  Fur  in  see,  by  West  Spagne, 
Is  a  lond  ihote  Cokagne 
*  *  *  *  # 

Al  of  pastees  beth  the  wallis, 
Of  fleis,  of  fisse.  and  rich  met. 
The  likefullist  that  man  may  et.* 
Cockayne  is  well  known  in  nurseries,whereit  is  described  as  a  city  whose 
'  streets  are  paved  with  penny  loaves,  and  whose  houses  are  thatched 
with  pancakes,  and  in  which  the  pigs  run  about  with  knives  and  forks 
stuck  in  their  backs,  crying,  '  Who'll  eat  me.' '  To  this,  no  doubt,  Hugh 
Bigod  alluded  in  the  lines  given  by  Camden,  Brit.  467:— 
'  Were  I  in  my  castle  of  Bungay, 
Upon  the  river  of  Waveney, 
I  would  ne  care  for  tlie  Kingof  Cockeney.' 

It  occurs  also  iu  the  liomance  of  Merlin,  Part  II.,  in  an  address  of  King 


THE    REEVES   TALE.  231 

tJnhartly  is  unscly,  aa  men  saith.' 
I  wol  arise,  auJ  auntre  it,  in  good  fiiith.' 
And  up  he  ros,  and  softely  lie  wente 
Unto  the  cradil,  and  in  his  liand  it  hente, 
And  bar  it  softo  unto  his  heddis  feet. 
Soone  after  this  the  •vvyl"  hir  routyng  leet, 
And  gan  awake,  and  went  hir  fortli  to  ]>isse, 
And  cam  agayu,  and  gan  hir  cradel  mysse, 
And  gi'oped  heer  and  ther,  but  sclie  fond  noon. 
*  AHas!'  quod  gche,  *  1  had  ahuost  mysgoon; 
I  had  ahuost  goon  to  the  clcrkes  bed, 
Ey,  benedicite  !  than  had  I  foule  i-sped!' 
And  fortli  sche  goth,  til  sche  the  cradil  fund. 
Sche  gropith  alway  forther  with  hir  hand. 
And  land  the  bed,  and  thoughte  nat  but  good, 
Bycaiise  that  the  ci'adil  by  it  stood, 
Kat  knowyng  wher  sche  was,  for  it  was  derk  ; 
I3ut  faire  and  wel  sche  creep  in  to  the  clerk, 
And  lith  ful  stille,  and  wolde  han  Ciiught  a  sleep, 
VVithinue  a  while  Johan  the  clerk  up  leep, 
And  on  this  goode  wyf  leyth  on  ful  sore  ; 
So  mery  a  fytt  ne  hadti  S'ihe  nat  ful  yore. 
He  priketh  harde  and  deepe,  as  he  were  mad. 
This  joly  lyf  han  this  twey  clerkes  had, 
Til  that  the  thridde  cok'  bygan  to  synge. 
Aleyn  wax  wery  in  the  dawenynge, 

Arthur  to  a  Sftracen,  with  whom  he  is  about  to  fight.  Mr.  Wright  is 
iiR'lined  to  think  that  the  term  Cockney  is  a  diminutive  of  cock,  and 
that  its  first  nioauiiip  is  a  puny  fellow,  and  that  Chaucer  uses  it  here 
in  the  sense  of  want  of  spirit  and  courage,  without  intending  any 
allusion  to  Cockayne. 

'  The  more  modern  form  of  the  proverb  is,  *  Nothing  venture, 
nothing;  have.' 

-  Tlie  time  indicated  is  sliortly  before  dawn.  The  cock  was  sup- 
posed to  crow  at  three  stated  hours.  Tusscr,  in  the  Fice  ilundieil 
Points  oj Good Iltisbamlry,  i585,  p.  i-<j,  says; — 

'  Cocke  croweth  at  midniijht  times  few  above  six, 
AVith  pause  to  his  neiglibour  to  answer  betwix. 
At  three  o'clock  thicker;  and  tlicn,  as  ye  knowc, 
Like  '  all  in  to  niatliiis,'  necre  day  they  doocrowe. 
At  m'ulnifiht,  at  time,  ami  an  hour  ycr  day, 
Tbey  utter  their  language  as  well  as  they  may.' 


232 


THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 


For  he  liad  swonken  al  the  longe  night, 
And  seyd,  '  Farwel,  Malyn/  my  sweete  wight ! 
The  day  is  come,  I  may  no  lenger  byde ; 
But  evei-mo,  wher  so  I  go  or  ryde, 
I  am  thin  owen  clerk,  so  have  T  seel !' 
'  Now,  deere  lemman,'  quod  sche,  '  go,  farwel ! 
But  or  thou  go,  o  thing  I  wol  the  telle : 
Whan  that  thou  wendist  hom-ward  by  the  mell€i 
Right  at  the  entrg  of  the  dore  byhynde 
Thou  schalt  a  cake  of  half  a  busshel  fynde, 
That  was  i-maked  of  thyn  owen  mele, 
Which  that  I  hilp  myn  owen  self  to  stele. 
And,  gi5ode  lemman,  God  the  save  and  kepe !' 
And  with  that  word  almost  sche  gan  to  weepe. 
Aleyn  uprist,  and  thought,  '  Er  that  it  dawe 
I  wol  go  crepen  in  by  my  felawe ;' 
And  fand  the  cradil  with  his  hand  anon. 
'  By  God !'  thought  he,  '  al  wrong  I  have  i-goon ; 
My  heed  is  toty  of  my  swynk  to  nyght, 
That  makes  me  that  I  ga  nought  aright. 
I  wot  wel  by  the  cradel  I  have  mysgo ; 
Heer  lith  the  myller  and  his  wyf  also.' 
Forth  he  goth  in  twenty  devel  way 
Unto  the  bed,  ther  as  the  miller  lay. 
He  wende  have  crope  by  his  felaw  Jon, 
And  by  the  myller  in  he  creep  anon. 
And  caught  him  by  the  nekke,  and  soft  he  spak, 
And  seyde,  *  Jon,  thou  swyneshed,  awak, 
For  Cristes  sowle !  and  here  a  noble  game ; 
For,  by  that  lord  that  cleped  is  seynt  Jame, 
As  I  have  thries  in  this  schorte  night 
Swyved  the  myllers  doughter  bolt  upright, 

So  in  Lear: — 

'  He  begins  at  curfew,  and  walks  till  th&  first  cock.' 
And  in  Macbeth: — 

'  "We  were  carousing  till  the  second  cock.' 
'  Malyn,  or  Malkin,  appears  to  be  an  endearing,  or  familiar,  namt 
for  Mary,  lilie  the  modem  Molly. 


THE    REEVES   TALE.  Uj3 

Whiles  thou  hast  as  a  coward  ben  agast.' 
'  Ye,  false  harlot,'  quod  this  mellero,  '  hast? 
A!  false  traitour,  false  clerk!'  quod  he, 
'  Thou  schait  be  deed,  I>y  Goddes  diguit6 ! 
Who  durste  be  so  bold  to  disparage 
My  doughter,  that  is  com  of  hih  lynage?' 
And  by  the  throte-bolle  he  caught  Aleyn, 
And  he  hcnt  him  dispitously  ageyn, 
And  on  the  nose  he  smot  him  with  his  fest. 
Doun  ran  the  blody  streem  upon  his  brest  ; 
And  in  the  floor  with  nose  and  mouth  to-broke 
They  walwcden  as  pigges  in  a  poke  ; 
Ancl  up  they  goon,  and  doun  they  goon  anon, 
Till  that  the  millncr  stuml)led  at  a  ston, 
And  doun  he  felle  bakward  on  liis  wyf, 
That  wyste  nothing  of  this  nyce  stryf ; 
For  sche  was  falle  asleepe  a  litel  wight 
With  Jon  the  clerk,  tliat  waked  al  the  night, 
And  with  the  falle  right  out  of  slepe  sche  brayde. 
*  Help,  holy  croys  of  Bromholme !' '  sche  sayde, 
*/«.  manvs  tuas^^  Lord,  to  the  I  calle! 
Awake,  Symond,  the  feend  is  in  thin  halle! 
My  hei-t  is  broken !  help !  I  am  but  deed ! 
Ther  lythe'  upon  my  wombe  and  on  myn  heed, 

'  Mr.  Wright  says  that  a  portion  of  the  true  cross  was  supposed  to 
he  preserved  in  a  reliquary,  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  bclonjriii;^  to  the 
I'riory  of  Bromholme,  in  Norfolk.  It  was  brought  to  ICiipland,  with 
j?rcat  ceremony,  in  I2i3,  and  tlunccforward  became  an  object  of  pil- 
grimaRC.     '  By  the  cross  (or  rood)  of  Bromholme,'  was  a  common  oath. 

-  '  In  manus  tuas  commendo  spiritum  mcum.'  were  the  last 
words  of  our  Saviour  on  tlie  cross,  appropriately  used  in  any  sudden 
danger.  In  the  notes  to  Marmion  is  an  account  of  the  death  of  a 
liermit.  He  excl.iims,  '  -My  soul  longeth  for  the  Lord,  .  .  Jii 
manus  tuns,  Dominc,  commendo  spiritum  meum,  a  vinculis  enim  mortis 
redemisti  me,  Domine  veritatis.  Amen.  So  he  yielded  up  the  ghost 
the  eighth  day  of  December,  anno  Domini  1 159,  whose  soul  God  have 
mercy  upon.  Amen.'  The  miller's  wife,  having  been  brought  up  in  a 
convent,  is  supposed  to  have  learned  to  say  her  prayers  in  Latin,  the^e 
words  forming  one  of  the  responses  for  compline. 

S  The  word  one  is  supplied  here  by  Speght  and  Tyrwhitt,  but  it 
spoils  the  metre,  and  is  unnecessary.  Titer  lythe  means  sonwlhinp 
lie$. 


23i  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Plelp,  Symkyn !  for  tins  false  clerkes  fight.' 

Tliis  Johan  stert  up  as  fast  as  ever  lie  might, 

And  grasped  by  the  walles  to  and  fro, 

To  fynde  a  staf ;  and  sche  sturt  up  also, 

And  knewe  the  estres  bet  than  dede  Jon, 

And  by  the  wal  sche  took  a  staf  anon, 

And  sawh  a  litel  glymeryng  of  a  light ; 

For  at  an  hool  in  schon  the  moone  bright. 

And  by  that  light  she  saiigh  hem  bothe  two ; 

But  sikirly  sche  wiste  nat  who  was  who, . 

But  as  sche  saugh  a  whit  thing  in  hir  ye. 

And  whan  sche  gan  this  white  thing  aspye, 

Sche  wend  the  clerk  had  wered  a  volupeer ; 

And  with  a  staf  sche  drough  hir  neer  and  neer, 

And  wend  have  hit  this  Aleyn  atte  fulle, 

And  smot  this  meller  on  the  piled  sculle. 

That  doun  he  goth,  and  cryeth,  '  Harrow !  I  dye  !' 

This  clerkes  beeten  him  wel,  and  leet  hym  lye, 

And  greyth  hem  wel,  and  take  her  hors  anon, 

And  eek  here  mele,  and  hoom  anon  they  goon  ; 

And  at  the  millen  dore  they  tok  here  cake 

Of  half  a  buisshel  flour  ful  wel  i-bake. 

Thus  is  the  prowde  miller  wel  i-bete, 
And  hath  i-lost  the  gryndyng  of  the  whete. 
And  payed  for  the  soper  every  del 
Of  Aleyn  and  of  Johan,  that  beten  him  wel ; 
His  wyf  is  swyved,  and  his  doughter  als. 
Lo  !  such  it  is  a  miller  to  be  fals. 
And  therto  this  proverbe  is  seyd  ful  soth, 
He  thar  nat  weene^  wel  that  evyl  doth. 
A  gylour  schal  himself  bygiled  be. 
And  God,  that  sitest  in  thy  mageste. 
Save  al  this  compaignie,  gret  and  smale. 
Thus  have  I  quyt  the  miller  in  his  tale. 

1  For  weene  Tyrwhitt  substitutes  whine,  on  his  own  authority.  The 
meaning  is,  '  It  buhovos  not  Iiiin  to  \vin  or  acquire  good,  or  (if  wc  r«ad 
U'e«rxj  to  expect  good,  who  doeth  evil.' 


235 


THE    COKES   PROLOGE. 


HTHE  Cook  of  Londone,  Avliil  the  Reeve  spak, 

-*-  For  joye  he  thought  lie  clawed  him  ou  the  Lak;' 

'  Ha,  ha !'  quod  he,  '  for  Cristes  passioua, 

This  mellcr  hath  a  scharp  conclusioun 

Upon  his  argument  of  herburgage. 

Wei  seyde  Salomon  in  his  langage, 

Ne  bryng  nat  eveiy  man  into  thyn  hous,* 

For  herburgage  by  night  is  perilous. 

Wei  aught  a  man  avised  for  to  be 

Whom  that  he  brought  into  his  pryvyt6. 

I  pray  to  God  so  gyf  my  body  care, 

Gif  ever,  siththen  i  highte  Hogge  of  Ware, 

Herd  I  a  better  miller  set  a-werke ; 

He  hadde  a  jape  of  malice  in  the  derke. 

But  God  forbede  that  we  stynten  heere, 

And  therfore  if  ye  vouchesauf  to  heere 

A  tale  of  me  that  am  a  pover  man, 

I  wol  3"ow  telle  as  wel  as  I  kan 

A  litel  jape  that  fel  in  oure  cite.' 

Ourc  Host  answerde  and  seyde,  '  I  graunt  it  the. 
Now  telle  on,  Roger,  and  loke  it  be  good ; 
For  many  a  pastoy  hastow  lete  blood. 
And  many  a  Jakk  of  Dover*  hastow  sold. 
That  hath  be  twyes  hoot  and  twyes  cold. 
Of  many  a  pylgrym  hastow  Cristes  curs  ; 
For  thy  pei-sly  they  faren  yet  the  wors, 
That  they  have  eten  with  the  stubbil  goos ; 
For  in  thy  sclioppe  is  many  a  flye  loos. 
Now  tell  on,  gentil  Roger  by  thy  name, 
But  yit  I  pray  the  be  nought  wroth  for  game  j 


'  For  the  joy  he  experienced  In  his  mind,  he  could  scarcely  forbear 
clapping  the  reeve  on  the  back. 

'  Ecclus.  xi.  3i. 

3  TjTWJiitt  does  not  understand  this  line.  [JacJe  "f  tjover  was  probably  a 
le.vtish,  lamiliar  to  Canterbury  pilgrims,  obviously  eaten  when  hot.] 


236  THE   CANTERBURY  TALES. 

A  man  may  seye  ful  sothe  in  game  and  pley.'  ^ 

'  Thow  saist  ful  sntli,'  quod  Roger,  '  by  my  fey  f 
But  soth  play  quad  play,  as  the  Flemyng  «aitli  i" 
And  therfore,  Herry  Baillif,  by  thy  faith, 
Be  thou  nat  wroth,  or  we  departe  her. 
Though  that  my  tale  be  of  an  hostyler. 
But  natheles  I  wol  not  telle  it  yit. 
But  or  we  departe  it  schal  be  quyt.* 
And  therwithal  he  lowh  and  made  chere, 
And  seyde  his  tale,  as  ye  schal  after  heere. 


THE    COIvES   TALE. 

APRENTYS  dwelled  whilom  in  oure  citee. 
And  of  a  craft  of  vitaillers  was  he  ; 
Gaylard  he  was,  as  goldfynch  in  the  schawe, 
Broun  as  a  bery,  and  a  propre  felawe, 
With  lokkes  blak,  and  kempt  ful  fetously. 
Dauncen  he  cowde  wel  and  prately. 
That  he  was  cleped  Perkyn  Revellour.' 
He  was  as  ful  of  love  and  paramour 
As  is  the  honycombe  of  hony  swete ; 
Wel  were  the  wenche  that  mighte  him  meete. 
At  every  bridale  wold  he  synge  and  lioppe  ;* 
He  loved  bet  the  taverne  than  the  schoppe. 

For  whan  ther  eny  rydyng  was  in  Cheepe,* 
Out  of  the  schoppe  thider  wolde  he  lepe, 
And  tyl  he  hadde  al  that  sight  i-seyn, 
And  daunced  wel,  he  nold  nat  come  ageyn; 

i  This  line,  as  well  as  the  next  but  two,  is  omitted  in  MS.  Ilari., 
which  reads  hy  myfaia  .n  the  ensuing  line,  to  make  it  rhyme  with  tliat 
which  follows. — W.  „.     ,  .      tt 

^  Play  in  earnest  is  bad  play.  Tyrwhitt  quotes  Sir  John  Harring- 
ton to  the  same  purpose — '  Soth  bourde  is  no  bourde.' 

i  See  antey  p.  220,  note  2. 

*  Tliis  and  the  following  line  are  omitted  in  MS.  Ilarl. — W. 

5  There  were  sometimes  justs  in  Cheapside.— Holingshed,  vol.  ij.  p. 
$43.     liut  perhai)S  any  procession  may  be  meant.— T 


THE   COKES   TALE.  -37 


And  gadred  him  a  moyn6  of  his  sort, 

To  hoppe  and  synge,  and  make  such  disport. 

And  ther  tliey  setten  stevone  for  to  mcete, 

To  pleyen  atto  dys  in  such  a  streto, 

For  in  the  toun  ne  was  ther  no  prentys 

That  fairer  cowde  caste  a  peyre  dys 

Than  Porkyn  couthe,  and  therto  he  was  free 

Of  his  disponce,  in  place  of  pry vyt6. 

That  fiind  his  maystcr  wel  in  his  chafTarc, 

For  often  tyme  lie  fond  his  box  ful  bare. 

For  such  a  joly  prentys  revelour, 

That  haunteth  dys,  revel,  or  paramour, 

His  maister  schal  it  in  his  schoppe  abye, 

Al  have  he  no  part  of  the  mynstralcye. 

For  thefte  and  ryot  be  convertyble, 

Al  can  they  pley  on  giterue  or  rubible. 

Revel  and  trouthc,  as  in  a  lowe  degre, 

They  ben  ful  wroth  al  day/  as  ye  may  see. 

This  joly  prentys  with  his  mayster  bood, 

Til  he  was  oute  neygh  of  his  prcntyshood, 

Al  were  he  snybbyd  bothe  erly  and  late, 

And  som  tyme  lad  with  revel  into  Newgate. 

But  atte  laste  his  mayster  him  bythought 

Upon  a  day,  whan  he  his  papyr"  sought, 

Of  a  proverbe,  that  saith  this  same  word, 

Wel  bette  is  roten  appul  out  of  hord, 

Than  that  it  rote  al  the  remenaunt. 

80  fareth  it  by  a  ryotous  servaunt; 

It  is  ful  lasse  hanu  to  late  him  pace, 

Than  he  schend  al  the  ^ciwaimtes  in  the  place. 

Therfore  his  mayster  gaf  him  acquitauuce,' 

And  bad  him  go,  with  sorwe  and  with  meschaunce. 


'  The  meaning  is  not  obvious.  It  may  be,  thfft  and  riot  are  con- 
vertible terms  (always  accompany  one  anotlier),  however  pleasant  ami 
pay  they  may  appear  outwardly;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  revelry  and 
truth  (or  honesty)  are  every  day  seen  to  be  at  enmity,  particularly  in 
persons  of  low  degree,  who  have  not  the  means  of  maintaining  tlia 
expense. 

'  Uis  account  books.     ••  The  MS   Harl.  read;  acqtteyntaunce. —  \V. 


238  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

And  thus  the  joly  prentys  had  his  leve. 
Now  let  hym  ryot  al  the  night  or  leve. 
And  for  ther  is  no  thef  withowten  a  lowke, 
*That  helpeth  him  to  wasten  and  to  sowke 
Of  that  he  bribe  can,  or  borwe  may, 
Anon  he  sent  his  bedde  and  his  aray 
Unto  a  compere  of  his  owen  sort, 
That  loved  dis,  and  revel,  and  disport , 
And  had  a  wyf,  that  held  for  contenaunce' 
A  schoppe,  and  swyved  for  hire  sustenaunce.* 


Fye  theron,  it  is  so  foiile,  I  wil  nowe  telle  no  forther, 

For  schame  of  the  harlotrie  that  seweth  after ; 

A  velany  it  were  thare  of  more  to  spelle, 

Bot  of  a  knyht  and  his  sonnes  my  tale  I  wil  forthe  telle. 


THE  COKES  TALE  OF  GAMELYN. 

[In  the  Harleian  and  other  good  MSS.,  the  tale  of  Gamelyn  is 
inserted  in  this  place ;  and  it  is  retained  in  this  edition  as  a 
curious  specimen  of  a  species  of  composition  long  popular  among 
the  Anglo-Saxon  peasantry.  In  such  rude  ballads  as  this,  it  was 
their  delight  to  celebrate  the  prowess  of  their  outlawed  coun- 
trymen, who,  in  the  fastnesses  of  the  extensive  forests  which 
then  covered  the  northern  parts  of  the  island,  set  at  nought 
the  authority  of  then-  Norman  conquerors,  bid  defiance  to  the 
odious  forest  laws,  and  wreaked  their  vengeance  upon  the 
Norman  prelates  who  had  been  intruded  into  the  sees  and 
abbeys  in  the  place  of  the  rightful  Saxon  occupants.     To  this 

1  The  last  seven  lines  are  omitted  in  MS.  Harl.,  but  they  are  evi- 
dently genuine. — W. 

2  As  a  blind  to  save  appearances. 

3  Here  The  Cokes  Tale  ends  abruptly.  It  seems  probable,  as  Tyr- 
whitt  supposes,  that  Chaucer's  more  mature  judjcmcnt  convinced  him 
that  two  such  tales  as  the  Miller's  and  the  Kecve's  were  sufficient  at  a 
time;  and  that  he  intended  to  cancel  the  Coke's  prologue  and  tale, and 
to  proceed  at  once  to  Tlte  Man  of  Lawes  J^'ologue, 


THE  COKES  TALE  OP  OAMELYN.        239 

UatioiKil  roelinjj  is  to  be  attributed  tho  extraordinary  popu- 
larity of  Robin  Hood,  Adam  I?i-ll,  Clym  of  tlio  Cio\igh,  and 
other  bold  outlaws  of  the  same  stamp,  amon<j  whom  must  be 
classed  Gamelyn.  Indeed,  he  is  associated,  under  the  name  of 
'  younj^  Ganiwel,*  with  the  heroic  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  in  the 
ballad  of  liohin  Hood  and  the  Stranger,  in  Ritson's  collec- 
tion. In  all  these  poems  the  grand  merit  of  the  hero  is  liis 
daring  contempt  of  the  law,  a  trait  by  no  means  charac- 
teristic of  the  Saxons,  but  the  result  of  their  peculiar  position 
as  a  brave  and  powerful,  though  conquered,  people,  governed 
by  a  foreign  aristocracy. 

Tho  verse  of  this  tale  is  that  of  the  other  spurious  piecejj 
which  have  been  interpolated  to  supply  deficiencies  in  Hie 
Canterhary  Talcs,  and  is  never  used  by  Chaucer.  It  is  ex- 
tremely irregular,  but  the  rliythm  or  cadence  resembles  that 
of  the  verse  much  used  by  Surrey,  and  is  obtained  by  em- 
ploying an  equal  number  of  accented  syllables  in  every  line, 
while  the  unaccented  ones  are  added  or  omitted,  almost  ad 
Hhitum;  and  by  making  an  unvarying  pause  or  ca:sura  at  the 
middle  of  every  verse. 

Though  possessed  of  great  merit,  and  displaying  much 
of  the  quaint  humour  so  congenial  to  tho  English  mind,  this 
tale  has  uone  of  the  characteristics  of  Chaucer's  manner ;  and 
the  fact  that  when  the  host  of  tlie  Tabard,  in  the  prologue  to 
The  Manciple's  Tale,  calls  upon  the  cook  to  perform  his  part 
of  the  agreement,  he  makes  no  reference  to  his  having  already 
told  a  tale,  is  decisive  against  its  genuineness.  If  a  conjecture 
may  be  hazarded,  it  seems  not  improbable  that  the  poet  had 
selected  it  to  form  the  groundwork  of  a  tale  which  he  in- 
tended to  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  yeoman  or  some  other 
of  his  lower  personages ;  and  that,  being  found  among  his 
loose  papers  after  his  death,  it  was  here  introduced  to  fill  a 
vacant  space,  by  the  person  who  arranged  the  tales  in  their 
present  order.  Ifthisbeso,  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  Chau- 
cer's great  successor  should  have  confirmed  his  judgment  of 
its  capabilities  by  selecting  it  as  the  foundation  of  the  comedy 
of  As  vua  Like  itJ\ 


240  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

IITHETH,  and  lestneth,  and  herknetli  aright, 
-^  And  ye  schul  heere  a  talkyng  of  a  douglity  knight; 
Sire  Johan  of  Boundys  was  his  right  name, 
He  cowde  of  norture  ynough  and  mochil  of  game, 
Thre  sones  the  knight  had,  that  with  his  body  he  wan ; 
The  eldest  was  a  moche  schrewe,  and  sone  he  bygan.^ 
His  bretheren  loved  wel  here  fader,  and  of  him  were 
agast,  [the  last. 

The    eldest    deserved   his  fadres  curs,  and  had  it  at 
The  goode  knight  his  fader  lyvede  so  yore. 
That  deth  was  comen  him  to,  and  handled  him  ful  sore. 
The  goode  knight  cared  sore,  sik  ther  he  lay. 
How  his  childi'en  scholde  lyven  after  his  day. 
He  hadde  ben  wyde  Avher,  but  non  housbond  he  was, 
Al  the  lond  that  he  had,  it  was  verre  purchas.'^ 
Fayn  he  wold  it  were  dressed  amonges  hem  alle. 
That  ech  of  hem  had  his  part,  as  it  mighte  falle. 
Tho  sent  he  into  cuntre  after  wise  knightes, 
To  helpe  delen  his  londes  and  dressen  hem  to  rightes. 
He  sent  hem  word  by  lettres  they  schulden  hye  blyve, 
Yf  they  wolde  speke  with  him  whil  he  was  on  lyve. 
Tho  the  knyghtes  herden  sik  ther  he  lay, 
Hadde  they  no  reste  nother  night  ne  day, 
Til  they  comen  to  him  ther  he  lay  stille 
On  his  deth  bedde,  to  abyde  Goddes  wille. 
Than  seyde  the  goode  knight,  syk  ther  he  lay, 
'  Lordes,  I  you  wai-ne  for  soth,  withoiite  nay, 
I  may  no  lengere  lyven  heer  in  this  stounde ; 
For  thurgh  Goddes  wille  deth  draweth  me  to  grounde.' 
Ther  nas  non  of  hem  alle  that  herd  him  aright, 
That  they  hadden  reuthe  of  tbat  ilke  knight, 


•  Soon  he  began  to  show  it. 
-  This  appears  to  mean,  that  tho  knight  had  himself  acquired  his 
land,  and  held  it  in  fee  simple  (verre  purclias),  not  entailed  nor 
settled;  and  that,  consequently,  he  had  a  rifiht  to  divide  it  amoiis  liis 
children  as  lie  pleased.  The  lioiisliond  in  tliis  case  means  a  niau  who 
was  kept  at  home  looking  after  his  domestic  business  and  his  estates, 
nnd  who  could  not  be  '  wj  de  wher.' 


THE   COKES  TALE   OF   OAMELYN.  241 

And   scyde,    *  .Sir,    for    Goddea    love,    ne  dismay  yoii 

nought ; 
(iod  may  do  bote  of  bale'  tliat  is  now  i-wroucjlit.' 
Thau  .sj«ik  the  goode  knight,  sik  ther  he  lay, 
'  Boote  of  bale  God  may  sende,  I  wot  it  is  no  nay; 
But  I  Iiyscke  you,  knightes,  for  the  love  of  me, 
Goth  and  dresseth  my  lond  among  my  soncs  thre. 
And,  sires,  for  the  love  of  God.  deleth  hem  nat  amys, 
And  foigetith  nat  Gamelyn,  my  yonge  sone  that  is. 
Taketh  heed  to  that  on,  ;\s  wcl  as  to  that  other ; 
Selde  ye  see  ony  eyr  helpen  his  brotlier.' 

Tho  leete  they   the  knight  lyeu  that  was  nought 
in  hele, 
And  wenteu  in  to  counseil  his  londes  for  to  dele  ; 
For  to  delen  hem  alle  to  oon,  that  was  her  thought, 
And  for  Gamelyn  was  yongest,  he  should  have  nought. 
Al  the  lond  that  ther  was  they  dalten  it  in  two, 
And  leeten  Gamelyn  the  yonge  withoute  lond  go. 
And  ech  of  hem  seyde  to  other  ful  lowde,  [cowde.* 

Ills  brethcren   might    geve  him   lond  whan  he  good 
Wlian  they  hadde  deled  the  lond  at  here  wille, 
They  come  agein  to  the  knight  ther  he  lay  fulstille, 
And  tolden  him  anon  right  how  they  haddou  wrought ; 
And  the  knight  there  he  lay  liked  it  right  nought. 
Than  seyde  the  knight,  *  I  sware  by  scynt  Martyu,' 
For  al  that  ye  have  y-doon  yit  is  the  lond  myu; 

'  God  may  bring  good  out  of  evil.  This  is  a  very  usual  e.xpression 
in  the  ballnds  of  the  school  of  Hobin  Rood.  Thus,  in  linhin  Hocxl  and 
fJuy  of  Gi'-biiriie,  wliPii  Little  John's  bow  breaks,  as  lie  is  about  to  shoot 
at  the  Sherjfl' of  Nottingham,  he  exclaims : — 

'  Woo  worth,  woe  worth  tlioe,  wicked  wood, 
That  ever  thou  grew  on  a  tree  ! 
For  now  this  day  thou  art  mij  bale. 
My  boote  when  thou  shold  be." 
'  When  he  should  be  of  age  to  know  what  was  right. 
^  Saint  Martin  was  a  Hungarian  by  birth,  and  served  in  the  array 
under  Constaiitius  and  Julian.      He  is  represented   in  pictures  as  a 
Koman  knight  on  hor.-tback,  with   his  sword  dividing  his  cloak  into 
two  pieces,  one  of  which  he  gi\  ts  to  a  beggar.     He  wa.^  a  strenuous 
opponent  of  the  Ari-.ms,  and  died  at  Tours,  where  his  relics  were  pr*-- 
i«rved  and  bo!ioured. 

VOL.  I.  jj 


242  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

For  Goddes  love,  neyhebours,  stondeth  alle  stille. 
And  I  "wil  dele  my  lond  after  my  wille. 
Johan,  myn  eldeste  sone,  shall  have  plowes^  fyve, 
That  was  my  fadves  heritage  whil  he  wa?  on  lyve; 
And  my  myddeleste  sone  fyf  plowes  of  loud, 
That  I  halp  for  to  gete  with  my  right  hond; 
And  al  myn  other  purchas  of  londes  and  leedes 
That  I  byquethe  Gamelyn,  and  alle  my  goode  steedes. 
And  I   byseke  yow,  goode  men,  that  lawe  conne  of 

londe, 
For  Gamelynes  love,  that  my  queste  stonde.' 
Thus  dalte  the  knight  his  lond  by  his  day, 
Right  on  his  deth.  bed  sik  ther  he  lay; 
And  soue  aftirward  he  lay  stoon  stille, 
And  deyde  whan  tyme  com,  as  it  was  Cristes  wille 
And  anon  as  he  was  deed,  and  under  gras  i-grave, 
Sone  the  elder  brother  gyled  the  yonge  knave," 
He  took  into  his  hond  his  lond  and  his  leede, 
And  Gamelyn  himselfe  to  clothen  and  to  feede. 
]Ie  clothed  him  and  fed  him  yvel  and  eek  wrothe, 
And  leet  his  londes  for-fare  and  his  houses  bothe, 
His  pai'kes  and  his  woodes,  and  dede  nothing  wel, 
And  seththen  he  it  abought  on  his  faire  fel/ 
So  longe  was  Gamelyn  in  liis  brotheres  halle, 
For  the  strengest  of  good  wil  they  doutiden  him  alle  ; 
Ther  was  non  therinne  nowther  yong  ne  olde 
That  wolde  wraththe  Gamelyn,  were  he  never  so  bolde, 
Gamelyn  stood  on  a  day  in  his  brotheres  yerde, 
And  bygan  with  his  hond  to  handlen  his  bei'de  / 
He  thought  on  his  londes  that  layen  unsawe, 
"And  his  faire  okes  that  doun  were  i-drawe  ; 
His  parkes  were  i-broken,  and  his  deer  byi-eeved; 
Of  alle  his  goode  steedes  noon  was  him  byleved ; 


'  Meaning  a  ploiigh-Umd,  a  commou  mode  of  measiirtfiiuut  down  to 
the  reigns  of  Klizubetli  uud  James  the  First. 

-  German,  knabo,  boy. 

•*  He  paid  or  sutl'ered  for  it  on  his  own  head 

*  His  growing  beard  reminded  him  that  ho  wiu  conid  to  man't 
*irt.atc,  and  suggested  the  thoughts  wliicli  follow. 


THE   COKES   TALE   OP   GAMELYN  2i3 

ITis  howscs  were  unliilid  and  ful  yvel  di,;,'lit. 
Tlio  thoufjlito  Giiinclyn  it  wt'iito  nought  uright. 
Afterward  cam  his  brother  walkyngo  thare, 
And  seyde  to  Gamely n, '  Is  our  mete  yare?* 
Tho  wratlithcd  him  Oamolyn.and  sworby  Goddesboolc, 
'  Thou  shaltgo  Iiake  tliisolf,  I  \vil  nought  be  tliy  cook.' 
'  How?  brother  Gamelyn,  how  answerest  thou  now  t 
Thou  spake  never  such  a  word  as  thoa  dost  now.' 

*  By  my   faith,'   seyde    Gamelyn,   '  now  me  thinketh 

neede, 
Of  alle  the  harmes  that  I  have  I  tok  never  ar  heede. 
My  parkes  ben  to-broken,  and  my  deer  byreved, 
Of  myu  armure  and  my  steedes  nought  is  me  bileved  ; 
Al  that  my  fader  me  byquath  al  goth  to  schame, 
And  therfor  have  thou  Goddes  curs,  brother,  by  thv 

name.' 
Than  byspak  his  brother,  that  rape  was  of  rees,* 
'  Stond  stille,  gidelyng,  and  hold  right  thy  pees  ; 
Thow  schalt  bo  fayu  for  to  have  thy  mete  and  thy 

wede ; 
What  spekest  thou,  Gamelyn,  of  lond  other  of  leede?' 
Thanne  seyde  Gamelyn,  the  child'  that  was  ying, 
'  Cristes  curs  mot  he  have  that  clepeth  me  gadelyng ! 
I  am  no  worse  gadelyng,  ne  no  worse  wight, 
But  born  of  a  lady,  and  geten  of  a  knight.' 
Xe  durst  he  nat  to  Gamelyn  ncra  foote  go, 
But  clepide  to  him  his  men,  and  seyde  to  hem  tho, 
'  Goth  and  beteth  this  boy,  and  reveth  him  his  wyt, 
And  lat  him  leren  another  tyme  to  answere  me  bet." 
Thanne  seyde  the  chiUl,  yonge  Gamelyn, 

•  Cristes  cui-s  mot  tluiu  have,  brother  art  thou  myn  ; 
And  if  I  schal  algate  be  beten  anon, 

Cristes  curs  mot  thou  have,  but  thou  be  that  oon.' 
And  anon  his  brother  iu  that  grcte  hete 
Made  his  men  to  fette  staves  Gamelyn  to  bete. 
Wluin  that  everich  of  hem  a  staf  had  i-nome, 
Gamelyn  was  war  anon  tho  he  seigh  hem  come; 


'  Deprived  of  reason  for  anger.  ^  See  ante,  p.  197,  note  J. 

K    2 


244  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Tlio  Ganielyn  seyli  liein  come,  he  loked  over  al, 
Aud  was  war  of  a  pestel  stood  under  a  wal ; 
Gamclyn  was  light  of  foot  and  thider  gan  he  lepe, 
And  drof  alle  his  brotheres  men  right  on  an  hepe. 
He  loked  as  a  wilde  lyoun,  and  leyde  on  good  woon ; 
Tho  his  brother  say  that,  he  bigan  to  goon ; 
He  fley  up  intil  a  loft,  and  schette  the  dore  fast. 
Thus  Gamelyn  with  the  pestel  made  hem  alle  agast. 
Some  for  Gamelynes  love  and  some  for  his  eyghe, 
Alle  they  drowe  by  halves,  tho  he  gan  to  pleyghe. 
'  What !  how  nowf  seyde  Gamelyn, '  evel  mot  ye  thee ! 
Wil  ye  bygynne  contek,  and  so  sone  flee?' 
Gamclyn  sought  his  brother,  whider  he  was  flowe, 
And  saugh  wher  he  loked  out  at  a  wyndowe. 
'  Brother,'  sayde  Gamelyn,  '  com  a  litel  ner, 
■  And  I  wil  teche  the  a  play  atte  bokeler.' 
His  brother  him  answerde,  and  swor  by  se}Tit  Eycher,* 
'  Whil  the  pestel  is  in  thin  hond,  I  wil  come  no  neer: 
Brother,  I  wil  make  thy  pees,  I  swere  by  Cristes  ore; 
Cast  away  the  pestel,  and  wraththe  the  nomore.' 
'  I  mot  neede,'  sayde  Ganielyn,  '  wraththe  me  at  oones, 
For  thou  wolde  make  thy  men  to  breke  myne  boones, 
Ne  had  I  hadde  mayn  and  might  in  myn  armes, 
To  have  i-put  hem  fro  me,  he  wolde  have  do  me  harmes.' 
'  Gamelyn/  sayde  his  brother,  '  be  thou  nought  wroth, 
For  to  seen  the  have  harm  it  were  me  right  loth ; 
T  ne  dide  it  nought,  brother,  but  for  a  fondyng, 
For  to  loken  or  thou  wei-e  strong  and  art  so  ying.' 
'  Com  adoun  than  to  me,  and  graunte  me  my  bone, 
Of  thing  I  wil  the  aske,  and  we  scliul  saught  sone.' 
Doun  than  cam  his  brother,  that  fykil  was  and  felle. 
And  was  smthe  sore  agast  of  the  pestelle. 

'  •  By  Saint  Richard,' was  a  favourite  oath  with  the  outlaws  of  Robin 
Hood's  stnmp,  probably  because  of  his  Saxon  extraction.  •  Saint 
Richard,  King  and  Confessor,  was  sonne  to  Lotharius,  King  of  Kent, 
who,  for  the  love  of  Clirist,  taking  upon  him  a  long  in'rogrinat  ion,  went 
to  Rome  for  devotion  to  tliat  sea  (see),  and.  on  his  way  lionicward.died 
at  Lucca, about  tlie  year  of  Christ  75o, where  his  body  is  kept  until  tliia 
day,  with  great  veneration,  in  tlie  oratory  and  chappel  lot  St.  Frigiidian, 
and  adorned  with  an  epitaph  both  in  verse  and  f  rose." — Eng.  Martyr- 
ologe,  1608. 


THE  COKES  TALE  OF  GAMELYN.        245 

lie  seyde,  *  Brother  CJ.imelyn,  iiske  me  thy  boone, 
And  loke  thou  me  blame  but  I  grauute  sone.' 
'i'hunue  scyde  Gamolyn,  '  Brother,  i-wys, 
And  we  scluille  beu  at  oon, thou  most  me  grauute  this, 
Al  that  ray  fader  me  byquath  whil  he  was  ou  lyve, 
Thou  most  do  me  it  have,  gif  we  schul  nat  stry  ve.' 
'  That  schalt  thou  have,   Gamelyn,  I  swore  by  Crintes 

ore!  [have  more; 

Al  that  thi  fader  the  byquath,  though  thou  woldest 
Thy  load,  that  lyth  Laye,  ful  wel  it  schal  be  sowe, 
And  thyn  howsos  reysed  up,  that  ben  leyd  so  low.' 
Thus  seyde  the  knight  to  Gamelyn  with  mo\vtlie, 
And  thought  eek  of  falsnes,  ixs  he  wel  couthe. 
The  knight  thought  on  tresoun,  and  Gamelyn  on  noon, 
And  w(.-nt  and  kist  his  brother,  and  tlian  they  were 

at  oon. 
Alias!  yonge  Gamelyn,  nothing  he  ne  wiste 
With  which  a  false  tresoun  his  brother  him  kiste. 
Litheth,  and  lestueth,  and  holdeth  your  tonge, 
And  ye  schul  heere  talkyng  of  Gamelyn  the  yonge. 
Thee  was  ther  bysideu  cryed  a  ASTastlyng/ 
And  therfor  ther  was  sette  \ip  a  ram  and  a  ryng;* 
And  Gamelyn  was  in  good  wil  to  wende  therto, 
For  to  preven  his  might  wliat  he  cowthe  do. 
'  Brother,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  by  seynt  liicher, 
Thou  most  lene  me  to  nyght  a  litel  courser 
That  is  freisch  to  the  sjiore,  on  for  to  ryde; 
I  most  on  an  erande,  a  litel  her  byside.' 
'  By  God !'  seyd  his  brother,  '  of  steedes  in  my  stalle 
Go  and  chese  the  the  best,  and  spare  non  of  alle. 
Of  steedes  or  of  coursei-s  that  stonden  hem  bisyde  ; 
And  tel  me,  goode  brother,  whider  thou  wolt  ryde.' 
'  Her  byside,  brother,  is  cryed  a  wrastlyng. 
And  therfor  schal  be  set  up  a  ram  and  a  ryng ; 
Moche  worschij)  it  were,  brother,  to  us  alle, 
Might  I  the  ram  and  the  ryng  bryug  home  to  this  halle.' 


'  A  wrestling  matcli  was  cried  or  proclaimed  beside  that  ptac«. 
-'  See  atUc,  p.  i  oo,  note  i , 


246  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

A  steede  ther  was  sadeled  smertely  and  ske«t ; 

Gamelyn  did  a  paire  spores  fast  on  his  feet, 

He  set  his  foot  in  the  styrop,  the  steede  he  bystrood, 

And  toward  the  wrastelyng  the  yonge  child  rood. 

Tho  Gamelyn  the  yonge  was  ride  oi;t  at  the  gate, 

The  fals  knight  his  brother  lokked  it  after  thate, 

And  bysoughte  Jhesu  Crist  that  is  heven  kyng 

He  mighte  breke  his  nekke  in  that  wrastlyng. 

As  sone  as  Gamelyn  com  ther  the  place  was, 

He  lighte  doun  of  his  steede,  and  stood  on  the  gras, 

And  ther  he  herd  a  frankeleyn  wayloway  syng. 

And  bigan  bitterly  his  hondes  for  to  wryng. 

'Goode  man,'  seyde  Gamelyn, '  why  makestowthis  fare] 

Is  ther  no  man  that  may  you  helpe  out  of  this  care  V 

'  Alias  !'  seyde  this  frankleyn,  'that  ever  was  I  bore ! 

For  tweye  stalworthe  sones  I  wene  that  I  have  lore  ; 

A  champioun  is  in  the  place,  that  hath  i-wrought  me 

sorwe. 
For  he  hath  slayn  my  two  sones,  but  if  God  hem  borwe. 
I  wold  geve  ten  pound,  by  Jhesu  Crist !  and  more, 
"With  the  nones  I  fand  a  man  to  handil  him  sore.'' 
'  Goode  man,'  sayde  Gamelyn,  '  wilt  thou  wel  doon. 
Hold  myn  hors,  whil  my  man  draweth  of  my  schoon, 
And  help  my  man  to  kepe  my  clothes  and  my  steede, 
x\nd  I  wil  into  place  go,  to  loke  if  I  may  speede.' 
'  By  God !'  sayde  the  frankeleyn,  'anon  it  schal  be  doon ; 
I  wil  myself  be  thy  man,  to  drawen  of  thy  schoon, 
And   wende   thou   into   the   place,  Jhesu   Crist   the 

speede  ! 
And  drede  not  of  thy  clothes,  nor  of  thy  goode  steede.' 

Barfoot  and  xmgert  Gamelyn  in  cam, 
Alle  that  weren  in  the  place  heede  of  him  they  nam, 
How  he  durst  auntre  him  of  him  to  doon  his  might 
That  was  so  doughty  champioun  in  wrastlyng  and  in 
Up  sterte  the  champioun  raply  and  anoon,  [fight. 

Toward  yonge  Gamelyn  he  bigan  to  goon, 
And  sayde,  '  Who  is  thy  fader  and  who  is  thy  sire  ?^ 
For  sothe  thou  art  a  grot  fool,  that  thou  come  hire.' 


THE   COKES   TALE   OF   GAMELYN  247 

Gamolyu  auswcrdc  the  champlouu  tho, 

'Thou  kncwe  wel  my  tader  wliil  he  couthe  go, 

Whiles  he  was  on  lyvc,  by  seint  INIartyn ! 

Sir  .Tohan  of  Boundys  was  his  name,  and  I  Gamelyu." 

'  Folaw,'  seyde  the  chaui])ioun,  '  al  so  mot  I  thryve, 

I  knew  wel  thy  fader,  whil  he  was  on  lyve ; 

And  thiself,  Gamelyn,  I  wil  that  thou  it  heore, 

Whil  thou  were  a  yong  boy  a  mocho  schrcwe  thou 

were.' 
Than  seyde  Gamelyn,  and  swor  by  Cristes  ore, 
'  Now  I  am  older  woxe,  thou  schalt  me  fynd  a  more.' 
'  Be  God !'  sayde  the  champioun,  '  welcome  mote  thou 

be  ! 
Come  thou  ones  in  myn  bond,  schalt  thou  never  the.' 
It  was  wel  withinne  the  night,  and  the  moone  schon, 
Whan  Gamelyn   and  the  champioun  togider  gou  to 

goon.' 
The   champioun  caste    tomes"  to  Gamelyn   that  wa.-j 

prest, 
And  Gamelyn  stood  stille,  and  bad  him  doon  his  best. 
Thanue  seyde  Gamelyn  to  the  champioun, 
'  Thou  art  fast  aboute  to  brynge  me  adoun  ; 
Now  I  have  i-proved  many  tornes  of  thyne, 
Thow  most,'  he  seyde,  '  proven  on  or  tuo  of  myne.' 
(Jainelyn  to  the  champioun  yede  smartly  anon, 
Of  alle  the  tornes  that  he  cowthe  he  schewed  him  but 

oon. 
And  kast  him  on  the  left  syde,  that  thre  ribbes  to-brak, 
And  therto  his  oon  arm,  that  gaf  a  gret  crak. 
Thaune  seyde  Gameiyn  smertly  anoon, 
•  Schal  it  be  holde  for  a  cast,'  or  elles  for  noon  V 
'  By  God,'  seyd  the  champioun,  '  whether  that  it  bee, 
lie  that  comes  ones  in  thin  hand  schal  he  never  thee!' 


'  Bepan  to  go. 
-  That  is,  niado  many  atteinpt.s  to  trii)  him  up  and  thrivv  him,  which 
Gwmelyn  was,  however,  prepared  for,  (prest)  and  evaded. 

*  Spoken  ironically,  '  Shall  it  be  counted  for  a  fall  ?' 


218  THE    CANTKREURY    TALES. 

Til  an  seyde  the  ivaukeleyn,  that  had  his  sones  there, 
'Blessed    be   thou,    Gamelyn,    that    ever   thou    bore 


were 


The  frankleyn   seyd  to  the  champioun,  of  him  stood 

him  noon  eye,^ 
'  This  is  yonge  Gamelyn  that  taughte  the  this  pleye/ 
Agein  answerd  the  champioun,  that  liked   nothing 

welle, 
'  He  is  a  lither  mayster,  and  his  pley  is  right  felle  ; 
^ith  I  wi-astled  lirst,  it  is  i-go  ful  yore, 
But  I  was  nevere  my  lyf  handled  so  sore.' 
Gamelyn  stood  in  the  place  allone  withoute  serk. 
And  seyd, '  If  there  be  eny  mo,  lat  hem  come  to  werk ; 
The  champioun  that  peyned  him  to  werke  so  sore, 
It  seemeth  by  his  continuance  that  he  wil  nomore.' 
Gamelyn  in  the  place  stood  as  stille  as  stoon, 
For  to  abyde  wrastelyng,  but  there  com  noon  ; 
Ther  was  noon  with  Gamelyn  wolde  wrastle  more. 
For  he  handled  the  champioun  so  wonderly  sore. 
Two  gentilmen  ther  were  yemede  the  place, 
Comen  to  Gamelyn,  God  give  him  goode  grace  ! 
And  sayde  to  hem,  'Do  on  thyn  hosen  and  thy  schoon. 
For  sothe  at  this  tyme  this  feire  is  i-doon.' 
And  than  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  So  mot  I  wel  fare, 
I  have  nought  yet  halvendel  sold  up  my  wai-e.' 
Tho  seyde  the  champioun,  '  So  brouk  I  my  sweere. 
He  is  a  fool  that  thereof  buyeth,  thou  sellcth  it  so 

deere.' 
Tho  sayde  the  frankeleyn  that  was  in  moche  care, 
'  Felaw,'  he  seyde,  '  why  lakkest  thou  his  ware? 
By  seynt  Janie  in  Galys,"'  that  many  man  hath  sougit, 
Yet  it  it  to  good  cheep  that  thou  hast  i-bought.' 
Tho  that  wardeynes  were  of  that  wrastlyng. 
Come  and  broughte  Gamelyn  the  ram  and  the  rjmg. 
And  seyden,  '  Have,  Gamelyn,  the  ryng  and  the  ram, 
For  the  best  wrasteler  that  ever  hero  cam.' 

Means,  apparently, '  Of  him  he  stood  in  no  awe.' 
■^  Sec  ante,  p.  ()~,  note  2. 


TUE   COKl:S   TALE    OF   GAMEI.YX.  249 

Thus  wan  GameljTi  the  ram  and  tho  ryng, 

And  went  with  moche  joye  home  in  the  mornyn:,'- 

His  bi-otliei-  seih  wher  he  aim  with  tlie  greto  route, 

And  bad  schittc  the  gate,  and  holde  him  withoute, 

The  poi'tcr  of  his  lord  was  ful  sore  agast, 

And  stert  anon  to  the  gate,  and  lokked  it  fast. 

Now  litheth,  and  Icstneth,  bothe  yong  and  ulde, 
And  ye  schul  hecre  gamen  of  Gamelyn  the  bolde. 
Gamelyn  come  tlierto  for  to  have  comen  in. 
And  thanne  was  it  i-schet  faste  with  a  pyn; 
Than  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  Porter,  undo  tho  yaie, 
For  many  good  mannes  sone  stondeth  therate.' 
Than  answerd  the  porter,  and  swor  by  Goddes  berde, 
'  Thow  ne  schalt,  Gamelyn  come  into  this  yerde.' 
'  Thow  lixt,'  sayde  Gamelyn,  '  so  browke  I  my  chyn  !' 
He  smot  the  wyket  with  his  foot,  and  brak  awey  the 
The  porter  seyh  tho  it  might  no  better  be.  [97^- 

He  sette  foot  on  erthe,  and  fa.st  bigan  to  flee. 
'  By  my  faith,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  that  travail  is  i-lore, 
For  I  am  of  foot  as  lighte  as  thou,  though  thow  ha<:l- 

dest  swore.' 
Gamelyn  overtook  the  porter,  and  his  teene  wrak, 
And  gert  him  in  the  neckke,  that  the  bon  to-bralc, 
And  took  him  by  that  oon  arm,  and  threw  him  in  a 

welle. 
Seven  fadmeu  it  was  deep,  as  I  have  herd  telle. 
Whan  Gamelyn  the  yonge  thus  hadde  pleyed  his  play, 
AUe  that  in  the  yerde  were  drewen  hem  away ; 
Theydredilen  him  ful  sore,  forwerkes  that  he  wx-oughte, 
And  for  the  fairo  company  that  he  thider  broughte. 
Gamelyn  yede  to  the  gate,  and  leet  it  up  wyde ; 
He  leet  in  alle  maner  men  that  gon  in  wolil  or  rydt-, 
And  seyde,  '  Ye  be  welcome  withouten  eny  greeve, 
For  we  wiln  be  maistres  hcer,  and  aske  no  man  leve. 
Yestiiday  I  leftc,'  seyde  yonge  Gamelyn, 
'  In  my  brother  seller  fyve  tonne  of  wyn  ; 
I  wil  not  that  this  compaignye  parten  a-twynne. 
And  ye  wil  doon  after  me,  while  eny  sope  is  thrynne ; 


250  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

And  if  my  brother  grucche,  or  make  foul  cheere, 
Other  for  spense  of  mete  or  drynk  that  we  speuden 

heere, 
I  am  oure  catour,  and  here  ovire  aller  purs, 
He  schal  have  for  his  grucchyng  seint  Maries  curs. 
My  brother  is  a  nyggoun,  I  swer  by  Cristes  ore, 
And  we  wil  spende  largely  that  he  hath  spared  yore ; 
And  who  that  maketh  grucchyng  that  we  here  dwelle, 
He  schal  to  the  porter  into  the  draw-welle.' 
Seven  dayes  and  seven  nyght  Gamelyn  held  his  feste, 
"With  moche  myrth  and  solas  that  was  ther  and  no 
In  a  litel  toret  his  brother  lay  i-steke,  [cheste ; 

And  sey  him  wasten  his  good,  but  durst  he  not  speke. 
Erly  on  a  mornyng  on  the  eighte  day 
The  gestes  come  to  Gamelyn  and  wolde  gon  here  way. 
'  Lordes,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  wil  ye  so  hye  1 
Al  the  wyn  is  not  yet  y-dronke,  so  brouk  I  myn  ye.' 
Gamelyn  in  his  herte  was  he  ful  wo, 
Whan  his  gestes  took  her  leve  from  him  for  to  go ; 
He  wold  they  had  lenger  abide,  and  they  seyde  nay, 
But  bitaughte  Gamelyn  God,  and  good  day. 
Thus  made  Gamelyn  his  fest,  and  brought  it  wel  to 

ende, 
And  after  his  gestys  took  leve  to  wende. 

Litheth,  and  lestneth,  and  holdeth  youre  tonge, 
And  ye  schul  heere  gamen  of  Gamelyn  the  yonge  • 
Herkneth,  lordynges,  and  lesteneth  aright,  [dight, 

"Whan  alle  the  gestes  were  goon  how  Gamelyn  was 
Al  the  whil  that  Gamelyn  heeld  his  mangerye, 
His  brother  thouarhton  him  be  wreke  with  his  treccherie. 
Tho  Gamelyns  gestes  were  riden  and  i-goon, 
Gamelyn  stood  allone,  frendes  had  he  noon  ; 
Tho  after  full  soone  witliinne  a  litel  stounde, 
Gamelyn  was  i-take  and  ful  hard  ibounde. 
Forth  com  the  fals  knight  out  of  the  selleer, 
To  Gamelyn  his  brother  he  yede  ful  neer. 
And  sayde  to  Gamelyn,  '  Who  made  the  so  bold 
For  to  stroye  my  stoor  of  myn  houshold  V 


THE   COKES   TALE   OF    UAMLLYIT.  251 

Brother,'  seyde  Gainelyn,  'wrath the  the  right  nought, 
For  it  is  many  day  i-gon  siththen  it  was  bought ; 
For,  brotlier,  thou  hast  i-had,  by  seyiit  ilicher, 
Of  litt<?no  plowes  of  loud  this  sixteue  yer, 
And  of  alle  the  beestos  thou  hast  foi-tlx  bred, 
That  my  fader  nie  biquath  on  liis  doth  bed  ; 
Of  al  this  sixtoiie  yeor  I  gcvc  the  tlie  prow 
For  the  mete  and  tlie  drjnk  that  we  have  spended  now.' 
Thanne  seyde  the  fals  knyght,  evel  mot  he  the, 
'  Herkne,  brother  (Jamelyu,  what  I  wol  geve  the ; 
For  of  my  body,  brother,  geten  heir  have  I  noon, 
I  wil  make  the  myn  heir,  I  swere  by  seint  Johan.' 
'  Par  raa  foy  F  sayde  Gamelyn,  '  and  if  it  so  be. 
And  thou  thonke  as  thou  seyst,  God  yelde  it  the  !' 
Nothing  wiste  Gamelyn  of  his  broiheres  gyle  ; 
Therfore  he  him  bigyled  in  a  litel  while. 
'  Gamelyn,'  seyde  he,  '  o  thing  I  the  telle  ; 
Tho  thou  threwe  my  porter  in  the  cb-aw-welle, 
I  swor  in  that  wiaththe,  and  in  that  grete  moot, 
That  thou  schuldest  be  bounde  bothe  hand  and  foot  ; 
Therfore  I  the  biseche,  brother  Gamelyn, 
Lat  me  nought  be  foi-sworn,  as  brother  art  thou  myu  , 
Lat  me  bynde  the  now  bothe  hand  and  feet. 
For  to  holdo  myn  avow,  as  I  the  biheet.' 
'Brother.'  sayde  Gamelyn,  'al  so  mot  I  the  ! 
Thou  sclialt  not  be  forsworen  for  the  love  of  me.' 
Tho  madi3  they  Gamelyn  to  sitte,  might  he  nat  stonde, 
Tyl  they  had  him  bounde  bothe  foot  and  houde. 
The  fals  kniLjht  his  brother  of  Gamelyn  was  agast, 
And  sent  aftir  feteres  to  feteren  him  fast. 
His  brother  made  lesynges  on  him  ther  he  stood, 
And  told  hem  that  comen  in  that  Gamelyn  was  wood. 
Gamelyn  stood  to  a  post  bounden  in  the  halle, 
Tho  that  comen  in  ther  lokcd  on  him  alle. 
Ever  stood  Gamelyn  even  upright ; 
But  mete  ne  drynk  had  ne  non  neither  day  ne  night. 
Than  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  Brother,  by  myn  hals, 
Now  I  have  asj)ied  thou  art  a  party  iiils ; 


252  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Had  I  wist  that  tresoun  that  thou  haddest  y-lbunde, 

I  wolde  have  geve  the  strokes  or  I  liad  be  boixnde  1' 

Gamely n  stood  bounden  still  e  as  eny  stoon  ; 

Two  dayes  and  two  nightes  mete  had  he  noon. 

Thanne  seyde  Gamelyn,  that  stood  y-]jounde  stronge, 

'  Adam  spenser,  me  thinkth  I  foste  to  longe ; 

Adam  spenser,  now  I  bysech  the, 

For  the  mochel  love  my  fader  loved  the, 

Yf  thou  may  come  to  the  keyes,  lese  me  out  of  bond, 

And  I  wil  parte  with  the  of  my  free  lond.' 

Thanne  seyde  Adam,  that  was  the  spencer, 

'  I  have  served  thy  brother  this  sixtene  year. 

If  I  leete  the  goon  out  of  this  hour. 

He  wolde  say  afterward  I  were  a  traytour.' 

'  Adam,'  sayde  Gamelyn,  'so  brouk  I  myn  hals! 

Thou  schalt  fynde  my  brother  atte  laste  fals ; 

Therfor,  brother  Adam,  louse  me  out  of  bond, 

And  I  wil  parte  with  the  of  my  free  lond.' 

''  Up  s^vich  a  forward,'  seyde  Adam,  '  i-"svys, 

I  wil  do  therto  al  that  in  me  is.' 

'  Adam,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  al  so  mot  I  the, 

I  wol  hold  the  covenant,  and  thou  wil  me.' 

Anon  as  Adames  lord  to  bedde  was  i-goon, 

Adam  took  the  keyes,  and  leet  Gamelyn  out  anoon ; 

He  unlokked  Gamelyn  bothe  hand  and  feet. 

In  hope  of  avauncement  that  he  him  byheet. 

Than  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  Thanked  be  Goddes  sonde  ! 

Now  I  am  loosed  bothe  foot  and  honde  ; 

Had  I  now  eten  and  dronken  ai'ight, 

Ther  is  noon  in  this  hous  schuld  bynde  me  this  night.* 

Adam  took  Gamelyn,  as  stille  as  ony  stoon, 

And  ladde  him  into  spence  rapely  and  anon. 

And  settc  him  to  soper  right  in  a  prive  stede, 

And  bad  him  do  gladly,  and  Gamelyn  so  dcde. 

Anon  as  Gamelyn  hadde  eten  wel  and  fyn. 

And  tlierto  y-dronke  wel  of  the  rede  wyn, 

'  Adam,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  what  is  now  thy  reed  ? 

Wlier  T  go  to  my  brother  and  girde  of  his  heed  f 


THE   COKES   TALE   OF   GAMELYX.  il53 

'  Gamelyn,'  seyde  Adam,  '  it  sclial  not  be  so 

I  can  techo  the  a  ivfd  that  is  worth  the  two. 

I  wot  wel  for  sotlio  tiiat  this  is  no  nay, 

We  schul  have  a  niangery  right  on  Sonday ; 

Ahliotes  and  priours  many  heor  sclial  bo, 

And  other  men  of  holy  chirche,  as  I  telle  the  ;       [fast, 

Thow  schalt  stonde  up  by  the  post  as  thou  were  hond- 

And  I  schal  leva  hem  unloke,  awey  thou  may  hem  cast, 

Whan  that  they  have  et(!n  and  waisschen  here  hondes, 

Thou  schalt  biscke  hem  alle  to  bryng  the  out  of  bondcs  ; 

And  if  they  wille  borwe  the,  that  were  good  game, 

Then  were  thou  out  of  prisoun,  and  I  out  of  blame ; 

And  if  everich  of  hem  say  unto  us  na}', 

I  schal  do  another  thing,  I  swere  by  this  day! 

Thou  schalt  have  a  good  staf  and  I  wil  have  another, 

And  Cristes  cm*s  have  that  oon  thatfaileth  that  other  !' 

'  Ye,  for  Gode !'  sayde  Gaundyn,  '  I  say  it  for  me, 

If  I  tayle  on  my  syde,  yvel  mot  I  the ! 

If  we  schul  algate  assoile  hem  of  here  syune, 

Warne  me,  brother  Adam,  Avhan  1  sclial  bygynue.' 

*  Gamelyn,'  seyde  Adam,  '  by  seynte  Chai-ite, 

I  wil  warne  the  byforn  whan  that  it  schal  be; 

Whan  I  twynk  on  the,  loke  for  to  goon, 

And  cast  awey  the  feteres,  and  com  to  me  anoon.' 

'  Adam,'  seide  Gamelyn,  '  blessed  be  thy  bones ! 

That  is  a  good  counseil  gevj'ng  for  the  nones; 

If  they  werne  me  thanne  to  brynge  me  out  of  beudea, 

1  wol  sette  goode  strokes  right  on  here  lendes.' 

Tho  the  Sonday  was  i-conie,  and  folk  to  the  feste, 

Faire  they  were  welcomed  bothe  lest  and  raeste  ; 

And  ever  as  they  atte  halle  dore  coinen  in, 

They  caste  their  eye  on  yonge  Gamelyn. 

The  fals  knight  his  brother,  ful  of  trechory, 

Alle  the  gestcs  that  tlier  wer  atte  niangery. 

Of  Gamelyn  his  brother  he  tolde  hem  with  mouthe 

Al  the  harm  and  tho  schame  that  he  telle  couthe. 

Tho  they  were  served  oi'  messes  tuo  or  thre, 

Thau  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  How  serve  ye  me  I 


254  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

It  is  nought  wel  served,  by  God  that  al  made ! 

That  I  sytte  flistyng,  and  other  men  make  glada' 

The  fals  knight  his  brother,  ther  that  he  stood, 

Tolde  alle  his  gestes  that  Gamelyn  was  wood ; 

And  Gamelyn  stood  stille,  and  answerde  nought, 

But  Adames  wordes  he  hekl  in  his  thought. 

Tho  Gamel}Ti  gan  speke  dolfully  withalle 

To  the  gret  lordes  that  saten  in  the  halle : 

'  Lordes,'  he  seyde,  '  for  CrLstes  passioun, 

Helpeth  brynge  Gamelyn  out  of  prisoun.' 

Than  seyde  an  abbot,  sorwe  on  his  cheeke! 

'  He  schal  have  Cristes  curs  and  seynte  Maries  eeke, 

That  the  out  of  prisoun  beggeth  other  borwe, 

But  ever  worthe  hem  wel  that  doth  the  moclie  sorwe.' 

After  that  abbot  than  spak  another, 

'  I  wold  thin  heed  were  of,  though  thou  were  my  bro- 

Alle  that  the  borwe,  foule  mot  hem  falle!'  [ther; 

Thus  they  seyde  alle  that  were  in  the  halle. 

Than  seyde  a  priour,  y vel  mot  he  thryve ! 

'  It  is  moche  skathe,  boy,  that  thou  art  on  lyve.' 

'  0\v,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  so  brouk  I  my  honi 

Now  I  have  aspyed  that  freendes  have  I  non. 

Gui-sed  mot  he  worthe  bothe  fleisch  and  blood. 

That  ever  do  priour  or  abbot  ony  good !' 

Adam  the  spencer  took  up  the  cloth, 

And  loked  on  Gamelyn,  and  say  that  he  was  wroth , 

Adam  on  the  pantrye  litel  he  thought. 

But  tuo  goode  staves  to  halle  dore  he  brought. 

Adam  loked  on  Gamelyn,  and  he  was  war  anoon, 

And  caste  awey  the  feteres,  and  he  bigan  to  goon: 

Tho  he  com  to  Adam,  he  took  that  oo  staf. 

And  by  gan  to  worche,  and  goode  strokes  gaf. 

Gamelyn  cam  into  the  halle,  and  the  spencer  bothe, 

And  loked  hem  aboute,  as  they  had  be  wrothe  ; 

Gamelyn  sprengeth  holy-water  with  an  oken  spire, 

That  some  that  stoode  upright  fel  in  the  fire. 

Ther  was  no  lewede  man  that  in  the  halle  stood, 

That  wolde  do  Gamelyn  eny  thing  but  gc>od, 


Tim    COKKS    TALE    OP   GAMELVy.  235 

But  stood  Ix-sydo,  ami  loet  hem  bothe  werche, 

For  they  liaiKlo  no  n.'wtlie  ot  men  ot  holy  clierche;^ 

Abbot  or  priour,  monk  or  chanoun, 

That  Gamely u  overtok,  anon  they  yeeden  doun. 

Thcr  was  non  of  hem  alle  that  with  his  stat  mette, 

That  he  made  liim  overthrowe  and  quyt  him  liis  dette. 

'  Gamelyu,'  seyde  Adam,  '  for  seynte  Charit6, 

Pay  large  lyverey,  for  the  love  of  me, 

And  I  wil  kepe  the  ilore,  so  ever  hero  I  masse ! 

Er  they  ben  assoyled  ther  shan  noon  passe.' 

'  Do^vt  the  nought,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  whil  we  ben  in 

feere, 
Kep  thou  wel  the  dore,  and  I  wol  werche  heere ; 
Stere  the,  good  Adam,  and  lat  ther  noon  flee, 
And  we  schul  telle  largely  how  many  ther  be.' 
'  Gamelyn,'  seyde  Adam,  '  do  hem  but  good ; 
They  ben  men  of  holy  chirche,  draw  of  liem  no  blood, 
Save  wel  the  croune,"  and  do  hem  non  harmes, 
But  brek  bothe  her  legges  and  sithtlien  here  armes.' 
Thus  Gamelyn  and  Adam  wroughte  right  fast, 
And  pleyden  with  the  monkes,  and  made  hem  agast. 

'  The  hatred  of  churchmen,  of  lioly  water,  jind  of  everything  connected 
with  tlie  church,  ohservaMe  in  all  the  ballads  of  this  class,  is  probably 
in  part  owinjr  to  the  fact  alluded  to  in  the  introduction  to  this  tale, 
viz.,  that  \\'illiain  the  Conqueror  and  bis  immediate  successors  sys- 
timatically  removed  the  Saxon  bishops  and  abbots,  and  intruded 
Normans  in  their  stead  into  all  the  valuable  preferments  in  England. 
I!ut  there  were  also  other  grounds  for  the  odium  in  which  those  foreign 
prelates  were  held.  Sharing  in  the  duties  of  the  common  law  judges, 
they  participated  in  the  aversion  with  which  the  functionaries  of  the 
law  were  naturally  regardeil  by  outlaws  and  robbers ;  just  as  the  parson 
who,  at  the  present  day,  combines  the  magisterial  with  the  sacerdotal 
oilice,  is  generally  an  object  of  special  dislike  to  thieves  and  poacherf. 
Numerous  e.\am])le3  of  the  hostility  of  the  outlaws  to  the  hislier  clergy 
niul  officers  of  the  law  will  occur  to  every  reader  of  the  ballads  of  Jtobiu 
Hood.  For  instance,  in  the  Zy/ei  Gei-<e,  already  quoted,  i:obiri  tJius 
direct*  Little  John  : — 

'  The.se  bysshopes  and  these  archebysshoppea. 
Ye  shall  them  beete  and  bynde; 
The  high  slieryle  of  Notynghamc, 
ilym  holde  ye  in  your  mynde." 
*  He  say.>(.  ironically,  •  Do  not  break  their  heada,'  becmiueof  the  v/o- 
•are,  the  peculiar  muik  of  the  clerical  piofeasioa. 


256  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Thider  they  come  rydyng  jolily  with  swaynos, 
But  hoin  ageu  they  were  i-lad  in  cartes  and  in  waynes, 
Tho  they  haddeu  al  y-don,  than  seyde  a  gray  frere,' 
'  AUas !  sire  abbot,  what  did  we  now  heere? 
Tho  that  comen  hider,  it  was  a  colde  reed, 
Us  hadde  ben  better  at  home  with  water  and  breed.' 
Whil  Gamelyn  made  ordres^  of  moukes  and  frere, 
Ever  stood  his  brother,  and  made  foul  chere  ; 
Gamelyn  up  with  his  staff,  that  he  wel  knew, 
And  gert  him  in  the  nekke,  that  he  overthrew ; 
A  lit  el  above  the  girdel  the  rigge-bon  to-barst; 
And  sette  him  in  the  feteres  ther  he  sat  arst. 
'  Sitte  ther,  brother,'  sayde  Gamelyn, 
'  For  to  colyn  thy  blood,  as  I  dide  myn.' 
As  swithe  as  they  hadde  i-wroken  hem  on  here  foon. 
They  askeden  watir  and  wisschen  anoon. 
What  some  for  here  love  and  some  for  awe, 
Alle  the  servantz  served  hem  of  the  beste  lawe. 
The  scherreve  was  thennes  but  a  fyve  myle, 
And  al  was  y-told  him  in  a  litel  while. 
How  Gamelyn  and  Adam  had  doon  a  sory  rees, 
Bounden  and  i-wounded  men  agein  the  kinges  pees  ; 
Tho  bigan  sone  strif  for  to  wake, 
And  the  scherref  aboute  cast  Gamelyn  for  to  take. 

Now  lytheth  and  lestneth,  so  God  gif  you  goode  fpi ! 
And  ye  schul  hcere  good  game  of  yonge  Gamelyn. 
Four  and  twenty  yonge  men,  that  heelden  hem   ful 

bolde, 
Come  to  the  schirref  and  seyde  that  they  wolde 
Gamelyn  and  Adam  fetten  away. 
The  scherref  gaf  hem  leve,  soth  as  I  you  say ; 
They  hyeden  faste,  wold  they  nought  bylynne, 
Til  they  come  to  the  gate,  ther  Gamelyn  was  inne. 

•  A  Franciscan,  or  friar  minor,  the  habit  of  this  order  being  grey. 

*  This  exi)res.sion  seems  to  mean  in-imarily,  took  order  for  the  monks 
and  friars,  or  disj.osed  of  them;  but  it  appears  to  have  a  secondary 
ironical  allubion  to  the  ceremony  of  ordination,  whicli  consists  in  the 
ktyintj  on  of  hcmtl.f,  and  is  as  nmch  as  to  say,  '  AVhile  Gamelyu  gava 
these  monlis  and  friars  a  uew  kind  of  orders,' 


THE   COKES   TALE   OP   GAMELYX.  Zi»  < 

Tlicy  knokketl  on  the  gate,  the  porter  was  ny, 

And  lokod  out  at  an  hoi,  as  man  that  wiis  sly. 

'riie  porter  haddo  byholde  horn  a  litol  while, 

ilo  loved  wel  Ganu-lyn.  and  was  adriid  of  gyle, 

And  asked  hem  withoute  what  was  here  wille. 

I'Vn-  al  the  grete  company  thanne  spak  but  oon, 

'  Undo  the  gate,  porter,  and  hit  us  in  goon.' 

Than  seyde  the  porter,  'So  brouke  I  my  chyn, 

Ve  schul  sey  your  eraud  er  ya  comen  in.' 

'  Sey  to  Gamclyu  and  Adam,  if  here  wille  be, 

We  wil  speke  with  hem  wordcs  two  or  thre.' 

'  Felawe,'  seyde  the  porter,  '  stond  there  stille. 

And  I  wil  wende  to  Gamelyn  to  witen  his  wille.' 

I  u  went  the  poi-ter  to  Gamelyn  anoon, 

And  seyde,  *  Sir,  I  wai'nc  you  her  ben  come  your  foon. 

The  scherreves  meyne  ben  atte  gate. 

For  to  take  you  bothe,  schul  ye  nat  skape.' 

'  Porter,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  *  so  moot  I  wel  the ! 

I  wil  allowe  the  thy  worde.s'  wlum  I  my  tyme  se; 

Go  agayn  to  the  gate,  and  dwel  with  hem  a  while. 

And  thou  schalt  se  right  sone,  porter,  a  gyle. 

Adam,'  sayde  Gamelyn,  '  looke  the  to  goon ; 

We  have  foomcn  atte  gate,  and  frendcs  never  oon; 

It  ben  the  schirrefes  men,  that  hidcr  ben  i-como, 

They  ben  swore  to-gidere  that  we  schul  be  nome.' 

'  Gamelyn,'  seyde  Adam,  'hye  the  right  blyve, 

And  if  I  faile  the  this  day,  evel  mot  I  thryvc ! 

And  we  schul  so  welcome  the  schen-eves  men. 

That  some  of  hem  schul  make  here  beddes  in  the  den.' 

Atte  postcrne  gate  Guraelyn  out  went, 

And  a  good  cart  staf  in  his  hand  he  hente  ; 

Adam  liente  sone  another  gi-et  staf, 

For  to  holpe  Gamelyn,  and  goode  strokes  gaf. 

Adam  folde  tweyne,  and  Gamelyn  felde  thre, 

The  other  setten  feet  on  erthe,  and  bygonne  fle. 

•  What?'  seyde  Adam,  '  so  ever  here  I  masse! 

I  have  a  draught  of  good  wyn,  diynk  er  ye  passe.' 

*  I  »\-:!l  pive  yen  lUv  lu-ncfit  of,  or  repay  you  for,  your  words,  when  I 
fee  an  opportunity. 

Vol .  I.  s 


258  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES, 

« Nay,  by  God !'  sayde  they,  '  thy  drynk  is  not  good, 

It  wolde  make  mannes  brayne  to  lieu  in  his  hood.' 

Gamelyn  stood  stille,  and  loked  him  aboute, 

And  seih  the  scherreve  come  with  a  gret  route. 

'  Adam,'  sayde  Gamelyn,  '  my  reed  is  now  this, 

Abide  we  no  lenger,  lest  we  fare  amys : 

I  rede  that  we  to  wode  goon  ar  that  we  be  founde, 

Better  is  us  ther  loose  than  in  town  y-bounde.' 

Adam  took  by  the  bond  yonge  Gamelyn ; 

And  everich  of  hem  tuo  drank  a  draught  of  wyn, 

And  after  took  her  coursers  and  wenten  her  way. 

Tho  fond  the  scherreve  nest,  but  non  ay. 

The  scherreve  lighte  adoun,  and  went  into  the  halle, 

And  fond  the  lord  y-fetered  faste  withalle. 

The  scherreve  unfetered  him  sone,  and  that  anoon, 

And  sent  after  a  leche  to  hele  his  rigge-boon. 

Lete  we  now  this  fals  knight  lyen  in  his  care, 
And  talke  we  of  Gamelyn,  and  loke  how  he  fare. 
Gamelyn  into  the  woode  stalkede  stille, 
And  Adam  the  spenser  liked  ful  ylle ; 
Adam  swor  to  Gamelyn,  by  seynt  Richer, 
'  Now  I  see  it  is  mery  to  be  a  spencer, 
That  lever  me  were  keyes  for  to  here, 
Than  walken  in  this  wilde  woode  my  clothes  to  tere.' 
« Adam,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  dismaye  the  right  nought ; 
Many  good  mannes  child  in  care  is  i-brought.' 
And  as  they  stoode  talkyng  bothen  in  feere, 
Adam  herd  talkyng  of   men,  and  ney  him  thought 

thei  were. 
Tho  Gamelyn  under  the  woode  loked  aright, 
Sevene  score  of  yonge  men  he  saugh  wel  adight ; 
AUe  satte  atte  mete  in  compas  aboute, 
•  Adam,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  now  have  we  no  doute. 
After  bale  cometh  boote,  thurgh  grace  of  God  almight ; 
]Me  thynketh  of  mete  and  of  drynk  that  I  have  a  sight.' 
Adam  lokede  tho  under  woode  bowgh, 
And  whan  he  seyh  mete  he  was  glad  ynough ; 
For  he  hopede  to  God  for  to  have  his  deel, 
And  he  was  sore  alonged  after  a  good  meel 


THE  COKES  TALE  OF  OAMELTW.        259 

As  he  seyde  that  wordc,  thu  mayster  outlawe 

Saugh  Gamcl}'n  and  Adam  under  woode  schawe, 

'  Yonge  men,'  soyde  the  maister,  '  by  the  goode  roode, 

1  am  war  of  gestes,  God  send  us  non  but  goode ; 

Yonder  ben  tuo  yonge  men,  wonder  wel  adight, 

And  paraventure  ther  ben  mo,  who  so  loked  aright. 

Ariseth  up,  ye  yonge  men,  and  fettetli  liem  to  me  ; 

It  is  good  that  we  \\dtcn  wliat  men  they  bee.' 

Up  ther  sterten  sevene  fro  the  dyner, 

And  metten  with  Gamelyn  and  Adam  spenser. 

Whan  they  were  neyh  hem,  than  seyde  that  oon, 

'  Yeldeth  up,  yonge  men,  your  bowes  and  your  llooii.' 

Thanne  seyde  Gamelyn,  that  yong  was  of  elde, 

'  Moche  sorwe  mot  lie  have  that  to  you  hem  yelde ! 

I  curse  non  other,  but  right  myselve, 

They  ye  fette  to  yow  fyve,  thanne  ye  be  twelve.' 

Tho  they  herde  by  his  word  that  might  was  in  his  arm, 

Ther  was  none  of  hem  allc  that  wolde  do  him  harm. 

But  sayd  unto  Gamelyn,  myldely  and  stille, 

'  Com  afore  our  maister,  and  sey  to  him  thy  wille.' 

'  Yonge  men,'  sayde  Gamelyn,  '  by  your  lewte, 

What  man  is  your  maister  that  ye  with  be!' 

Alle  they  answerde  withoute  lesyng, 

'  Oure  maister  is  i-crouned  of  outlawes  kyng.' 

'Adam,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  'go  we  in  Cristes  name; 

He  may  neyther  mete  nor  drynk  werne  us  for  schame. 

If  that  he  be  heende,  and  come  of  gentil  blood, 

He  wol  geve  us  mete  and  drynk,  and  doon  us  som  good.' 

'  By  seynt  Jame!'  seyd  Adam,  '  what  harm  that  1  gete, 

I  wil  auntre  to  the  dore  that  I  hadde  mete.' 

Gamelyn  and  Adam  wente  forth  in  feere. 

And  they  grctte  the  maister  that  they  founde  there. 

Than  seide  the  maister,  kyng  of  outlawes, 

'  What  secke  ye,  yonge  men,  imder  woode  schawes  ?' 

Gamelyn  answerde  the  kyng  with  his  crouuo, 

'He  moste  ncedes  w;dke   in  woode,  that  may  not 

valke  in  towne. 
Sire,  we  walk  not  ln'cr  noon  harm  for  to  do, 
But  if  we  meete  with  a  deer,  to  scheete  therto, 

s  2 


260  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

As  men  tliat  ben  liungry,  and  mow  no  mete  fynde, 
And  ben  harde  bystad  under  woode  lynde.' 
Of  Gamelynes  wordes  the  maister  hadde  routlie, 
And  seyde,  '  Ye  schal  have  ynough,  havg  God  my 

trouthe,' 
He  bad  bem  sitte  tber  adoun,  for  to  take  reste ; 
And  bad  hem  ete  and  drynke,  and  that  of  the  beste. 
As  they  sete  and  eeten  and  dronke  wel  and  fyn, 
Than  seyd  that  oon  to  that  other,  '  This  is  Gamelyn/ 
Tho  was  the  maister  outlawe  into  connseil  nome, 
And  tokl  how  it  was  Gamelyn  that  thider  was  i-coma 
Anon  as  he  herde  how  it  was  bifalle, 
He  made  him  maister  under  him  over  hem  alle. 
Within  the  thridde  wyke  him  com  tydyng, 
To  the  maister  outlawe  that  tho  was  her  kyng, 
That  he  schukle  come  hom,  his  pees  was  i-made ; 
And  of  that  goode  tydyng  he  was  tho  ful  glad. 
Tho  seyde  he  to  his  yonge  men,  soth  for  to  telle, 
'  Me  ben  comen  tydynges  I  may  no  lenger  dwelle.' 
Tho  was  Gamelyn  anon,  withoute  taryyng. 
Made  maister  outlawe,  and  crouned  her  kyng. 

Tho  was  Gamelyn  crouned  kyng  of  outlawes, 
And  walked  a  while  under  woode  schawes. 
The  fals  knight  his  brother  was  scherreve  and  sire, 
And  leet  his  brother  endite  for  hate  and  for  ire. 
Tho  were  his  bonde-men  sory  and  nothing  glade, 
Whan  Gamelyn  her  lord  wolves  heed^  was  cryed  and 

made ; 
And  sente  out  of  his  men  wher  they  might  him  fynde. 
For  to  seke  Gamelyn  under  woode  lynde. 
To  telle  him  tydynges  how  the  wynd  was  went, 
And  al  his  good  reved,  and  his  men  schent.'^ 


1  This  was  the  ancient  Saxon  formula  of  outlawry,  and  seems  to 
have  been  literally  equivalent  to  setting  tlie  man's  head  at  the  same 
estimate  as  a  wolf's  head.  In  the  laws  of  Edward  the  Confessor,  it  is 
said  of  a  person  who  has  lied  justice,  '  Si  vero  postea  rcpcrtus  fuorit,  et 
retineri  possit,  vivus  regi  reddatur,  vel  caput  ejus,  si  se  defenderit. 
Lupinum  enim  jrcrit  caput,  quod  anglice  undjcs-heofod  dicitur.  Et  haec 
est  lex  communis  et  Keneralis  de  omnibus  utlagatis.' — W. 

2  On  change  of  possession  by  the  death  or  outlawry  of  the  Lord  of 


THE  COKES  TALE  OF  GAMELYX.        2G1 

Whan  they  liad  him  foundi.',  on  knees  they  hem  sette. 
And  adoun  witli  here  hood,  and  liere  lord  grette : 
'  Sire,  wrathtlie'  you  nought,  for  the  goode  roodu. 
For  we  have  brought  you  tydynges,  but  they  be  nat 

goode. 
IV'ow  is  thy  brother  scherreve,  and  hath  the  baillye,'"' 
And  he  hatli  endited  the,  and  wolves-heed  doth  the 

crie.' 
'  Alias !'  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  that  ever  I  was  so  slak 
That  I  ne  hadde  broke  his  nekke,  tho  his  rigge  brak! 
Goth,  grcteth  hem  wel,  niyn  housbondes  and  wyt,^ 
I  wol  ben  atte  nexte  schire,  have  God  my  lyf,' 
Gamelyn  came  wel  redy  to  the  nexte  scliire, 
And  ther  was  his  brother  bothe  lord  and  sire. 
Gamelyn  com  boldelych  into  the  moot  halle. 
And  put  adoun  his  hood  among  the  loixies  alle : 
'  God  save  you  alle,  lordyngcs,  that  now  here  be! 
But  broke-bak  scherreve,  evel  mot  thou  the ! 
Why  hast  thou  do  me  that  scliame  and  vilonye, 
For  to  late  endite  me,  and  wolves-heed  me  crye?* 
Tho  thought  the  fals  knight  for  to  ben  awreke, 
And  leet  take  Gamelyn,  most  he  nomore  speke ; 
Might  ther  be  nomore  grace,  but  Gamelyn  atte  last 
Was  cast  into  prisoun  and  fetered  ful  fast. 
Gameljni  hath  a  brother  that  hightc  sir  Ote, 
As  good  a  knight  and  heende  as  mighte  gon  on  foote. 
Anon  ther  yede  a  messager  to  that  goode  knight. 
And  tolde  him  altogidere  how  Gamelyn  was  diglit. 


the  Manor,  the  serfs,  or  vilains  regardant,  who  went  with  the  property 
of  the  soil,  were  liable  to  pay  fines  to  his  successor;  and,  in  a  case  like 
the  present,  these  i\nv3  would  probably  be  oppressively  exacted. 

'  A  man  of  Gamclyii's  violent  temper  mijjht  be  expected  to  wreak 
his  vei-'geance  on  the  elave  who  brou^rht  him  evil  tidings.  This  is  a 
feeling  by  no  means  peculiar  to  tlie  middle  ages. 

-  That  is,  '  has  obtained  the  government  of  the  bailiwick.'  In 
former  times,  before  the  modern  system  of  stinKlin;;  armies  and  muni- 
cipal police  was  introduced,  the  high  sheriff  was  ttie  ollicer  pirsonally 
reaponsible  for  the  peace  of  his  bailiwick,  which  he  niaiutaintd  by 
calling  out  t)ic  posse  comltatits  to  a.'^gist  him. 

■^  Ihi^  means,  apparently,  '  My  husbandmen  and  tbeir  wives.' 


262  THE    CANTERBURY  TALES. 

Anon  as  sire  Ote  herde  how  Gamelyn  was  adight, 

He  was  wonder  sory,  was  he  nothing  light, 

And  leet  sadle  a  steede,  and  the  way  he  nam, 

And  to  his  tweyne  bretheren  anon  right  he  cam. 

'  Sire,'  seyde  sire  Ote  to  the  scherreve  tho, 

'  We  ben  but  thre  bretheren,  schul  we  never  be  mo, 

And  thou  hast  y-prisoned  the  best  of  us  alle ; 

Swich  another  brother  yvel  mot  him  bifalle !' 

'  Sire  Ote,'  seide  the  fals  knight,  '  lat  be  thi  curs ; 

By  God,  for  thy  wordes  he  schal  fare  the  wiirs; 

To  the  kynges  prisoun  anon  he  is  y-nome, 

And  ther  he  schal  abyde  til  the  justice  come.' 

'  Parde !'  seyde  sir  Ote,  '  better  it  schal  be, 

I  bidde  him  to  maympris,  that  thou  graunt  him  me. 

Til  the  nexte  sittyng  of  delyvei'aunce,^ 

And  thanne  lat  Gamelyn  stande  to  his  chaunce.' 

'  Brother,  in  swich  a  fortliward  take  him  to  the ; 

And  by  thi  fader  soule,  that  the  bygat  and  me, 

But  if  he  be  redy  whan  the  justice  sitte. 

Thou  schalt  here  the  juggerment  foral  thi  grete  witte.' 

'  I  graunte  wel,'  seide  sir  Ote,  '  that  it  so  be. 

Let  delyver  him  anon,  and  tak  him  to  me.' 

Tho  was  Gamelyn  delyvered  to  sire  Ote  his  brother; 

And  that  night  dwelleden  that  on  with  that  other. 

On  the  morn  seyde  Gamelyn  to  sire  Ote  the  heende, 

'  Brother,'  he  seide,  *  I  moot  for  sothe  from  the  wende, 

To  loke  how  my  yonge  men  leden  here  lyf, 

Whether  they  lyven  in  joie  or  elles  in  stryf.' 

'Be  God!'  seyde  sire  Ote,  'that  is  a  cold  reed, 

Now  I  see  that  al  the  cark  schall  fallen  on  myn  heed  ; 

For  whan  the  justice  sitte,  and  thou  be  nought  y-founde, 

I  schal  anon  be  take,  and  in  thy  stede  i-bounde.' 

'  Brother,'  sayde  Gamelyn,  '  dismaye  the  nought. 

For   by  seint  Jame  in  Gales,  that  many  man  hath 

If  that  God  almighty  hold  my  lyf  and  witt,      [sought, 

I  wil  be  ther  redy  whan  the  justice  sitt.' 

•  I  demand  that  lie  be  granted  to  me  on  mainprize,  or  bail,  till  tha 
assize  for  general  gaol  delivery. 


THE   COKES   TALE   OF   GAMELYN.  2G3 

Than  seide  sir  Ote  to  Gamelyn,  '  God  scliiclde  tho  fro 

schanic ; 
Com  whau  tliou  seest   tyme,    and  bring   tis    out   of 

blame.' 
Lithoth,  and  lestneth,  and  holdeth  you  stille, 
And  ye  schul  here  how  Gamelyn  had  al  his  wille. 
Gamelyn  wente  agein  under  woode  rys, 
And  fond  there  pleying  yonge  men  of  prys. 
Tho  was  yonge  Gamelyn  glad  and  blithe  ynough, 
Whan  he  fond  his  mery  men  under  woode  bough. 
Gamelyn  and  his  men  talked  in  feere, 
And  they  hadde  good  game  here  maister  to  heere; 
They  tolden  him  of  aventures  that  they  hadde  founde, 
And   Gamcl}Ti   hem   tolde   agein   how   he   was    fast 

i-bounde. 
Whil  Gamelyn  was  outlawed,  had  he  no  cors ; 
There  was  no  man  that  for  him  ferde  the  woi-s, 
But  abbotes  and  priours,  monk  and  chanoun;* 
On  hem  left  he  nothing  whan  he  might  hem  nom. 
Whil  Gamelyn  and  his  men  made  mcrthes  ryve, 
The  fals  knight  his  brother,  yvel  mot  he  thryve! 
For  he  was  fast  about  bothe  day  and  other. 
For  to  hyre  the  quest,'  to  hangen  his  brother. 
Gamelyn  stood  on  a  day,  and  as  he  biheeld 
The  woodes  and  the  schawes  in  the  wilde  feeld, 
He  thouirht  on  his  brother  how  he  him  beheet 
That  he  wolde  be  redy  whan  the  justice  seet; 
He  thoughte  wel  that  he  wolde,  withoute  delay, 
Come  afore  the  justice  to  kepen  his  day. 
And  seide  to  his  yonge  men,  'Dighteth  you  yare, 
For  whan  the  justice  sit,  we  moote  be  thare, 
For  I  am  under  Lorwe  til  that  I  come, 
And  my  brother  for  me  to  prisoun  schal  be  nome.' 
'By  seint  Jamel'  seyde  his  yonge  men,   'and  thou 

rede  therto, 
Ovdeyne  how  it  schal  be,  and  it  schal  be  do.' 


'  Se«  nntt,  p.  355,  note  i.  *  To  lubom  the  jury. 


264  THE   CANTERBUBY   TALKS. 

Whil  GameljTi  was  comyng  ther  the  justice  sat, 
The  fals  knight  his  brother,  forgat  he  nat  that, 
To  huyre  the  men  on  his  quest  to  haugeu  his  brother ; 
Though    he    hadde  nought    that   oon  he  wolde  have 
Tho  cam  Gamelyn  fro  under  woode  rys,      [that  other, 
And  broughte  with  him  his  yonge  men  of  prys. 

*  I  se  wel,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  the  justice  is  sette ; 
Go  aforn,  Adam,  and  loke  how  it  spette.' 
Adam  went  into  the  halle,  and  loked  al  aboute, 
He  seyh  there  stonde  lordes  gret  and  stoute, 
And  sir  Ote  his  brother  fetered  wel  fast : 
Tho  went  Adam  out  of  halle,  as  he  were  aghast. 
Adam  said  to  Gamelyn  and  to  his  felaws  alle, 
'  Sir  Ote  stant  i-fetered  in  the  moot  halle.' 
'Yonge  men,'  seide  Gamelyn,  'this  ye  heeren  alle; 
Sire  Ote  stant  i-fetered  in  the  moot  halle. 
If  God  gif  us  grace  wel  for  to  doo, 
He  schal  it  abegge  that  broughte  him  thertoo.' 
Thanne  sayde  Adam,  that  lokkes  hadde  hore, 
'  Cristes  curs  most  he  have  that  him  bond  so  sore ! 
And  thou  wilt,  Gamelyn,  do  after  my  red, 
Ther  is  noon  in  the  halle  schal  bere  awey  his  heed.' 
'  Adam,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  we  wiln  nought  don  so, 
We  wil  slee  the  giltyf,  and  lat  the  other  go. 
I  wil  into  the  halle,  and  with  the  justice  speke : 
On  hem  that  ben  gultyf  I  wil  ben  awreke. 
Lat  non  skape  at  the  dore ;  take,  yonge  men,  yeme ; 
For  I  wil  be  justice  this  day  domes  to  deme. 
God  spede  me  this  day  at  my  newe  werk  ! 
Adam,  com  on  with  me,  for  thou  schalt  be  my  clerk.' 
His  men  answereden  him  and  bade  him  doon  his  best, 
'  And  if  thou  to  us  have  neede,  thou  schalt  fynde  ua 

prest : 
We  wiln  stande  with  the,  wil  that  we  may  dure, 
And  but  we  werke  manly,  pay  us  non  hure.' 
'  Yonge  men,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  so  mot  1  wel  the  i 
As  trusty  a  maister  ye  schal  fyude  of  me.' 


THE   COKES   TALE   OF    GAMELYN.  265 

Right  there  the  justice  sat  in  the  halle, 
lu  wonte  Gamely  a  amonges  hem  alle. 

Gamelyn  leet  untotore  his  brother  out  ot  beenrle. 
Thanne  seytle  sir  Ote,  his  brother  that  was  heeude, 
'  Tliou  haddest  almost,  Gamelyn,  dwelled  to  longc, 
For  the  quest  is  oute'  on  me,  that  I  schulde  houge.' 
'  Brother,'    seyde    Gamelyn,    '  so    God  gif   me    good 

rest ! 
This  day  they  schuln  ben  hanged  that  ben  on   thy 

quest ; 
And  the  justice  bothe  that  is  jugges  man, 
And  the  scherreve  bothe,  thixrgh  him  it  bigan.' 
Than  seyde  Gamelyn  to  the  justise, 
'  Now  is  thy  power  y-don,  thou  most  nedes  arise ; 
Thow  hast  geven  domes  that  ben  yvel  dight, 
I  wil  sitten  in  thy  sete,  and  dressen  hem  aright.' 
The  justice  sat  stille,  and  roos  nouglit  anoon; 
And  Gamel}Ti  clcvede  his  checke  boon; 
Gamelyn  took  him  in  his  arm,  and  no  more  spak. 
But  threw  him  over  the  barre,  and  his  arm  to-brak. 
Durste  non  to  Gamelyn  seye  but  good, 
For-fered  of  the  company  that  withoute  stood. 
Gamelyn  sette  him  doun  in  the  justices  sete, 
And  sire  Ote  his  brother  by  him,  and  Adam  at  his 

feet. 
Whan  Gamelyn  was  i-set  in  the  justices  stede, 
Herkneth  of  a  bourde  that  Gamelyn  dede. 
He  leet  fetre  the  justice  and  his  fals  brother, 
And  dede  hem  come  to  the  barre,  that  oon  with  that 

other. 
Tho  Gamelyn  had  lo  thus  y-doon,  had  he  no  rest. 
Til  he  had  enquered  wlio  was  on  the  quest 
For  to  deme  his  brother,  sir  Ote,  for  to  honge ; 
Er  he  wiste  which  they  were  it  thoughte  fol  longe. 


'  The  verdict  is  delirered. 


266  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

But  as  sone  as  Gamelyn  wiste  wlier  tliey  were, 
He  dede  hem  everichoue  fetere  in  feere, 
And   bringen   hem    to  the    barre,  and  sette  hem  in 
rewe;  [schrewe.' 

'  By  my  faith  !'  seyde  the  justice,  '  the  scherreve  is  a 
Than  seyde  Gamelyn  to  the  justise, 
'  Thou  hast  y-geve  domes  of  the  wors  assise, 
And  the  twelve  sisours  that  weren  of  the  queste, 
They  schul  ben  hanged  this  day,  so  have  I  reste.' 
Thanne  seide  the  scherreve  to  yonge  Gamelyn, 
'  Lord  I  cry  the  mercy,  brother  art  thou  myn.' 
'  Therfore,'  seyde  Gamelyn,  '  have  thou  Cristes  curs, 
For  and  thou  were  maister,  yit  I  schulde  have  wors.' 
But  for  to  make  short  tale,  and  nought  to  tarie  longe, 
He  ordeyned  him  a  queste^  of  his  men  so  stronge; 
The  justice  and  the  scherreve  bothe  honged  hye, 
To  weyven  with  ropes  and  with  the  wynd  drye; 
And  the  twelve  sisonrs,  sorwe  have  that  rekke ! 
AUe  they  were  hanged  faste  by  the  nekke. 
Thus  ended  the  fals  knight  with  his  treccherie. 
That  ever  had  i-lad  his  iyf  in  falsnes  and  folye ; 
He  was  hanged  by  the  nek,  and  nought  by  the  piirs, 
That  was  the  meede  that  he  had  for  his  fadi'os  curs. 
Sir  Ote  was  eldest,  and  Gamelyn  was  ying, 
They  wenten  with  here  freendes  even  to  the  kyng; 
They  made  pees  with  the  kyng  of  the  best  assise. 
The  kyng  loved  wel  sir  Ote,  and  made  him  a  justise. 
And  after  the  kyng  made  Gamelyn,  both  in  est  and 
Chef  justice  of  al  his  fre  forest  f  [west, 

Alle  his  wighte  yonge  men  the  kyng  forgaf  here  gilt. 
And  sitthen  in  good  office  the  kyng  hem  hath  i-pilt. 


1  He  chose  a  jury. 
-  This  is  the  usual  di'nouement  of  all  the  tales  of  this  class,  and  it 
may  possibly  be  founded  upon  fact.  For  it  might  be  sound  policy  on 
the  king's  part  to  enlist  the  services  of  a  bold  and  popular  outlaw,  like 
Gamelyn,  in  the  cause  of  order,  at  a  time  when  personal  valour  and 
daring  were  often  able  to  set  the  law  at  defiance.  An  honest  but  inex- 
perienced and  unwarlike  magistrate  would  have  been  of  very  little  use 
in  a  forest  in  NottinghamBhire  in  the  thirteenth  century. 


THE  COKES  TALE  OF  GAMELYN.        2G7 

Tluis  wan  G.imeljni  his  lond  and  his  leedc, 

Aud  wrak  him  of  his  enemys,  and  quyt    hem  here 

meede, 
And  sire  Ote  his  brother  made  him  his  heir, 
A.nd  siththen  wedded  Gamelyn  a  wyf  bothe  good  and 

feyr; 
They  lyveden  togidere  whil  that  Crist  wolde, 
And  sithen  was  Gamelyn  graven  under  molde. 
And  so  schal  we  alle,  may  ther  no  man  lie : 
God  bryng  us  to  the  joye  that  ever  schal  be  I 


THE  MAN  OF  LAWES  PROLOGE. 

/^WRE  Hoste  sawh  that  the  brighte  sonne 

^  The  arke  of  his  artificial  day  hath  i-ronne 

The  foiirthe  part,  of  half  an  hour  and  more ; 

And  though  he  were  nat  depe  expert  in  lore, 

He  wist  it  was  the  eightetene  day^ 

Of  April,  that  is  messanger  to  May ; 

And  sawe  wel  that  the  scbade  of  every  tree 

Was  in  the  lengthe  the  same  quantite 

That  was  the  body  erecte,  that  caused  it ; 

And  therfore  by  the  schadwe  he  took  his  wit, 

That  Phebus,  which  that  schoon  so  fair  and  brijrht. 

Degrees  was  five  and  fourty  clombe  on  hight; 

And  for  that  day,  as  in  that  latitude. 

It  was  ten  of  the  clokke,  he  gan  conclude ; 

And  sodeynly  he  plight  his  hors  aboute. 

'  Lordynges,'  quod  he,  *  I  warne  you  al  the  route, 

The  fourthe  party  of  this  day  is  goon  ; 

Now,  for  the  love  of  God  and  of  seint  Jon, 

Leseth  no  tjTiie,  as  ferforth''  as  ye  may, 

Lordynges,  the  tyme  passeth  night  and  day, 

'  Eightetene.  This  is  the  reading  in  wliich  tlie  MSS.  seem  mostly  to 
agree.  The  MS.  Harl.  reads  threttenthe.  Tyrwhitt  has  eighte  and 
twenty. — W. 

-  The  Ilarl.  MS.  reads,  fortlie.  Ferforth  in  the  text  is  taken  from 
Tyrwhitt,  and  is  probably  correct,  as  agreeing  better  both  with  the 
sense  and  metre. 


•268  THE   CANTERBUEY    TALES. 

And  stelith  fro  us,  wliat  pryvely  slepyng, 
And  what  thurgh  necligence  in  oure  wakyng, 
As  doth  the  streem,  that  tometh  never  agayn, 
Descendyng  fro  the  mounteyn  into  playn, 
Wei  can  Senek  and  many  philosopher 
Bywaylen  time,  more  than  gold  in  cofre. 
For  losse  of  catel  may  recovered  be, 
But  loase  of  tyme  schendeth  us,  quod  he. 
It  wil  nat  come  agajm,  withoute  drede, 
Nomore  than  wol  Malkyns  maydenhede/ 
Whan  ache  had  lost  it  in  hir  wantownease. 
Let  U3  nat  mowlen  thus  in  ydelnesse. 

'  Sir  Man  of  La  we '  quod  he,  '  so  have  ye  blisse 
Telle  ti3  a  tale  anon,  as  forward  ys. 
Ye  be  submitted  thurgh  your  fre  assent 
To  stonden  in  this  cas  at  my  juggement. 
Acquyteth  yow,  and  holdeth  youre  byheate ; 
Than  have  ye  doon  your  devour  atte  leste.' 

'  Host,'  quod  he,  '  De  par  Bieux  jeo  assenie* 
To  breke  forward  is  nat  myn  entent. 
Byheste  is  dette,  and  I  wol  holde  fayn 
AJ  my  byhest,  I  can  no  better  sayn. 
For  such  la  we  as  a  man  geveth  another  wight. 
He  schuld  himselve  usen  it  by  right. 
Thus  wol  oure  text  :*  but  nathelea  certeyn 
I  can  right  now  non  other  tale  seyn, 

'  A  prov^erbial  phraae,  occurring,  aa  Tyrwhitt  observes,  in  Pier» 
Ploicttum : — 

*  Te  have  no  more  merit 
Of  maaae  ne  of  honrea. 
Than  Malkyn  of  hire  maidenhood 
That  no  man  deaireth.' 

*  The  Harl.  M3.  reads  Depardfnx  I  aaaent;  that  in  the  text  is  taken 
from  Tyrwhitt.  The  lawyer  ia  thna  made  characteristically  to  nse  the 
law  terms  in  French,  which  was  then  the  language  of  the  courts, 
though  a  statute,  passed  35  Edward  III.,  enacted  that  all  pleas  ahould 
be  pleaded  in  Engliah.  This  was  not,  however,  generally  enforced, 
even  in  the  time  of  Sir  John  Fortescue,  a  hundred  years  later. — 
Hallam,  LU.  Mid.  Ages,  vol.  i.  c.  i.  §  5i. 

-■J  The  Man  of  Lawe  ia  tinctured  with  the  pedantry  of  his  profession 
and  thinks  that  no  reason  is  good  unless  sanctioned  by  some  authority 
from  a  law-book. 


THE  UXS  or  IAWZ8  rSOUOGE,  2C9 

That^  Chhoeer,  thay  he  can  bat  le-wedlr 
On  metres  szmI  on  lymTxi^  criftel  j, 
Hath  seyd  hem  in  such  Enzli^h  as  he  ran, 
Of    '  '  as  knoveth  maiiT  maiL 

Ai^  __  _ . re  noo^t  sard  hem.  leeve  hroHi&T, 

In  o  bok,  he  hath  seyd  hem  in  inozhtT. 

Tot  he  ha*.  -  up  and  doun, 

3Ioo  ih^^^.  '  .  mencioun' 

In  his  L  ben  so  olde. 

What  schuid  I  teilen  hem.  svn  ther  be  tolde  ? 

In:  "       .ade*of  '     "   '' 

Al^    ..th  he  :^ -.    -     _ 

These  noble  wj-fes,  and  these  lovers  ee.:-, 
Who  so  "wole  his  largr  kr. 

Cleped  the  seintes  lei'-;.-  ^-.  . i  .  .   :  .r  ;* 
Ther  may  he  see  the  Large  woi;. ..'-  -^le 
Of  LocresBe,  and  of  Babilonn  Ty=bee; 
The  sorwe  of  I" '     :V     "     -  \  -- 

The  tree  of  Pi. i  _^  ^ i^- 

The  pleynt  of  Dyane*  and  of  Eraaycai, 
Oi  Adrian.*  and  of  Ysyffhilee ; 
The  barrevn  Tie  stondm?  in  the  see : 
The  dreynt  Leandere  for  his  layre  Erro; 
The  teeres  of  Elevn.  and  eek  the  woo 


aes'^nre.  -  A  xnaspc^axm  iat  made  atoKiom  o*. 

^  Hait  If  mi  wrvU  poetry.  Hater  w  »  ammam  ward  ia  Ute 
xaiddie  mges  ior  a  pace  CK  the  lorezs  here  i  mtitmi  d  «dj  ser^BB  are 
fowHi  a  the  ffwfiUrt  Le^ank  ofCmfidt,  oth^priae  the  l^^ea^  tf  G«it 
Womok,  ia  vbicii  ue  tlM  stories  iif  Hi  miiin  mil  niiliiMi  ■!  .ir-iwiiic 
FWIofte,  not  wtHtinBfjd  here.    Th^  are  aU  tatea  fioa  Ovid's  .Se- 

'*  I:  appeals  that  this  vasoaeBaaeofthepoe^vfeiehis] 
hy  tike  title  of  the  X^fjunide  ^  Glodie  IToaMx.  TldsBaaesaa 
of  tbe  vaf  m  vhi^  Chaaeer  euered  iaso  the  s^mt  d  tihe  hpaihwi 
i  a  real  form  of  religiaa.  He  "^-i**«  i  Thr^  rmon-  Ttm 
1  ftr  lore,  to  hare  bees  saiaxs  aad  Mailjih  fsK  Capid,  jast  a* 
Peter  aad  Paal  awl  Cjrpriaa  w«  amUis  far  CVifS. 

'  Pqajuia,  pnaoaoMed  dike  ItaHaa)  Dqnaira,  aad  a>  -rrit-a-  r« 
TTraWtt. 

*  Aiiadae.     "Pit  W^t  iiliiirlBar'  irmV-rrai 


270  THE    CANTERBUK-S    TALES. 

Of  Bryxseyde,  and  of  Ledomia 

The  cruelte  of  tlae  queen  Medea, 

The  litel  childi-en  hangyng  by  the  hals, 

For  thilke  Jason,  that  was  of  love  so  fals. 

0  Ypermystre,  Penollope,  and  Alceste, 
Youre  wyfhood  he  comendeth  with  the  bestft 
But  certeynly  no  worde  writeth  he 

Of  thilke  wikked  ensample  of  Canace, 
That  loved  hir  owen  brother  synfully ; 
On  whiche  corsed  stories  I  seye  fy ; 
Or  elles  of  Tyro  Appoloneus,^ 
How  that  the  cursed  kyng  Anteochus 
Byreft  his  doughter  of  hir  maydenhede, 
That  is  so  horrible  a  tale  for  to  reede, 
Whan  he  hir  threw  upon  the  pament. 
And  therfore  he  of  ful  avysement 
Wold  never  wryte  in  non  of  his  sermouns 
Of  such  unkynde  abhominaciouns ; 
Ne  I  wol  non  reherse,  if  that  I  may. 
But  of  my  tale  how  schal  I  do  this  day? 
Me  were  loth  to  be  lykned  douteles 
To  Muses,  that  men  clepen  Pyerides.* 
{j\fet]iaviorj)lioseos  wot  what  1  mene); 
But  natheles  I  recche  nat  a  bene, 
They  I  come  after  him  with  hawe-bake,* 

1  speke  in  prose,  and  let  him  rymes  make.'* 

•  Tlic  romance  of  ApoUoniusoj  Tyre  existed  in  Latin  before  a.d.  900 
A  Saxon  translation  (which  has  been  edited  by  Thorpe)  is  preserved 
in  the  library  of  Corpus  Christi,  Cam.  The  story  is  found  in  the  Gesta 
Romanorum,  and  in  Gower's  Confessio  Amantis;  was  translated  into 
barbarous  Greek  by  the  fugitives  from  Constantinople  in  the  fifteenth 
century;  was  one  of  the  earliest  printed  books;  and  forms  the  basis  of  the 
play  of  Pericles,  Prince  of  Tyre,  ascribed  to  Shakespeare. — Sue  Warton. 

-'  He  rather  means,  I  think,  the  daughters  of  Pierus,  who  contended 
with  the  Muses,  and  were  changed  into  pies.  Ovid., Met.  v.— T. 

3  This  word  has  puzzled  Tyrwhitt  and  all  the  commentators.  It 
appears  to  be  a  form  of  hark  back,'  a  term  in  hunting,  by  which  the 
hounds  are  called  back.  [The  explanation  hark  back  cannot  stand ;  the 
Mid.  English  for  that  would  be  herke  bale,  which  cannot  rhyme  with  mak-e.^ 
The  expression  in  the  text  is  correct,  and  merely  means  '  JKikid  haws,' 
i.e.  plain,  homely  fare.  We  have  evidence  that  haws  were  eaten. 
— W.  W.  S.] 

«  The  lawyer  says,  'I  have  no  scruple  iu  borrowing  one  of  Chaucer's 


THE    MAN    OF   LAWES   TALE.  271 

Aud  with  that  word,  he  with  a  sobre  chcerc 
Bygan  liia  tale,  a3  ye  schal  after  beere. 


THE  MAN  OF   LAWES  TALE. 

[]\rR.  Wright  supposes  tliis  tale  to  have  been  derived  from  a 
French  romance,  and  traces  its  several  incidents  to  various 
media;val  stories,  amongst  which  he  enumerates  the  romances 
of  Emare,  in  Ritson's  collection ;  that  of  the  Chevalier  au 
eigne,  and  the  still  older  Saxon  romance  of  King  OJJfa,  pre- 
served in  a  Latm  form  by  Matthew  Paris ;  the  Roman  de  la 
Violette;  Le  Bone  Florence  of  Rome,  also  in  Ritson;  a 
c\\a\>iQV  o{  Vincent  of  Beauvais  ;  and  the  Gesta  Romanorum , 
that  inexhaustible  treasure-house  of  fiction.  TjTwhitt  says 
it  is  taken,  with  little  variation,  from  Gower's  Confessio 
Amantis,  which  was  written,  as  its  author  states,  in  the  six- 
teenth year  of  the  reign  of  Richard  II.,  1392-3,  and  therefore 
before  the  probable  date  of  The  Canterbury  Tales.  Upon 
the  lines  in  the  prologue  beginning,  '  But  certeynly  no  worde 
writeth  he,'  Tyrwhitt  founded  a  conjecture  that  the  friendship 
which  had  subsisted  between  the  two  poets  was  internipted  in 
their  old  age,  which  ho  thinks  is  confirmed  by  the  fact  that  in 
the  copies  of  the  Confessio  Amantis  made  subsequently  to  the 
accession  of  Henry  IV.,  Gower  omitted  some  verses  in  praise 
of  Chaucer.  Sir  Harris  Nicolas,  to  whom  all  admirers  of  the 
poet  are  deeply  indebted  for  his  complete  demolition  of  the 
unfounded  theories  of  his  predecessors,  states  his  opinion  that 
Tyrwhitt's  grounds  for  this  supposition  are  'very  light;'  and 
that  'he  has  answered  his  own  suggestion;  for  he  justly 
observes  that  Chaucer  Could  not  have  meant  to  show  disrespect 
to  Gower  in  a  piece  in  which,  like  The  Man  of  Lawcs  Tale, 
almost  every  incident  is  borrowed  from  Gower ;'  and  that '  the 
omission  of  the  lines  alluded  to  in  the  late  copy  of  the  Con- 

tales  entire,  because  my  business,  as  a  la\vyer.  is  to  talk  in  prose ;  hi^ 
ts  a  povt,  to  make  rhyme*.' 


272  THE    CAIsTERBURT   TALES. 

fessio  Amantis,  may  be  explained  by  Chaucer  being  then 
dead.'  Now  the  grounds  of  Tja-whitt's  hypothesis  may  be, 
and  perhaps  are,  light;  but  certainly  not  for  the  reasons 
here  mentioned.  There  is  no  necessity  to  suppose  that  Chaucer 
took  his  tale  from  Gower — on  the  contrary,  it  is  much  more 
likely,  as  Mr.  Wright  observes,  that  both  poems  might  be 
traced  to  a  common  original  in  some  popular  romance ;  and 
the  fact  of  Chaucer's  being  dead,  instead  of  furnishing  an 
explanation  of  the  omission  of  the  complimentary  lines, 
suggests  a  reason  why  Gower  should  be  desirous  of  retaining 
them  as  a  record  of  his  attachment  to  his  deceased  friend. 
On  the  whole,  it  appears  that  Tyrwhitt's  conjecture  is  founded 
upon  no  positive  and  indisputable  evidence  ;  but  neither  has 
it  yet  been  satisfactorily  disproved. 

Of  Chaucer's  heroic  and  comic  styles  we  have  already  had 
examples  in  the  three  first  tales  ;  in  this  exquisitely  touching 
picture  of  resignation,  founded  upon  Christian  faith  and 
hope,  he  displays  his  powers  of  pathos.  The  pervading  idea 
is  that  virtue  is  not  to  expect  or  seek  its  recompence  in 
earthly  happiness.  Constance,  that  '  nobil  creature,'  is  in 
fact  too  good  to  receive  her  reward  in  this  world,  which  is 
therefore  only  the  scene  of  her  warfare  and  purification.  The 
tone  of  mind  produced  by  the  perusal  of  the  poem  is  one  of 
awe  and  sober  elevation,  an  effect  lilie  that  of  Longfellow's 
kindred  story  of  lEvangeline,  which  is  marred,  however,  by 
his  unfortunate  choice  of  the  (so-called)  hexameter  verse.  The 
metre  selected  by  Chaucer  is,  on  the  contrary,  well  adapted  to 
a  pathetic  subject.  It  was  apparentlj^  first  used  by  him  in 
English  poetry,  and  was  taken,  no  doubt,  from  the  Italian 
ottava  rima,  which  it  resembles  in  cadence,  but  from  which 
it  diflbrs  in  wanting  the  fifth  line  to  rhyme  with  the  fii'st  and 
third.] 

r\  HATEFUL  harm,  conclicioun  of  povert, 
^  With   tlixirst,  with  cold,    with   liongcr  so  con- 
To  asken  help  it  schameth  in  thin  hart,       [foundyd, 
If  thou  non  aske,  with  neede  so  art  thou  wuundyd, 
That  verray  neede  unwrappetli  al  thy  wouiide  hyd; 


THE    MAN    OF   LAWES   TALE.  273 

Maiigi'e  tliyii  hoed  tlioii  most  fur  iiuligcnce 
Or  stele,  or  bcgge,  or  borwe  thy  disjx.'uce. 

Thow  blamest  Crist,  and  seyst  lul  bitterly, 
He  mysdeparteth  riches  temporal ; 
And  thyn  neyhebour  thou  w^-tes  syiifully; 
And  seyst  thou  hast  to  litel,  and  he  hath  al. 
Pai-fay,  seystow,  som  tyme  he  rekne  schal, 
Whan  that  his  tayl  schal  brcnneu  in  the  gleede, 
For  he  nought  helpeth  the  needful  in  his  neede. 

Hei'kneth  what  is  the  sentens  of  the  wyse, 
Bet  is  to  dye  than  have  indigence;* 
Thy  selve  neyghebour  wol  the  despyse, 
If  thou  be  pore,  farwel  thy  reverence. 
Yet  of  the  wyse  man  tak  this  sentence, 
Alle  the  dayes  of  pore  men  be  Avikke ; 
Be  war  therfore  or  thou  come  to  that  prikke. 

If  thou  be  pore,  thy  brother  hateth  the, 
And  alle  thy  frendes  lleeth  fro  the,  alias ! 
O  riche  marchaundz,  ful  of  wele  be  ye, 

0  noble  pnident  folk  as  in  this  cas, 

Youre  bagges  beth  uat  fuld  with  ambes  aas.* 
But  with  sys  synk,  that  renneth  on  your  chaunce; 
At  Crystemasse  wel  mery  may  ye  daunce. 

Ye  seeke  laud  and  see  for  your  wyimynges. 
As  wyse  folk  as  ye  knowe  alle  tha.states 
Of  regnes,  ye  be  fadres  of  tyd\Tiges, 
Of  tales,  bothe  of  pees  and  of  debates.* 

1  were  right  now  of  talcs  dcsolat, 

Nere  that  a  marchaunt,  gon  siththen  many  a  yere, 
Me  taught  a  tale,  which  ye  schal  after  lieere. 

In  Surrie*  dwelled  whilom  a  companye 
Of  chapmen  riche,  and  tlierto  sad  and  ti'ewe, 


'  Proverbs  xiv.  so. 

*  Ambes  aas  means  both  ace  or  aos.  You  are  the  fortunate  ones  of 
the  earth;  tlie  dice  arc  in  your  favour. 

*  There  is  even  still  a  inopriety  in  this  description  of  mcrcliants. 
Rothschild  ami  Lafilte  niiplit  have  been  said  to  know  and  calculate  upon 
ihe  state  of  kinj^doins;  and  stockjobbers  are  still  ihv  Jathcrs  of  many 
tidings  both  of  peace  and  war. 

*  Syria, 
VOL.  I.  T 


274  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

That  Vfyde  vv-liere^  sent  her  spycerye, 
Clothes  of  gold,  and  satyn  riche  of  hewe. 
Her  chaffar  was  so  thrifty  and  so  newe, 
That  every  wight  had  deynte  to  chafFare 
With  hem,  and  eek  to  selle  hem  of  here  ware. 

Now  fel  it,  that  the  maystres  of  that  sort 
Han  schapen  hem  to  Rome  for  to  wende, 
Were  it  for  chapmanhode  or  for  dispoit, 
Non  other  message  nolde  they  thider  sende, 
But  came  hemself  to  Rome,  this  is  the  ende ; 
And  in  such  place  as  thought  hem  avauntage 
For  here  entent,  they  tooke  her  herburgage. 

Sojourned  have  these  marchauntz  in  the  toun 
A  certeyn  tyme,  as  fel  to  here  plesaunce. 
But  so  bifell,  that  thexcellent  renoun 
Of  themperoures  doughter  dame  Custaunce 
Reported  was,  with  every  circumstaunce, 
Unto  these  Surrienz  marchauntz,  in  such  wj^se 
Fro  day  to  day,  as  I  schal  you  devyse. 

This  was  the  comyn  voys  of  every  man : 
'  Oure  emperour  of  Rome,  God  him  see ! 
A  doughter  hath,  that,  sith  the  world  bygan. 
To  rekne  as  wel  hir  goodnes  as  her  bewte, 
Nas  never  such  another  as  was  sche. 
I  prey  to  God  hir  save  and  susteene. 
And  wolde  sche  were  of  al  Europe  the  queene. 

*  In  hire  is  hye  bewte,  withoute  piyde ; 
Yowthe,  withoute  gref  hed  or  foyle ; 
To  alle  hire  werkes  vertu  is  hire  gyde; 
Humblesse  hath  slayne  in  hir  tyn-annye ; 
Sche  is  myrour  of  alle  curtesye, 
Hir  herte  is  verrey  chambre  of  holynesse, 
Hir  bond  niynistre  of  fredom  and  almesse.' 

And  al  this  voys  is  soth,  as  God  is  trewe. 
But  now  to  purpos  let  us  turne  agein :  [newe, 

These  marchantz  have  don  fraught  here    schippes 


'  Widely,  in  every  direction. 


THE   MAN   OF   LA>VES   TALE.  27  O 

And  whan  they  have  this  blisful  made  seyn, 
Home  to  Surrey  be  they  went  agcin, 
And  doon  here  needes,  as  they  liave  don  yore, 
And  lyven  in  wele,  I  can  yoxi  say  no  moi'c. 

Nowfel  it,  that  these  marchauntz  stooden  in  grace 
Of  him  that  was  the  sowdan  of  Surrye. 
For  whan  they  come  fro  cny  straunge  j)lace. 
He  wolde  of  liis  benigne  curtcsye 
Make  hem  good  chere,  and  busiJy  aspye 
Tydynges  of  sondry  regnes,  for  to  lore 
The  wordes  that  they  mighte  seen  and  heere. 

Among  other  thiiigos  specially 
These  marchauutz  him  told  of  dame  Constaunce 
So  gret  noblesse,  in  ernest  so  ryally, 
That  this  sowdan  hath  caught  so  gret  plesaunce 
To  havt'.  hir  figure  in  liis  remembraunce. 
That  al  his  lust,  aud  al  his  besy  cure, 
Was  for  to  love  hir,  whiles  his  lyf  may  dure. 

Paraventure  in  thilke  large  booke,^ 
Which  that  is  cleped  the  heven,  i-wi-ite  was 
With  sterres,  whan  that  he  his  burthe  took. 
That  he  for  love  schulde  have  his  deth,  alias ! 
For  in  the  sterres,  clerere  than  is  glju;, 
Is  wryten,  Uod  woot,  who  so  cowtlie  it  rede, 
The  deth  of  every  man,  withouten  drede. 

In  sterres  many  a  wyntcr  thcrbyfore. 
Was  write  the  deth  of  Ector  and  Achilles, 
Of  Pompe,  Jidius,  er  they  were  i-bore; 
The  stryf  of  Thebes,  and  of  Erculcs, 
Of  Sampson,  Turnus,  and  of  Soci-utes 
The  deth ;  but  mennes  wittes  ben  so  dulle, 
That  no  wight  can  wel  rede  it  at  the  fulle. 

This  sowdan  for  his  pryve  counseil  sent, 
And  schortly  of  this  mator  for  to  pace, 
He  hath  to  hem  declared  his  entent, 

'  Tyrwhitt  quotes,  as  the  originalofthe-<e  two  stanzas,  a  passage  from 
the  Maoacosmus  of  Demardus  Sylvestris,  given  in  the  margin  of  the 
US.  Cot.  i. 

T   2 


276  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

And  seyed  hem  certeyn,  but  lie  might  have  grace 
To  have  Constance  withinne  a  litel  space, 
He  nas  bvit  deed,  and  charged  hem  in  hyghe 
To  schapen  for  his  lyf  som  remedye. 

Dyverse  men  divers  thinges  seyde/ 
The  argumentes  casten  vip  and  down ; 
Many  a  subtyl  resoun  forth  they  leyden; 
They  spekyn  of  magike,  and  of  abusioun ; 
But  finally,  as  in  conclusioun. 
They  can  nought  seen  in  that  non  avauntage, 
Ne  in  non  other  wey,  save  in  mariage. 

Then  sawgh  they  therein  such  difficulte 
By  wey  of  resoun,  to  speke  it  al  playn, 
Bycause  that  ther  was  such  dyversite 
Bitwen  here  bothe  lawes,  as  they  sayn, 
They  trowe  that  '  no  cristen  prince  wold  fayn 
Wedden  his  child  under  our  lawe  swete. 
That  us  was  taught  by  Mahoun"  cure  prophete. 

And  he  answerde :  '  Bather  than  I  lese 
Constance,  I  wol  be  cristen  doubteles; 
I  moot  be  heres,  I  may  non  other  cheese; 
I  pray  you  haldeth  your  arguments  in  pees, 
Saveth  my  lyf,  and  beth  nat  recheles. 
Goth,  geteth  hire  that  hath  my  lyf  in  cure, 
For  in  this  wo  I  may  no  lenger  dure.' 

What  needeth  gretter  dilatacioun  1 
I  say,  by  tretys  and  ambassatrye, 
And  by  the  popes  mediacioun. 
And  al  the  chirche,  and  al  the  chyvalrye, 
That  in  destruccioun  of  maAvmetrye, 
And  in  encresse  of  Cristes  lawe  deere, 
They  ben  acordid,  as  ye  schal  after  heere, 


1  This  is  an  example  of  the  way  in  which  the  inflections  of  the  verb 
were  gradually  disused.  The  »i  is  dropped  in  the  word  scijde,  while  it 
is  retained  in  Itydeiu  two  lines  lower  down  ;  in  speaking,  hotli  word* 
were  pronounced  alike,  as  appears  by  the  fact  that  they  are  made  to 
rhyme  together. 

2  Mahomet,  sometimes  written  Mahound. 


Tin:    MAN    OF    L.VWES   TALE.  277 

How  that  the  soiulnn  and  liis  baronage, 
And  alle  his  lioi,ais  schuKl  i-crystned  be, 
And  he  schal  have  Constance  in  manage, 
And  certeyn  guhl,  I  not  what  quantite, 
And  therfore  founden  they  swilisaiit  seurte. 
This  same  acord  was  sworn  on  every  syde ; 
Now,  fair  Constance,  almighty  God  the  guyde! 

Now  wolde  som  men  wayten,  as  I  gesse. 
That  I  schulde  telleu  al  the  purvyaunce, 
Tliat  themperour  of  liis  grot  noblesse 
Hath  schapcn  for  his  doughter  dame  Constaimce. 
"SVel  may  mcu  knowe  that  so  grct  ordyuaunco 
May  no  man  telle  iu  so  litel  a  clause. 
As  was  arrayed  for  so  high  a  cause. 

Bisschops'  ben  schapen  with  hir  for  to  wende, 
Lordes,  ladyes,  and  knightes  of  renoun, 
And  other  folk  ynowe,  this  is  the  eude. 
And  notefied  is  thui-ghout  the  toun, 
That  every  wight  with  gret  devocioun 
Schulde  preye  Crist,  that  he  this  mariage 
Recej'A'e  in  gree,  and  spede  this  viage. 

The  day  is  come  of  hire  dopartyng, 
(I  say  the  woful  day  that  than  is  come) 
That  ther  may  be  no  longer  taiTyj'ug, 
But  forthe-ward  they  dresse  heni  alle  and  some. 
Constance,  that  with  sorwc  is  overcome, 
Ful  pale  arist,  and  dresseth  hir  to  wende. 
For  wel  sche  saugh  ther  nas  iion  other  ende. 

Alias!  what  wonder  is  it  though  sche  wepte, 
That  schal  be  sent  to  straunge  nacioun, 
Fro  freendes,  that  so  tenderly  hir  keptc. 
And  to  be  bouude  undur  subjecciouu 
Of  oou  sche  knew  nat  his  coudicioun? 


'  So  when  Ethelbcrt  married  Bertha,  daughter  of  the  Christian  King 
Charibert.she  broii>,'lit  with  licr,  to  the  court  of  lier  liusband.a  Gallioan 
bisliop  iiainod  Lemlhard,  wlio  was  i)Lrniittfd  to  celebrate  mass  iu  the 
ancient  British  Cliurch  of  St.  Martin,  near  Canterbury. 


278  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Housbondes  ben  al  goode,  and  han  be  yore;^ 
That  knowen  wyfes,  I  dar  say  no  more. 

'  Fader,'  scbeseid,  'thy  wrecched  child  Constaunce, 
Thy  yonge  doughter  fostred  np  so  softe, 
And  ye,  my  mooder,  my  soverayn  jilesaunce 
Over  al  thing,  outaken  Criste  on  lofte,^ 
Constaunce  your  child  hir  recomaundeth  ofte 
Unto  your  grace ;  for  I  schal  into  Surrye, 
Ne  schal  I  never  see  you  more  with  ye. 

'  Alias !  unto  the  Barbre  nacioun 
I  most  anoon,  sethens  it  is  your  wille : 
But  Crist,  that  starf  for  our  redempcioun, 
So  geve  me  grace  his  hestes  to  fidfille, 
I,  wrecched  womman,  no  fors  they  I  spille  !^ 
Wommen  ben  born  to  thraldam  and  penaunce, 
And  to  ben  under  mannes  governaunce.' 

I  trowe  at  Troye  whan  Pirrus  brak  the  v/al, 
Or  Yleon  that  brend,  Thebes  the  citee,* 
Ne  at  Rome  for  the  harme  thurgh  Hanibal, 
That  Bomaynes  have  venquysshed  tymes  thre, 
Nas  herd  such  tender  wepyng  for  pite, 
As  in  the  chambur  was  for  hir  partyng ; 
But  forth  sche  moot,  whether  sche  weep  or  syng. 

O  firste  mevyng  cruel  firmament. 
With  thi  diurnal  swough  that  crowdest  ay. 
And  hurlest  al  fro  est  to  Occident. 
That  naturelly  wold  hold  another  way ; 
Thyn  crowdyng  sette  the  heven  in  such  array 
At  the  bygynnyng  of  this  fiers  viage, 
That  cruel  Martz  hath  slayn  this  marriage. 

Infortunat  ascendent  tortuous. 
Of  which  the  lordes  helples  falle,  alias ! 
Out  of  his  angle  into  the  derkest  hous. 


1  Ironical. 
2  Except  Christ  on  high.  ^  No  matter  though  I  perish. 

*  Or  at  Ilion  that  burned  (or  was  burnt),  or  at  the  city  of  ThebM. 
The  line  would  be  improved  by  reading — 

'  Or  Ileon  brent,  or  Thebes  the  citee.' 


THi:    MAN    OF    LAWES    TALE.  279 

< )  Malic  Attezere,'  as  ia  tliis  caas ; 
O  feble  luuoijo,  unliappy  been  thi  paas, 
Tliou  knettest  the  tlier  thou  art  nat  recejrved, 
Ther  thou  were  wel  fro  thonnes  artow  weyrecL 

Iinpriuleut  cmjHjrour  of  Home,  alias! 
Was  ther  no  philosopher  in  al  thy  touni 
Is  uo  tyme  bet  than  other  in  such  ca&s? 
Of  viage  is  ther  noon  elcccioun. 
Nanily  to  folk  of  heigh  conclicioun, 
Nought  whan  a  roote  is  of  a  birthe  i-knowe  ? 
Alias  !  we  ben  to  lowed,  and  eek  to  slowe. 

To  schippe  is  brought  this  woful  faire  mayde 
Solemjjnely,  with  every  circumstaunce. 
'  Now  Jhesa  Crist  so  be  with  you,'  sche  sayde. 
Ther  uys  nomor,  but  ikrwel,  fair  Custaunce  ; 
She  peyneth  hire  to  make  good  contienaunce. 
And  forth  I  lete  hire  sayle  in  this  manere, 
And  tome  I  wol  agein  to  my  matiere. 

The  moder  of  the  sowdan,  ful  of  vices, 
Aspyed  hath  hir  sones  playn  entente, 
How  he  wol  lete  his  olde  sacrifices ; ' 
And  right  anoon  sche  for  hir  eounseil  sent, 
And  they  ben  come,  to  knowe  what  sche  ment ; 
And  whan  assembled  was  this  folk  in  fere, 
Sche  sette  hir  doun,  and  sayd  as  ye  schal  heere. 

'  Tymhitt,  who  reads'  O  Mars.O  Atyznr,"  acknowledj^cs  himself  at  a 
loss  to  choose  betwwii  the  different  readings  of  this  passajie.  [The  ri;;ht 
reading  Ls  'O  JIars.  U  Atazir."  O  Alazir  means  oh  I  evil  intluence!  The 
word  is  Arahic,  witli  Si^iiiisli  spelling;  see  atacir  in  Dozy,  Glossaire  de* 
Jlots  i-'spagnoU  dirrivts  de  l'Arabi>iue,  p.  207. — W.  VT.  8.] 

-  In  tlie  margin  of  the  I^insdowne  and  Cotton  MSS.  is  tlic  following 
quotation  from  the  LibtT  Ekctionum  by  Zael : — '  Umnes  sunt  concordati 
quod  ek'Ctiones  sint  dobiles,  nisi  in  divitibus,' &c.  l"e\v  would  care  to 
read  the  whole  ;  but  the  meaning  seems  to  be  that  the  fortunes  of  people 
of  high  condition  only  are  discoverable  by  the  stars.  An  analogy  may 
be  observed  in  the  sujifrstiiion  of  the  JUim)uc,i.\T  shrieking  woman, 
believed  by  tlie  Celts  of  Scotland  and  Ireland  to  foretel  the  death  of 
persons  of  noble  bl  jod. 

'■'  The  Maliomeilan  religion  does  not  admit  of  tlieidea  of  a  .sacrifice  or 
atonement ;  but  all  false  religious  weru  coufouudtd  iu  the  popular 
mind. 


280  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

*  Lordes,'  quod  sclie,  *  ye  knoweo  everichon, 
How  that  my  sone  in  poynt  is  for  to  lete 
The  lioly  lawes  ot  our  Alkaroun/ 
Geven  by  Goddes  messangere  Makamete  ; 
But  oon  avow  to  grete  God  I  hete, 
The  lyf  schuld  rather  out  of  my  body  start, 
Or  Makametes  law  go  out  of  myn  hert. 

'  What  schal  us  tyden  of  this  newe  lawe 
But  thraldam  to  oure  body  and  penaunce, 
And  afterward  in  helle  to  be  drawe, 
For  we  reneyed  Mahound  oure  creaunce  1 
But,  lordes,  wol  ye  maken  assuraunce, 
As  I  schal  say,  assentyng  to  my  lore  1 
And  I  sclial  make  us  sauf  for  evermore.' 

They  sworen  and  assenten  every  man 
To  lyf  with  hir  and  dye,  and  by  hir  stonde  ; 
And  everich  in  the  beste  wise  he  can 
To  strengthen  hir  schal  al  his  frendes  fonde. 
And  sche  hath  emperise  take  on  lionde, 
Which  ye  schul  lieere  that  I  schal  devyse, 
And  to  hem  alle  sche  spak  in  this  wise  : 

'  We  schul  firet  feyne  ous  cristendom  to  take  ;* 
Cold  watir  schal  nat  greve  us  but  a  lite  ; 
And  I  schal  such,  a  fest  and  revel  make, 
That,  as  I  trow,  I  schal  the  sowdan  qiiyte. 
For  though  his  ^v}^f  be  cristned  never  so  white, 
Sche  schal  have  neede  to  waissche  away  the  rede, 
They  sche  a  font  of  watir  with  hir  lede.' 

O  sowdones,  root  of  iniquite 
Virago  thou  Semyram^  the  secounde  ; 
O  serpent  under  feminite, 


1  The  Koran  was  translated  into  Latfn  in  the  twelfth  century  ;  and 
to  the  intercourse  which  at  this  period  was  kept  up  between  the  people 
of  Europe  and  the  Arabs,  Sir.  Ilallam  attributes  the  great,  though 
secret,  progress  of  scepticism,  wliich  may  be  traced  in  a  continually 
increasingstreamthrougli  the  literature  of  the  middle  ages. — IIallam. 
Li  toj  the  Mid.  Ages,  vol.  i.  c.  ii.  64. 

-  To  receive  baptism. 
3  Alluding  to  Senuramis  murdering  her  King. 


TUE    MAX    OF    LAWES    TALE.  281 

Lyk  tc  the  serpent  deep  in  lu-lle  i-boundo  ; 
O  fe\Tied  womman,  alle  that  may  coiitimude 
Vertii  and  innocence,  thnrgh  thy  malice. 
Is  bred  in  the,  as  nest  of  every  vice. 

O  Satan,  envyous  syn  thilke  day 
That  tliou  were  chased  fro  ourc  heritage,' 
Wei  knewest  thou  to  wommen  the  olde  way. 
Thou  madest  Eve  to  bryng  us  in  servage, 
Thou  wolt  fordoon  this  cristen  mai'iage. 
Thyn  instrument  so  (weylaAvay  the  while  !) 
!Makestow  of  wommen  whan  thou  wolt  bygyle. 

This  sowdones,  whom  I  thus  blame  and  wary 
Let  pryvely  hir  couuscil  gon  his  way; 
What  schuld  I  in  this  tale  lenger  tary  ? 
Sche  rideth  to  the  sowdan  on  a  day, 
And  seyd  him,  that  sche  wold  reney  hir  lay, 
And  cristendam  of  prcstes  handes  fonge, 
Repentyng  hir  sche  hethen  was  so  longe  ; 

Bysechyng  him  to  doon  hir  that  honour, 
That  sche  most  have  the  cristen  men  to  feste  ; 
'  To  plesen  hem  I  will  do  my  laboiu'.' 
The  sowdan  seith,  '  I  wol  do  at  your  heste,' 
And  knelyng,  thanketh  hir  of  that  requeste  ; 
So  glad  he  was,  he  nyst  nat  what  to  seye. 
Sche  kyst  hir  sune,  and  horn  sche  goth  hir  weye. 

AiTy\'ed'  ben  the  cristen  folke  to  londe 
In  SuiTy,  with  a  gret  solempne  route, 
And  hastily  this  sowdan  sent  his  sonde, 
Fii-st  to  his  moder,  and  al  the  regne  aV^oute, 
And  seyd,  his  wyf  was  comen  out  of  doutc. 
And  preycth  hir  for  to  ride  agein  the  queene,* 
The  honour  of  his  regne  to  susteene. 

Gret  was  the  precs,  and  riche  was  tharray 
Of  Surriens  and  Ilomayns  mette  in  feere. 


'  An  allusion  to  Lnkc  x.  18.    'I  beheld  Satan  as  liglitning  fall  from 
heaven.'     Also,  lU'V.  xii.,  and   other   passages;    tlie  sources  of  the 
mediieval  legend  which  served  as  the  foundation  of  Parodist  Lost. 
•  To  meet  the  Ciueen. 


282  THE    CANTERBUKY   TALES. 

The  mooder  of  the  sowdan  riche  and  gay 
Receyved  }iir  with  al  so  glad  a  cheere, 
As  eny  mooder  might  hir  doughter  deere ; 
And  to  the  nexte  citee  ther  bysyde 
A  softe  paas  solempnely  thay  ryde. 

Nought  trow  I  the  triumphe  of  Julius, 
Of  which  that  Lukan^  maketh  moche  bost, 
Was  ryaller,  ne  more  curious, 
Than  was  thassemble  of  this  blisful  oost. 
But  this  scorpioun,  this  wikked  goost, 
The  sowdones,  for  al  hir  flateiyng, 
Cast  under  this  ful  mortally  to  styng. 

The  sowdan  comth  himself  sone  after  this 
So  really,  that  wonder  is  to  telle ; 
And  welcometh  hir  with  al  joy  and  blys. 
And  thus  with  mirth  and  joy  I  let  hem  dwelle. 
The  fruyt  of  this  matier  is  that  I  telle. 
Whan  tyme  com,  men  thought  it  for  the  best 
That  revel  stynt,  and  men  goon  to  her  rest. 

The  tyme  com,  the  olde  sowdonesse 
Ordeyned  hath  this  fest  of  which  I  told  ; 
And  to  the  feste  cristen  folk  hem  di'esse 
In  general,  bothe  yong  and  old. 
Ther  men  may  fest  and  realte  byholde, 
And  deyntes  mo  than  I  can  of  devyse, 
But  al  to  deere  they  bought  it  ar  they  ryse; 

"O  sodeyn  wo  !  that  ever  art  successour 
To  worldly  blis,  spreynd  is  with  bittemesse 
The  ende  of  oure  joye,  of  oure  worldly  labour , 
Wo  occupieth  the  fyn  of  oure  gladnesse. 
Herken  this  counseil  for  thyn  sikernesse  ; 
Upon  thyn  glade  dayes  have  in  thi  mynde 
The  unwar  woo  that  cometli  ay  bihynde. 

For  schortly  for  to  tellen  at  o  word, 
The  sowdan  and  the  cristen  everichone 


■  Lucan,  author  of  tlie  Pharsalia. 
-  This  stanza  is  taken  from  different  paesagcs  in  Scripture     I'rov.  xiv. 
IB  ;  Eccles.  xi.  8. 


THE    MAN    OF    LAWES    TALE.  283 

Ben  al  to-lic\ve  and  stiked  atto  boi'd, 
But  it  \vc'ic  daiiio  Constauuce  allone. 
This  olde  sowdones,  this  cursed  crone, 
Hath  witli  liir  frendes  doou  this  cursed  dede, 
For  sche  hirsclf  wold  al  the  centre  lede. 

Ne  ther  was  Surrien  noon  that  was  converted, 
That  of  the  couuseil  of  the  sowdou  woot, 
That  ho  nas  al  to-hewe  or  he  astcrted  ; 
And  Constaimce  have  they  take  anon  foot-hoot,' 
And  in  a  schippc,  stereles,  God  it  woot, 
They  have  hir  sot,  and  had  hir  leme  to  sayle 
Out  of  Surry  agein-ward  to  Ytaile. 

A  certein  tresour  that  sche  thider  ladde, 
And,  soth  to  sayn,  vitaile  gret  plente, 
Tliey  have  hir  geven,  and  clothes  eek  sche  hadde, 
And  forth  sche  sayleth  in  the  salte  see. 
O  my  Constaunce,  ful  of  benignite, 
O  emperoures  youge  doughter  deere, 
He  that  is  Lord  of  fortun  be  thi  steere  ! 

Sche  bl&sseth  hir,^  and  with  ful  pitous  voys 
Unto  the  croys  of  Crist  tlum  seyde  sche  : 
'  0  cler,  O  welful  autcr,  holy  croys, 
Red  of  the  lambes  blood,  ful  of  [lite, 
That  wissh  the  world  fro  old  iniquite, 
Me  fro  the  focnd  and  fro  his  clowes  keepe, 
That  day  that  I  schal  drenchen  in  the  dcepe. 


'  With  all  expedition.  Tyrwhitt  says  that  hnnt-le-picd  has  the  same 
meaning,  and,  therefore,  supposed  that  foot-hot  is  quasi  foot-ltaut. 
But  from  the  suojoined  note  in  the  Lay  qt  the  Last  Minstrel,  it  would  rather 
seem  to  be  deriveil  from  following  an  animal  of  the  chase  so  (luickly  that 
the  scent  of  its  footsteps  is  hot  upon  the  ground.  '  The  i>ursuit  of  border 
marauders  was  followed  by  the  injured  party  and  his  friends  witli 
blood-hounds  and  bugle-horn,  and  was  called  the  hol-trotl.'  The  phrase 
hot-foot,  signifying  the  following  up  any  pursuit  instantly  or  quickly,  is 
common  among  the  peasantry  of  Ireland. 

-  To  bless  oneself  is  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  the  forehead 
and  breast,  aa  an  act  of  faith  in  the  atonement  of  Christ  It  is  men- 
tioned by  Tertulli;in,(/<'  Ilt.-ntr.  cnniii,  by  Cyprian,  and  ino^t  of  the  early 
Christian  writers,  a«  a  usual  custom  in  their  time6  before  tukiug  any- 
thing in  hand. 


284  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

'  Victoi'ious  tre,  proteccioun  of  trewe, 
That  oonly  were  worthy  for  to  bere 
The  Kyng  of  Heven,  with  his  woundes  newe, 
The  white  Lamb,  that  hurt  was  with  a  spere  ; 
Flemer  of  feendes,  out  of  him  and  here 
On  which  thy  lymes  feithfully  extenden, 
Me  kepe,  and  gif  me  might  my  lyf  to  menden.' 

Yeres  and  dayes  flette  this  creature 
Thurghout  the  see  of  Grece,  into  the  strayte 
Of  Marrok/  as  it  was  hir  adventure. 
O  many  a  sory  mele  may  sche  bayte, 
After  hir  deth  ful  ofte  may  sche  wayte, 
Or  that  the  wilde  wawe  wol  hir  dryve 
Unto  the  place  ther  as  sche  schal  arryve. 

Men  mighten  aske,  why  sche  was  nought  skynl 
Ek  at  the  fest  who  might  hir  body  save  1 
And  I  answer  to  that  demaunde  agayn, 
Who  saved  Daniel  in  thorrible  cave, 
That  every  wight,  sauf  he,  mayster  or  knave, 
Was  with  the  lioun  frete,  or  he  asterte  1 
No  wight  but  God,  that  he  bar  in  his  herte. 
God  lust  to  schewe  his  wondurful  miracle 
In  hir,  for  we  schuld  seen  his  mighty  werkes ; 
Crist,  which  that  is  to  every  harm  triacle, 
By  certeyn  menes  ofte,  as  knowen  clerkes. 
Doth  thing  for  certeyn  ende,  that  ful  derk  is 
To  maniies  witt,  that  for  our  ignoraxmce 
Ne  can  nought  knowe  his  prudent  purvyaunoe. 

Now  sith  sche  was  nat  at  the  fest  i-slawe, 
Who  kepte  hir  fro  drenching  in  the  see  ? 
Who  kepte  Jonas  in  the  fisches  mawe, 
Til  he  was  spouted  vip  at  Ninive  1  ^ 
Wei  may  men  knowe,  it  was  no  wight  but  He 
That  kept  the  pepul  Ebrayk  fro  her  drenchyng, 
With  drye  feet  thurghout  the  see  passyng. 

1  Straits  of  Gibraltar. 


THE   MAN   OF   LAWES   TALE.  285 


0 


Who  baddo  foure  spiritz  of  tempest, 
That  power  hau  to  uoyeu  hiud  autl  see, 
Bothe  north  and  south,  and  also  west  and  est, 
Anoyou  ne}'ther  londe,  see,  ne  tree  f 
Sothly  the  comavmder  ot  tliat  was  He 
That  fro  the  tempest  ay  this  womman  kepte, 
As  wel  when  sche  awok  as  wlien  sche  sle])te. 

Wher  miifht  this  womman  mete  and  drinke  lia\e^ 
Thre  yer  and  more,  how  lastetli  hir  vitaille  1 
Who  fedde  the  Egipcien  Mai'ie'  in  the  cave, 
Or  in  desert?  no  wight  but  Crist  saunz faile. 
Fyf  thousand  folk,  it  was  a  gret  mervaile 
With  loves  fyf  and  fissches  tuo  to  feede  ; 
God  sent  his  loysoun  at  her  grete  neede. 

Sche  dryveth  forth  into  oiu'e  occean 
Thurghout  oure  wilde  see,  til  atte  last 
Under  an  holte,  that  nempnen  I  ne  can, 
Fer  in  Northumberland,  the  wawe  hir  cast, 
And  in  the  sand  the  schip  styked  so  liist. 
That  thennes  wold  it  nought  in  al  a  tyde ; 
The  wille  of  Crist  was  that  sche  schold  abyde. 

The  constabil  of  the  castel  doun  is  fare 
To  se  this  wrak,  and  al  the  schip  he  sought. 
And  fond  this  wery  womman  ful  of  care  ; 
He  fand  also  the  tresour  that  sciie  brought , 
In  hir  langago  mercy  sche  bisought, 
The  lif  out  of  hir  body  for  to  t\vynne, 
Hir  to  delyver  of  woo  that  sche  was  inne. 

A  maner  Latyn  conipt'  was  hir  speche, 
But  algates  therl)y  sche  was  understonde. 
The  constabil,  whan  him  lust  no  lenger  seche, 


'  The  passages  of  Scripture  here  alluded  to  are  Daniel  vi.,  Jonah  ii.  1 1, 
Exod.  xiv.,  Kev.  viii.  i,  3,  Matt.  xiv. 

-  St.  Mary  the  Egyptian  was  a  prostitute  ;  but,  being  converted,  she 
fled  to  the  desert,  where  she  lived  in  folitude  for  forty-seven  years, 
during  which  time  she  was  miraculously  sustained. — Lagenda  Aurcn. 

2  So  Boccaccio,  in  his  letter  to  la  t'iamrnetta,  quoted  by  Tyrwhitt,  in 


286  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

This  Avoful  womman  brouglite  lie  to  londe. 
Sche  kneleth  doun,  and  thanketh  Goddes  sonde 
Eut  what  sche  was,  sche  wolde  no  man  seye 
For  foul  ne  faire,  thoiigh  sche  scholde  deye. 

Sche  was,  sche  seyd,  so  mased  in  the  see, 
That  sche  forgat  hir  mynde^  by  hire  trowthe. 
The  constable  had  of  hir  so  gret  pitee, 
And  eek  his  wyf,  they  wepeden  for  routhe  ; 
Sche  was  so  diligent  withouten  slouthe 
To  serve  and  plese  ever  in  that  place, 
That  alle  hir  loven  that  loken  on  hir  face. 

The  constable  and  dame  Hermegyld'  his  wyf, 
To  telle  you  playne,  payenes  bothe  were  f 
But  Hermegyld  loved  Constance  as  hir  lyf ; 
And  Constance  hath  so  long  herberwed  there 
In  orisoun,  with  many  a  bitter  teere, 
Til  Jhesu  hath  converted  thurgh  his  grace 
Dame  Hermegyld,  the  constables^  of  the  place. 

In  al  the  loud  no  cristen  men  durst  route ; 
Al  cristen  men  ben  fled  from  that  contre 
Thurgh  payens,  that  conquered  al  aboute 
The  places  of  the  north  by  land  and  see. 
To  AVales  fled  the  cristianite 
Of  olde  Britouns,  dwellyng  in  this  yle  ; 
Ther  was  hir  refut  for  the  mene  while. 

But  yit  nere  cristen  Britouns  so  exiled, 
That  ther  nere  some  in  here  pryvite 
Honoured  Christ,  and  hethen  folk  bygiled  ;* 

his  introduction,  says  that  he  had  translated  the  story  of  the  ThestiiM 
in  Latino  volgare,  meaning  Italian,  which  was  the  vernacular  tongue  of 
Constance. 

'  ilr.  Wright  says  that  the  Saxon  is  Eormem/ild,  which  was  the  name 
of  one  of  the  daughters  of  Earconbehrt,  King  of  Kent. 

-  Tyrwhitt  gives  (from  other  MSS.)  instead  of  this  line — 

'  IVcrc  payeiies,  and  that  coiitree  every  wher.' 

The  Harl.  MS.  has  in  peynes  for  payenes. — W. 

^  Constabless  means  the  constable's  wife,  like  the  French  chatelaine, 
the  chdtelain's  wife. 

••  This  is  corroborative  of  Mr.  Ellis's  opinion,  expressed  in  the  intro- 
duction to  his  Met.  Romances,  sec.  ii — '  Upon  the  whole,  though  it  in 


THE   MAN   OF   LAWES   TALE.  287 

Aud  neigh  the  castel  such  ther  dwellid  thre. 
That  oon  of  hem  w;us  blynd,  and  might  nat  se, 
r>\it  if  it  were  with  eyen  of  his  mynde, 
With  wliicli  men  seen  after  that  they  ben  blynde. 

Bright  \va.s  the  sonne,  as  in  someres  day, 
For  which  the  constable  and  his  wif  also 
And  Constaunce  had  take  the  righte  way 
Toward  the  see,  a  forluug  wey  or  two, 
To  pleyeu,  aud  to  romeu  to  aud  fro ; 
And  in  that  walk  tliis  blynde  man  they  mette, 
Croked  aud  olde,  with  eyen  fiist  y-schette. 

'  In  name  of  Crist,'  cryed  this  old  Britoun, 
'  Dame  Hermegyld,  gif  me  my  sight  ageyn  !' ' 
This  lady  wax  affrayed  of  the  soun, 
Lest  that  hir  housebaud,  schortly  to  sayn, 
Wold  hir  for  Jhesu  Cristes  love  have  slayn, 
Til  Coustaunce  made  hir  bold,  and  bad  hir  werche 
The  wil  of  Crist,  as  doughter  of  holy  chirche. 

The  constable  wax  abaisshed  of  that  sight, 
And  sayde,  '  What  amounteth  al  this  fare  ?' 
Constaunce  answered,  '  Sir,  it  is  Cristes  might, 
That  helpeth  folk  out  of  the  feendes  snare.' 
And  so  ferforth  sche  gan  hir  lay'  declare, 


tcrtain  tliat  the  leaders  and  princes  of  Britain  defended  their  power 
with  equal  valour  and  obstinacy,  it  would  be  very  rush  to  conclude 
that  the  whole  body  of  their  subjects  prefirred  exile  or  extermination 
to  a  timid  and  disloyal  acquiescence  in  the  government  of  a  foreign  in- 
vader; or  that  this  invader  disdained  to  derive  from  the  labours  of  his 
new  subjects  either  the  necessaries  of  life  or  those  luxuries  and  useful 
arts  which  they  had  learned  from  the  Komans.  In  short,  all  analogy 
seems  to  concur  with  the  best  evidence,  in  leading  us  to  believe  that  the 
Saxons  and  Uritons  of  the  lowlands  were  gradually  incorporated,  like 
the  Franks  and  Gauls,  though,  perhaps,  in  very  different  proportions, 
to  as  to  form  one  people." 

'  Why  the  blind  man  should  infer  that  Dame  Ilcrmcgyld  had 
the  power  of  working  miracles,  because  she  had  been  converted  to 
Christianity,  is  not  clear.  Perhaps  he  is  suiipoued  to  be  seized  with  a 
supernatural  impulse,  sent  expressly  in  order  that  the  constable  might 
be  converted  by  the  miracle. 

-'  Her  law,  soil.,  the  Gospel,  called  the  new  law,  aa  the  Mosaic  wa« 
calKd  the  old. 


288  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

That  sche  the  constable,  er  that  it  was  eve 
Converted,  and  on  Crist  made  him  bileve. 

This  constable  was  not  lord  of  the  place 
Of  Avhich  T  speke,  ther  he  Constance  lond, 
But  kept  it  strongly  many  a  wynter  space 
Under  Alla,^  kyng  of  Northumberlond, 
That  was  ful  wys,  and  worthy  of  his  hond, 
Agein  the  Scottes,  as  men  may  wel  heere. 
But  tourne  agein  I  wil  to  my  mateere. 

Satan,  that  ever  us  wayteth  to  begile, 
Sawe  of  Constaunce  al  hir  perfeccioun, 
And  cast  anoon  how  he  might  qiiyt  hir  while ; 
And  made  a  yong  knight,  that  dwelt  in  the  toun, 
Love  hir  so  hoot  of  foul  affeccioun, 
That  verrayly  him  thought  he  schulde  spille, 
But  he  of  hii-e  oones  had  his  wille. 

He  wowith  hir,  but  it  avayleth  nought, 
Sche  wolde  do  no  synne  by  no  weye ; 
And  for  despyt,  he  compassed  in  his  thought 
To  maken  hir  a  schamful  deth  to  deye. 
He  wayteth  whan  the  constable  was  aweye, 
And  pryvyly  upon  a  nyght  he  crepte 
In  Hermyngyldes  chambre  whil  sche  slepte. 

Wery,  for- waked  in  here  orisoun, 
Slepeth  Constaunce,  and  Hermyngyld  also. 
This  knight,  thurgh  Satanas  temptacioun, 
Al  softely  is  to  the  bed  y-go, 
And  kutte  the  throte  of  Hennegild  a-two. 
And  leyd  the  bloody  knyf  by  dame  Constaunce, 
And  went  his  way,  ther  God  geve  him  meschaunce. 

Sone  after  coruth  this  constable  hom  agayn, 
And  eek  Alia,  that  kyng  was  of  that  lond, 
And  say  his  'wyi'  dispitously  i-slayn, 


^  This  is  the  king  whose  name  gave  occasion  to  one  of  Pope  Gregory 
the  Great's  well-known  string  of  puus.  Wlien  told  that  the  name  of  tlip 
king  who  reigned  in  Northumberland  was  Ella  or  Alia,  he  said  he 
trusted  that  not  Alia,  but  Alleluia,  would  soon  be  sung  in  his  do 
minions. 


THE   MAN   OF   LAWES   TALE.  289 

For  which  ful  oft  he  wept  and  wrong  his  hond ; 
And  in  the  bed  the  blody  knyl"  he  loud 
By  dame  Custaunce:  alhis!  what  miglit  she  say  1 
For  ven-ay  woo  hir  witt  was  al  away. 

To  king  Alia  was  told  al  this  meschaunce. 
And  ook  the  tyme,  and  wher,  and  in  what  wyge 
That  in  a  schip  was  founden  this  Constauuce, 
As  here  bifore  ye  have  herd  me  devyse. 
The  kinges  hert  of  pite  gan  agrise, 
Whan  he  saugh  so  benigne  a  creature 
Falle  in  disese  and  in  mysaventure. 

For  as  the  iomb  toward  his  deth  is  brought, 
So  stant  this  inrocent  bifore  the  kyng. 
This  false  knight,  that  hath  this  tresoun  wrought, 
Bereth  hir  an  hand  that  sche  hath  don  this  thing; 
But  nevei-theles  ther  was  gi-et  murmuryng 
Among  the  people,  and  seyn  they  can  not  gesse 
That  sche  had  doon  so  gret  a  Avikkednesse. 

For  they  han  seyen  hir  so  vertuous, 
And  lo\yng  Hermegyld  right  as  liir  lyf ; 
Of  this  bar  witnesse  everich  in  that  hous, 
Save  he  that  Hermegyld  slowgh  with  his  knyf. 
This  geutil  kyng  hath  caught  a  gret  motyf ' 
Of  his  witnesse,  and  thought  he  wold  enquere 
Depper  in  this  cas,  a  trouthe  to  lere. 

Alias!  Constaunce,  thou  ne  has  no  champioun, 
Ne  fighte  canstow  nat,  so  welaway ! 
But  He  that  for  oure  rcdempcioun 
Bonde  Sathan,  that^  yit  lith  ther  he  lay, 
So  be  thy  stronge  champioun  this  day; 
For  but  Crist  upon  the  mii-acle  kythe, 
Withouten  gilt  thou  schalt  be  slayn  as  swithe. 

Sche  set  hir  doiin  on  knees,  and  than  sche  sayde 
'  Immortal  God,  that  savedest  Susanne 
Fro  false  blame ;  and  thou   mercyful  mayde, 


Suspicion. 
And  iu  Ilarl.  MS.,  apparentlr  a  clerical  error. 


VOL.  I. 


290  THE   CANTERBURY   TAUES, 

Mary  I  mene,  dough ter  of  seint  Anne, 
Bifore  whos  child  aungeles  syng  Osanne  j 
If  I  be  gultles  of  this  felonye, 
My  socour  be,  for  elles  sc-hal  I  dye !' 

Have  js  not  seye  som  tyme  &  pale  fauo, 
Among  a  prees,  of  him  that  hath  be  lad 
Toward  his  deth,  wher  him  geyneth  no  grace 
And  such  a  colour  in  his  face  hath  had, 
Men  mighte  knowe  his  face  was  so  bystad, 
Among  alle  the  faces  in  that  route ; 
So  stant  Constance,  and  loketh  hire  about. 

O  queenes  lyvyng  in  prospei'ite, 
Duchesses,  and  ye  ladies  everychon, 
Haveth  som  reuthe  on  her  adversite ; 
An  emperoures  doughter  stond  allon; 
Sche  nath  no  wight  to  whom  to  make  hir  moon ; 
O  blod  ryal,  that  stondest  in  this  drede, 
Ferre  be  thy  frendes  at  thy  grete  neede ! 

This  Alia  kyng  hath  such  compassioun, 
As  gentil  hert  is  fulfild  of  pite, 
That  from  his  eyen  ran  the  water  dovm. 
'  Now  hastily  do  fech  a  book,'  quod  he; 
'  And  if  this  knight  wil  swere  how  that  sche 
This  womman  slowgh,  yet  wol  we  xis  avyse., 
Whom  that  we  wille  schal  be  oure  justise.' 

A  Britoun^  book,  i-write  with  EvaungileSj 
Was  fette,  and  on  this  book  he  swor  anoou 
Sche  gultif  was  ;  and  in  the  mene  whiles 
An  hond  him  smot  upon  the  nekke  boon. 
That  doun  he  fel  anon  right  as  a  stoon ; 
And  bothe  his  yen  brast  out  of  his  face 
In  sight  of  every  body  in  that  place, 

A  vols  was  herd,  in  general  audience, 
And  seid,  '  Thou  hast  disclaundred  gulteles 
The  doughter  of  holy  chirche  in  hire  presence ; 


>  See  ant''.,  p.  236,  note  4. 


TnE   MAN    OF    LAWES    TALE.  291 

Tlnishastow  doon,  and  yit  I  liokle  my  pees" 
Ot'tliis  mervnik'  agast  was  al  the  ])rces, 
As  uiascd  I'dIIc  thvy  stooden  evei*yclion 
For  drede  of  Avreche,  save  Custaiince  ullon. 

Gret  was  the  drede  and  eek  the  repentaunce 
Of  hem  that  haddt'n  wrong  siispeccioun 
Upon  the  sely  innocent  Custaunce ; 
And  for  this  miracle,  in  conclusioun, 
And  by  Custannces  mcdiacioun, 
The  kyng,  and  many  other  in  the  place, 
Converted  was,  thanked  be  Cristes  grace ! 

This  false  knight  was  slayn  for  his  untrouthe 
By  juggement  of  Alia  hastyly ; 
And  yit  Custaunce  hath  of  his  deth  gret  routhe. 
And  after  this  Jhesus  of  his  mercy 
Made  Alia  wedde  ful  solempnely 
This  holy  raayde,  that  is  bright  and  scliene. 
And  thiis  hath  Crist  i-maad  Constance  a  queeae. 

But  who  was  wuful,  if  I  schal  not  lye, 
Of  this  weddyng  but  Domcgild  and  no  mo, 
The  kynges  mooder,  ful  of  tyrannye? 
Hir  thought  hir  cursed  herte  bi-ast  a-two  ; 
Sche  wohle  nat  hir  sone  had  i-do  so ; 
Ilir  thought  despyte,  that  he  schulde  take 
So  straunge  a  creature  unto  his  make. 

Me  lust  not  of  the  caf  ne  of  the  stree 
-Make  so  long  a  tale,  a,s  of  the  corn. 
U  hat  schidd  I  telle  of  the  realte 
Of  this  manage,  or  which  cours  goth  bifora, 
Who  bloweth  in  a  tronipe  or  in  an  hornl 
The  fruyt'  of  every  tale  is  for  to  seye; 
'I'hey  ete  and  drynk,  and  daunce  and  synge  and  pleye. 

They  goii  to  bed,  a«  it  was  skile  and  right; 
For  though  that  ^vyfes  ben  ful  holy  thinges, 
They  moste  take  in  pacience  a-niglit 


>  [The  reading  •  hfJde  my  pees '  might  have  been  expected,  but  tlie  5ISS. 
•J  •  not  warrant  it.— W.  \V.  S.] 
-  It  Ls  the  fruit  or  kernel  of  a  tale  that  ought  to  bo  told ;  a  rul»  which 

u  2 


292  THE  CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Such  maner  necessaries  as  ben  plesynges 
To  folk  that  han  i-wedded  liem  with  lynges, 
And  halvendel  her  holynesse  ley  aside 
As  for  the  tyme,  it  may  non  other  betyde. 

On  hire  he  gat  a  knave  child  anoon, 
And  to  a  bisschope,  and  to  his  constable  eeke, 
He  took  his  wyf  to  kepe,  whan  he  is  goon 
To  Scotlond-ward,  his  foomen  for  to  seeke. 
Now  faire  Custaunce,  that  is  so  humble  and  meeke, 
So  long  is  goon  with  childe  til  that  stille 
Sche  held  hir  chambre,  abidyng  Goddes  wille. 

The  tyme  is  come,  a  knave  childe  sche  bere ; 
Mauricius  atte  funstone^  men  him  calle. 
This  constabil  doth  come  forth  a  messager, 
And  wrot  to  his  kyng  that  cleped  was  AUe, 
How  that  this  blisful  tydyng  is  bifalle, 
And  other  thinges  spedful  for  to  seye. 
He  taketh  the  lettre,  and  forth  he  goth  his  weye. 

This  messanger,  to  doon  his  avauntage, 
Unto  the  kynges  moder  he  goth  ful  swithe, 
And  salueth  hire  fair  in  his  langage. 
'  Madame,'  quod  he,  '  ye  may  be  glad  and  blithe, 
And  thanke  God  an  hundred  thousand  sithe; 
My  lady  queen  hath  child,  withouten  doute 
To  joye  and  blis  of  al  the  reame  aboutf). 

'  Lo  heer  the  lettres  sealed  of  this  thing, 
That  I  mot  bere  with  al  the  hast  1  may ; 
If  ye  wole  ought  unto  youre  sone  the  kyng, 
I  am  youre  servaunt  bothe  night  and  day.' 
Doungyld  answerde,  'As  now  tiiis  tyme,  nay; 
But  here  al  nyght  I  wol  thou  take  thy  rest, 
To  morwen  T  wil  say  the  what  me  lest.' 


Chaucer,  unlike  hia  contemporaries,  who  are  intolerably  tedious,  haa 
followed  in  T/ie  Cantei-lmnj  Tales,  though  not  in  all  his  works. 

'  At  the  font-stone,  at  his  baptism.    The  Harleian  MS.,  by  a  mistake 
of  the  scribe,  reads  Maurim  for  Mauricius, 


THE    MAN    OF    LAWES   TALE,  293 

This  messangcr  drank  sadly  ale  and  wyn, 
And  stolen  Avere  Iuh  letti'cs  pryvely 
Out  of  his  box,  wliil  he  sleep  as  a  swyn ; 
And  countrefeet  they  were  subtily ; 
Another  sche  him  wroot  ful  synlully, 
Unto  the  kyng  direct  of  this  matiere 
Fro  his  constable,  as  ye  schul  after  heere. 

The  lettre  spak,  the  queen  delyvered  was 
Of  so  orryble  and  feendly  creature, 
That  in  the  castel  noon  so  hardy  was 
That  eny  while  dorste  therin  endure ; 
The  mooder  was  an  elf  by  aventure 
Bycorae  by  charmes  or  by  sorcerie, 
And  every  man  hatith  hir  companye. 

Wo  was  this  kyng  whan  he  this  letter  had  sein, 
But  to  no  wight  he  told  his  sorwes  sore, 
But  of  his  owen  hand  he  wrot  agayn : 
'  Welcome  the  sond  of  Crist"  for  evereraore 
To  me,  that  am  now  lerned  in  this  lore; 
Lord,  welcome  be  thy  lust  and  thy  pleasaunce! 
My  lust  I  putte  al  in  thjTi  ordinaunce. 

'  Kepeth  this  child,  al  be  it  foul  or  fair, 
And  eek  my  wyf,  unto  myn  hom  comyng; 
Crist  whan  him  lust  may  sende  me  an  hair 
More  agreable  than  this  to  my  likyng.' 
This  lettre  he  seleth,  pryv-yly  wepyng, 


'  In  the  introduction  to  the  ballad  of  TamUme,  in  the  Border  Min~ 
utreLey,  is  an  interesting  quotation  from  Einar  Gudmund,  a  learned 
Icelander,  very  much  to  the  present  purpose : — '  I  am  lirmly  of  opinion," 
he  says,  '  that  these  beings  (the  elves)  are  creatures  of  God,  consisting, 
like  human  beings,  of  a  body  and  rational  soul ;  that  they  aro  of  dif- 
ferent sexc3,  andcapablc  of  producing  children,  and  subject  to  all  human 
alTections.'  .  .  .  He  proceeds  to  state  that  the  females  of  this  race 
are  capable  of  procreating  with  mankind,  and  gives  an  account  of  one 
who  bore  a  child  to  an  inhabitant  ot  Iceland,  for  whom  she  claimed 
the  privilege  of  baptism;  depositing  the  infant  for  that  purpose  at  tlie 
gate  of  the  churchyard,  together  with  a  goblet  of  gold,  as  an  oll'eriiig. 
-^Uislorla  Hrolfi  Krnl-a',  n  Toriiro. 

-  ^Vclcolue  wnat  Cliriat  aendg. 


294  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Which  to  the  messager  he  took  ful  sone, 
And  forth  he  goth,  ther  nys  no  moi-e  to  done. 

O  messager,  fulfild  of  ch-onkenesse/ 
Strong  is  thy  breth,  thy  lymes  faltren  ay, 
And  thou  bywreyest  alle  sykemesse; 
Thy  mynde  is  lorn,  thou  janglest  as  a  jay ; 
Thy  face  is  torned  al  in  a  newe  ai-ray ; 
Ther  drunkenesse  regneth  in  eny  route, 
Ther  is  no  counseil  hid,  withouten  donte. 

O  Domegykl,  I  have  non  Englisch  digne 
Unto  thy  malice  and  thy  tyrannye ; 
And  therfor  to  the  feend  I  the  resigne, 
Let  him  endyten  of  thi  treccherie. 
Fy,  mannyssch,  fy! — o  nay,  by  Clod,  I  lye; 
Fy,  feendly  spirit,  for  I  dar  wel  telle, 
Though  thou  here  walke,  thy  spirit  is  in  helle. 

This  messanger  comth  fro  the  kyng  agayn, 
And  at  the  kinges  modres  court  lie  light, 
And  sche  was  of  this  messenger  ful  fayn, 
And  pleseth  him  in  al  that  ever  sche  might. 
He  drank,  and  wel  his  gurdel  underpight; 
He  slepeth,  and  he  fareth  in  his  gyse 
Al  nyght,  unto  the  sonne  gan  arise. 

Eft  were  his  lettres  stolen  everichon. 
And  countrefeted  lettres  in  this  wise  : 
'  The  kyng  comaundeth  his  constable  anon. 
Up  peyne  of  hangyng  and  of  heigh  justise, 
That  he  ne  schulde  suffre  in  no  nianer  -svyse 
Constaunce  in  his  regne  for  to  abyde 
Thre  dayes,  and  a  quarter  of  a  tyde  ; 

But  in  the  same  schip  as  he  hir  fond, 
Hire  and  hir  yonge  sone,  and  al  hire  gere. 


'  Tyrwhitt  gives  in  his  notes  from  the  margin  of  the  MS.  C.  the  fol- 
lowing, from  whence  this  stanza  is  taken : — '  Quid  turpius  ebrioso,  cui 
foetor  in  ore,  tremor  in  corporc,  qui  promit  stulta,  prodit  occulta;  cui 
mens  alienatur,  facies  trausformaUir  'i  Nullum  enim  latet  secreluni  ubi 
regiiat  ebrietas ' 


THE   MAN    OF    LAWES    TALE.  295 

He  schuldo  putte,  and  crowde'  fro  the  londe, 
Aud  chiirgo  liire  that  sche  never  eft  come  there.' 
O  my  Coustauuce,  wel  may  thy  goost  have  fere, 
And  slepyng  in  thy  drem  ben  in  peniiunce, 
Whan  Doniegjld  ciust  al  this  ordynaunce. 

This  messangcr  a-morwe,  wlian  lie  awook. 
Unto  the  castel  lieUl  the  nexte  way; 
And  ti>  the  constable  he  the  lettro  toO/.., 
And  whan  that  he  the  pitous  lettre  say, 
Ful  ofte  he  seyd  alias  and  welaway ; 
'  Lord  Crist,'  quod  he,  '  how  may  this  world  endure? 
80  ful  of  syune  is  many  a  creatui'e  ! 

O  mighty  God,  if  that  it  be  thy  wille, 
Seth  thou  art  rightful  jngge,  how  may  this  be 
That  thou  wolt  sutlre  innoccntz  to  spiile. 
And  wikked  folk  regiie  in  prospeiite? 
O  good  Constance,  alias !  so  wo  is  me, 
That  I  moot  be  thy  torraentour,  or  deye 
On  schamful  deth,  ther  is  non  other  weye.' 

Wepen  bothe  yong  and  olde  in  al  that  place, 
Whan  that  the  kyng  this  coi-sed  lettre  sent; 
And  Constance  with  a  dodly  pale  face 
The  fourthe'  day  toward  hir  schip  sche  went. 
But  nevertheles  sche  taketh  in  good  entent 
The  wil  of  Christ,  aud  knelyng  on  the  grounde 
Sche  sayde,  '  Lord,  ay  welcoiue  be  thy  sonde  ! 

He  that  me  kepte  fro  the  false  blame, 
Whil  I  wos  on  the  lond  amonges  you, 
He  can  me  kepc  from  harm  and  eek  fro  schame 
In  the  salt  see,  although  I  se  uat  how  ; 
As  strong  as  ever  he  was,  he  is  right  now, 
In  him  trust  I,  aud  in  his  mooder  deere, 
That  is  to  me  my  sayl  and  eek  my  stecre.' 


'  To  pusli.  It  is  still  asiial  in  Norfollc  and  Snflblk  to  speak  of  croicdinij 
a,  whwl  barrow. 

-  Tlie  Uarl.  MS.  reads  Jaijrt.  The  reading  iu  tlie  text  is  front 
TjTwbitt 


296  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Hir  lite!  child  lay  wepyng  in  hir  arm, 
And  knelyng  pitously  to  Iiim  sclie  savde ; 
'  Pees,  litis  sone,  I  wol  do  the  noon  narm.' 
With  that  hir  kerchef  of  hir  had  sche  brayde. 
And  over  his  litel  eyghen  sche  it  layde, 
And  in  liir  arm  sche  lullith  it  wel  faste, 
And  unto  heven  hir  eyghen  up  sche  caste. 

'  Moder,'  quod  sche,  '  and  mayde  bright,  Marie, 
Soth  is,  that  thurgh  wommannes  eggement 
Mankynde  was  lorn  and  dampned  ay  to  dye, 
For  which  thy  child  was  on  a  cros  to-rent ; 
Thyn  blisful  eyghen  sawh  al  this  torment  ;^ 
Then  nys  ther  noon  comi^arisoun  bitwene 
Thy  wo,  and  any  woo  may  man  sustene. 

'  Thow  saugh  thy  child  i-slaw  byfor  thyn  yen. 
And  yit  now  lyveth  my  litel  child,  parfay ; 
Now,  lady  bright,  to  whom  alle  woful  cryen, 
Thou  glory  of  wommanhod,  thou  faire  may, 
Thou  heven  of  refute,  brighte  sterre  of  day, 
Rewe  on  my  child,  that  of  thyn  gentilnesse 
Rewest  on  every  synful  in  destresse. 

'  0  litel  child,  alas !  what  is  thi  gilt. 
That  never  wroughtest  synne  as  yet,  parde  t 
Why  wil  thyn  harde  fader  han  the  spilt  ? 
O  mercy,  deere  constable,'  seyde  sche, 
'  And  let  my  litel  child  here  dwelle  with  the ; 
And  if  thou  darst  not  saven  him  for  blame/ 
So  kys  him  oones  in  his  fadres  name.' 


'  Tlio  griefs  of  the  blessed  Virgin  afforded  to  the  poets  of  the  early 
Church  a  favourite  theme  for  appeals  to  the  feelings,  as  in  the  well- 
known  hymn  {Svptem  DolonimB.  V.  Maria),  attributed  to  Innocent  Til., 
which  is  not  unlike  the  passage  in  the  text : — 

'  Pro  peccatis  suae  gentis 
Vidit  Jesum  in  tormentis, 
Et  flagellis  subditum. 
Vidit  suum  dulcem  natiun 
Moricndo  desolatum 
Dam  emisit  spiritum.' 

*  For  fear  of  blame. 


THE    M»V    OV    I-AWES    TALE.  297 

Therwith  schc  lokcth  1mk-w:ird  to  the  loii;l, 
And  seyile,  '  Furwt-l,  lioiisUoml  rewtheles  !' 
And  up  sche  rist,  and  walketh  doun  the  stronde 
Toward  the  schip,  liir  Ibhvoth  :il  the  prees; 
And  ever  schc  jn-eyeth  hir  child  to  hold  his  pees, 
And  took  hir  leve,  and  with  an  holy  entent 
ISche  blesseth*  hire,  and  to  the  schip  sche  went. 

Vytailled  was  the  sehij),  it  is  no  drede, 
Abundaiintly  for  hire  a  ful  longe  space  ; 
And  other  necessaries  that  schulde  nede 
Sche  had  ynowgh,  heryed  be  Cristez  grace; 
For  wyud  and  water  almighty  God  purchace,* 
And  biyng  hir  hom,  I  can  no  bettre  say, 
But  in  the  see  sche  dryveth  forth  hir  way. 

Alia  the  kyng  cometh  hom  soon  after  this 
Unto  the  castel,  of  the  which  I  tolde. 
And  asketh  wher  his  wyf  and  his  child  ys. 
The  constable  gan  aboute  his  herte  colde, 
And  playnly  al  the  maner  he  him  tolde 
As  ye  han  herd,  I  can  telle  it  no  better, 
And  schewed  the  kynges  seal  and  his  letter ; 

And  seyde,  •  Lord,  as  ye  comaunded  me 
Up  peyne  of  deth,  so  have  I  do  certayn.' 
This  messager  tormented^  was,  til  he 
Moste  biknowe  and  telle  it  plat  and  jila^Ti, 
Fro  nyght  to  night  in  what  place  he  had  layn; 
And  thus  by  witt  and  subtil  enqueiyng 
Ymagincd  was  by  wham  this  gan  to  spryiig. 

Tlie  hand  was  knowen  that  the  lettre  wroot. 
And  al  the  veiiyni  of  this  cursed  dede; 
But  in  what  wyse,  certeynly  I  uoot. 
Theffect  is  this,  that  Alia,  out  of  di-ede,* 
His  moder  slough,  as  men  may  pleyuly  reede, 

1  See  ante.  p.  I8},  note  1. 

'  This  means,  May  Almifrhty  God  take  the  wind  and  water  into  hit 
especial  [lossossion  or  (rovtrniince. 

^  KxaniinL(l  by  torture  to  nialie  him  discover  his  guilt. 

••  This  is  an  idiomatic  expression  of  usual  occurrence.  There  is  no 
fear  but  that  Ella  slew  his  mother, — i.  e.,  you  may  be  sure  he  did. 


298  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

For  tliat  sche  traytour  was  to  liir  ligeaimce. 
Thus  endeth  olde  Domegild  with  mescliaiance. 

The  sorwe  that  this  Alia  night  and  day 
Maketh  I'or  his  wyf  and  for  his  child  also, 
Ther  is  no  tonge  that  it  telle  may. 
But  now  I  wol  unto  Custaunce  go, 
That  fleeteth  in  the  see  in  peyne  and  wo 
ry\'e  yeer  and  more,  as  liked  Cristes  sonde, 
Er  that  hir  schip  approched  unto  londe. 

Under  an  hethen  castel  atte  last, 
Of  which  the  name  in  my  text  nought  I  fynde, 
Constaunce  and  eek  hir  child  the  see  upcast. 
Almighty  God,  that  saveth  al  mankynde, 
Have  on  Constaunce  and  on  hir  child  som  mynde  ! 
That  fallen  is  in  hethen  hond  eftsone. 
In  poynt  to  spille,  as  I  schal  telle  you  soone. 

Doun  fro  the  castel  cometh  many  a  wight, 
To  gawren  on  this  schip,  and  on  Constaunce; 
But  schortly  fro  the  castel  on  a  night. 
The  lordes  styward,  God  give  him  meschaunce ! 
A  theef  that  had  reneyed  oure  creaunce. 
Com  into  schip  alone,  and  seyd  he  scholde 
Hir  lemman  be,  whethir  sche  wold  or  nolde. 

Wo  was  this  wrecched  womman  tlio  higoon,^ 
Hire  chi*lde  crieth  and  sche  pytously; 
But  blisful  Mary  hilp  hir  right  anoon, 
For  with  hir  stroglyng"  wel  and  mightily 
The  theef  fel  over-boord  al  sodeinly, 
And  in  the  see  he  drenched  for  vengeaunce, 
And  thus  hath  Crist  unwemmed  kept  Constaunce 

O  foule  luste,  0  luxurie,  lo  thin  ende !  ^ 
Nought  oonly  that  thou  feyutest  mannes  mynde. 
But  verrayly  thou  wolt  his  body  schende. 


1  This  vsretclied  woman  was  woe  begone,  far  gone  in  woe.  [  '\^i>e- 
begone'  means  •surrounded  with  woe.'  A.-S.  began  'to  surround.'— 
VV.W.S.] 

2  Ilarl.  MS.  reads  strcngthe. 

3  In  the  margin  of  the  MS.  C.  i.  is  the  foUowng:— 'O  extrema 
libidinis  turpitude,  qu.x  non  sohipi  mentem  elTeminat,  set  ctiam  cor- 
pus eutrvat:  semprr  secuntur  dolor  ct  pcenitentia.' 


THE    MAN    Of   LAWES    TALE.  299 

The  emlu  of  thyn  werk,or  of  thy  lustes  blynde, 
Is  coiuph'yiiyng;  how  ruauy  may  meu  fyndc, 
That  nought  for  werk  som  tyme,  but  for  theutent 
To  doou  this  synne,  bcu  eythur  shiya  or  scheut  ! 

How  may  this  weyke  woinmau  han  the  strengthe 
Hir  to  defende  agein  this  renegat? 

0  Golias,  utxniesurable  of  loiigthe, 
How  inighte  David  luakL-  tliu  so  mate  ? 
So  youg,  aud  of  armiiru  so  desolate, 

How  doi-st  he  loke  upon  thyn  dredful  face? 
Wei  may  men  scyii,  it  nas  but  Goddes  grace. 

Who  gaf  Judith  corage  or  hardynesse 
To  slen  hiiii  Olefernes  in  his  tent, 
And  to  drlyvcren  out  of  wrecchecbies 
The  peple  of  God  ?     I  siiy  in  this  entent, 
That  right  as  God  spiiyte  and  vigor  sent 
To  hem,  and  saved  hem  out  of  meschaunce, 
So  sent  he  might  and  vigor  to  Constaunce. 

Forth  goth  hir  schip  thurghout  the  narwe  mouth 
Of  Jubalter  and  Septe,*  dryvyng  alway, 
Som  tyme  west,  and  some  tyme  north  and  south, 
And  som  tyme  est,  ful  many  a  wery  day ; 
Til  Cristes  mooder,  blessed  be  sche  ay ! 
Hath  schapen  thurgh  hir  endeles  goodnesse 
To  make  an  ende  of  hir  hevynesse. 

Now  let  us  stynt  of  Constaunce  but  a  thro  we, 
And  speke  we  of  the  Romayn  emperour, 
Tliat  out  of  Surrye  hath  by  lettres  knowe 
The  slaughter  of  cristen  folk,  and  deshonoui- 
Doon  to  his  dough ter  by  a  fals  traytour, 

1  meue  the  cursed  wikked  sowdenesse, 

That  at  the  fest  leet  slee  bothe  more  and  lesse. 

For  which  this  emperour  hath  sent  auoou 
His  senatours,  with  real  ordynaunce, 
And  other  lordes,  God  wot,  r;."»^y  oon, 


'  Jubalter,  of  cuiir&e,  means  Gibraltar.    Ceuta,  on  the  opposite  coast 
of  Africa,  was  formerly  called  Svjita. 


300  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

On  Surriens  to  take  high  vengecXiince. 
They  brenne,  sleen,  and  bringen  hem  to  meschaunce 
Ful  many  a  day ;  but  schortly  this  is  thende, 
Horn-ward  to  Rome  they  schapen  hem  to  wende. 

This  senatour  repayreth  with  victorie 
To  Rome-wai'd,  saylyng  ful  i-eally, 
And  matte  the  schip  dryvyng,  as  seth  the  story, 
In  which  Constance  sitteth  ful  pitously. 
Nothing  ne  knew  he  what  sche  was  ne  why 
Sche  was  in  such  aray,  sche  nolde  seye 
Of  hire  astaat,  although  sche  scholde  deye. 

He  bryngeth  hir  to  Rome,  and  to  his  wyf 
He  gaf  hir,  and  hir  yonge  sone  also ; 
And  with  the  senatour  lad  sche  hir  lyf. 
Thus  can  our  lady  bryngen  out  of  woo 
Woful  Constaunce  and  many  another  moo ; 
And  longe  tyme  dwelled  sche  in  that  place, 
In  holy  werkes,  as  ever  was  hir  grace. 

The  senatoures  wif  hir  aunte  was, 
But  for  al  that  sche  knew  hir  never  more  • 
I  wol  no  lenger  taryen  in  this  cas, 
But  to  kyng  Alia,  which  I  spak  of  yore, 
That  for  his  wyf  wepeth  and  siketh  sore, 
I  wol  retorne,  and  lete  I  wol  Constaunce 
Under  the  senatoures  governaunce. 

Kyng  Alia,  which  that  had  his  mooder  slayn, 
Upon  a  day  fel  in  such  repentaunce, 
That,  if  I  schortly  telle  schal  and  playn. 
To  Rome^  he  cometh  to  receyve  his  penaunce, 
And  putte  him  in  the  popes  ordynaunce 
In  heigh  and  lowe,  and  Jhesu  Crist  bysought, 
Forgei  his  wikked  werkes  that  he  wrought, 

The  fame  anon  thurgh  Rome  totm  is  born. 


'  There  are  many  examples  of  Saxon  kings  relinquishing  their  dig- 
nities, and  retiring  to  Rome,  or  ending  their  days  in  monastic  seclu- 
sion. Among  otliers,  Coclwulf,  King  of  Korthuniherland,  to  whom 
Ikde  dedicated  liis  history,  abdicated  the  throne  about  the  year  738, 
and  retired  to  Holy  Island,  where  he  died. 


THE    MAN   OF   LA  WES   TALE.  301 

How  Alia  kyug  schal  come  iu  pilf^ymage, 
By  hcrberjourz  that  wcntou  him  bitoni, 
For  which  the  senatour,  as  was  usage, 
Rood  hiiii  agX'in,'  and  many  of  his  lynage. 
As  wel  to  scheweu  his  magniticeuce, 
As  to  doon  eny  kyng  a  reverence. 

Gret  chcere  doth  this  nolile  souatour 
To  kyug  Alia,  aud  ho  to  him  also; 
Evcrich  of  hem  doth  oth^r  gret  honour, 
And  so  bikl,  that  iu  a  day  or  two 
This  senatour  is  to  kyng  Alia  go 
To  fcst,  aud  schortly.  if  I  schul  not  lye, 
Constances  sone  went  in  his  companye. 

Som  men  wold  seyn  at  request  of  Custaunoe 
This  senatour  hath  lad  this  child  to  feste; 
I  may  not  telle  every  ci'rcumstaunce, 
Be  as  be  may,  ther  was  he  atte  leste ; 
But  soth  it  is,  right  at  his  modres  hcste, 
Byfom  hem  alle,  duryng  the  metes  space, 
The  chUd  stood  lokyng  in  the  kynges  face. 

This  Alia  kyng  hath  of  this  child  gret  wonder, 
And  to  the  senatoiu"  he  seyd  anoon, 
'  Whos  is  that  faire  child  that  stondeth  yonder?' 
*  I  not,'  quod  he,  '  by  God  and  by  seynt  Jon ! 
A  moder  he  hath,  but  fader  hath  he  non. 
That  I  of  woot :'  and  schoi-tly  in  a  stounde 
He  told  Alia  how  that  this  child  was  founde. 

'  But  God  woot,'  quod  this  senatour  also, 
'  So  vertuous  a  lyvcr  in  my  lyf 
l^e  saugh  I  never,  such  as  sche,  nomo 
Of  worldly  womman,  mayden,  or  of  wyf ; 
T  dar  wel  s;iy  sche  hadde  lover  a  knyf 
Thurghout  hir  brest,  than  ben  a  womman  wikke, 
Thor  n  no  man  can  bryng  hir  to  that  prikke.''' 


I  UckIc  to  meet  Iiim. 
'   To  that  point,  t.  e.,  cou  LOaiue  her  in  that  respect. 


302  THE   CANTERBUTvY    TALES. 

Now  was  this  child  as  lik  unto  Custauuce 
As  possible  is  a  creature  to  be. 
This  Alia  hath  the  face  in  remembraunce 
Of  dame  Custaunce,  and  thereon  m\ised  he, 
If  that  the  childes  mooder  were  ought^  sche 
That  is  his  wyf ;  and  pryvely  he  hight, 
And  sped  him  fro  the  table  that  he  might. 

'  Parfay !'  thought  he,  'fantom  is  in  myn  heed  ; 
I  ought  to  deme,  of  rightful  juggement, 
That  in  the  salte  see  my  wyf  is  deed.' 
And  alter- ward  he  made  this  argument : 
*  What  woot  I,  wher  Crist  hath  hider  sent 
My  wyf  by  see,  as  wel  as  he  hir  sent 
To  my  contre,  fro  thennes  that  sche  went  V 

And  after  noon  home  with  the  senatour 
Goth  Alia,  for  to  see  this  wonder  chaunce. 
This  senatour  doth  Alia  gret  honour, 
And  hastely  he  sent  after  Custaunce. 
But  trusteth  wel,  hir  luste  nat  to  daunce, 
Whan  that  sche  wiste  wherfor  Avas  that  sonde, 
Unnethes  on  hir  feet  sche  mighte  stonde. 

Whan  Alia  saugh  his  wyf,  fayre  he  hir  grettc. 
And  wepte,  that  it  was  rewthe  to  se ; 
For  at  the  firste  look  he  on  hir  sette 
He  knew  wel  verrely  that  it  was  sche. 
And  for  sorwe,  as  domb  sche  stant  as  tre ; 
So  was  hire  herte  schett"  in  hir  distresse. 
Whan  sche  remembred  his  unkyndenesse. 

Twies  sche  swowned  in  his  owen  sight ; 
He  wept  and  him  excuseth  pitously; 
'  Now  God,'  quod  he,  '  and  alle  his  halwes  bright 
So  wisly  on  my  soule  have  mercy, 
That  of  youre  harm  as  gulteles  am  I 
As  is  Maurice  my  sone,  so  lyk  youre  face, 
Elles  the  feend  me  feoche  out  of  this  place." 


1  If  the  child's  mother  were  by  on;/  chmice  she,  &c. 
-  A  beautiful  phrase,  expressive  of  the  i)ainful  inability  to  speak  o» 
weep  in  violent  grief,  particularly  if  caused  by  unkindness. 


Tin-:    MAX    OF    LAWES   TALE.  303 

Long  was  the  sobbyng  and  the  bitter  pejruo, 
Or  tliat  here  woful  lierte  mighto  ccs.se ; 
(irot  was  the  j)ite  for  to  here  hem  i)leyne, 
Tluirgh  whiche  playutz  gau  liere  wo  eucresee. 
I  pray  yovi  alle  my  hibour  to  relesse, 
I  may  not  telle  al  here  woo  unto  morwe, 
I  am  so  wery  for  to  speke  of  the  sorwe. 

But  fynally,  whan  that  the  soth  is  wist, 
That  Alia  giltolos  was  of  hir  woo, 
I  trowe  an  hundred  tymes  they  ben  kist, 
And  such  a  blys  is  ther  bitwix  hem  tuu, 
That,  save  the  joye  that  lasteth  everemo, 
Ther  is  noon  lyk,  that  eny  creature 
Hath  seyn  or  sclial,  whil  that  the  world  may  dnre. 

Tho  prayde  sche  hir  housbond  meekely 
In  the  relees  of  hir  pytous  pyne, 
That  he  wold  preye  hir  fader  specially, 
That  of  his  majeste  he  wold  enclyne 
To  vouchesauf  som  tyme  with  him  to  dyne. 
Sche  preyeth  him  eek,  he  schulde  by  no  weye 
Unto  hir  fader  no  word  of  hir  seye. 

Som  men  wold  seye,^  that  hir  child  Maurice 
Doth  his  message  unto  the  emperour  ; 
But,  as  I  gesse.  Alia  was  nat  so  nyce,' 
To  him  that  is  so  soverayn  of  honour, 
As  he  that  is  of  Cristes  iblk  the  flour, 
Sent  eny  child ;  but  it  is  best  to  deeme 
He  went  himsilf,  and  so  it  may  wel  seme. 

This  emperour  hath  graunted  gentilly 
To  come  to  dyner,  as  he  him  bysought ; 
And  wel  rede  I,  he  loked  besily 
Upon  the  child,  and  on  his  doughter  thought. 
Alia  goth  to  his  in,  and  as  him  ought 
Arrayed  for  this  fcst  in  every  wyse, 
As  ferforth  as  his  coiinyiig  may  suffise. 

'  Tyrwhitt  supposes  that  this  rtfers  to  Gower's  version  of  the  storv  ; 
bm  it  alludes,  more  probably,  to  some  romance  which  wae  the  common 
orif;in;il  of  both. 

-  Syce  is  here  used  in  the  sense  of  ntaw,  foolish. 


304  THE    CANTERBUEY   TALES. 

The  morwe  cam,  and  Alia  gan  him  drosse, 
And  eek  his  wyf'  the  emperour  for  to  meete  ; 
And  forth  Lhey  ryde  in  joye  and  in  gladuesse, 
And  whan  sche  saugh  hir  fader  in  the  streete, 
Sche  light  adoun  and  filleth  him  to  feete. 
'  Fader,'  quod  sche,  '  your  yonge  child  Constance 
Is  now  ful  clene  out  of  your  remembraunce. 

'  I  am  your  doughter  Custaunce,'  quod  sche, 
*  That  whilom  ye  have  sent  unto  Surrye ; 
It  am  I,  fader,  that  in  the  salte  see 
Was  put  alloon,  and  dampned  for  to  dye. 
Now,  goode  fader,  mercy  I  you  crye, 
Send  me  no  more  unto  noon  hethenesse, 
But  thanke  my  lord  her  of  his  kyndenesse.' 

Who  can  the  pytous  joye  telle  al 
Bitwix  hem  thre,  sith  they  be  thus  i-mette  ? 
But  of  my  tale  make  an  ende  I  schal ; 
The  day  goth  fast.  I  wol  no  lenger  lette. 
This  glade  folk  to  dyner  they  ben  sette ; 
In  joye  and  blys  at  mete  I  let  hem  dwelle, 
A  thousand  fold  wel  more  than  I  can  telle. 

This  child  Maurice  was  siththen  emperour 
I-maad  by  the  pope,  and  lyved  cristenly, 
To  Cristes  chirche  dede  he  gret  honour. 
But  I  let  al  his  story  passen  by, 
Of  Custaunce  is  my  tale  specially; 
In  olde  Romayn  gestes  men  may  fynd 
Maurices  lyf,  I  here  it  nought  in  mynde. 

This  kyng  Alia  whan  he  his  tyme  say. 
With  his  Constaunce,  his  holy  wyf  so  swete. 
To  Engelond  they  com  the  righte  way. 
Wher  as  they  lyve  in  joye  and  in  quyete. 
But  litel  whil  it  last,  I  you  biheete, 
Joy  of  this  world  for  tyme  wol  nob  abyde, 
Fro  day  to  night  it  chaungeth  as  the  tyde.* 


'  In  margin  of  MS.  C.  i.,  '  A  mane  usque  ad  vesperam  mutftbitur 
tempus;  tenent  tympanum  et  gaudent  ad  sonum  orgaui,'  &c. 


THE    MAN    OF    LAWES   TALE.  306 

Who  lyvcd  ever  in  sucli  delyt  a  <l:iy,' 
That  him  no  inevod  eytlier  liis  cou.sfience, 
Or  ire,  or  taleut,  or  som  inauer  aftniy, 
Knvy,  or  pride,  or  passioun,  or  oflciice? 
I  lie  say  but  fur  this  endo  this  sentence. 
That  litel  whil  in  joye  or  in  plesaunce 
Lasteth  tlic  blis  of  AUa  witli  Custaunce. 

For  deth,  that  takth  of  heigh  and  low  his  rent, 
Whan  passed  was  a  yeere,  as  I  gesse, 
Out  of  this  worlde  kyng  AUa  he  hent. 
For  whom  Custauns  liath  ful  gret  lievynesse. 
Now  let  us  pray  that  Ciod  his  soule  blesse! 
And  dame  Custaunce,  fynally  to  say, 
Toward  the  toun  of  Rome  goth  hir  way. 

To  Rome  is  come  this  nobil  creature. 
And  fyut  hir  freeudes  ther  bothe  hool  and  sound; 
Now  is  sche  skaped  al  hir  aventure. 
And  whanne  sche  her  fader  had  i-founde, 
Doun  on  hir  knees  falleth  sche  to  grounde, 
Wepyng  for  tendirnes  in  herte  blithe 
Sche  heried  God  an  hundred  thousand  sithe. 

In  vertu  and  in  holy  almes-dede 
They  lyven  alio,  and  never  asondre  wende; 
Til  deth  departe  liem,  this  lyf  they  lede. 
And  far  now  wel,  my  tale  is  at  an  ende. 
Now  Jhesu  Crist,  that  of  his  might  may  sende 
Joy  after  wo,  governe  us  in  liis  gi-ace. 
And  keep  ons  alle  that  ben  in  this  place.* 

'  III  margin  of  MS.  C.i.,  '  QiiLs  unquain  uuuni  iliem  totam  in  sua 
dilectione  (lu.xit  jocundam?  (jium  in  aliqua.  jiarte  iliui  reatus  con- 
acientia;,  vd  iinpctu.s  ir.x',  vel  motus  concupiscentia;  non  turbavit,"  &c. 

-  In  some  of  the  MS.S.  The  Afcircltautules  I'cUe  follows  that  ofThe  Man 
of  Latce.     The  Ilarl.  SI.S.  erroneously  places  the  J'rologe  to  the  Shi/> 
man's  Tale  before  7Tie   Wyt  qt  Bathes  ProlcKje;  to  which  latter  there 
are  the  following  four  introductory  lines  in  the  Lansd.  MS.; — 
'  Than  sihortly  nnscwarde  the  wife  of  Bathe, 
And  swore  a  w  onder  grete  hathe. 
'Be  Goddcs  bones,  I  will  tel  next, 
I  will  not  glo.^e,  but  sayc  the  text. 
Experiment,  though  none  anctorite,"  &c. 

FOL.  I.  _ 


306  THE  CANTERBURY  TALES. 


THE  PROLOGE  OF  THE  WYF  OF  BATHE. ^ 

T^  XPERIENS,  though  noon  auctorite 

-Li   Were  in  this  world,  it  were  ynough  for  me 

To  speke  of  wo  that  is  in  mariage ; 

For,  lordyngs,  syns  I  twelf  yer  was  of  age, 

^'   I  thank  it  God  that  is  eterne  on  lyve, 

Housbondes  atte  chirch  dore  I  have  had  fyve,* 
For  I  so  ofte  might  have  weddid  be, 
And  alle  were  worthy  men  in  here  degre. 
But  me  was  taught,  nought  longe  tyme  goon  is, 

/^    That  synnes  Crist  went  never  but  onys 
To  weddyng,  in  the  Cane  of  Galile, 
That  by  the  same  ensampul  taught  he  me 
That  I  ne  weddid  schulde  be  but  ones. 
Lo,  herken  such  a  scharp  word  for  the  nones  ! 

/i'  Biside  a  welle  Jhesus,  God  and  man, 
Spak  in  reproof  of  the  Samaritan  : 
'  Thou  hast  y-had  fyve  housbondes,'  quod  he ; 
'  And  that  ilk-man,  which  that  now  hath  the, 
Is  nought  thin  housbond ;'  thus  he  sayd  certayn ; 

i,0  What  that  he  ment  therby,  I  can  not  sayn. 
But  that  I  axe,  why  the  fyfte  man 
Was  nought  housbond  to  the  Samaritan? 
How  many  might  sche  have  in  mariage  1 
Yit  herd  I  never  tellen  in  myn  age 


'  It  appears  that  the  JVi/f  of  BatJie's  Prologe  wa3  a  kind  of  compo- 
sition often  recited  by  the  minstrels  or  contours.  Erasmus,  in  his 
Ecclesiastcs,  speaking  of  sucli  preachers  as  imitated  the  tone  of  beggars 
or  mountebanks,  aayi, '  Apud  Anglos,'  &c.  '  Among  the  English  is  a 
kind  of  men  like  those  called  in  Italy  circulatores,  wlio  intrude  them- 
selves into  the  feasts  of  persons  of  rank,  or  into  wine-shops,  and  re- 
cite some  discourse  which  they  have  learned  by  heart,  such  as  that 
death  is  supreme  over  all,  or  upraise  of  matrimony.'  But  though  Chaucer 
has  adopted  a  subject  and  mode  of  composition  which  were  probably 
already  popular,  his  treatment  of  it,  for  wit  and  humour,  ease  and 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  is  to  be  equalled  only  by  the  delineationn 
oi  Shakespeare. 

8  See  ante,  p.  q^,  note  I. 


15' r: 


THE   PROLOGE    OF   THE    WYF   OP   BATHE.  307 

XJ)"  Uppon  this  noumbre  difBnicioun. 

Men  luiiy  divine  and  glosen  up  and  doiiii ; 

But  wol  I  wot,  withouten  eny  lye, 

(Jod  bad  us  for  to  wax  and  multiplie; 

That  geutil  tixt  can  I  wel  undei-stonde. 
^  0    Kk  wol  r  wot.  he  s;iyd,  niyn  house])onde 

Sehuld  lete  failer  and  nioder,  and  folwe  me; 

But  of  no  nouraber  mencioun  made  he, 

Of  bygamye  or  of  octogamye;' 

Why  sohuld  uteu  speken  of  that  vilonye? 
i  iT  Lo  hier  the  wise  kyng  daun  Salomon, 

I  trow  he  hadde  wifes  mo  than  oon. 

As  wold  God  it  were  leful  unto  me 

To  be  refreisshed  half  so  oft  as  he ! 

Which  gift  of  God  had  he  for  alle  liis  wyvys! 
UP    No  man  hatli  such,  that  in  the  worhl  on  lyve  is. 

God  wot,  this  uobil  king,  as  to  my  wit, 

The  firste  night  had  many  a  niery  fit 

With  ech  of  hem,  so  wel  was  him  on  lyve. 

I-blessid  be  God  that  I  have  weddid  fyve  !* 
i^y  Welcome  the  sixte  whan  that  ever  he  schal! 

For  sothe  I  nyl  not  kepe  me  chast  in  al ; 

Whan  myn  housbond  is  fro  the  world  i-gon, 

Som  cristne  man  schal  wedde  me  anoon, 

For  than  thapostiP  saith  tliat  I  am  fre 
yi?  T<^  wedde,  a^goddis  haf,  wher  so  it  be. 

He  saith,  that  to  be  weddid  is  no  synne; 

Bet  is  to  be  weddid  than  to  brynne.* 


'  Bigamy,  accordinf;  to  the  canonists,  consisted  (not  only  in  mar- 
rying two  wives  at  a  time, but)  in  marrying  two  spinsters  successively. 
or  a  widow  at  all,  ami  \\  as  supposed  to  argue  passions  so  unrestrained 
a3  to  incapacitate  the  bigamist  for  ever  from  reciiviiig  holy  orders,  in 
accordance  with  i  Tim.  iii.  z,  as  they  understood  it. 

-'  The  second  Candi.  MS.  collated  by  Ulr.  Wriglit,  several  MS.S. 
quoted  by  I'yrwhitt,  and  the  printed  editions,  after  this  verse,  read: — 

'  Of  whiche  I  have  pyked  out  the  beste, 
Bothe  of  here  nether  purs  and  of  here  che«te.' 

*  Eom.  vii.  3-  ■•  >  Cor.  vii.  9- 

X  2 


308  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

What  recchith  me  what  folk  sayn  viloyne 
^  Of  schrewith  Lameth,  and  of  his  bigamye?* 
S^    I  wot  wel  Abram  was  an  holy  man, 

And  Jacob  eek,  as  ferforth  as  I  can, 

And  ech  of  hem  had  wyves  mo  than  tuo, 

And  many  another  holy  man  also. 

Whan  sawe  ye  in  e  iy  maner  age 
U^  That  highe  God  defendid"  mariage 

By  expres  word?     I  pray  you  tellith  me; 

Or  wher  commaunded  he  virsrinite  % 

I  wot  as  wel  as  ye,  it  is  no  drede, 
^  Thapostil,  whan  he  spekth  of  maydenhede, 
bh"  He  sayd,  that  precept  therof  had  he  noon ;' 

Men  may  counseil  a  womman  to  be  oon, 

But  counselyng  nys  no  comaundement ; 

He  put  it  in  our  owne  juggement. 

For  hadde  God  comaundid  maydenhede, 
*J0   Than  had  he  dampnyd  weddyng  with  the  dede; 

And  certes,  if  ther  were  no  seed  i-sowe, 

Virginite  whereon  schuld  it  groAve? 

Poul  ne  dorst  not  comaunde  atte  lest 

A  thing,  of  which  his  maister  gaf  non  hest. 
75"  The  dart*  is  set  upon  virginite, 

Cach  who  so  may,  who  rennith  best  let  se. 

But  this  word  is  not  taken  of  every  wight, 

But  ther  as  God  list  give  it  of  his  might. 

I  wot  wel  that  thapostil  was  a  mayde, 
5"P  But  natheles,  though  that  he  wrot  or  sayde, 

'  Gen.  iv.     There  runs  through  the  whole   of  this   doctrine  about 
bigamy  a  confusion  between  marrying  twice  and  having  two  wives  at 
once.    All  that  is  said  in  Scripture  about  bigamy  in  the  latter  sense,  is 
applied  to  it  in  the  former. 
-  Like  the  French  dejendre,  to  forbid. 
3  1  Cor.  vii.  6. 
A  dart  or  spear  was  a  usual  prize  for  running,  as  in  Lydgate — 
'  And  oft  it  liappeneth  he  that  best  ron 
Doth  not  the  spere  like  his  desert  possede.' 
The  meaning  of  the  te.xt  is: — A  great  reward  is  indeed  promised  to  vir- 
ginity ;  it  is  one  of  the  counsels  of  perfection;  but  it  is  not  commanded, 
all  have  not  a  vocation  for  it.    The  allusion  is  to  Matt,  xix.,  and 
1  Cor.  vii. 


%/-/^ 


THE    PROLOGE   OF  THE   WYF   OF   BATHE-  3  )i) 

He  wolde  that  every  wiglit  were  such  as  lie, 
Al  nys  but  counseil  unto  virginite. 
And  for  to  ben  a  wj'f  he  gaf  nae  leve, 
Of  indulgence,  so  nys  it  to  rejn-eve 
^^  To  wed(le  nie,  if  tliat  my  make  deye, 
Withoute  excepcioun  of  bigamye ; 
Al  were  it  good  no  wommau  for  to  tonche, 
(He  mcnte  in  his  bed  or  in  his  couche) 
For  peril  is  bothe  fuyr  and  tow  to  assemble ; 
C^O  Ye  knowe  what  this  ensample  wold  resemble. 
This  is  al  and  som,  he  holdith  virginite 
More  pariit  than  wed<lying  in  frelte  ; 
(Frelte  clepe  I,  but  if  that  he  and  sche 
Wold  leden  al  ther  lif  in  chastite). 
(llj  I  grauut  it  wel,  I  have  noon  envye, 

ThoTigh  maidenhede  preferre'  bygamye; 
It  liketh  hem  to  be  clene  in  body  and  gost ; 
Of  myn  estate  I  nyl  make  no  bost. 
For  wel  ye  wot,  a  lord  in  his  household 

10^    He  nath  not  every  vessel  ful  of  gold  f 
Som  ben  of  tre,  and  don  her  lord  servise 
God  depth  folk  to  him  in  sondry  wise, 
And  every  hath  of  God  a  propre  gifte, 
Som  this,  som  that,  as  him  likith  to  schifte. 

lOS  Virginite  is  gi'et  perfeccioun,^ 

And  continens  eek  with  gret  devocioun ; 
But  Christ,  that  of  perfeccioun  is  welle, 
Bad  nought  every  wight  schuld  go  and  selle 
Al  that  he  had,  and  give  it  to  the  pore, 

//^    And  in  such  wise  folwe  him  and  his  lore.* 
He  spak  to  hem  that  wolde  lyve  parfN^tly, 
And,  lordyngs,  by  your  leve,  that  am  not  I ; 
I  wol  bystowe  the  flour  of  myn  age 
In  the  actes  and  in  the  fruytes  of  mariage. 

//^    Tel  me  abo,  to  what  conclusioun 

'  Prefer  seems  to  be  a  neuter  verb,  signifying  he  hettT  than. 
■  i  Tim  ii.  so.  ^  Matt.  xix.  »i. 

'  Harl.  MS.  reads  fore,  which  is  probably  a  mere  clerical  error.    Tht 
reading  in  the  text  is  from  Tyrwhitt. 


/^/iT- 


310  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

^'ere  mombres  maad  of  generacioun, 

And  of  so  parfit  wise^  a  wight  y- wrought? 

Ti-ustith  right  wel,  thay  were  nought  maad  for  nouglit 

(ilose  who  so  wol,  and  saye  bothe  up  and  doiin, 
lUO  That  they  were  made  for  purgacioun, 

Oure  bothe  uryn,  and  thinges  smale, 

Were  eek  to  knowe  a  femel  fi'o  a  male; 

And  for  non  other  cause : — say  ye  no  1 

Thexperiens  wot  wel  it  is  not  so. 
/l^y  Ho  that  these  clei'kes  ben  not  with  me  wrothe, 

I  say  tliis,  that  thay  makid  ben  for  bothe, 

This  is  to  say,  for  office  and  for  ease 

Of  engendrure,  ther  we  God  nought  displease. 

Why  schuld  men  elles  in  her  bokes  sette, 
/^O  That  man  schal  yelde  to  his  wif  his  dette  ; 

Now  wherwith  schuld  he  make  his  payement. 

If  he  ne  used  his  sely  instrument  1 

Than  wei-e  thay  maad  vipon  a  creature 

To  purge  uryn,  and  eek  for  engendrure. 
1^'  But  I  say  not  that  every  wight  is  holde, 

That  hath  such  barneys  as  I  to  you  tolde. 

To  gon  and  usen  hem  in  engendrure  ; 

Than  schuld  men  take  of  chastite  no  cure. 

Crist  was  a  mayde,  and  schapen  as  a  man, 
it^O  And  many  a  seynt,  sin  that  the  world  bygan. 

Yet  lyved  thay  ever  in  parfyt  chastite. 

I  nyl  envye  no  vii-ginite. 

Let  hem  be  bred  of  pured  whete  seed, 

And  let  us  wyves  eten  barly  breed. 
[l^if  And  yet  with  barly  bred,  men  telle  can, 

Oure  Lord  Jhesu  refreisschid  many  a  man. 

In  such  astaat  as  God  hath  cieped  ous 

I  wil  persever,  I  am  not  precious ; 

In  wyfhode  I  wil  use  myn  instrument  . 
/5b  Als  frely  as  my  maker  hath  me  it  sent. 

If  I  be  daungerous,  God  give  me  sorwe, 

Myn  housbond  schal  han  it  at  eve  and  morwe. 

'  The  Ilarl.  MS.  reads,  And  iu  wliai  wise.  Some  M88.  reaa  and  wfig. 
instead  of  a  wight. — W. 


/yj-  /Sv, 


THE   PROLOOE   OF   THE    WYP    OF    B.VTIIE.  311 

Whan  that  him  list  com  forth  and  pay  his  dette. 

An  iiousKouti  wol  I  liave,  I  wol   nut  lotte, 
/S'^    Wliich  schal  be  bothe  my  dettour  and  my  thral, 

And  liave  his  tribuhicioun  witlial 

Upon  his  fleissch,  whil  tliat  I  am  his  wyf. 

I  have  tlie  power  duryng  al  my  lif 

Upon  his  propre  body,  and  not  he; 
/^ff  Right  thus  thaj)ostil'  tokl  it  unto  me. 

And  bad  oure  housboudes  tbi"  to  love  us  wel; 

Al  this  sentence  me  likith  every  del.' 
Up  stai't  the  pardoner,  and  that  anoon ; 

*  Now,  dame,'  quod  he,  '  by  God  and  by  seint  Jon, 
/^y  Ye  ben  a  noble  prechoiir  in  this  caa.s. 

I  was  aboute  to  wedde  a  wif,  allaasl 

What?  schal  I  buy  it  on  my  tleisch  so  deere? 

Yit  had  I  lever  wedde  no  wyf  to  yere !' 

'  Abyd,'  quod  sehe,  '  my  tale  is  not  bygonne. 
/7<j  Nay,  thou  schalt  drinke  of  another  toune 

Er  that  I  go,  schal  savere  woi-s  than  ale. 

And  whan  that  I  have  told  the  forth  my  tale 

Of  tribulacioun  in  mariage, 

Of  which  I  am  expert  in  al  myu  age, 
/y^'This  is  to  say,  myself  hath  ben  the  whippe, 

Than  might  thou  chese  whethir  thou  wilt  sippe 

Of  thilke  tonne,  that  I  schal  abroche. 

Be  war  of  it.  er  thou  to  neigli  approche. 

For  I  schal  telle  ensamples  mo  than  tea: 
/S^  Who  so  that  nyl  be  war  by  other  meu 

By  him  schal  other  men  connected  be. 

The  same  wordes  writes  Ptholome,' 

•  Ephes.  V.  j5.  It  is  dillicult  ton-cotuiletlie  account  wliich  our  his- 
torians pive  of  the  ipnorance  of  Scripturo  jjrovaillng  in  tlie  iniilille 
agns,  with  tlie  fact  tliat  nlniost  atl  th;  writiiifjs  of  tliose  times  which 
liave  come  down  to  us  are  filled  with  allusions  to  the  sacred  writing?. 
upon  the  Hebraisms  of  which,  indeed,  their  barbarous  Latin  is  founded, 
just  a.s  the  peculiar  phraseology  of  the  I'uritans  is  derived  from  the 
English  translation  of  the  Bible. 

-  In  the  margin  of  ."MS  .  c.  i.,  is  the  following  quotation  : — '  Qui  per 
Alios  non  corrigitur,  alii  per  ipsum  corrigeutur."  But  1  cannot  tiiiU 
any  such  passage  in  the  AlmagesU. — T. 


in 


-1.'? 


312  THE  CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Rede  in  his  Almagest,  and  tak  it  there.' 
'  Dame,  I  wold  pray  you,  if  that  youre  wille  were, 
/^     Sayde  this  pardoner,  '  as  ye  bigan, 

Tel  forth  youre  tale,  and  sparith  for  no  man, 
Teche  us  yonge  men  of  your  practike.' 
'  Gladly,'  quod  sche,  '  syns  it  may  yow  like. 
But  that  I  pray  to  al  this  companye, 

/fC   If  that  I  speke  after  my  fantasie, 

As  taketh  nought  agreef  of  that  I  say, 
For  myn  entente  is  nought  but  to  play. 

'  Now,  sires,  now  wol  I  telle  forth  my  tale. 
As  ever  mote  I  drinke  wyn  or  ale, 

/..^y  I  schal  say  soth  of  housbondes  that  I  hadde, 

As  thre  of  hem  were  goode,  and  tuo  were  badde. 
Tuo  of  hem  were  goode,  riche,  and  olde ; 
Unnethes  mighte  thay  the  statute  holde, 
In  which  that  thay  wei'e  bounden  unto  me; 

Ji^  Ye  wot  wel  what  I  mene  of  this  parde ! 

As  help  me  God,  I  laugh  whan  that  I  think^ 
How  pitously  on  night  I  made  hem  swynke, 

.    But,  by  my  fay !  I  tol^  of  it  no  stoor ; 

Thay  had  me  give  her  lond  and  her  tresor, 

X'OyM.e  nedith  not  no  lenger  doon  diligence 
To  Wynne  her  love  or  doon  hem  reverence. 
Thay  loved  me  so  wel,  by  God  above ! 
That  I  tolde  no  deynte  of  her  love. 
A  wys  womman  wol  by  si  hir  ever  in  oon 

5^^  To  gete  hir  love,  there  sche  hath  noon. 

But  synnes  I  had  hem  holly  in  myn  bond, 
And  synnes  thay  had  me  geven  al  her  lond, 
What  schuld  I  take  keep  hem  for  to  please, 
But  it  were  for  my  profyt,  or  myn  ease? 

XlS  I  sette  hem  so  on  werke,  by  my  fay ! 

That  many  a  night  thay  songen  weylaway. 
The  bacoun  was  nought  fet  for  hem,  I  trowe, 
That  som  men  fecche  in  Essex  at  Donmowe.* 


•  Lord  Fitzwalter,  in  the  reign  of  Uenry  III.,  ordered  that  what- 
ever married  couple  did  not  quarrel  or  repent  of  their  marriage  wittiiB 


^/^-  z^^ 


THE    PROLOGE    OF   THE    WYF    OF    BATUE.  313 

I  governed  hem  so  wel  after  my  lawe, 
Xifi    That  ecli  ot  hem  fill  blisful  wa.s  and  fawe 

To  brini^o  jue  gaye  thinges  fro  the  faire. 

Thay  were  ful  ghul  wlian  I  spak  to  hem  faire ; 

For,  God  it  woot.  I  chidde  liem  sjiitously. 

Now  herkeneth  how  I  bar  me  ju'oprely. 
i  2y  Ye  wise  wyves,  that  can  understonde, 

Thus  scholde  ye  speke,   and   here  hem  wrong  ou 

For  half  so  boldely  can  tlier  no  man  [honde; 

►Swere  and  lye  as  a  womman  can.' 

(I  say  not  by  wyves  that  ben  wise, 
i  J«?    But  if  it  be  whan  thay  ben  mysaviee.) 

I  wis  a  wif,  if  that  sciie  can  hir  good, 

Schal  beren  him  ou  houd  the  cow  is  wood,' 

And  take  witnes  ou  hir  oughue  mayde 

Of  hire  assent;  but  lierkenith  how  I  sayde. 
f  3^'  See,  olde  caynard,  is  this  thin  array  V 

Why  is  my  neghebores  wif  so  gay? 

a  year  and  a  day,  should  go  to  his  priory  of  Dunmow,  in  Essex,  anj 
roceive  a  flitch  of  bacon,  ou  swearing  to  tlie  truth,  kneehng  on  two 
stones  in  the  cliurcliyard.  'l'l?e  flitch  lias  accordingly  been  claimed  from 
time  to  time,  the  la,-.t  occasion  being  at  u  meeting  of  the  JJunmow  Agri- 
cultural Society  in  January,  iSj'i,  :'S  recorded  in  the  C/itlmybrd  Cliro- 
«/c/f  of  that  date.  See  also  Hi,oUNT'S.yot-i/'rtr 'A*Hwre-'.edit.  1784, p.  296.  X 
siniilarcustom prevaiiod  at  Wliiclienover. —  I'l.oTr's  /Juit.  o/Strifordshire. 
'iyrwhitt  says  it  also  existed  in  Uretagiie,  and  quotes  the  following  : — 
'  A  I'abliaie  Sainct  Melaiuc,  pn-s  Heniies,  y  a  plus  de  six  cens  ans  sent, 
un  coste  de  lard  encore  tout  frais  et  iion  corrompu.  et  neantnioins  voue 
et  ordonne  aux  premiers  qui  par  an  et  jour  ensemble  niariez  ont  vescu 
sans  debat,  prondemeui,  et  saii<  s'en  npentir.' — ConUad'Eutrap,  torn.  ii. 
J).  161.  [It  h;is  been  claimed  more  recently,  in  1851,  185;,  and  iZ-b. — 
\V.  \V.S.] 
'  This  is  taken  from  the  Rotnan  de  la  Rote ; — 

'  Car  plus  hardini-'nt  quo  iiiilz  homnie, 
CxTtainement  jurent  et  inentcnt.' 

2  Shall  make  the  11  believe  falsely  that  the  cow  is  wood,  which  may 
signify  either  tliat  the  cow  is  nuid  nr  mndf  0/  loond;  which  of  the  two  in 
the  preferable  interpretation  it  will  U;  sjiftMt  not  t<j  determine  till  we 
can  di<c<jver  tlie  nld  st<>ry  to  which  this  i)hra«c  seems  to  be  a  jiroverbial 
alhi-ion. — T.    [  tlVioti  is  '  mad ;'  else  we  >hoiild  have  wooden. — W.  W.  S.J 

3  Tyrwhitt  s.iys  'In  the  following  specc'i.  it  woidd  Ije  endlevs  to 
\Mint  out  all  (.'haun-rs  Imitation'^.  The  beginning  is  from  thr  frag- 
ment of  Thpoplirasiu-.  quot«l  by  St.  .lerome  c.  Jnv,i).,  and  by  Jubn  ot 
Salisbury,  f'.ljCiat.,  lib.  viii.  c.  xi.— See  also  Uonuxn  lit  la  huit. 


137- i<^ 


H14  THE    CANTEKBURY   TALES. 

Sche  is  honoured  over  al  ther  sche  goth ; 
I  sitte  at  horn,  I  have  no  thrifty  cloth. 
What  dostow  at  my  neighebores  hous? 

Jt^^    Is  sche  so  fair?  what,  artow  amorous? 

What  roiine  ye  with  hir  maydenes?  benedicite, 
Sir  olde  lecchour,  let  thi  japes  be. 
And  if  I  have  a  gossib,  or  a  frend 
Withouten  gilt,  thou  chidest  as  a  fend, 

tMb'  If  that  I  walk  or  play  unto  his  hous. 

Thou  comest  hom  as  dronken  as  a  mous.' 
And  prechist  on  thy  bench,  with  evel  preef, 
Thou  saist  to  me,  it  is  a  gret  meschief 
To  wedde  a  pover  womman,  for  costage ; 
tffC  And  if  that  sche  be  riche  and  of  parage, 
Thanne  saist  thou,  that  it  is  a  tormentrie 
To  suffre  hir  pride  and  hir  malencolie. 
And  if  that  sche  be  fair,  thou  verray  knave, 
Thou  saist  that  every  holour  wol  hir  have ; 
^^A'  Sche  may  no  while  in  chastite  abyde, 
That  is  assayled  thus  on  eche  syde. 
Thou  saist  that  som  folk  desire  us  for  riches, 
Som  for  our  schap,  and  som  for  our  faii-nes, 
And  some,  for  that  sche  can  synge  and  daunce, 
i,(fO  And  some  for  gentilesse  or  daliaunce, 

Som  for  hir  handes  and  hir  armes  smale : 
Thus  goth  al  to  the  devel  by  thi  tale. 
Thou  saist,  men  may  nought  kepe  a  castel  wal, 
It  may  so  be  biseged  over  al. 
X,^'  And  if  sche  be  foul,  thanne  thou  saist,  that  sche 
Coveitith  every  man  that  sche  may  se; 
For,  as  a  spaynel,  sche  wol  on  him  lepe, 
Til  that  sche  fynde  som  man  hire  to  chepe. 


'  In  a  note  on  this  expression,  Mr.  Wright  qiiotes  a  letter  from  a 
monk  of  Preston,  in  which  the  writer  says  that  liis  brother  monks  of 
that  lioiibe  '  drynk  an  bowll  after  collacyon  tell  ten  or  xii,  of  the 
clock,  and  come  to  mattcns  as  dronck  as  mi/s.' — '  Letters  relating  lo  the 
Buppression  of  tlie  monasteries  ;'  Camd.  Society's  publications. 


2.i>9-'J-9i 


THi:    rUOLOGE    OF    THE    WYF    OF    BATHE.  315 

Nr  noon  so  j:jvay  a  ^oos  gotli  in  the  lake, 
X7^   -'^'^  sayest  tliuti,  wol  be  witliouton  make.' 
And  saist,  it  is  an  hard  tiling  tor  to  wolde 
Thing,  that  no  man  wol,  his  willes,  holdc." 
Thus  seistow,  lorel,  whan  thou  gost  to  hcdde, 
And  that  no  wys  man  ncdith  tor  to  wedde, 

iZ-^Ne  no  man  that  entendith  unto  hevene. 

With  wilde  thunder  dynt  and  fuyry  levene 
Mote  thi  wicked  necke  be  to-broke! 
Thou  saist,  that  droppyng  hous,  and  eek  smoke, 
And  chydyng  wyves  maken  men  to  fle 

%,i0  Out  of  here  oughne  hous ;  a,  henedlcite, 

What  eylith  such  an  old  man  for  to  chyde? 
Thou  seist,  we  wyves  woln  oure  vices  hide, 
Til  we  ben  weddid,  and  than  we  wil  hem  schewe. 
Wei  may  that  be  a  proverbe  of  a  schrewe. 

%,  »(5  Thou  saist,  that  assen,  oxen,  and  houndes, 
Thay  ben  assayed  at  divers  stoundes, 
Basyns,  lavours  eek,  er  men  hem  bye, 
Spones,  stooles,  and  al  such  housbondrie, 
Also  pottes,  clothes,  and  array; 

i,^0  But  folk  of  wyves  maken  non  assay, 

Til  thay  ben  weddid,  olde  dotard  schrewe ! 
And  thanne,  saistow,  we  woln  oure  vices  schewe. 
Thou  saist  also,  that  it  displesith  me 
But  if  that  thou  wilt  praysen  my  beaute, 

i  ^S  And  but  thou  pore  alway  in  my  face, 

And  clepe  me  faire  dame  in  every  place; 
And  but  thou  make  a  fest  on  thilke  day 
That  1  was  born,  and  make  me  freisch  and  gay; 

'  There  is  a  common  proverb  in  French  of  tlie  same  import : — '  Chaque 
pot  a  son  couvercle.' 

-  Tyrwhitt  reads — 

*  And  sayst  it  is  an  hard  thing  to  vvelde 
A  thing  tliat  no  man  will,  his  thankes,  helde.' 
In  the  glossary  he  intiT])rets  «-('Wf,5wer;i.  The  meaning,  not  at  first 
obvious,  is.  It  is  hard  tobe  obli^'ed  to  wield.orgovt'rii,  a  tliing(mpaning 
bis  wife)  which  no  one  would  willinjjly  continue  to  hold  or  possess.  The 
expression,  his  thanks,  like  his  wiUes,  has  been  already  exi)lained, 
ante,  p.  1^0,  note  I. 


!<)<?- 437- 


316  THE  CANTERBURY   TALES, 

And  but  thou  do  my  norice  honoure, 
t^  OiJ    And  to  my  chamberer  withinne  my  boure, 

And  to  my  fadres  folk,  and  myn  allies: 

Thus  saistow,  olde  barel  ful  of  lies! 

And  yit  of  oure  apprentys  Jankyn, 

For  his  crisp  her,  schynyng  as  gold  so  fyn, 
4  dy    And  for  he  squiereth  me  up  and  doun, 

Yet  hastow  caught  a  fals  suspeccioun ; 

I  nyl  him  nought,  though  thou  were  deed  to  morwe. 

But  tel  me  wherfor  hydestow  with  sorwe 

The  keyes  of  thy  chist  away  fro  me? 
$  (0    It  is  my  good  as  wel  as  thin,  parde.^  [dame  1 

'  What !    wenest  thou   make   an  ydiot   of   oui-e 

Now  by  that  lord  that  cleped  is  seint  Jame, 

Thow  schalt  not  bothe,  though  thou  were  wood, 

Be  maister  of  my  body  and  of  my  good ; 
3 /y That  oon  thou  schalt  forgo  mavigre  thin  yen! 

What  helpeth  it  on  me  tenqueren  or  espien  1 

I  trowe  thou  woldest  lokke  me  in  thy  chest. 

Thou  scholdist  say,  '  wif,  go  wher  the  lest ; 

Take  you  re  disport ;  I  nyl  lieve  no  talis ; 
J  JO  I  know  yow  for  a  trewe  wif,  dame  Alis.' 

We  loveth  no  man,  that  takith  keep  or  charge 

Wher  that  we  goon ;  we  love  to  be  at  large. 
'  Of  alle  men  i-blessed  most  he  be 

The  wise  astrologe  daun  Ptholome,^ 
l^'Uy  That  saith  this  proverbe  in  his  Almagest: 

Of  alle  men  his  wisedom  is  highest. 

That  rekkith  not  who  hath  the  world  in  honde. 

By  this  proverbe  thou  schalt  understonde, 

Have  thou  ynough,  what  thar  the  recch  or  care 
J  ia  How  merily  that  other  folkes  fare? 

For  certes,  olde  dotard,  with  your  leve. 

Ye  schul  have  queynte  right  ynough  at  eve. 


'   Scil.  o''  me.      So  Numb.    xvi.   14,   Korah  and  Dathan  exclaim 
'■Will  thou  put  out  the  eyes  of  these  men  ?' 
*  The  MeyaAij  Ivvra^n  of  Ptolemy,  called  by  the  Arabs  AhiiegUthi. 


d33- 


THE    PROLOGE   OF   TUE    WYF    OF    BATHE,  317 

He  is  to  gret  a  nygard  that  wol  werne 
A  man  to  light  a  caudel  at  liis  lanterne; 
i  ^y  He  sclial  liave  never  the  hisse  light,  ])arde. 
Have  thou  ynough,  tue  thar  not  i)leyne  the 
'  Thou  saist  also,  that  if  we  make  us  gay 
With  clothing  and  with  precious  array, 
That  it  is  peril  of  our  chastite. 
h  kP  And  yit,  with  sorwe,  thou  most  enforce  the, 
And  say  these  wordes  in  thapostles  name :' 
In  abyt  maad  with  chastite  and  schame 
Ye  wommen  schuld  apparayl  yow,  quod  he, 
^  And  nought  with  tressed  her,  and  gay  perr6. 
bi^b  As  perles,  ne  with  golden  clothis  riche. 
After  thy  text,  ne  after  thin  nibriche, 
I  wol  nought  wirche  as  moche  as  a  gnat. 
Thow  saist  thus  that  I  was  lik  a  cat ; 
For  who  so  wolde  senge  the  cattes  skyn, 
liTo  Than  wold  the  catte  duellen  in  his  in; 
And  if  the  cattes  skyn  be  slyk  and  gay, 
Sche  wol  not  duelle  in  house  half  a  day. 
But  forth  sche  wil,  er  eny  day  be  dawet, 
^  ^  To  schewe  hir  skyn,  and  goon  a  caterwrawet. 
^^6' This  is  to  say,  if  I  be  gay,  sir  schrewe, 

I  wol  renne  aboute,  my  borel  for  to  schewe. 
Sir  olde  fool,  what  helpith  the  to  aspien  ? 
Though  thou  praydest  Argus  with  his  hundrid  yen* 
To  be  my  wardecorps,  as  he  can  best, 
J^  In  faith  he  schuld  not  kepe  me  but  if  me'  lest  ; 

Yit  couthe  I  make  his  herd,  though  queynte  he  be. 
Thou  saydest  eek,  that  ther  ben  thinges  thre, 
The  whiche  thinges  troublen  al  this  erthe, 
And  that  no  wight  may  endure  the  ferthe. 
5^/0  leve  sire  schrewe,  Jhesu  schorte  thy  lif! 
Yit  prechestow,  and  saist,  an  hateful  wif 
I-rekened  is  for  oon  of  these  meschaunces. 
Ben  ther  noon  other  of  thy  resembiaunces 

'    I  Tim.  ij.  9.  =  Ovid's  Metamorph. 

The  narl.  JIS.,  followed  by  Mr.  Wright,  reads  he,  which  makes  aa 
tense.     Me.  is  from  Tjrwhitt. 


i^^^% 


318  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

That  ye  may  liken  youre  parables  unto, 
blO    But  if  a  cely  wyf  be  oon  of  tho? 

Thow  likenest  wommaunes  love  to  helle, 

To  bareyn  loud,  ther  water  may  not  duelle. 

Thou  likenest  it  also  to  wilde  fuyr ; 

The  more  it  brenneth,  the  more  it  hath  desir 
ifTiT  To  consume  every  thing,  that  brent  wol  be. 

Thou  saist,  right  as  wormes  schenden  a  tre, 

Right  so  a  wif  schendith  hir  housebonde ; 

This  knowen  tho  that  ben  to  wyves  bonde. 
Lordyuges,  right  thus,  as  ye  ban  understonde, 
^  f  0  Bar  1  styf  myn  housebondes  on  honde. 

That  thus  thay  sayde  in  her  dronkenesse ; 

And  al  was  fals,  but  that  I  took  witnesse 

On  Jaukyn,  and  upon  my  nece  also. 

0  liord,  the  peyne  I  dede  hem,  and  the  wo, 
3^6"  Ful  gulteles,  by  Goddes  swete  pyne; 

For  as  an  hors,  I  couthe  bothe  bite  and  whyne ; 

1  couthe  pleyne,  and  yet  I  was  in  the  gilt, 
Or  elles  I  hadde  often  tyme  be  spilt. 

Who  so  first  Cometh  to  the  mylle,  first  grynt  -^ 
i^d    I  pleyned  first,  so  was  oure  werre  stynt. 

Thay  were  ful  glad  to  excuse  hem  ful  blyve 
Of  thing,  that  thay  never  agilt  in  her  lyve. 
And  wenches  wold  I  beren  hem  on  honde, 
Whan  that  for  seek  thay  might  uunethes  stonde, 
$^(f  Yit  tykeled  I  his  hei-te  for  that  he 
Wende  I  had  of  him  so  gret  chierete. 
I  swor  that  al  my  walkyng  out  a  nyght 
Was  for  to  aspic  wenches  that  he  dight. 
Under  that  colour  had  I  many  a  mirthe. 
i/^  For  al  such  witte  is  geven  us  of  birthe ; 
Deceipt  wepyng,  spynnyng,  God  hath  give 
To  wymmen  kyndely^  whil  thay  may  lyve.* 


'  This  proverb  is  found  also  in  French,  in  the  fifteenth  century  . — 
'  Qui  premier  vicnt  au  nioulin  premier  doit  mouldre.' — AV. 

'  Tiii«  appears  to  have  been  a  popular  saying.    In  the  margin  of  the 
Lausdowne  MS  it  is  given  in  a  Latin  leonine,  thus:  — 

'  Faller,!,  flere,  nere,  dedit  Ueus  iu  muliere.' — W. 


4^^  J  -  hi  < 


THE   PROLOGE    OF    THE    WYF    OF    BATHE.  319 

And  thus  of  o  thing  I  avaunte  me, 
At  thende  I  had  the  hot  in  ech  degr^, 
C{Oi)    By  sloiglit  or  fors,  or  of  som  nianer  thing, 
As  by  continuel  murmur  or  chidyug/ 
Naraly  on  bedde,  liadden  thay  meschaunce, 
Ther  wokl  I  chide,  and  do  hem  no  plesaunce ; 
I  wold  no  lenger  in  the  bod  abyde, 

ti Ifi    If  that  I  fult  his  arm  over  my  syde, 

Til  he  had  maad  his  raunsoun  unto  me. 
Than  wold  I  suflTre  him  doon  his  nycete. 
And  therfor  every  man  this  tale  telle, 
Wjnme  who  so  may,  for  al  is  for  to  selle  ; 

iili  With  empty  hond  men  may  noon  haukes  lure, 
For  wynnyng  wold  I  al  his  lust  endure. 
And  make  mc  a  feyned  appetyt. 
And  yit  in  bacoun^  had  I  never  delyt ; 
That  made  me  that  ever  I  wold  hem  chyde. 

UVO  For  though  the  pope  had  seten  hem  bisyde, 
I  nold  not  spare  hem  at  her  oughne  bord, 
For,  by  my  trouthe,  I  quyt  hem  word  for  word. 
Als  help  me  verray  God  omnipotent. 
Though  I  right  now  schuld  make  my  testament, 

I4IS  \  owe  hem  nought  a  word,  that  it  nys  quitte, 
T  brought  it  so  aboute  by  my  witte. 
That  they  most  geve  it  up,  as  for  the  best, 
Or  ellis  had  we  never  ben  in  rest. 
For  though  he  loked  as  a  grym  lyoun, 

L(hO  Yit  schuld  he  fayle  of  his  conclusioun. 

Than  wold  I  say,  '  now,  goode  leef,  tak  keep. 
How  mekly  lokith  Wilkyn  our  scheep  ! 
Com  ner,  my  spouse,  let  me  ba  thy  cheke. 
Ye  schulde  be  al  pacient  and  meke, 

t/J^'And  have  a  swete  spiced  consciens,* 
Siththen  ye  preche  so  of  Jobes  paciens. 


'  Most  of  the  MSS.  have,  mth  Tyrwhitt.  jrrucc^n*?. — W. 
-  Bacon  is  smoke-dried  for  keeping :  the  allusiiou  would  seem  to  be, 
therefore,  to  her  husbands  old  age. 
•  ijee  antt,  p.  99,  note  2.     It  here  .ippeire  to  mean  -scrupuloas. 


'^^'H^t^ 


320  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Suffreth  alway,  syns  ye  so  wel  can  preche, 
And  but  ye  do,  certeyn  we  schul  yow  teche 
That  it  is  fair  to  have  a  wyf  in  pees. 

l^^C    On  of  us  tuo  mot  bowe  douteles  ; 

And,  siththen  man  is  more  resonable, 

Than  womman  is,  ye  moste  be  suffrable. 

What    aylith    yow    thus    for    to    grucche    and 

grone  ? 
Is  it  for  ye  wold  have  my  queynt  allone  1 

l^luJi  Why,  tak  it  al;  lo,  have  it  every  del. 

Peter  !^  I  schrewe  yow  but  ye  love  it  wel. 
For  if  I  wolde  selle  my  hele  diose, 
I  couthe  walk  as  freisch  as  eny  rose, 
But  I  wol  kepe  it  for  youre  owne  toth. 

l^  ifO  Ye  ben  to  blame,  by  God,  I  say  yow  soth  !' 
Such  maner  wordes  hadde  we  on  honde. 

Now  wol  I  speke  of  my  fourth  housbonde. 
My  fourthe  housbond  was  a  revelour. 
This  is  to  say,  he  had  a  paramour, 
^^if  And  I  was  yong,  and  ful  of  ragerie, 
Stiborn  and  strong,  and  joly  as  a  pye. 
How  couthe  I  daimce  to  an  harpe  smale, 
And  synge  I  wys  as  eny  nightyngale. 
Whan  I  had  dronke  a  draught  of  swete  wyn. 
HifO  Metillius,^  the  foule  cherl,  the  swyn. 

That  with  a  staf  by  raft  his  wyf  hir  lyf 

For  sche  drank  wyn,  though  I  had  ben  his  wif, 

Ne   schuld  he*   nought   have    daunted    me    fro 

drink ; 
And  after  wyn  on  Venus  most  I  think. 
Ciifia  For  al  so  siker  as  cold  engendrith  hayl, 

A  likorous  mouth  most  have  a  lioorous  tail. 


-  By  St.  Peter !  a  common  oath,  like  '  Marry !'  for  St.  Mary. 

'  The  story  is  told  by  Pliny,  Nat.  Hist.,  lib.  xiv.  c.  1 3,  of  one  Mecenius ; 
but  Chaucer  probably  quoted  from  Valerius  Maximum,  lib.  vi.  3. 

3  He,  which  is  necessary  both  for  the  sense  and  metre,  being  omitted 
In  the  Harl.  MS.,  is  supplied  from  Tyrwhitt. 


i/b/^^^b 


THE  PROLOGE  OF  THE  WYP  OP  BATHE.    321 

In  wymraen  viuoleut  is  no  defens,' 

This  kiiDwon  lecchoui's  by  experieiiH. 

But,  lord  Crist,  whan  that  it  remeuibrith  me 
i^TO  Upon  my  youthe,  and  on  my  jolite, 

It  tikelith  me  aboute  myn  herte-roote! 

Unto  this  day  it  dotli  myn  lierte  boote, 

That  I  have  had  my  world  as  in  my  tyme. 

But  age,  alias  !  that  al  wol  enveuyme, 
U(  7i*Hath  me  bireft  my  beaute  and  my  i)ith  ; 

Let  go,  farwel,  the  devyl  go  therwith. 

The  flour  is  goon,  ther  uis  no  more  to  telle, 

The  bran,  as  I  best  can,  now  mot  I  selle. 

But  yit  to  be  meiy  wol  I  fonde. 
uTo       Now  wol  I  telle  of  my  fourt  housboude. 

I  say,  I  had  in  lierte  gret  despyt, 

That  he  of  eny  other  had  delit ; 

But  he  was  quit,  by  Grod,  and  by  seint  Joce ;' 

I  made  him  of  the  same  woode  a  croce,* 
/i^/y  Nought  of  my  body  in  no  foul  manere, 

But  ccrteynly  I  made  folk  such  chere, 
(   That  in  his  owne  grees  I  made  him  frie 

For  angei',  and  for  verray  jalousie. 

By  God,  in  erthe  I  was  his  purgatory, 
^^^  For  which  I  hope  his  soule  be  in  gloiy. 

For,  God  it  wot,  he  sat  ful  stille  and  song, 

Whan  tliat  his  scho  ful  bitterly  liim  wrong/ 

Ther  wiis  no  wight,  sauf  God  and  he,  that  wist 

In  many  wyse  how  sore  I  him  twist. 
^f^'He  dyed  whan  I  cam  fro  Jenisalem, 

And  lith  i-gi-ave  under  the  roode-bem  ;' 


'  From  the  livman  de  la  Rose.— 

■Car  puisqiic  femme  est  enyvrte. 
El  u'a  point  en  soy  de  defense.' 

-  Saint  .ludocus,  or  Joce,  was  a  saint  of  Ponthieu.— TocoA.  HaguA, 
prefixed  to  Menage,  Etym.  Fruuc. — T. 

'  I  made  liiin  a  cross,  an  instrument  of  torture,  out  of  the  same 
material  that  he  torturtd  nie  witli,  sot/.,  jealousy. 

*  An  allusion  to  tin-  story  of  the  Roman  sage,  who,  wlieti  hlamed  for 
divorcinK  his  wife,  said  that  a  shoe  miglit  api>ear  outwardly  to  lit  well, 
but  no  one  but  the  wearer  knew  where  it  pinched. — \V. 

*  .Vcross  the  arch  which  usually  diviUci  the  chancel  from  ihi;  ni»4 
Vol.,  I.  X 


'Sl'IE 


322  THK   CANTEKBURT  TALES. 

Al  is  his  tombe  nought  so  curious 
As  was  the  sepulcre  of  him  Darius, 
Which  that  Appellus  wrought  so  subtily. 

^'lyC  It  nys  but  wast  to  burie  him  preciously. 
Let  him  farwel,  God  give  his  soule  rest, 
He  is  now  in  his  grave  and  in  his  chest. 

'  Now  of  my  lifte  housbond  wol  I  telle  j 
God  let  his  soule  never  come  in  helle  ! 

6*^6'  And  yet  was  he  to  me  the  moste  schrewe, 
That  fele  I  on  my  ribbes  alle  on  re  we. 
And  ever  schal,  unto  myn  endyng  day. 
But  in  oure  bed  he  was  so  freisch  and  gay, 
And  therewithal  so  wel  he  couthe  me  glose, 

S'iO    Whan  that  he  wold  have  my  hele  chose, 

That,  though  he  had  me  bete  on  every  boon. 
He  couthe  wynne  my  love  right  anoon. 
I  trowe,  I  loved  him  beste,  for  that  he 
Was  of  his  love  daungerous  to  me. 

^IS'  We  wymmen  han,  if  that  I  schal  nought  lye, 
In  this  matier  a  queynte  fantasie. 
Wayte,*  what  thyng  we  may  not  lightly  have, 
Therafter  wol  we  sonnest  crie  and  crave. 
Porbeed  us  thing,  and  that  desire  we  : 
*fl^  Pres  on  us  fast,  and  thanne  wol  we  fie. 
With  daunger  outen  alle  we  oure  ware  ;* 
Greet  pres  at  market  makith  deer  chafFare, 
And  to  greet  chep  is  holden  at  litel  pris ; 
This  knowith  every  womman  that  is  wys. 
^i^'My  fyfth  housbond,  God  his  soule  blesse. 

Which  that  I  took  for  love  and  no  richesse, 

He  som  tyme  was  a  clerk  of  Oxenford, 

And  had  left  scole,  and  went  at  hoom  to  borde 


in  English  churches  was  stretched  a  beam,  on  which  was  placed  a  rood, 
that  is,  a  iigiiie  of  our  Lord  on  the  Cross,  with  the  blessed  Virgin  and 
St.  .John  standing  on  each  side,  as  described  in  the  Gospel  of  St.  John. 
Under  tliis  her  liusbanr'  was  buried. 

'   H'ayte  has  here  the  force  of  the  French  Tenes.'    Hold  !  look  ye  ! 

2  Dilhculty  in  making  our  bargain  makes  us  bring  out  all  our  war* 
for  sale.     For  oiitcn  Tyrwhitt  reads  uttren;  both  mean  the  same. 


s^ii-^'y^ 


THE   PROLOGE   OP  THE   WYF   OF   BATHE.  323 

Witli  my  gossib,  duellynpf  iu  our  toua  : 
^'i  O   God  liuvo  hir  soule,  liir  iiiiinc  %va.s  Alisoun. 

►Solie  kuew  myii  herte  and  luy  juivite 

Eet  than  oure  parisch  prest,  so  mot  I  the. 

To  hir  bywreyod  I  my  couuseil  al ; 

For  had  iimi  Iioxisbond  pissed  on  a  wal, 
^'^^'Or  dou  a  thing  tliat  schuld  have  cost  his  lif, 

To  hir,  and  to  another  woi'tliy  wyi", 

And  to  my  neece,  whicli  I  loved  wel, 

I  wold  have  told  his  counseil  every  del. 

And  so  I  did  ful  ofte,  God  is  woot, 
6k^  That  made  his  face  ofte  reed  and  hoot 

For  verry  schame,  and  blamyd  himself,  that  he 

Had  told  to  me  so  gret  a  privete. 

And  so  byfel  that  oones  in  a  Lent, 

(So  ofte  tyine  to  my  gossib  I  went, 
b''kS  For  ever  yit  I  loved  to  be  gay, 

And  for  to  walk  in  March,  Averil,  and  May* 

From  hous  to  hous,  to  here  sondry  talis) 

That  Jaukyn  clerk,  and  my  gossib  dame  Alls, 

And  I  myself,  into  the  feldes  went. 
S'S'O  Myn  housbond  was  at  Londone  al  that  Lent ; 

I  had  the  bettir  leysir  for  to  pleye, 

And  for  to  see,  and  etik  for  to  be  seye 

Of  lusty  folk  ;  what  wist  I  wher  my  grace 

Was  schapen  for  to  be,  or  in  what  place  V' 
^'^i'Therfore  I  made  my  vLsitaciouns' 

To  vigiles,  and  to  processiouns, 

To  prechings  eek,  and  to  this  pilgrimages,* 

To  pleyes  of  miracles,  and  mariages, 

'  The  Sprinp  months,  which  wore  the  season  of  the  great  festivals  of 
Easter  ami  \\  liitsiintiiie,  invited  to  wulk  iibroinl. 

'^  How  (lid  I  know  where  it  was  destined  that  my  favour  was  to  be 
bestowed  ? 

*  From  the  licmnn  df  ta  Hate: — 

'  Souvent  voise  a  la  mere  eglisf'  (the  catliedral), 
Et  face  visitations 
Aux  nopces,  aiix  i)rores8ions, 
Aiix  jeiix.  aux  fetes,  aiix  ciiroles.' 

*  Pilgrimages  were  ol'ten,  as  I'ercy  well  ulMtsrves,  made  the  pretexu 

Y    2 


xsR'S]^ 


324  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

And  wered  upon  my  gay  scarlet  gytes. 
S(tC     These  wormes,  these  moughtes,  ne  these  mytes 
Upon  my  perel  ft-etith  hem  never  a  deel, 
And  wostow  why  %  for  thay  were  used  wel. 
Now  wol  I  telle  forth  what  happid  me  : — 
I  say,  that  in  the  feldes  walkid  we, 

^*j^'   Til  trewely  we  had  such  daliaunce 

This  clerk  and  I,  that  of  my  purvyaunce 
T  spak  to  him,  and  sayde  how  that  he, 
If  I  were  wydow,  schulde  wedde  me. 
For  certeynly,  I  say  for  no  bobaunce, 

SIO    Yit  was  I  never  withouten  purveyaunce 
Of  mai'iage,  ne  of  no  thinges  eeke  ; 
I  hold  a  mouses  hert  not  worth  a  leek. 
That  hath  but  oon  hole  to  sterte  to, 
And  if  that  faile,  than  is  al  i-do. 

^S  ^I  hare  him  on  hond  he  had  enchanted*  me ; 
(My  dame  taughte  me  that  subtUtee) 


for  assignations.     Thus,  in  Pepys'  Collection,  \oL  i.,p.  Zi6,  is  a  kind  of 
Interlude,  beginning : — 

'  As  I  went  to  Walsingham, 
To  tlie  shrine  witli  speede. 
Met  I  with  a  jolly  palmer. 
In  a  pilgrimes  weede. 
'  Now  God  you  save,  you  jolly  palmer!' 
'  Welcome  lady  gay, 
Oft  have  I  sued  to  thee  for  love,* 
'  Oft  have  I  said  you  nay.' ' 

In  the  Vision  of  Pierce  Plowman  also  : — 

'  Hermets  on  an  heape. 
With  hoked  staves, 
Wenteu  to  Walsingham, 
WUh  Iter  wenches  after.' 
'  This  and  the  nine  following  lines  are  omitted  in  the  Ilarl.  MS.  and 
others.     The  second  Cambridge  MS  has  them.     They  are  here  printed 
from  Tyrwhitt.— W. 

-  The  practice  of  endeavouring  to  obtain  a  reciprocation  of  love  by 
means  of  philters  and  charms  was  common  in  tlie  middle  ages.  It 
was  derived  from  the  classics  (see  Tlieocritu.s,  <l>apfiaKe>;Tpiai),  and 
was  a  part  of  that  lingering  belief  in  the  heathen  mythology,  as  a 
system  of  daemonology  aud  witchcraft,  which,  though  professing  to  ac 


^yf  -  ^  qif 


THE   PROLOGE   OF   THE   WYF   OF   BATHE.  32 

And  eke  I  sayd,  T  met  of  him  all  night, 
He  wold  han  slain  me,  as  I  lay  upright. 
And  all  my  h«l  was  ful  of  vcray  blood; 

tf\0    But  yet  I  hope  that  ye  sliulu  do  me  good  ; 

For  blood  betokenetli  gold,  as  me  was  taught ; 
And  al  was  false,  I  dremed  of  him  right  naught, 
But  as  I  folwe<l  ay  my  dames  lore, 
As  wel  of  that  as  of  otlier  thinges  more. 

{f>>%(i'  But  now,  sir,  let  me  se,  what  1  schal  sayn ; 
A  ha!  by  God,  I  have  my  tale  agayn.' 

'  Whan  that  my  fourthe  liousbond  was  on  bere, 
I  wept  algate  and  made  a  sory  cheere, 
As  wyves  mooten,  for  it  is  usage ; 

i'^^    And  with  my  kerchief  covered  my  visage  ; 
But,  for  that  I  was  j)urveyed  of  a  make, 
I  wept  but  smal,  and  that  I  undertake. 
To  chirche  was  mvn  housbond  brou2:ht  on  morwe 
With  neighebors  that  for  him  made  sorwe, 


r. 


knowledge  the  true  God,  sought  to  ohtain  benefits  from  the  assistance 
of  the  Devil,  and  which  is  the  key,  not  only  to  many  superstitions  of 
Hie  time,  but  even  to  the  (otherwise  unaccountable)  proneness  of  the 
.)ewieb  people  to  fall  into  idolatry.  Froissart  relates,  that  Gaston  de 
Koix,  son  of  the  celebrated  Gaston,  received  a  bag  of  powder  from  his 
uncle,  Charles  the  Had,  with  directions  to  sprinkle  a  small  quantity 
over  anything  his  father  eat,  the  elTect  of  which  would  be  to  restore  his 
father's  affection  for  Gaston's  mother,  who  was  at  that  time  separated 
from  her  husband,  and  resident  at  Charles  the  Bad's  Court.  There  \t 
also  an  example  in  Othello,  Act  i.  sc.  a  : — 

'  Thou  hast  practised  on  her  with  foul  charms. 

Abused  her  delicate  youth  with  drugs  or  minerals 

That  waken  motion.' 

Newton,  in  a  txK)k  intended  to  assist  in  self-examination,  called, 
TYyaU  of  a  Afcui's  otcne  self,  (i6oi,  p.  i  i(S,)  directs  the  penitent  to 
inquire  of  his  conscience  under  breaches  of  the  seventh  commandment, 
'  Whether  by  any  secret  sleight  or  cunning,  as  drinkcs,  druggef, 
medicines,  charmed  potiow,  aniattm(nu<i  philters,  fijiires,  characters,  or 
any  such  like  paltering  instruments,  devices,  or  practices,  thou  liast 
gone  about  to  procure  others  to  doate  for  love  oftltee.' 

'  This  way  of  taking  up  the  thread  of  the  story  is  very  dramatic  and 
spirited,  as  well  as  characteristic  of  the  Wyf  of  Batbej)  coolness  and 
(vlf-poMcasios. 


»-S6^-  hl^ 


326 


THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 


S'^y  And  Jankyn  ovu'e  clerk  was  oon  of  tho. 

As  help  me  God,  wlian  tliat  I  saugh  him  go 

After  the  beere,  me  thought  he  had  a  paire 

Of  legges  and  of  feet  so  clene*  and  faire, 

That  al  myn  hert  I  gaf  vmto  his  hold. 
^fiff    He  was,  I  trowe,  twenty  wynter  old, 

And  I  was  fourty,  if  I  schal  say  the  sothe, 

But  yit  I  had  alway  a  coltis  to  the. 

Gattothid"  I  was,  and  that  by  com  me  wel, 

I  had  the  prynte  of  seynt  Venus  sel. 
^^^'    As  helpe  me  God,  I  was  a  lusty  oon. 

And  faire,  and  riche,  and  yonge,  and  wel  bcgon  ;^ 

And  trewely,  as  myn  housbonds  tolde  me, 

I  had  the  best  queynt  that  might  be. 

For  certes  I  am  all  venerian 
^<  0  In  felyng,  and  my  herte  is  marcian : 

Venus  me  gave  my  lust  and  likerousnesse. 

And  Mars  gave  me  my  sturdy  hardinesse. 

Myn  ascent  was  Taiu*,  and  Mars  therinne ; 

Alias,  alas,  that  ever  love  was  synne ! 
^/if   I  folwed  ay  myn  inclinacioun : 

By  vertu  of  my  constillacionn : 

That  made  me  that  I  couthe  nought  withdrawe 

My  chambre  of  Venus  from  a  good  felawe. 

Yet  have  I  Martes  marke  uppon  my  face, 
^UC  And  also  in  another  prive  place. 

For  God  so  wisly  be  mv  salvacioun, 

I  loved  never  by  no  discretioun. 

But  ever  folwed  myn  owne  appetit, 

All  were  he  shorte,  longe,  blake,  or  whit ; 
if%fl  toke  no  kepe,  so  that  he  liked  me. 

How  povre  he  was,  ne  eek  of  what  degre. 

'  Clene  means,  of  course,  cleanly  mmle :  witliout  clmn'^incgs  or 
Buperfluous  flesh.  2  See  antr,  p  07,  note  J. 

3  The  Harl.  SIS.  omits  this  and  the  seven  foUowinj;  lines  ;  also  the 
eight  lines  beginning  'Yet  have  I,'  &c.  The  second  Cambridge  MS.  is 
the  only  one  I  have  collated  which  contains  them  all.  The  Lansd.  and 
first  Cambridge  MSS.  omit  the  last  eiglit.  I  have  taken  them  from 
Tyrwhitt,  collated  vyith  the  MSS. — W. 


Cp11-60o 


THE    PROLOOE    OF   THE    WYF    OF    BATHE.  327 

What  schuld  I  say?  but  at  the  montliis  ende 
This  joly  clerk  Jankyn,  that  was  so  heende, 
Hiith  weddid  aie  witli  ^n-t  sohMiipnitee, 

kiO  Aud  to  him  gaf  I  a!  tlie  loud  and  fee 
That  ever  was  me  give  therbifore. 
But  aftir-ward  repented  me  ful  sore. 
He  noldre  suffVe  nothing  of  my  list. 
By  God,  he  smot  me  oonos  with  his  fist, 

(f  iS"  t^or  I  rent  oones  out  of  his  book  a  lef, 
That  of  that  strok  myn  core  wax  al  dee£ 
Styborn  I  was,  as  is  a  leones, 
And  of  my  tonge  a  veiray  jaugleres, 
And  walk  I  wold,  as  I  had  don  ])iforn, 

S^£>  Fro  hous  to  hous,  although  he  had  it  sworn  ; 
For  which  he  ofte  tymcs  wolde  preche, 
And  me  of  olde  Komayn  gestes  teche. 
How  he  Simplicius  Gallus  left  his  wyf, 
And  hir  forsok  for  terme  of  al  his  lyf, 

^  ^y  Nought  but  for  open  heedid'  he  hir  say 
Lokying  out  at  his  dore  upon  a  day. 
Another  Romayn  told  he  me  by  name. 
That,  for  his  wyf  was  at  a  somer"  gume 
Without  his  wityng,  he  forsok  hir  eeke. 

6i7>  And  thanne  wold  he  upon  his  book  seekc 
That  like  proverbe  of  Ecclcsiaste, 
Wher  he  comaundeth,  and  forbedith  faste, 
Man  schal  not  sufire  his  wyf  go  roule  aboute.' 
Thau  wold  he  say  right  thus  withouten  doute : 

^y^'  Who  that  buyldeth  his  hoiis  al  of  salwes. 

Anil  prikoth  his  blynde  liors  over  the  falwes. 
And  sutVrith  his  wyf  to  go  seken  hulwcs,-' 
Is  worthy  to  be  honged  on  the  galwes. 

But  al  for  nought ;  T  sette  nought  an  hawe 
^  {f^  Of  his  proverbe,  ne  of  his  olde  suwe ; 

'  Literally  translated  from  Valerius  Afarimiis,  lib.  vi.  c.  3. '  Uxorein 
diinisit,  quod  earn  capite  nperto  versatam  cognoverat." — T. 

-  This  expression  arose  from  summer  being  the  usual  season  for 
games.     This  story  is  alao  from  Valerius  Maximas,  lib.  vi.  c.  J. 

»  VaxIus.  XXV.  14.  «  To  go  on  pilgrima^'es.    See  ante,  p.  jlj.  noti-  4 


hl-l^yti 


328  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Ne  I  wolde  not  of  him  corretted  be. 
I  hate  him  that  my  vices  tellith  me, 
And  so  doon  mo,  God  it  wot,  than  I. 
This  made  him  with  me  wood  al  outerly; 

^^'   I  nolde  not  forbere  him  in  no  cas. 

Now  wol  I  say  yow  soth,  by  seint  Thomas, 
Why  that  I  rent  out  of  the  boc^x;  a  leef, 
For  which  he  smot  me,  that  I  was  al  deef. 
He  had  a  book,  that  gladly  night  and  day 

^^C     For  his  desport  he  wolde  rede  alway; 
He  clepyd  it  Valerye  and  Theofrast,^ 
At  which  book  he  lough  alway  ful  fast. 
And  eek  ther  was  som  tyme  a  clerk  at  Rome, 
A  cardynal,  that  heet  seint  Jerome, 
^"Jb"  That  made  a  book  agens  Jovynyan. 

In  which  book  eek  ther  was  Tertulyan, 
Crisippus,  Toi'tula,  and  eek  Helewys, 
That  was  abbas  not  fer  fro  Paris; 
And  eek  the  parablis  of  Salamon, 
^^fi  Ovydes  Art,  and  bourdes  many  oon ; 

And  alle  these  were  bound  in  oo  volume. 
And  every  night  and  day  was  his  custume, 
Whan  he  had  leysir  and  vacacioun 
From  other  worldes  occupacioun, 
(g^!}   To  reden  in  this  book  of  wikked  wyves. 
He  knew  of  hem  mo  legendes  and  lyves, 
Than  ben  of  goode  wyves  in  the  Bible. 
For  trustith  wel,,it  is  an  inpossible, 


1  Epistola  Valerii  ad  Rufimim.,  de  non  Diicenda  Uxore  was  written  by 
the  celebrated  Walter  Mapes,  and  will  be  found  as  a  chapter  in  hia 
work  DeNugUs  CuriaUum,  edited  by  Mr.  Wright.  It  frequently  occurs 
in  MSS.  by  itself,  and  is  often  quoted  as  a  separate  book.  Liber 
Aureolus  Theophrasti,  de  Nuptiis,  is  quoted  by  St.  Jerome,  Cmiira 
Jovinianum.  To  these  two  books  Jean  de  Meun  has  been  obliged  for 
some  of  the  severest  strokes  in  his  Reman  de  la  Rose ;  and  Chancer  ha« 
transferred  the  quintessence  of  all  the  three  works  (upon  the  subject 
of  matrimony)  into  his  Wyf  of  Bathes  Prologc  and  Marchauvdes  TnU. 
Theother  works  here  mentioned,  Tertidlian  de  PaHio,  the  Letters  of  Elmsa 
to  Abdard,  and  Ovid's  Art  of  Love,  are  well  known.  Tyrwhitt  says, 
'  I  know  of  no  Trotula  but  one,  whose  book,  Curandarum  yEgrititdinum 
MuUebriiim  ante,  iji,  et  post  parttts,  is  printed  irUer  Medicos  Anti<fliot, 
Ven.  1547.     What  is  meant  by  Crieippus  I  cannot  g^ess.' 


6^9'71U> 


THE   PROLOOE   OF  THE   WYF   OF    BATHE.  320 

That  any  clerk  schal  aiiekc  good  of  wyves, 
(ff^O     Hut  if  it  be  of  holy  seiutes  lyvea, 

Ne  of  iiooii  othei"  wyfes  never  the  mo. 

Who  peyntid  the  leoun,  tel  me,  who? 

By  God,  if  woinmen  hadde  writen  stories, 

As  clerkes  liave  withinue  her  oratories, 
^  ^y  Thay  wold  have  write  of  men  more  wickidnes, 

Than  al  the  mai-k  of  Adam  may  redres. 

These  children  of  Mercury  and  of  Venus' 

Ben  in  her  workyng  ful  contrarious. 

Mercury  lovith  wisdom  and  science, 
"Jfrt  And  Venus  loveth  ryot  and  dispense. 

And  for  her  divers  disposicioun, 

Ech  fallith  in  otheres  exaltacioun.* 

And  thus,  God  wot.  Mercury  is  desolate 

In  Pisces,  wher  Venus  is  exaltate, 
7  ^b'  And  Venus  faylith  wher  Mercury  is  reysed. 

Therfor  no  womman  of  clerkes  is  preised. 

The  clerk  whan  he  is  old,  and  may  nought  do 

Of  Venus  werkis,  is  not  worth  a  scho ; 

Than  sit  he  doun,  and  writ  in  his  dotage, 
7/^  That  wommen  can  nought  kepe  here  mariage. 

But  now  to  purpos,  why  I  tolde  the, 

That  1  was  beten  for  a  leef,  parde. 

Upon  a  night  Jankyn,  that  was  oure  sire, 

Ead  on  his  book,  as  he  sat  by  the  fyre, 
1  liT  Of  Eva  first,  that  for  hir  wikkidnes 

Was  al  niankyndo  brought  to  wrecchednes, 

For  which  that  Jhesu  Crist  himself  was  slayn. 

That  bought  us  with  his  herte-blood  agayn, 

Lo  here  expresse  of  wommen  may  ye  fynde, 
7  ]^  That  woman  was  the  lose  of  al  mankynde. 

'  Tlic  pursuit  of  love,  which  is  inspired  by  Venus,  is  incompatible 
with  study,  over  which,  and  all  its  concomitants,  presides  Mercury. 

-  In  the  old  Astrolop>',  a  planet  was  said  to  be  in  its  exaltation 
when  it  was  in  that  sign  of  the  Zodiac  in  which  it  was  supposed  to 
exert  its  strongest  influence.  The  opposite  sign  was  called  its  d/yVrtion, 
as  in  that  it  was  supposed  to  be  the  weakest.  To  take  the  instance  in 
the  text,  the  exaltation  of  Venus  was  in  Pisces,  and  her  dejection,  of 
course,  in  Virgo.    But  in  Virgo  waa  the  ^aUatvm  of  Mercury. — T. 


WJSS 


330  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 


Tho  rad  he  me  how  Sampson  left  his  heris 
Slepyiig,  his  lemman  kut  hem  with  hir  scheris, 
Thurgh  which  tresoun  lost  he  bothe  his  yen. 

Tho  rad^  he  me,  if  that  I  schal  not  lyen, 
yti'     Of  Ercules,  and  of  his  Dejanyre, 

That  caused  him  to  sette  himself  on  fiiyre. 

No  thing  forgat  he  the  care  and  wo 

That  Socrates  had  with  his  wy ves  tuo ; 

How  Exantipa^  cast  pisse  upon  his  heed. 
ySC    This  seely  man  sat  stille,  as  he  were  deed, 

He  wyped  his  heed,  no  moi-e  durst  he  sayn, 

But  '  Er  thunder  stynte  ther  cometh  rayn.' 

Of  Phasipha,  that  was  the  queen  of  Creete, 

For  schrewednes  him  thought  the  tale  sweete. 
JhS   Fy !  spek  no  more,  it  is  a  grisly  thing, 

Of  her  horribil  lust  and  her  likyng. 

Of  Clydemystra  for  hir  leccherie 

That  falsly  made  hir  housbond  for  to  dye. 

He  rad  it  with  ful  good  devocioun. 
yCta  He  told  me  eek,  for  what  occasioun 

Amphiores  at  Thebes  left  his  lif ; 

Myn  housbond  had  a  legend  of  his  wyf 

Exiphilem,  that  for  an  ouche  of  gold 

Hath  prively  unto  the  Grekes  told 
Htb'  Wher  that  her  housbond  hyd  him  in  a  place, 

For  which  he  had  at  Thebes  sory  grace. 

Of  Lyma  told  he  me,  and  of  Lucye ; 

Thay  bothe  made  her  housbondes  for  to  dye, 

That  oon  for  love,  that  other  was  for  hate. 
yb'^  Lyma'  hir  housbond  on  an  even  late 

Empoysond  hath,  for  that  sche  was  his  fo ; 

Lucia  licorous  loved  hir  housbond  so, 

1  Most  of  the  following  instances  are  mentioned  in  the  Epist.  Valerii 
ad  Rufimtm.    See  also  Roman  de  la  Rose,  96 1 5- 

•  Xantippe.  In  the  other  proper  names  in  the  following  lines  Thave 
retained  the  corrupt  orthography  of  the  age,  as  given  in  the  MS. 
t'hanipha  is,  of  course,  I'asiphae ;  Clydemystra,  Clyteranestra  ;  Am- 
phiores, Amphiaraus  ;  Exiphihm,  Eriphyle,  &c. — W. 

3  The  story  is  told  in  the  Eimt.  Valerii.  '  Luna  [here  called  Lyma] 
Tirum  8uum  interfecit  quern  nimis  odivit ;  Lucelia  suum,  quern  nimia 


761-791 


THE    PROLOOE    OF   THE    WYF    OF    BATHE.  331 

For  that  he  schuld  alway  upon  hir  think, 
Sche  gaf  him  such  a  maner  love-driiik, 

7SS   That  he  was  deed  er  it  w:i3  by  the  morwe; 
And  thus  algates  houshondes  liad  sorwe. 
Than  told  he  me,  how  oon  Latumyus 
Conipleigned  unto  his  felaw  Arrius, 
That  in  his  gardyn  growed  such  a  tre, 

7^0    On  which  he  sayde  how  that  liis  wyves  thre 
Honged  hemselte  for  herte  despitous. 
'  O  leve  brother,'  quod  this  Arrious, 
'  Gif  me  a  plont  of  thilke  blessid  tre. 
And  in  my  gardyn  schal  it  phintid  be.* 

7  ^^'  Of  latter  date  of  wyves  hath  he  red 

That  some  han  sUiyn  her  liousbondes  in  her  bed, 
And  let  her  lecchour  dighten  al  the  night, 
Wliil  that  the  corjis  lay  in  the  flor  upright; 
And  som  han  dryven  nayles  in  her  brayn, 

77^   Whiles  thay  sleepe,  and  thus  they  han  hem  slayn ; 
Som  have  hem  give  poysoun  in  her  drink ; 
He  spak  more  harm  than  herte  may  bythynk. 
And  tlun-withal  he  knew  mo  proverbes 
Than  in  this  world  ther  growen  gres  or  herbea. 

7  7^*  *  Better  is,  quod  he,  thyn  habitacioun 
Be  with  a  leoun,  or  a  foul  dragoun, 
Than  with  a  worn  man  using  for  to  chyde. 
Better  is,  quod  he,  hihe  in  the  roof  abyde, 
Than  with  an  angiy  womman  doun  in  a  hous; 

7ii   They  ben  so  wicked  and  so  contrarious, 
Thay  haten  that  her  housbondes  loven  ay. 
He  sayd,  a  womman  caat  hir  schame  away, 
Whan  sche  cast  of  hir  smok ;  and  fortherrao, 
A  fair  womman,  but  sche  be  chast  also, 

7^5*  Is  lyk  a  gold  ryng  in  a  sowes  nose. 

Who  wolde  wene,  or  who  wolde  suppose 


«xnavit.     Ilia  sponte  mlscult  acunita  ;  hac  dccepta  furorcm  propinarlt 
pro  amoris  proculo.' — See  Tykwhitt.      This  is  a  hunioroua  way  of 
proving  that  a  wite  is  a  man's  destruction,  whether  the  love  or  hate. 
'  Trov.  xxi.  9,  13,  xi.  n. 


332  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

The  wo  that  in  myn  herte  was  aad  pynel 
And  whan  I  saugh  he  nolde  never  fyne 
To  reden  on  this  cursed  book  al  night, 
^^6    Al  sodeinly  thre  leves  have  I  plight 

Out  of  this  booke  that  he  had,  and  eeke 
T  with  my  fist  so  took  him  on  the  cheeke, 
That  in  oure  fuyr  he  fel  bak-ward  adoun. 
And  he  upstert,  as  doth  a  wood  leoun, 
iCjl)    And  with  his  fist  he  smot  me  on  the  hed, 
That  in  the  floor  I  lay  as  I  were  deed. 
And  whan  he  saugh  so  stille  that  I  lay, 
He  was  agast,  and  wold  have  fled  away. 
Til  atte  last  out  of  my  swown  I  brayde. 

%o6  '  O,  hastow  slayn  me,  false  thef  ?  '  I  sayde, 

'  And  for  my  lond  thus  hastow  mourdrid  me  ? 
Er  I  be  deed,  yit  wol  I  kisse  the.' 
And  ner  he  cam,  and  knelith  faire  adoun, 
And  sayde,  '  Deere  suster  Alisoun, 

^Olo    As  help  me  God,  I  schal  the  never  smyte; 
That  I  have  doon  it  is  thiself  to  wite ; 
Forgive  it  me,  and  that  I  the  biseke.' 
And  yet  eftsones  I  hyt  him  on  the  cheke, 
And  sayde,  '  Thef,  thus  mekil  I  me  wreke. 

^  (0    Now  wol  I  dye,  I  may  no  lenger  speke.' 
But  atte  last,  with  mochil  care  and  wo, 
We  fyl  accordid  by  ourselven  tuo ; 
He  gaf  me  al  the  bridil  in  myn  hand 
To  have  the  governaunce  of  hous  and  land, 

^  Ijf  And  of  his  tonge,  and  of  his  bond  also. 

And  made  him  brenne  his  book  anoon  right  tho. 

And  whan  I  hadde  geten  unto  me 

By  maistry  all  the  sovereynete, 

And  that  he  seyde,  '  Myn  owne  trewe  wyf, 

$^  Do  as  the  list  the  term  of  al  thy  lyf, 

Kepe  thyn  honour,  and  kep  eek  myn  estat;' 
And  after  that  day  we  never  had  debat. 
God  help  me  so,  I  was  to  him  as  kynde 
As  eny  wyf  fi-o  Denmark  unto  Inde, 


fty-u 


THE   PROLOGE   OF   THE   WYF   OF   BATUB.  333 

ft^"  And  al  so  trewe  was  he  unto  me. 
I  pray  to  God  that  sitte  in  mageste 
So  blesse  his  soule,  for  his  mercy  deere. 
Now  wol  I  say  my  tale,  if  ye  wol  heere.' 
The  Frere  lough  when  he  had  herd  al  this : 

$^    '  Now,  dame,'  quod  he,  '  so  have  I  joye  and  blia, 
This. a  long  preambel  of  a  tale.' 
And  whan  the  Sompnour  herd  the  Fi-ere  gale, 
'  Lo !'  quod  this  Sompnour,  '  for  Goddes  armes  tuoi, 
A  frer  wol  entremet  him  evermo. 

iA6    Lo,  goode  men,  a  flie  and  eek  a  frere 

Woln  falle  in  every  dissche  and  matiere. 
What  spekst  thou  of  perambulacioun?* 
What?  ambil,  or  trot;  or  pees,  or  go  sit  doun; 
Thou  lettest  oure  disport  in  this  matere.' 

yt^a   ♦  Ye,  woltow  so,  sir  sompnour !'  quod  the  Frere : 
'  Now,  by  my  fay,  I  schal,  er  that  I  go, 
Telle  of  a  sompnour  such  a  tale  or  tuo. 
That  alle  the  folke  schuln  laugheu  in  this  place.' 

*  Now,  ellis,  frere,  I  byschi-ew  thy  face,'* 
r^6*  Quod  this  Sompnour,  '  and  I  byschi'ewe  me, 

But  if  I  telle  tales  tuo  or  thre 

Of  freres,  er  I  come  to  Sydingbome,' 

That  I  schall  make  thin  herte  for  to  mome; 

For  wel  I  wot  thy  paciens  is  goon.' 
y ^<?   Oure  Hoste  cride, '  Peas,  and  that  anoon ;' 

And  sayde,  '  Let  the  worn  man  telle  hir  tale. 

Ye  fare  as  folkes  that  dronken  ben  of  ale. 

Do,  dame,  tel  forth  your  tale,  and  that  is  best.' 

'  Al  redy,  sir,'  quod  sche,  '  right  as  you  lest, 
^'5'^  If  I  have  licence  of  this  woi-thy  frere.' 

*  Yis,  dame,'  quod  he,   *  tel  forth,  and  I  schal  heere.' 


'  The  Sompnour's  ear  is  caught  by  the  word  preamble,  which  he  sap- 
poses  to  allude  to  his  piofessional  perambulations. 

-  The  meaning  is,  I  accept  your  challenge.  Do  your  worst,  and  it 
you  do  not,  I  beshrew  or  invoke  a  curse  on  your  face. 

^  Sittiugboume,  about  half  way  between  Uocheuter  and  Canterbury. 
— W. 


334  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

THE    WYF    OF    BATHES   TALE. 

[The  story  told  by  this  celebrated  personage  may  be  consi- 
dered as  an  illustration  of  her  prologue,  her  object  in  both 
being  to  show  that  what  women  most  desire,  and  what  they 
moreover  ought  to  have,  is  their  will.  The  story  of  Florent, 
in  Gower,  and  The  Marriage  of  Sir  Gawaine,  in  Percy  s 
Reliques,  are  both  founded  upon  this  theme.  Percy  says  that 
the  latter  *  is  chiefly  taken  from  the  fragment  of  an  old 
ballad  in  the  Editor's  MS.,  which  he  has  reason  to  believe 
more  ancient  than  the  time  of  Chaucer,  and  what  furnished 
that  bard  with  The  Wyf  of  Bathes  Tali.  Tyrwhitt  thinks 
that  both  Chaucer's  and  Gower's  versions  are  taken  from  an 
older  narrative  in  the  Gesta  Romanoriim,  or  some  such  col- 
lection; and  that  The  Marriage  of  Sir  Gawaine  was  written 
by  some  one  who  had  seen  both.  Percy  may,  however,  be 
right;  for  he  states  that /««s  ballad  was  o\\\y  founded  on -^ 
mutilated  copy,  the  deficiencies  of  which  he  probably  sup- 
plied from  Gower  and  Chaucer ;  and  this  may  account  for  the 
impression  which  his  ballad  conveyed  to  Tyrwhitt.  The 
characteristic  peculiarities  of  this  bold  and  witty  woman  of  the 
world  are  well  preserved  in  her  manner  of  relating  the  story.] 


I 


N  olde  dayes  of  the  kyng  Artliour,^ 
Of  which  that  Britoims  speken  gret  honour, 


'  All  that  is  now  known  of  this  celebrated  hero  of  romance  is  con- 
tained in  the  History  of  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  a  Welsh  Benedictine 
monk,  who  about  the  year  i  iz8  translated  into  Latin  an  ancient  chro- 
nicle in  the  Welsh  or  British  language,  entitled  Bnit-y-Iireiiiki'd;  or, 
the  liUtory  o/  the  Kings  of  Jlritain,  and  discovered  about  the  year  i  loo 
by  Walter  Archdeacon  of  Oxford,  in  Armorica  or  Hretagne.  What 
became  of  the  British  original  is  not  known;  and  all  the  nwmcrous 
romances  on  the  same  sulyect  arc  supposed  to  be  subseijuent  to,  and 
derived  from  Geoffrey's  Latin  translation.  Arthur's  very  existence  has 
been  called  in  question  ;  but  this  arose  probably  from  the  idea  preva- 
lent among  the  antiquaries  of  the  last  century,  that  it  was  a  point  of 
honour  to  disbelieve  anything  told  by  a  monk  ;  yet  it  seems  unjihiloso- 
phical  to  reject  a  popular  tradition  preserved  in  all  the  national  poetry 
of  the  Welsh  and  Britons  of  a  period  not  very  far  removed  from  the 
date  of  their  hero's  existence,  which  is  assigned  to  about  the  year  5o6. 
It  would  be  endless  to  enumerate  the  romances  and  ballads  founded  on 


THE  WYF  OF  BATHES  TALE.  335 

Al  waa  this  lond  fuliilled  of  fayrie  ;' 
The  elf-queen,"''  with  hir  joly  coinpaignye, 


Arthur'!"  exploits  ainl  mapniflcence,  which  formed  the  delight  and  the 
moilfl  of  princes  ami  knights  in  the  days  of  Chaucer.  Walsingham 
relates  tliat  Kdward  III.,  after  his  triumphant  return  from  Scotland, 
established  in  the  cattle  of  Windsor  afraternity  of  twenty-four  knights, 
for  whom  he  erected  a  round  table,  with  a  round  chamber,  which  still 
remains,  according  to  a  similar  institution  of  King  Arthur. 

'  Tlie  ancient  Britons  of  the  time  of  Arthur  were  a  mixed  race, 
composed  of  the  aboriginal  inhabitants  and  the  Konian  colonists,  who 
brought  wth  them  from  Italy  that  beautiful  form  of  pantheism  which 
still  lives  in  the  pages  of  Ovid.  But  when  Chri-itianity  emerged  from 
the  catacombs,  it  was  not  long  in  reaching  the  most  distant  colonies  ; 
and  its  missionaries  taught  the  people  to  regard  their  old  deities  as  evil 
spirits,  who  had  adopted  that  mode  of  withdrawing  them  from  the  wor- 
ship of  the  true  God.  Thus  in  Acts  xvi.  St.  Paul  is  said  to  have  cast  out 
of  a  young  woman  an  evil  spirit  of /'i/^ Aon,  or  Apollo,  which  had  enabled 
her  to  prophesy;  ami,  i  Cor.  x.  io,  he  says,  '  The  things  which  the 
Gentiles  sacrifice,  they  .■jacriflce  to  daemons.'  Following  Scripture,  our 
great  Christian  poet,  in  his  enumeration  of  the  fallen  spirits  who  first 
rose  from  the  burning  lake,  after  mentioning  the  gods  of  the  rhilistines 
describes  the  classic  deities — 

'  The  rest  were  long  to  tell,  though  far  renowned  ; 
The  Ionian  gods,  of  Japan's  issue  held 

Gods 

These  first  in  Crete 
And  Ida  known,  thence  on  the  snowy  top 
Of  colli  Olympus,  ruled  the  middle  air. 
Their  highest  Heaven  ;  on  the  Delphian  cliff, 
Or  in  l)uiii)na,  and  through  all  the  bounds 
Of  Doric  land.' 

Bat  though  the  Church  taught  that  these  idols  were  ministers  of  the 

Evil  Spirit,  whom  Christians  had  renounced,  it  was  difficult  to  eradicate 
a  form  of  pantheism  so  fascinating  that  even  now  it  captivates  many 
minds  ;  and  so  the  matter  was  compromised.  Like  the  Israelites,  under 
similar  circumstances,  the  people  '  worshipped  .Jehovah,  and  served 
Baalim  ;'  and  hence  was  derived  the  belief  in  those  mysterious  beings, 
who.  like  the  go<ls  of  (irceco  and  Rome,  personified  the  powers  of 
nature  and  the  passions  of  the  human  heart  ;  who  peopled  every  grove 
and  stream,  and  rode  upon  the  eddying  whirlwind  ;  who  were  neither 
absolutely  good  nor  utterly  evil,  but  '  ruled  the  middle  air;'  and  who 
were  therefore  regarded  with  a  mixture  of  fear  and  good-will  by  the 
ancient  Britons  at  the  p'xiod  when  the  Kuman  traditions  had  not  yet 
had  time  to  die  away.  Then  it  was  that  the  land  was  '  Aiz/flVi' </  of 
fayrie,'  that  is,  with  the  lingering  worship  of  the  deities  of  ancient 
Kome,  which  was  afterwards  mingled  with  the  Gothic  mythology. 

'  The  Queen  of  Fairy,  who  reprudeuled  i'roeerpine  in  tlie  old  mylho- 
k>gy.     See  Manliauiuhs  J'aie. 


336  THE  CANTERBURY  TALES. 

Daunced  ful  oft  in  many  a  grene  mede. 

This  was  the  old  oppynyoun,  as  I  rede  ; 

I  speke  of  many  huncli-id  yer  ago  ; 

But  now  can  no  man  see  noon  elves  mo. 

For  now  the  grete  charite  and  prayeres 

Of  lymytoiirs  and  other  holy  freres, 

That  sechen  every  lond  and  every  streem, 

As  thik  as  motis  in  the  sonne-beem, 

Blessyng  halles,  chambres,  kichenes,  and  boures, 

Citees  and  burghes,  castels  hihe  and  toures, 

Thropes  and  bernes,  shepnes  and  dayeries/ 

That  makith  that  ther  ben  no  fayeries. 

For  ther  as  wont  was  to  walken  an  elf, 

Ther  walkith  noon  but  the  lymytour  himself, 

In  undermeles  and  in  morwenynges, 

And  saith  his  matyns  and  his  holy  thinges 

As  he  goth  in  his  lymytatioun." 

Wommen  may  now  go  sauliy  up  and  doun ; 

In  every  bussch,  and  under  every  tre, 

Ther  is  non  other  incubus'  but  he, 

1  In  the  old  rituals  are  forms  of  invoking  a  blessing  upon  everything 
dedicated  to  the  service  of  man.  There  is  a  Benedictio  domonim,  loci, 
domus  novae,  thalami,  novae  navis  (a  great  deal  better  than  our  profane 
form  of '  christening'  a  vessel)  novorum  fVuctuum,  &c.  Of  these  forms 
our  custom  of 'saying  grace'  or'  blessing  the  meat,'  as  the  Scots  say,  is 
a  remnant. 

2  All  religious  persons  were  bound,  if  possible,  to  recite  the  divine 
office,  here  called  '  his  matyns  and  his  holy  thinges,'  at  the  proper  hour, 
in  the  choir;  but  secular  priests,  not  living  in  common,  and  friars, 
being  by  their  rule  obliged  to  walk  about  within  their  limitation  to  beg 
their  maintenance,  were  allowed  to  say  it  privately  at  '  undermeles,'  after 
dinner,  as  they  walked.  Of  this  there  is  a  vestige  in  the  order  prefixed 
to  our  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  which  directs  that  all  priests  and  dea- 
cons shall  say  the  matins  and  evensong,  either  publicly  or  privately, 
not  being  hindered  by  sickness.     See  Schipmannes  Tale. 

^  This  is  an  example  of  Chaucer's  light  and  well-bred  satire ; — he 
gays  just  enough  to  raise  a  smile  at  the  person  satirised,  and  passes  on 
without  effort  or  ill-humour  to  the  main  subject.  Of  the  propensities 
of  the  incubus,  whose  place  the  friar  is  supposed  to  have  taken,  we  may 
judge  from  the  exquisite  ballad  of  Tamlam,  given  in  Scott's  Border 
Afinntrelsy,  vol.  ii. : — 

'  O,  I  forbid  ye  maidens  a'. 

That  wear  gowd  in  your  hair. 
To  come  orgae  by  Cartcrhaugh, 
For  young  Taulane  is  there. 


THE    WYF    OF    DATHES   TALE.  337 

Ami  he  ne  wol  doon  liein  uo  disliononr.' 

And  so  bit'el  it,  that  this  king  Arthuur 
Had  in  his  hous  a  lusty  bachelor, 
That  on  a  day  com  rydyng  fro  ryver  ;* 
And  happed,  al  alone  us  scho  was  born. 
He  saugh  a  mayde  walkyng  him  byforn, 
Of  which  may  den  anoon,  maugre  hir  heed, 
By  verray  fors  byraft  hir  maydenhed. 
For  which  opj)ressioun  was  such  clamour, 
And  such  pursuyte  unto  kyng  Arthour, 
That  dampncd  was  the  knight  and  schuld  be  ded 
By  coui-s  of  lawe,  and  schuld  have  lost  his  heed, 
(Paraventure  such  was  the  statut  tho,) 
But  that  the  qiieen  and  other  ladys  mo 
So  longe  preyedeu  they  the  kyng  of  grace, 
Til  he  his  lif  hath  gi-auuted  in  the  place. 


There's  nane  that  gaes  by  Carterhaugh, 

But  maun  give  him  a  wad. 
Either  gowd  rings  or  green  mantles. 

Or  else  their  maidenhead.' 

The  fair  Janet,  however,  despises  the  warning,  and  when  questioned  by 
her  father,  says, — 

'  If  my  love  were  an  eartlily  wight. 
As  he's  an  elfin  ffray,'  &c. 
The  incubus,  in  fact,  corresponds  witli  tlit  Jupiters,  Apollos,  and 
Plutos  of  the  old  mythology,  and  from  them  inherited  his  love  for  mor- 
tal beauties.  This  proved  often  a  convenient  l)elicf ;  and  ."^cott  relates 
a  story  of  a  lady  who  accounted  to  her  lord  oti  liis  return  from  the  Cru- 
sade for  the  presence  of  a  boy,  whose  age  could  not  be  made  to 
correspond  with  the  time  of  his  departure,  by  declaring  that  the  river 
Tweed  had  insisted  on  becoming  the  father  of  lier  son,  who  was  after- 
wards the  ancestor  of  tlie  well-known  family  of  Tweeddie.  Thu.s,  in 
Dunbar's  Golden  Taryv, — 

'  Thair  was  I'luto,  that  elritch  incubus. 
In  cloke  of  greene.' 
The   allusion  appears   to  be  to   the   linpe  of  Proserpine.      See   also 
Mercutio's  description  of  Queen  Mab,  L'omco  ami  Juliet,  Act  i.  so.  4. 

'  The  Harl.  JIS.  reads  this  line,  evidently  incorrectly,  Antl  ne  irol 
but  dt>on  hem  dishonour.  In  the  previous  line  the  same  manuscript 
reads  erroneously  i'irunili<iit,  instead  of  iiirubu.<i. — W. 

-  It  means  from  hawking  at  water-fowl.  Froissart,  vol.  i.  c.l.  140, 
snys  : — •  i,e  comte  de  t'landrcs  estoit  toiyours  r;i  riviere — un  jouradvint 
qu'il  alia  voUer  en  la  rinere — et  getta  son  fauconier  un  faucon  apre*  le 
heron.'     Sire  Thopas  is  described  as  following  this  knightly  sport. 

VOL.  I.  Z 


338  THE    CANTEEBURY   TALES. 

And  gaf  him  to  the  queen,  al  at  hir  wille 

To  chese  wethir  sche  wold  him  save  or  spille. 

The  queen  thanked  the  kyng  with  al  hir  might; 

And  after  thus  sche  spak  unto  the  knight. 

Whan  that  sche  saugh  hir  tyme  upon  a  day : 

'  Thow  gtondest  yet,'  quod  sche,  'in  such  array, 

That  of  thy  lyf  hastow  no  sewerte ; 

I  graunte  thy  lif,  if  tho\i  canst  telle  me, 

What  thing  is  it  that  wommen  most  desiren; 

Be  war,  and  keep  thy  nek-bon  fi-o  the  iren. 

And  if  thou  canst  not  tellen  it  anoon. 

Yet  wol  I  give  the  leve  for  to  goon 

A  twelfmonth  and  a  day,^  it  for  to  lere 

An  answer  suffisant  in  this  matiere. 

And  seurte  wol  I  have,  er  that  thou  pace, 

Thy  body  for  to  yelden  in  this  place.' 

Wo  was  this  knight,  and  sorwfully  he  siked  ; 

But  what  ?  he  may  not  doon  al  as  him  liked, 

And  atte  last  he  ches  him  for  to  wende, 

And  come  agein  right  at  the  yeres  ende 

With  swich  answer  as  God  him  wolde  purveye ; 

And  takith  his  leve,  and  wendith  forth  his  weye. 

He  sekith  every  lious  and  every  place, 

Wher  so  he  hopitli  for  to  fynde  grace, 

To  lerne  what  thing  wommen  loven  most; 

But  he  ne  couthe  arryven  in  no  cost, 

Wher  as  he  mighte  fynde  in  this  mattiere 

Two  creatures  accordyng  in  fere.^ 

Some  sayden,  wommen  loven  best  richesse, 

Some  sayde  honour,  and  some  sayde  jolyuesse, 

Some  riche  array,  some  sayden  lust  on  bedde, 

And  ofte  tyme  to  be  wydow  and  wedde. 

'  There  seems  to  have  been  some  mysterious  importance  attached  to 
this  particular  time  of  grace :  perhaps  the  day  was  allowed  the  crimi- 
nal over  and  above  the  full  time  of  a  year,  so  that  he  might  not  sutler 
from  any  merely  accidental  detention,  on  the  same  principle  that  the 
prisoner  is  entitled  to  the  benefit  of  any  doubt  which  may  remain  in  the 
minds  of  the  jurv. 

2  The  Harl.  MS.  reads,  To  these  thinges  accordyng  in  fere.— W. 


THE   WYF   OF    BATHES   TALE.  339 

Some  sayden  owre  herte  is  most  i-cased 
\\'luiu  we  ben  y-Hatorid  and  y-prcised  ;' 
He  goth  ful  ueigh  the  soth,  1  wil  not  lye ; 
A  mail  schal  wyiiue  lis  best  with  flaterye ; 
And  with  attendaiince,  and  witli  busynesse 
Ben  we  y-limid  both  more  and  lesse. 
And  some  sayen,  tliat  we  loven  best 
For  to  be  fre,  and  to  doon  as  us  lest, 
And  that  no  man  repreve  us  of  oure  vice, 
But  say  that  we  ben  wys,  and  no  thing  nyce. 
For  trewely  ther  is  noon  of  us  alle, 
If  euy  wight  wold  claw  us  on  the  galle,* 
That  we  nyl  like,  for  he  saith  us  soth ; 
Assay,  and  he  schal  fynde  it,  that  so  doth. 
For  be  we  never  so  vicious  withinne, 
We  schuln  be  holde  wys  and  clone  of  synne. 
And  some  sayen,  that  gret  delit  han  we 
For  to  be  holden  stabil  and  secre, 
And  in  oon  purpos  stedfastly  to  duelle, 
And  nought  bywreye  thing  that  men  us  telle. 
But  that  tale  is  not  worth  a  rakes  stele. 
Pardy,  we  wymmen  can  right  no  thing  hele, 
Witnes  on  Mida  ;  wil  ye  here  the  tale  ? 
Ovyd,'  among  his  other  thinges  smale, 
Sayde  Mida  had  under  his  lange  heris 
Growyug  upon  his  heed  tuo  asses  eeris; 
The  whiche  vice  he  hid,  as  he  best  miglit, 
Ful  subtilly  fro  every  mannes  sight, 
That,  save  his  wyf,  ther  wist  of  that  nomo ; 
He  loved  hir  most,  and  trusted  hir  also ; 
He  prayed  hir,  that  to  no  creature 
Sche  schulde  tellen  of  his  disQgure. 


'  The  Harl.  M.S.  reads  y-pleaaed;  but  the  reading  I  have  adopts 
seems  to  give  the  bust  sense. — W. 

-  Tliis  expression  means,  literally,  to  rub  or  stroke  on  a  sore  place  ; 
metaphorically,  to  llattcr  us  in  that  very  particuliir  in  which  we  feel 
uurselves  deticieut. 

*  Ovid,  ihtamorph.,  lib.  xi. 

z  2 


'3i0  THE  CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Sche  swor  bim,  nay,  for  al  this  world  to  wynne, 
Sche  nolde  do  that  vilonye  or  synne 
To  make  hLr  housband  have  so  foul  a  name; 
Sche  wold  not  tel  it  for  hir  oughne  schame. 
But  natheles  hir  thoughte  that  sche  dyde, 
That  sche  so  longe  a  counseil  scholde  hyde  ; 
Hir  thought  it  swal  so  sore  about  hir  hert, 
That  needely  som  word  hir  most  astert; 
And  sins  sche  dorst  not  tel  it  unto  man, 
Doun  to  a  marreys  faste  by  sche  ran, 
Til  sche  cam  ther,  hir  herte  was  on  fuyre ; 
And  as  a  bytoure^  bumblith  in  the  myre, 
Sche  layde  hir  mouth  unto  the  water  doun. 
'  ByMTey  me  not,  thou  watir,  with  thi  soun.' 
Quod  sche,  '  to  the  I  telle  it,  and  nomo, 
Myn  honsbond  hath  long  asse  eeris  tuo. 
Now  is  myn  hert  al  hool,  now  is  it  oute, 
I  might  no  lenger  kepe  it  out  of  doute.' 
Her  may  ye  se,  theigh  we  a  tyme  abyde. 
Yet  out  it  moot,  we  can  no  counseil  hyde. 
The  remenaunt  of  the  tale,  if  ye  wil  here, 
Redith  Ovid,  and  ther  ye  mow  it  leere. 

This  knight,  of  wliich  my  tale  is  specially, 
"Whan  that  he  saugh  he  might  nought  come  therby, 
This  is  to  say,  that  wommen  loven  most, 
Withinne  his  brest  ful  sorwful  was  the  gost. 
But  hom  he  goth,  he  might  not  lenger  sojourne. 
The  day  was  come,  that  hom-ward  most  he  tome. 
And  in  his  way,  it  hapnyd  him  to  ride 
In  al  his  care,  under  a  forest  side, 
"Wher  as  he  saugh  upon  a  daunce  go 
Of  ladys  four  and  twenty,  and  yit  mo 
Toward  tliis  ilke  daunce  he  drough  ful  yeme. 
In  hope  that  he  som  wisdom  schtdd  i-lerne ; 


'  The  bittern  is  said  to  make  its  peculiar  noise,  tvliich  is  called  bum- 
bling, by  thrusting  its  bill  into  the  mud,  and  blowiug.— See  Bewick's 
B^-ilish  Birds. 


THE  WYF  OF  BATHES  TALE.         341 

But  certeynly,  er  he  com  fully  there, 

Vanysshid  was  this  daunce,  he  nyste  where; 

No  creature  saugh  he  that  bar  lit", 

Sauf  ou  the  greeiie  he  saugh  sittying  a  wyf, 

A  fouler  wight  ther  may  no  man  devyse. 

Agens  the  knight  this  olde  wyf  gan  ryse, 

And  siiyd,  '  Sir  knight,  heer  fortli  lith  no  way; 

Tel  me  what  ye  soekyn,  by  your  fay 

Paradventuro  it  may  the  better  be : 

Thise  olde  folk  con  niochil  thing,'  quod  sche, 

*  My  lieve  niodir,'  quod  this  knight,  'cej-tayn 

I  am  but  ded  but  if  that  I  ^an  sayn 

What  thing  is  it  that  womn)en  most  desire; 

Couthe  ye  me  wisse,  I  wold  wel  quyt  your  liuyre.' 

'  Plight  me  thy  trouth  her  in  myn  bond,'  quod  sche, 

'  The  nexte  thing  that  I  require  the, 

Thou  schalt  it  doo,  if  it  be  in  thy  might, 

And  I  wol  telle  it  the,  er  it  be  night.' 

'  Have  her  my  trouthe,'quod  the  knight,  'I  gi-aunte.' 

'  Thanne,'  quod  sche,  '  I  dar  me  wel  avaunte, 

Thy  lit  is  sauf,  for  I  wol  stonde  therby, 

Upon  my  lif  the  queen  wol  say  as  I ; 

Let  se,  which  is  the  proudest  of  hem  alle, 

That  werith  on  a  coverchiuf  or  a  calle, 

That  dar  say  nay  of  thing  I  schal  the  teche. 

Let  us  go  forth  withouten  more  s])eche.' 

Tho  rowned  sche  a  pistil  in  his  eere, 

And  bad  him  to  be  glad,  and  have  no  fere. 

Whan  thay  ben  comen  to  the  court,  this  knight 

Sayd,  he  had  holde  his  day,  that  he  hight, 

Al  redy  was  his  answer,  as  he  sayde. 

Ful  many  a  noble  wyf,  and  many  a  mayde, 

And  many  a  wydow,  for  that  thay  ben  wyse, 

The  queen  hii-self  sittyng  as  a  justise,' 


'  Queen  Guenover  U  represents  sitting  as  jiidfie  in  a  'Court  of  Lovt,' 
Rimilar  to  tUiy>n  in  fashion  in  later  iiffw,  of  the  proceedings  of  which 
we  have  a  'rejiort.'  in  hi.-<  ixx-ni  calli'd  I  he  futirt  uf  Love  (vol.  iv.  p.  lU>\ 
Fouteuelle  (iu  the  tliirU  vol.  of  hU  works,  l'ari.<,  1742)  h«8  given  a  Jj- 


342  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Assemblid  ben,  his  answer  for  to  hiere; 
And  after- ward  this  knight  was  bode  appiere, 
To  every  wight  comaundid  was  silence, 
And  that  the  knight  schuld  telle  in  audience 
What  thing  that  worldly  wommen  loven  best. 

This  knight  ne  stood  not  stille,  as  doth  a  best, 
But  to  the  questioun  anoon  answerde, 
With  manly  voys,  that  al  the  court  it  herde; 
'  My  liege  lady,  generally,'  quod  he, 
'  Wommen  desiren  to  have  soveraynte 
As  wel  over  hir  housbond  as  over  hir  love, 
And  for  to  be  in  maystry  him  above. 
This  is  your  most  desir,  though  ye  me  kille ; 
Doth  as  yow  list,  I  am  heer  at  your  wille.' 
In  al  the  court  ne  was  ther  wyf,  ne  mayde, 
Ne  wydow,  that  contraried  that  he  sayde; 
But  sayden,  he  was  worthy  have  his  lif. 
And  with  that  word  upstart  that  olde  wif, 
Which  that  the  knight  saugh  sittyng  on  the  grene. 
'  Mercy,'  quod  sche,  '  my  soveraign  lady  queene, 
Er  that  your  court  departe,  doth  me  right. 
I  taughte  this  answer  unto  the  knight ; 
For  which  he  plighte  me  his  trouthe  there, 
The  firste  thing  that  I  wold  him  requere, 
He  wold  it  do,  if  it  lay  in  his  might. 
Before  this  court  then  pray  I  the,  sir  knight,' 
Quod  sche,  '  that  thou  me  take  unto  thy  wif. 
For  wel  thou  wost,  that  I  have  kept  thy  lif ; 
If  I  say  fals,  sey  nay,  upon  thy  fey.' 
This  knight  answerd,  '  Alias  and  waylawey  !* 


gcription  of  one  of  the  fantastic  suits  tried  in  these  courts.  Abont  the 
year  1206,  the  Queen  of  France  was  appealed  to  from  an  unjust  sen- 
tence pronounced  in  the  Court  of  Love  of  the  Countess  of  Champagne ; 
but  the  Queen  replied,  '  God  forbid  that  1  should  presume  to  reverse 
the  sentence  of  the  Countess  of  Champagne!'  The  best  source  of  in- 
formation on  these  strange  follies  is  a  book  entitled  Erotica,  sen  Ama- 
tcria,  Andrea  CapoUarii  Rey'ix,  &c.,  written  about  A.D.  117°.  and  pub- 
lished at  Dorpmund  in  16 10. 

'  The  knight's  unwillingness  is  more  n.itural,  and  affords  a  better 
contrast  to  the  sequel,  than  Sir  Gawaine's  excessive  complaisance  in 
Percy's  ballad. 


THE   WYF   OF    UATIIES    TALE.  343 

I  wot  right  wel  that  such  was  iny  byhest. 

For  Goddes  love,  as  chese  a  new  request ; 

Tak  til  my  gootl,  and  let  my  hcxly  go.' 

'  Nay,'  quod  sclie  than,  '  I  schrew  us  bothe  tuo. 

For  though  that  I  be  foule,  old,  and  pore, 

I  nolde  for  al  the  metal  ne  for  the  oi-e 

That  under  erthe  is  gi-ave,  or  lith  above, 

But  I  thy  wife  were  and  eek  thy  luve.' 

'  My  lovef  quod  he,  '  nay,  nay,  ray  dauipnacioun. 

Alias  !  that  eny  of  my  naciouu 

Schuld  ever  so  foule  disparagid  be!' 

But  al  for  nought;  the  eude  is  this,  that  he 

Constreigned  was,  he  needes  most  hir  wedde, 

And  takith  his  wyf,  and  goth  with  hir  to  bedde. 

Now  wolden  som  men  say  paradventure, 
That  for  my  necgligence  I  do  no  cure 
To  telle  yow  the  joye  and  tharray 
That  at  that  fest  was  maad  that  ilke  day. 
To  which  thing  schortly  answeren  I  schal. 
And  say  ther  uas  feste  ne  joy  at  al, 
Ther  nas  but  hevynes  and  mociiil  sorwe  ; 
For  prively  he  wetldyd  hir  in  a  morwe. 
And  alday  liudde  him  as  doth  an  oule. 
So  wo  was  him,  his  wyf  Inked  so  fouI<'. 
Gret  was  the  wo  the  kuiglit  had  in  his  thought 
Whan  he  was  with  his  wyf  on  bedde  brought, 
He  walwith,  and  he  torneth  to  and  fro. 
His  olde  wyf  lay  smylyng  ever  mo. 
And  sayd,  '  O  deere  hoxisbond,  benedicUe, 
Fareth  every  knight  with  his  wyf  as  ye ! 
Is  this  the  lawe  of  king  Arthur^'s  hous? 
Is  every  knight  of  his  thus  daungt-rous? 
I  am  your  oughne  love,  and  eek  your  wyf, 
I  am  sche  that  hath  savyd  your  Ivf, 
And  certes  ne  dede  I  yow  never  unriglit. 
Why  fare  ye  thus  with  me  the  fii-ste  night  1 
Ye  fare  lik  a  man  that  had  left  his  wit. 
What  is  my  gult  ?  for  Godes  love,  tel  me 


344  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES, 

And  it  schal  be  amendid,  if  that  I  may.' 

'  Amendid!'  quod  this  knight,  '  alias!  nay,  nay, 

It  wol  nought  ben  amendid,  never  mo ; 

Thow  art  so  lothly,  and  so  old  also, 

And  therto  comen  of  so  lowh  a  kynde, 

That  litil  wonder  is  though  I  walwe  and  wynde  : 

So  wolde  God,  myn  herte  wolde  brest!' 

'  Is  this,'  quod  sche,  'the  cause  of  your  unrest  f 

'  Ye,  certeyuly,'  quod  he,  '  no  wonder  is !' 

'  Now,   sire,'   quod   sche,   *  I  couthe   amende  all 

this, 
If  that  me  list,  er  it  were  dayes  thre, 
So  wel  ye  mighte  bere  yow  to  me. 
But  for  ye  speken  of  such  gentilesse 
As  is  descendit  out  of  old  richesse, 
Therfor  scliuld  ye  ben  holden  gentil  men  ; 
Such  an'ogaunce  is  not  worth  an  hen. 
Lok  who  that  is  most  vertuous  alway, 
Pi'ive  and  pert,^  and  most  entendith  ay 
To  do  the  gentil  dedes  that  he  can, 
Tak  him  for  the  grettest  gentil  man, 
Crist  wol  we  clayme  of  him  oure  gentilesse.^ 
Nought  of  oure  eldres  for  her  plde  richessa* 
For  though  thay  give  us  al  her  heritage, 
For  which  we  clayme  to  be  of  high  pai-age, 
Yit  may  thay  not  biquethe,  for  no  thing, 
To  noon  of  us,  so  vertuous  lyvyng, 
That  made  hem  gentil  men  y-callid  be, 
And  bad  us  folwe  hem  in  such  degre. 
Wel  can  the  wyse  poet  of  Florence, 
That  hatte  Daunt,  speke  of  this  sentence  ; 


'  Most  virtuous  both  privately  and  before  the  world.    Pert  i?  put  foi 
apert,  open. 

2  Christ  desires  that  we  should  rest  our  claim  to  nobility  on  ITim, 
tliat  is,  on  our  virtue,  which  is  His  gift. 

'  The  Harl.  MS.  reads,  /or  our  gret  riciicser. 


THE  WYF  OF  BATHES  TALE.         345 

Lo,  in  such  nianei-  of  rym  is  Dauntes  tale; 

Fill  seeld  iiprisitli  by  liis  brauiichis  smale' 

Prowes  of  man,  for  God  of  his  prowesse 

Wol  that  wo  chiinie  of  liini  our  "entilesse  ; 

For  of  our  auucestres  we  no  tiling  clayme 

But   temporal    thing,   that    men    may    hurt    and 

mayrae. 
Ek  every  wight  wot  this  as  wel  as  I, 
If  gentiles  were  plaunted  naturelly 
Unto  a  certayn  lignage  doun  the  line, 
Prive  ne  apert,  thay  wolde  never  fine 
To  don  of  gentilesce  the  fair  office, 
Thay  might  nought  doon  no  vileny  or  vice. 
Tak  fuyr  and  ber  it  in  the  derkest  hous 
Bitwixe  this  and  the  mount  Caukasous, 
And  let  men  shit  the  dores,  and  go  thenne, 
Yit  wol  the  fuyr  as  fair  and  lighte  brenne 
As  twenty  thousand  men  might  it  biholde; 
His  office  naturel  ay  wol  it  holde, 
Up  peril  on  my  lif,  til  that  it  dye. 
Her  may  ye  se  wel,  how  that  genterye 
Js  nought  annexid  to  possessioun, 
Sithins  folk  ne  doou  hor  operacioun 
Alway,  as  doth  the  fuyr,  lo,''  in  his  kynde. 
For  God  it  wot,  men  may  ful  often  fynde 
A  lordes  sone  do  schame  and  vilonye. 
And  he  that  wol  have  pris  of  his  gentrie, 
For  he  was  boren  of  a  gentil  hous, 
And  had  his  eldres  noble  and  vertuous. 
And  nyl  hiuiselvi;  doo  no  gentil  dedes 
Ne  folw  his  gentil  aunceter,  that  deed  is, 


I  Dejite,  Purgatorio,  \ii.  121: — 

'  IJadc  volti!  risurpe  per  li  rami 
L'  liuniaim  protiitate ;  ed  questo  vuole 
Quel  die  lu  da,  perche  da  se  8i  chiaini.' 

•  Lo :  is  here  very  expres:>ive ;  it  means,  as  you  can  sec. 


346  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

He  is  nought  gentil,  be  he  duk  or  erl ; 

For  vileyn  synful  deedes  maketh  a  cheri, 

For  gentilnesse  nys  but  renome 

Of  thin  auncestres,  for  her  heigh  bounte, 

Which  is  a  stravmge  thing  to  thy  persona ; 

Thy  gentilesce  cometh  fro  God  alloone. 

Than  comth  oure  verray  gentilesse  of  grace, 

It  was  no  thing  biquethe  us  with  oure  place. 

Thinketh  how  nobil,  as  saith  Valerius, 

Was  thilke  Tullius  Hostilius, 

That  out  of  povert  ros  to  high  noblesse. 

Redith  Senek,  and  redith  eek  Boece, 

Ther  schuln  ye  se  expresse,  that  no  dred  is, 

That  he  is  gentil  that  doth  gentil  dedis. 

And  therfor,  lieve  housbond,  I  conclude, 

Al  were  it  that  myn  auncetres  wer  rude, 

Yit  may  the  highe  God,  and  so  hope  I, 

Graunte  me  grace  to  ly ve  vertuously ; 

Than  am  I  gentil,  whan  that  I  bygynne 

To  lyve  vertuously,  and  weyven  synne. 

And  ther  as  ye  of  povert  me  repreve, 

The  heighe  God,  on  whom  that  we  bilieve, 

In  wilful  povert  ches  to  lede  his  lif  ;^ 

And  certes,  every  man,  may  den,  or  wyf. 

May  understonde  that  Jhesus,  heven  king, 

Ne  wold  not  chese  a  vicious  lyvyng. 

Glad  povert  is  an  honest  thing  certayn; 

This  wol  Senek  and  other  clerkes  sayn. 

W^ho  that  holt  him  payd  of  his  povert, 

I  holde  him  riche,  al  had  he  nought  a  schert. 

He  that  coveitith  is  a  pore  wight, 

For  he  wold  have  that  is  not  in  his  might. 

But  he  that  nought  hath,  ne  coveyteth  nought  to 

have, 
Is  riche,  although  ye  hold  him  but  a  knave ; 


>  The  Harl.  MS.  lias  lese,  which  appears  to  hare  been  a  mere  error  of 
the  scribe. — W. 


THE  WYF  OF  BATHES  TALE.         317 

Verray  povert  is  synne  propiely. 

*  Juvenal'  saith  of  povert,  merily 
The  pore  man  whau  he  gotli  by  tlie  way 
Bifore  the  theves  he  may  synge  and  i)lay. 
Povert  is  hateful  good ;  and,  as  I  gesse, 
A  ful  gi-ct  brviigor  out  of  busynesse ; 
A  gret  amendcr  eek  of  saj)iens 
To  him  that  takith  it  in  paciens. 
Povert  is  this,  although  it  seme  elenge,* 
Possessioun  that  no  wight  wil  chalenge. 
Povert,  ful  often,  whan  a  man  is  lowe, 
Makith  him  his  God  and  eek  himself  to  knowe. 
Povert  a  spectacle  is,  as  thinkith  me, 
Thurgh  which  he  may  his  verray  frendes  se; 
And  therfor,  sir,  syth  that  I  yow  nought  greve, 
Of  my  povert  no  more  me  repreve. 

'  Now,  sir,  of  elde  ye  repreve  me ; 
And  oertes,  sir,  though  noon  aiictorite 
Were  in  no  book,  ye  gentils  of  honour 
SajTi  that  men  schuld  an  old  wight  doon  favour, 
And  clepe  him  fader,  for  your  gentilesse ; 
And  auctours  I  schal  f}-nden,  as  I  gesse. 

'  Now  ther  that  ye  sajn  I  am  foul  and  old. 
Than  drede  you  nought  to  ben  a  cokewold. 
For  filthe  and  elde,"  al  so  mot  I  the, 
Ben  grete  wardeyns  upon  chastite. 
But  natheles,  sith  I  knowe  your  delyt, 
I  schal  fuliille  youre  worldly  appetyt. 


1  Sal.  X.  2Z, 

•  These  sophistical  common-jilaces,  which  never  convinced  anyone, 
are  taljen,  as  Tyrwhitt  says,  from  Vincent  of  lieauvais,  Spec.  Hist.,  lib.  x. 
c.  71- 

J  This  is,  perhaps,  the  reason  of  the  strange  predilection  for  filth 
observable  in  many  of  the  saints  an(i  hermits,  even  of  the  early  church. 
In  Terence's  Umutontimoreurrwiios.  Sjtus,  wishing  to  prove  Antipliila'i 
chastity,  thus  describes  her  nUtuige — 

'  Una  ancillula 
Erat ;  ea  texebat  una,  pnunu-i  ohfita, 
Keglecta,  iminutula  iiluvu'.' — Act  ii.  ao.z. 


348  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Chese,  now,'  quod  sche,   '  oon  of  these  thinges 
tweye, 

To  have  me  foul  and  old  til  that  I  deye, 

And  be  to  yow  a  trewe  humble  wyf, 

And  never  yow  displease  in  al  my  lyf ; 

Or  elles  ye  wol  have  me  yong  and  tair, 

And  take  your  aventure  of  the  repair' 

That  schal  be  to  your  hous  by  cause  of  me, 

Or  in  som  other  place  it  may  wel  be. 

Now  chese  yourselven  whethir  that  yow  liketh. 

This  knight  avysith  him,  and  sore  sikith, 

But  atte  last  he  sayd  in  this  manere: 

'  My  lady  and  my  love,  and  wyf  so  deere, 

I  putte  me  in  your  wyse  governaunce, 

Chesith  yourself  which  may  be  most  pleasaunce 

And  most  honour  to  yow  and  me  also, 

I  do  no  fors  the  whether  of  the  tuo  , 

For  as  yow  likith,  it  suffisith  me.' 

'  Than  have  I  gete  of  yow  the  maystry,'  quod  sche, 

'  Sith  I  may  govern  and  chese  as  me  list  ]' 

'  Ye  certis,  wyf,'  quod  he,  '  I  hold  it  best.' 

'  Kys  me,'  quod  sche,  '  we  ben  no  lenger  wrothe, 

For,  by  my  trouthe,  I  wol  be  to  yow  bothe, 

This  is  to  say,  ye,  bothe  fair  and  good. 

1  pray  to  God  that  I  mot  sterve  wood  ; 
But  I  be  to  yow  al  so  good  and  trewe 

As  ever  was  wyf,  siththen  the  world  was  newe ; 
And  but  I  be  to  morow  as  fair  to  seen 
Ay  eny  lady,  emperesse,  or  queen. 
That  is  bitwixe  thest  and  eek  the  west,_^ 
Doth  by  my  lyf  right  even  as  yow  lest.'  _ 
Cast  up  the  cortyns,  and  look  what  this  is.' 
And  whan  the  knyght  saugh  verrayly  al  this, 

'  That  is,  Take  your  chance  for  the  number  of  men  who  may  resort 
to  your  house  to  pay  their  addresses  to  me. 

2  The  second  Cambridge  MS.  reads,  instead  of  this  line:— 

'  And  so  they  slept  tille  the  morwe  pray : 
And  than  she  saide,  wlien  it  was  day, 
'  Caste  up  the  cui-teyn,  loke  liowe  it  is.' ' 


THE    PROLOGE   OF   THE    FRERE.  319 

That  sche  so  fuir  was,  and  so  yong  therto, 
For  joye  ho  hi'iit  hir  in  his  armes  tuo ; 
Hi:?  herto  bathid  in  a  bath  of  blisse, 
A  thousand  tyme  on  rowe  he  gan  liir  kisae. 
And  sche  obeyed  him  in  every  thing 
That  mighte  doou  him  pleisauns  or  likyng. 
And  thus  thay  lyve  unto  her  lyves  end 
In  parfyt  joye  ;  and  Jhesu  Crist  us  sende 
Housbondes  meke,  yonge,  and  freissche  on  bedde, 
And  grace  to  overbyde  hem  that  we  wedde. 
And  eek  I  pray  to  Jhesus  schort  her  lyves, 
That  wil  nought  be  governed  after  her  wyves. 
And  old  and  angry  nygardes  of  despense, 
God  send  hem  sone  verray  pestilence  ! 


THE  PROLOGE  OF  THE  FRERE. 

T^HIS  worthy  lymytour,  this  noble  Frere, 

■*-    He  made  alway  a  maner  lourynge  cheere 

Upon  the  Sompnour,  but  for  honeste 

No  vileyn's  worde  yit  to  him  spak  he. 

But  atte  last  he  sayd  unto  the  wyf, 

*  Dame,'  quod  he,  '  (Jod  give  yow  good  lyi  ! 

Ye  han  her  touchid,  al  so  mot  I  the, 

In  scole  matier  gi-et  dilEculte. 

Ye  han  sayd  mochel  thing  right  wel,  I  say} 

But  dame,  right  as  we  ryden  by  the  way. 

Us  needeth  nought  but  for  to  speke  of  game, 

And  lete  auctorites,'  in  Goddes  name, 

To  preching  and  to  scoles  of  clergie. 

But  if  it  like  to  this  company e, 

I  wil  yow  of  a  sompnour  telle  a  game ; 

Parde,  ye  may  wel  knowe  by  the  name, 

'  Auctoritns  means  the  text,  and  ej^jositio  auctoritaiis,  the  comment. 
It  is  api)lird  not  only  to  Scripture,  but  to  any  authority,  as  we  still  use 
the  word.  TUus  .lehan  de  Vignay,  in  his  introduction  to  the  French 
translation  of  the  Ltgenda  Aurea,  says.  Monseigneur  Saint  Hierosme  ma 
dit  ccate  auctorite. 


350  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

lliat  of  a  sompnoiir  may  no  good  be  sayd ; 
I  pray  that  noon  of  yow  be  evel  apayd ; 
A  sompnoiir  is  a  renner  up  and  doun 
With  maundementz  for  fornicacioun,^ 
And  is  y-bete  at  every  tonnes  eende.' 

Our  oste  spak,  '  A  !  sir,  ye  schold  been  heende, 
And  curteys,  as  a  man  of  your  estaat, 
In  company  we  wol  have  no  debaat ; 
Telleth  your  tale,  and  let  the  Sompnour  be.' 
'  Nay,'  quoth  the  Sompnoiir,  '  let  him  say  to  me 
What  so  him  list ;  whan  it  cometh  to  my  lot, 
By  God !  I  schal  him  quyten  every  grot. 
I  schal  him  telle  which  a  gret  honour 
Is  to  ben  a  fals  flateryng  lymytour.  * 
And  his  offis  I  schal  him  telle  I  wis.' 
Oui-e  host  answerd,  'Pees,  no  more  of  this." 
And  after  this  he  sayd  unto  the  Frere, 
'  Telleth  forth  your  tale,  my  leve*  maister  deere.' 


THE  FREEES  TALE. 

[This  tale  was  probably  translated,  as  Mr.  Wright  conjectures, 
from  some  old  fabliau,  which  also  furnished  the  groundwork 
of  the  short  tale  entitled  De  Advocato  et  Diabolo,  published  by 
the  Percy  Society  in  a  collection  of  Latin  Stories,  edited  by  Mr. 
Wright.  Another  version  of  the  story,  still  closer  to  Chaucer's 
tale,  has  since  been  discovered  in  the  British  Museum  (MS. 

'  Citations,  or  summonses,  addressed  to  tliose  accused  of  breaches  of 
the  canons,  to  appear  and  answer  in  the  Archdeacon's  court.  The 
officer  charged  with  the  duty  of  serving  these  was  no  doubt  often  visited 
with  the  same  summary  punishment  which  is  said  to  have  been  often 
inflicted  on  sheriffs' officers  in  Ireland  in  the  last  century.  The  somp- 
nour, as  his  name  implies,  was  the  summoner,  or  server  of  summonees, 
answering  to  our  modern  apparitor 

-  It  is  strange  that  St.  Francis  and  St.  Dominic  should  not  have 
foreseen  that  their  rule,  requiring  tlie  friars  to  obtain  their  livelihood 
by  begging  from  house  to  house,  would  necessarily  impair  their  inde- 
pendence of  mind,  and  habituate  them  to  the  arts  of  flattery. 
'  Ilarl.  MS.,  and  fuid  the  sompiwur  this. 
*  Harl.  MS.,  kve  is  omitted. 


THE    FRERES    TALE.  351 

Cotton.  Cleopatra,  D.  viii.,  I'ol.  no),  and  published  by  Mr. 
Wriylit  in  the  Archceolvgia,  vol.  xxxii.] 

TTT'HILOM  there  was  dwellyng  in  my  countre 
'  '     An  erchedeken,  a  man  of  gret  degre, 
That  boldely  did  execucioun, 
lu  punyschyng  of  fornicacioun, 
Of  wiechecraft,  and  eek  of  bauderye, 
Of  diffamacioun,  and  avoutrie, 
Of  chirche-reves,  and  of  testamentes, 
Of  contractes,  and  of  lak  of  sacraments/ 
And  eek  of  many  another  manor  cryme, 
Which  needith  not  to  reherse  at  this  tyme; 


1  '  Lak  of  sacraments'  means  the  neglect  of  the  Church's  precept  t« 
communicate  at  Easter,  to  which  sacramental  confession  was,  in  the 
medi.'Eval  Church,  practically,  though  not  theoretically,  a  necessary 
pruliminary. 

The  system  of  errlesiastical  discipline  upon  which  this  tale  is 
founded  requires  sonic  further  explanation. 

In  the  Church  of  the  first  three  centuries  ecclesiastical  censures  had 
the  effect  of  depriving  tlie  offender  of  spiritual  privileges  only. — See 
BiNGHAM'9  Antiquities,  &c.,  16,  z,  3.  But  when  the  empire  became 
Christian,  under  Constantine  and  his  successors,  anew  principle  was 
gradually  introduced.  It  was  thought  that  the  State  was  bound  to 
add  it<  temporal. to  the  Church's  spiritual,  sanctions;  and  the  contuma- 
cious or  excoinraunicuted  person  was  coerced  by  civildisabilities.  After 
the  destruction  of  tlie  Human  Kmpire,  the  same  legal  principle  was 
adopted  by  the  several  states  of  Christendom  founded  upon  its  ruins. 
and  therefore  forms  an  inijrartant  part  of  mediceval  jurisprudence. 
See  a  very  apposite  illustration  of  this  in  the  first  part  of  De  Join- 
ville'S  Memoirs  oj  Louis  IX.,  near  the  end. 

At  the  Reformation,  the  several  reformed  communities  adopted  the 
tame  principle.  The  Calvinists,  or  Tresbyterians,  at  Geneva,  in  Scot- 
land, and  in  Kngland  during  their  short  term  of  power,  were  especially 
zealous  in  enforcing  it. — See  Preface  to  Hooker's  ffccles.  Pol. 

The  canons  of  the  Church  of  England,  passed  in  1604,  which  still  in 
many  respects  regulate  the  practice  of  the  English  Ecclesiastical 
Courts,  bear  witness  to  the  system  as  enforced  in  the  reigns  of  the 
Tudors  and  Stuarts. — See  particularly  Canons  1,  6^t,  and  i  ij,  in  which 
the  Questman  seems  to  have  performed  many  of  the  duties  ol  Chaucer'fc 
compnour.  These  have  now  become  obsolete,  partly  from  being  incon- 
eistent  with  recent  statutes, and  partly  by  the  tacit  consent  of  all  parties. 

Most  of  the  communities  cf  non-conformists,  however,  maintain  a 
principle  of  discipline  similar  to  that  of  the  Ante-Nicene  Church,  their 
•  reading  out  of  meeting'  being  exactly  equivalent  to  the  excommuni- 
cation of  the  early  ages  of  Christianity. 


3^52  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Of  usur,  and  of  symony  also  ; 

But  certes  leccliours  did  he  grettest  woo ; 

Thay  schulde  synge,  if  that  they  were  hent; 

And  smale  tythers  thay  were  fouly  schent, 

If  eny  persoun  wold  upon  hem  pleyne, 

Ther  might  astert  him  no  pecunial  peyne. 

For  smale  tythes  and  for  smal  ofFrynge,' 

He  made  the  poeple  pitously  to  synge. 

For  er  the  bisschop  caught  hem  in  his  hook,* 

They  weren  in  the  archedeknes  book:^ 

And  hadde  thxirgh  his  juvediccioun 

Power  to  have  of  hem  correccioun. 

He  had  a  sompnour  redy  to  his  bond, 

A  slyer  boy  was  noon  in  Engelond ; 

Ful  prively  he  had  his  espiaile, 

That  taughte  him  wher  he  might  avayle. 

He  couthe  spare  of  lecchours  oon  or  tuo, 

To  techen  him  to  fom*  and  twenty  mo. 

For  though  this  sompnour  wood  were  as  an  hare, 

To  telle  his  harlotry  I  wol  not  spai-e ; 

For  we  ben  out  of  here  correccioun, 

They  have  of  us  no  jurediccioun,* 

'  The  neglect  to  pay  tithes  and  Easter  offerings  came  under  the 
archdeacon's  jurisdiction,  as  the  bishop's  diocesan  otficer.  The  friar  does 
not  scruple  to  make  an  invidious  use  of  this  subject  at  the  expense  of  tlie 
parochial  clergy,  because,  being  obliged  by  his  rule  to  gain  liis  liveli- 
hood by  begging,  he  had  no  interest  in  tithes. 

-  An  allusion  to  the  bishop's  pastoral  staff,  which  was  in  the  shape 
of  a  sheep-hook.  Its  form  and  symbolical  meaning  are  thus  described 
in  the  Vision  of  Piers  Plowman: — 

'  Dobest  is  above  bothe, 
And  berith  a  bischopis  '  crois,' 
And  is  hokid  on  that  on  end 
To  halie  men  fro  belle. 
And  a  pike  is  in  the  poynt 
To  put  adon  the  wyked.' 
•*  Offenders  were,  in  the  first  instance,  summoned  before  the  arch- 
deacon, and  afterwards,  if  found  incorrigible,  transferred  to  the  bishop, 
who  alone  had  the  power  of  inflicting  the  greater  excommunication. 

■*  The  religious  orders,  but  particularly  the  mendicants  or  friars,  were, 
by  special  dispensation  of  the  pope,  exempt  from  the  bishop's  jurisdic- 
tion, and  placed  under  that  of  their  general  or  superior  only,  with,  of 
course,  an  appeal  to  the  supreme  pontiff.    This  was  a  fertile  subject  of 


THE    FRERES    TALK,  353 

Ne  never  scliul  to  terme  of  alle  her  lyves. 
'  Peter!  so  beeu  the  woiunieii  of  the  styv-es," 
Quod  this  Soinimour,  '  i-])ut  out  of  oure  cures.' 
'Pees!  witli  uieschauuce  and  witli  mosaveutures,' 
Thus  sayd  our  host,  '  and  let  him  telle  his  tale. 
Now  telleth  forth,  although  the  Soinpnour  gale, 
Ne  spareth  nought,  niyn  owne  maister  deere.' 

This  false  theef,  the  sonijiuour,  ijuoth  the  frere, 
Had  ahvay  bawdes  redy  to  his  hond, 
As  eny  hauk  to  lure  in  Eugeloiul,^ 
That  told  him  al  the  secre  that  thay  knewe, 
For  here  acqueintaimce  was  not  come  of  newe ; 
Tliay  were  his  approwours  prively. 
He  took  himself  a  gret  pi-ofyt  tlierby ; 
His  maister  knew  nat  alway  what  he  wan. 
Withoute  mauiidement,  a  lewed  man. 
He  couthe  sompue,  up  peyne  of  Cristas  cm-s, 
And  thay  were  glad  to  fiUe  wel  his  purs, 
And  make  him  grete  festis  atte  nale. 
Aud  right  as  Judas ^  hadde  purses  smale 
And  was  a  theef  right  such  a  theef  was  he, 
His  maister  had  not  half  his  duete; 
He  was  (if  I  schal  give  him  his  laude) 
A  theef,  a  sompnour,  and  eek  a  baude. 
Aud  he  had  wenches  at  his  retenue, 
That  whethir  that  sir  Robei't  or  sir  Huche,* 

Jealousy  between  the  several  rival  orders,  and  between  them  all  and  the 
parochial  clergy,  of  wliicli  the  antipathy  sliown  by  the  friar  and  somp- 
nour to  each  other  is  an  example.  So  'Jack  Upland'  a^ks  the  friar. 
•  Wliv  be  ye  not  under  your  bishop's  visitation,  and  lief;enien  to  our 
king  ?'  1  he  chronicles  of  the  middle  ages,  e.specially  that  of  Richard 
of  Devizes,  are  fillfd  with  their  mutual  reproaches. 

'  The  Kompnour's  npartee  is  founded  upon  the  law  by  which  houses 
of  ill-fame  were  exempttd  from  ecclesiastical  interference,  and  licensed, 
on  the  principle  that  they  were  a  necessary  evil, and  might  thus  be  kept 
under  better  surveillapce.     Harl.  JIS.  reads,  They  bcth  i-put  al  out.  &c 

»  See  ante,  p.  223,  note  l. 

■i  Sir.  Wright  says,  'According  to  the  medijcval  legends,  Judas  wa* 
Christ's  purse-bearer,  and  embezzled  a  part  of  the  money  which  wa* 
given  to  him  by  his  master.'  These  '  mediieval  legends'  are  obviously 
drawn  from  tlie  gospel  of  St.  John,  xii.  6. 

*  These  are  common  names  for  secular  clerg)-men.     They  are  called 

VOL.  I.  2    A 


■354  THE  CANTERBUKY  TALES. 

Or  Jak,  or  Rauf,  or  who  so  that  it  were. 
That  lay  by  hem,  thay  told  it  in  his  eere. 
Thus  was  the  wenche  and  he  of  oon  assent. 
And  he  wold  fecche  a  feyned  maundement, 
And  sompne  hem  to  chapitre  bothe  tuo, 
And  pyle  the  man,  and  let  the  wenche  go. 
Than  wold  he  sayu,  '  I  schal,  frend,  for  thy  sake, 
Don  strike  the  out  of  oure  lettres  blake ; 
The  thar  no  more  as  in  this  cas  travayle; 
I  am  thy  frend  ther  I  the  may  avayle.' 
Certeynly  he  knew  of  bribours  mo 
Than  possible  is  to  telle  in  yeres  tuo ; 
For  in  this  world  nys  dogge  for  the  bowe,* 
That  can  an  hurt  deei-  from  an  hoi  y-knowe, 
Bet  than  tliis  sompnour  knew  a  leccheour, 
Or  avoutier,  or  ellis  a  paramour; 
And  for  that  was  the  fruyt  of  al  his  rent, 
Therfore  theron  he  set  al  his  entent. 
And  so  bifel,  that  oones  on  a  day 
This  sompnour,  ever  wayting  on  his  pray, 
Rod  forth  to  sompne  a  widew,  an  old  ribibe,* 
Feynyng  a  cause,  for  he  wolde  han  a^  bribe. 
And  happed  that  he  say  bifore  him  ryde 
A  gay  yeman  under  a  forest  syde; 
A  bow  he  bar,  and  arwes  bright  and  kene, 
He  had  upon  a  courtepy  of  grene, 
An  hat  upon  his  heed,  with  frenges  blake. 
'Sir,'  quod  this  sompnour,  'heyl  and  wel  overtake!' 


sir.  not  by  virtue  of  tlieir  priestly  office,  but  of  their  degree  of  B.A.  at 
the  university  ;  tliough  perhaps  the  title  may  afterwards  have  been 
given  to  all  priests  by  courtesy. 

'  A  (log  trained  for  shooting  with  the  bow,  part  of  whose  education 
•consisted  iu  following  the  stricken  deer  only,  and  separating  it  from 
the  herd. 

■-'  See  (int  ,  p.  198,  mite  2.    Ribibe  is  here  put  metaphorically  for  an  old 
womau,  pcTiiaps,  as  Tyrwhitt  supposes,  from  its  shrillness. 
3  Harl.  MS.  omits  hem  a.—Vf. 


THE    FRERES   TALE.  305 

'  Welcome,'  quod  he,  '  and  every  good  felawri; 
Whider  ridestow  uuder  this  greae  schawe?* 
Sajde  this  yiman,  '  Wiltow  for  to  dayf 
This  sompnour  ausword,  and  sayde,  '  Nay. 
Her  faste  by,'  quod  he,  '  is  myu  euteut 
To  ryden,  for  to  reyseu  up  a  rent, 
That  lougith  to  my  lordes  duete.' 
'  Ai-tow  than  a  bayely?'     '  Ye,' '  quod  he. 
He  durste  not  for  verray  filth  and  schaiue 
Sayn  that  he  was  a  sompnour,  for  the  name.* 

'  De  imr  dleux!^  quod  the  yeman,  'lieve  brother, 
Thou  art  a  bayly,  and  I  am  another. 
I  am  unknoweu,  as  in  this  coutre; 
Of  thin  acqueiutance  I  wol  praye  tlie, 
A  nd  eek  of  brotherheed,  if  it  yow  lest. 
I  have  gold  and  silver  in  my  chest  j 
If  that  the  happe  come  into  oui'e  schire, 
Al  sohal  be  thin,  right  as  thou  wolt  desire.' 
'  Graunt  niercy,'  quod  this  sompnoui-,  *  by  my  faith  !' 
Everich  in  otheres  hond  his  ti-outhe  laitli, 
For  to  be  sworne  bretheren'  til  thay  deyen. 
In  daliaunce  forth  thay  ride  and  pleyen. 

This  sompnour,  which  that  was  as  ful  of  jangles. 
As  ful  of  venym  ben  tliese  weryangles/ 
And  ever  enqueriug  upon  every  thing, 
'  Brother,'  quod  he,  '  wher  now  is  your  dwellyng, 
Auotlier  day  if  that  I  schuld  yow  seeche?' 
This  yiman  him  answered  in  softe  speche: 
'  Brother,'  quod  he,  '  fer  in  the  north  contre,' 
Wheras  I  hope  somtyme  I  schal  the  se. 


'  Harl.  MS.  omits  ye. 

»  The  friar  says,  the  very  name  of  sompnour  bore  such  a  note  of 
infamy  tliat  lie  Vivks  ashanu-fl  to  own  it.         3  s,  c  nuti:,  p.  124,  note  i. 

*  Apparently,  from  Spepht's  note,  the  shrike,  or  butch<:-r  hird,  whicli 
is  very  clamorous,  and  feeds  upun  small  birds,  sticking  them  on  a 
thorn,  and  so  tearinjj  ttiem  to  pieces. 

■>  The  hell  of  the  Teutonic  race,  before  they  were  Christians,  was  in 
the  north;   and  after  their  conversion,  as  their  couverters  adopted 

2  A  2 


356  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Er  we  depai't  I  schal  the  so  wel  wisse, 

That  of  myn  hous  ne  schaltow  never  misse.' 

'  Now,  brothei','  quod  this  sompuour,  '  I  yow  pray, 

Teche  me,  whil  that  we  ryden  by  the  way, 

Syn  that  ye  ben  a  baily  as  am  I, 

Som  snbtilte  as  tel  me  faithfully 

In  myn  office  how  that  I  may  wynne. 

And  spare  not  for  consciens  or  for  synne, 

But,  as  my  brother,  tel  me  how  do  ye.' 

'  Now,  by  my  trouthe,  brothir  myn,'  sayd  he, 
'  As  I  schal  telle  the  a  faithful  tale. 
My  wages  ben  ful  streyt  and  eek  ful  smale; 
My  lord  to  me  is  hard^  and  daungerous. 
And  mpi  office  is  ful  laborous ; 
And  therfor  by  extorciouns  I  lyve, 
Forsoth  I  take  al  that  men  wil  me  give, 
Algate  by  sleighte  or  by  violence 
Fro  yer  to  yer  I  wynne  my  despence ; 
I  can  no  better  telle  faithfully.' 

'  Now  certes,'  quod  this  sompnour,  '  so  fare  I ; 
I  spare  not  to  take,  God  it  woot, 
But  if  it  be  to  hevy  or  to  hoot.^ 
What  I  may  gete  in  counseil  prively,  " 
No  more  consciens  of  that  have  I. 
Nere  myn  extorcions,'  I  might  not  lyven, 
Ne  of  such  japes  I  wil  not  be  schriven. 
Stomak  ue  conscience  know  I  noon ; 
I  schrew  thes  schrifte-fadres  everychoon. 
Wel  be  we  met,  by  God  and  seint  Jame! 
But,  leve  brother,  telle  me  thy  name,' 
Quod  this  sompnour.     In  this  mene  while 
This  yeraan  gan  a  litel  for  to  smyle. 


their  name,  only  giving  the  place  a  Christian  character,  u  was  natural 
that  the  people  should  retain  their  original  notion  of  its  position. 

I  Harl.  MS.,  streyt.  .      . 

s  Tynvhitt  quotes  the  same  expression ,  from  Froissart:  ne  laissoient 
rien  a  prendre,  s'il  n'ctoit  trap  clmud,  trop  froid,  ou  trop  pesar^t.' 

3  That  is, '  Were  it  not  for  my  extortions.' 


THE    FRERF.S   TALE. 


357 


'  Brothir,'  quod  ho,  '  woltow  tliat  I  the  telle  ? 
I  am  a  feiMid,  my  dwcllyug  is  in  helle, 
And  lier  I  ryde  abo\it  my  purchasyug, 
To  wite  wher  men  wol  give  nie  eny  thing. 
My  purclias  is  tht'llt'ct  of  al  my  rent.' 
Loke  how  thou  ridest  for  tlie  same  entent 
To  Wynne  good,  thou  rekkist  never  liow, 
Kight  so  fare  I,  for  ryde  i  woldi;  now 
Unto  the  workles  eude  for  a  pray.' 

'  A ! '  quod  the  souipnour,  •  benedicite^  what  ye  say  ? 
I  wende  ye  were  a  yeman  trewely. 
Ye  }uin  a  niannes  schap  as  wel  as  T, 
Have  ye  a  figure  than  determinate* 
In  helle,  tlier  ye  ben  in  your  estate?' 
*  Nay,  certeynly,'  quod  he,  'ther  have  we  non, 
But  whan  us  likith  we  can  take  us  on, 
Or  ellis  make  yow  seme  that  we  ben  schape 
Som  tyme  like  a  man,  or  like  an  ape; 
Or  lik  an  aungeP  can  I  ryde  or  go; 
It  is  no  wonder  thing  though  it  be  so 
A  lousy  jogelour'  can  decyve  the. 
And,  parfay,  yit  can  I  more  craft  than  he.' 

*  Why,'  quod  this  sompnour,  '  ryde  ye  than  or  goon 
In  sondry  wyse,  and  nought  alway  in  oon?' 


'  My  whole  income  is  derived  from  what  I  can  obtain  by  my  trade. 

-  Beiicdicitem  this  iiinl  other  phices  seems  to  have  been  colloquially 
contracted  somehow  thus:  Jitn'cite,  sls  Ood  be  with  you  is  contracted 
good  bye. 

•'  The  friar  represents  the  sompnour  as  glad  ol'  an  opportunity  ol 
f;aining'  informatiim  from  a  spiritual  being  like  Satan  on  those  meta- 
physical qutstioiis  so  eagerly  discussed  in  the  middle  agi's,  especially 
by  the  mendicant  orders  which  produced  men  of  unrivalled  subtlety 
of  the  reasoning  power.  Thomas  Aquinas  was  a  Dominican,  Duns 
Scotus  a  Franciscan  friar. 

■•  1  Cor.  xi.  14. 

5  The  minstrels  were  called  also  jogeloura,  and  united  with  their 
musical  entertainments  the  arts  of  legerdemain.  Thus  the  minstrel 
Taiilefer  accompanied  his  song  of  Koland  at  the  battle  of  Hastintrs 
with  tricks  of  dexterity,  which  tlie  l>eh()lders  attributed  to  encli.Tnt- 
ment.  Merlin  and  Tliomai  of  ErcelJouu  are  examples  of  this  strange 
conjunction  of  characters. 


358  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES, 

'  For,'  quod  he,  '  we  wol  us  in  such  forme  make. 

As  most  abiP  is  oure  pray  to  take.' 

'  What  makith  yow  to  have  al  this  labour?' 

'  Fvil  many  a  cause,  lieve  sir  sompnour,' 

Sayde  this  feend.     '  But  al  thing  hath  a  tyme; 

The  day  is  schoii;,  and  it  is  passed  prime, 

And  yit  ne  wan  I  nothing  in  this  day ; 

I  wol  entent  to  Avynnyng,  if  I  may, 

And  not  entende  oure  thinges  to  declare; 

For,  brother  myn,  thy  wit  is  al  to  bare 

To  anderstond,  although  I  told  hem  the. 

For  but  thou  axid  whi  laboure  we; 

For  som  tyme  we  ben  Goddis  instrumentes, 

And  menes  to  don  his  comaundementes, 

Whan  that  him  list,  upon  his  creatures, 

In  divers  act  and  in  divers  figures. 

Withouten  him  we  have  no  might  certeyn, 

If  that  him  liste  stonde  ther  agayn. 

And  som  tyme  at  our  prayer  have  we  leeve, 

Only  the  body,  and  not  the  soule  ,greve  f 

Witness  on  Jobe,  whom  we  dide  ful  wo. 

And  som  tyme  have  we  might  on  bothe  tuo, 

This  is  to  say  of  body  and  soule  eeke. 

And  som  tyme  be  we  suffred  for  to  seeke 

Upon  a  man,  and  doon  his  soule  unrest 

And  not  his  body,  and  al  is  for  the  best. 

Whan  he  withstondith  oure  temptacioun, 

It  is  a  cause  of  his  savacioun, 

Al  be  it  so  it  was  nought  oure  entent 

He  schuld  be  sauf,  but  that  M^e  wold  him  hent. 

And  som  tyme  we  ben  servaunt  unto  man, 

As  to  therchebisschop  seynt  Dunstan,^ 

And  to  thapostolis,  servaunt  was  I.' ' 

'  Yit  tel  me,'  quod  the  sompnour,  *  faithfully, 


'  Ahil  is  a  French  word  (luibile,  handy,  dexterous),  and  is,  therefore, 
accented  on  the  last  syllable.  -  Job  ii.  6. 

^  St.  Dunstan  is  &iiid  to  have  reduced  the  fiend  to  obedience  when 
he  came  to  tempt  him  as  he  was  working  in  his  forge. 
'  Perhaps  an  allusion  to  Acts  xix.  14. 


THE    FKERES    TALE. 


359 


Make  ye  yow  uewe  bodies  ahvay 

Of  elementz?'     The  feud  auswerde,  'Nay; 

8oiu  tyine  we  feyne,  und  soiu  tyme  we  vyae 

With  dede  bodies,'  iu  ful  wondi'i-  wyse, 

And  speke  reuably,  aud  as  fair  and  wcl 

As  to  the  Phitonissa  dede  Samuel;' 

Aud  yit  wol  somuie  say,  it  was  not  he. 

I  do  no  fors  of  your  divinite. 

But  oon  thing  warns  I  the,  I  wol  not  jape, 

Thou  wilt  alj:jates  wite  how  we  ben  schape : 

Thow  schalt  herafter-ward.  my  brother  fleere, 

Com,  wher  tlie  nedith  nothing  for  to  leere, 

For  thou  schalt  by  thin  oughn  experience 

Conne  in  a  chayer^  redeu  of  this  sentence 

Bet  than  Virgile,*  wliils  he  was  on  lyve, 

Or  Daunt  also.     Now  let  us  ryde  blyve, 

For  I  wol  holde  company  with  the, 

Til  it  be  so  that  thou  forsake  me.' 

'Nay,'  quod  the  sompnour,  'that  sclial  nought  betyde. 

I  am  a  yimau  that  knowen  is  ful  wyde; 

My  trouthe  wol  I  holde,  as  in  this  caas. 

For  though  thou  be  the  devyl  Sathanas, 


'  Tlie  prevailing  beliff  that  the  P^vil  Spirit  sometimes  appeared  in 
the  form  of  the  doparteii  is  ilhistrated  by  llamkVs  doubts  respecting 
his  father's  appearance,  act  ii.  scene  z  : — 

'  The  spirit  that  I  liave  seen 
>ray  be  a  devil ;  and  the  devil  Latli  power 
To  a.«.fHirie  a  pleasing  shape.' 

2  It  was  generally  believed  by  theologians  that  the  Witch  of  Endor 
could  not  really  recal  Samuel  from  the  grave,  but  that  the  Evil  Spirit 
appeared  in  his  form,  in  order  t<j  give  credit  to  the  idolatry  ami  witch- 
craft by  which  Saul  and  the  Israelites  were  seduced  from  the  worship 
of  the  true  God.  She  is  here  called  Phitonissd,  because  Python,  or 
.\pollo,  was  the  God  of  rroplu-cy.  Thus,  in  the  Acts,  xvi.  i6,  the 
words  translated  in  our  version — a  spiiit  of  Dicination,  are,  in  the 
original,  nrev/io  Ilvdui-ot. 

:t  That  is,  you  shall  hereafter  understand  this  subject  so  well  that 
von  will  be  competent  to  give  lectures  on  it,  as  a  professor  in  his 
chair. 

•  .\lluding  to  the  visit  of  Mneaa  to  the  infernal  regions, in  the  si.\th 
book  of  the  .i:ii£u/,  and  to  Dante's  Inferno. 


^60  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

My  troutlie  wol  I  holde  to  the,  my  brother, 

As  I  am  swore,  and  ech  of  us  to  other, 

For  to  be  trewe  brethereu  in  this  caas; 

For  bothe  we  goon  abouten  onre  purchas. 

Tak  thou  thi  part,  and  that  men  wil  the  gyven, 

And  I  schal  myn,  thus  may  we  bothe  lyven. 

And  if  eny  of  us  have  more  than  other, 

Let  him  be  trewe,  and  part  it  with  his  brotlier.* 

'  I  graunte,'  quod  the  devel,  '  by  my  fay !' 

And  with  that  word  thay  riden  forth  her  way; 

And  right  at  thentryng  of  a  townes  ende, 

To  which  this  sompnour  schope  him  for  to  wende^ 

Thay  seigh  a  cart,  that  chargid  was  with  hay, 

Which  that  a  cai-ter  drof  forth  iu  his  way. 

Deep  was  the  way,  for  which  the  carte  stood ; 

This  carter  smoot,  and  cryde  as  he  wer  wood, 

*Hayt,  brok;   hayt,   scot;^  what  spare  ye  for  the 

stoones? 
The  fend,'  quod  he,  '  yow  fech  body  and  bonesj 
As  fei-forthly  as  ever  wer  ye  folid ! 
So  moche  wo  as  I  have  with  yow  tholid ! 
The  devyl  have  al,  bothe  cart  and  hors  and  hay !' 
This  somjinour  sayde,  '  Her  schal  we  se  play.' 
And  ner  the  feend  he  drough,  as  nought  ne  wei'e, 
Ful  prively,  and  rouned  in  his  eere, 
'  Herke,  my  brother,  hai-ke,  by  thi  faith ! 
Ne  herest  nought  thoii  what  the  carter  saith? 
Hent  it  anoon,  for  he  hath  given  it  the, 
Bothe  hay  and  caples,  and  eek  his  cart,  parde!' 

'  Nay,'  quod  the  devyl,  '  God  wot,  never  a  del. 
It  is  nought  his  entente,  trustith  wel, 
Ask  it  thiself,  if  thou  not  trowist  me, 
Or  ellis  stint  a  while  and  thou  schalt  se.' 


'  Hayt  is  still  the  word  used  by  wag^goners  in  Norfolk  to  make  their 
horses  go  on.  lirnk  (brock)  means  a  badger ;  hence  applied  to  a  grey  iiorse, 
afterwards  called  by  the  carter  '  myn  oughne  hjard  (grey)  boy  !  Scot  is 
a  common  name  for  farm  horses  in  East  Anglia.  The  Hceve's  horse  (see 
Pi-oUmii-')  is  cHlled  Scot.  The  llarl.  MS.  reads  slot  (stallion);  but  Scot 
(adopted  Ui/m.  Tyrwhitt),  being  a  proper  name,  seems  the  true  reading. 


THK    KREKES    TALE.  361 

This  carter  thakketli  his  hore  upon  tlie  croupe, 
And  thay  l»ygon  to  (h'awen  and  to  stowjie. 
'Hayt  now,'  qtuxl  Ii.-,  '  ther  Jhesu  Crist  yow  bleise, 
And  al  his  houdwerk,  bothe  more  and  lesse! 
Tliat  was  wel  twij^ht,  myn  oughne  lyard  boy, 
I  pray  God  save  thy  body  and  seint  Loy!' 
Now  is  my  cart  out  of  the  sloo  parde !' 
'  Lo!  brotlier,'  quod  the  feeud,  '  what  tokl  T  the? 
Her  may  ye  seen,  myn  owne  deere  brother, 
The  cax-ter  spak  oou  thing,  and  thought  another. 
Let  us  go  forth  abouten  our  viage ; 
Hier  wynne  1  nothing  upon  cariage.' 

Whan  that  thay  comen  somwhat  out  of  tonne, 
This  sompuour  to  liis  brothir  gan  to  rouur  • 
'  Brotliir.'  quod  he,  '  her  wonyth  an  oM  rebekke, 
That  had  almost  as  lief  to  leese  hir  necke, 
As  for  to  give  a  peny  of  hir  good. 
I  wol  han  twelf  ])ens"  though  that  sche  go  Avood, 
Or  I  "wol  somone  hir  to  oure  office; 
And  yit,  God  wot,  I  know  of  hir  no  vice. 
But  for  thou  canst  not,  as  in  this  contre, 
Wynne  thy  cost,  tak  her  ensample  of  me.' 
This  sompnour  clapped  at  the  widowes  gate; 
'  Com  out,'  quod  he,  '  thou  olde  viritrate ; 
I  trowe  thou  ha.st  som  frere  or  prest  with  the.' 
'  Who  clappith  ther?'  sayd  this  widow,  '  benedicile 
God  sfive  yow,  sir!  what  is  your  swete  wille?' 
'  I  have,'  quod  he,  '  a  somouaunce  of  a  bille. 


'  Thus  the  Book  of  Homilies,  in  enumerating  the  different  forms  of 
invoking  the  saints,  gives,  as  an  example,  "to  the  horse,  God  and  S.iint 
Ley  save  thee.'  This  is  probably  a  contraction  for  Kligius,  who  w;is 
()ri;;in;illy  a  worker  In  mi't.ils.  fSt.  Ley,  Eloy,  or  Kli;.Mii*,  wiis,  in  f;ict.  the 
patrol!  saint  of  smi/'ij.     ('liainlx'rs.  /I<xih  nf  lia'is.  i\.  :\n\i.     W'.W'.S.'] 

*  Harl.  MS.,  by  a  curious  contraction,  reads  irolj,  for  im!  Jinn 
twclj. — W.  The  value  ol  the  twelve  pence  for  which  the  soiupnoiir 
sued  the  widow  may  be  estimati-d  by  tlie  relative  jirices  of  food  and 
labour.  For  twelve  pence  the  wiilow  might  have  purchased  two  dozen 
of  liens,  or  three  gallons  of  red  wine,  or  hired  a  dozen  common  labourem 
for  twelve  days.     See  vol.  i.,  p.  33,  note  i . 


362  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Up  payne  of  ci;rs)Tig/  loke  that  thou  be 

To  morwe  biforn  our  erchedeknes  kne, 

To  answer  to  the  court  of  certeyn  thinges.' 

'  Now,'  quod  sche,  '  Jhesu  Crist,  and  king  of  kinges, 

So  wisly  helpe  me,  as  I  ne  may. 

I  have  hen  seek,  and  that  ful  many  a  day. 

I  may  not  goon  so  fer,'  quod  sche,  '  ne  ryde, 

But  I  he  deed,  so  prikith  it  in  my  syde. 

May  I  nat  aske  a  lybel,''  sir  sompnour, 

And  answer  ther  by  my  procuratour 

To  suche  thing  as  men  wol  oppose  me?' 

'  Yis,'  quod  tliis  sompnour,  '  pay  anoon,  let  se, 

Twelf  pens^  to  me,  and  T  the  wil  acquite. 

I  schal  no  profyt  have  therby  but  lite ; 

INIy  mayster  hath  the  profyt  and  not  I. 

Com  of,  and  let  me  ryden  hastily ; 

Gif  me  my  twelf  pens,  I  may  no  lenger  tary.' 

'  Twelf  pensf  quod  sche,  'now  lady  seinte  Mary 

So  wysly  help  me  out  of  care  and  synne, 

This  wjde  world  though  that  I  schulde  v/ynne, 

Ne  have  I  not  twelf  pens  withinne  myn  hold. 

Ye  knowen  wel  that  I  am  pore  and  old ; 

Kithe  yoiire  almes  on  me  pore  wrecche.' 

'  Nay  than,'  quod  he,  '  the  foule  fend  me  fecche! 

If  I  thexcuse,  though  thou  schalt  be  spilt.' 

'Alias!'  quod  sche,  'God  wot,  I  have  no  gilt.' 

'  Pay  me,'  quod  he,  'or  by  the  swet  seint  Anne! 

As  I  wol  here  away  thy  newe  panne 

For  dette,  which  thou  owest  me  of  old, 

Whan  that  thou  madest  thin  housbond  cokewold, 

1  payd  at  hom  for  thy  correccioun.' 

•  Thou  lixt,'  quod  sche,  '  by  my  savaciouu, 

Ne  was  I  never  er  now,  wydow  ne  wyf, 

Somound  unto  your  court  in  al  my  lyf ; 

•  On  pain  of  exconimunication. 
-  A  copy  of  the  information  or  indictment.     A  libel  is  still  the  ex- 
pression in  tlie  ecclesiastical  courts. 

^  See  ante,  p.  j6i,  note  2. 


THE    FRERES   TALE.  363 

N("  never  I  was  hut  of  my  body  trewe. 
Unto  the  flevel  rough  and  l)lak  of  hiewe 
Give  I  thy  hody  and  tho  jtanne  also!' 
And  whan  the  dovyl  herd  hit-  curse  so 
Upon  liir  knees,  he  sayd  in  this  manere: 
'  Now,  Mabely,  myn  owne  modir  deere, 
Is  this  your  wil  in  emest  that  ye  seyeT 
'  The  devel,'  (juod  sche,  '  fecche  liim  er  he  deye, 
And  panne  and  al,  but  he  wol  him  repente !' 

'  Nay,  olde  stot,  that  is  not  myn  entente/ 
Quod  this  sompnour,  '  for  to  ropt'nte  me 
For  eny  thing  that  I  have  had  of  the ; 
I  wohl  I  had  tliy  smok  and  every  chjth.' 

*  Now  brotliir,'  quod  the  devyl,  '  be  not  wroth ; 
Thy  body  and  this  panne  is  myn  by  riglit.' 
Thow  schalt  with  me  to  helle  yit  to  night, 
Wlier  thou  schalt  kuowen  of  our  privete 
More  than  a  maister  of  divinite.' 

And  with  that  word  the  foule  fend  him  hente; 
Body  and  soide,  he  with  the  devyl  wente, 
Wher  as  the  sompnours  han  her  heritage; 
And  God  tliat  maked  after  his  ymage 
Mankynde,  save  and  gyde  us  alle  and  some, 
And  leeve  this  sompnour  good  man  to  bycomo. 

'  Lordyngs,  I  couth  han  told  yow,'  quod  the  frere, 
'  Had  I  had  Icysir  for  this  sompnour  here, 
After  the  text  of  Crist,  and  Powel,  and  Jon, 
And  of  oui'e  other  doctoiire  many  oon, 
Such  peynes  that  our  hex-te  might  agi-ise, 
Al  be  it  so,  no  tonge  may  devyse, 
Though  that  I  miL(lit  a  thousand  Avynter  telle, 
The  l»oyn  of  thilke  cursed  hous  of  lielle. 
But  for  to  kepe  us  from  that  cursed  place, 
WaJcith,  and  prayeth  Jhesu  for  his  grace, 

'  The  widow's  curse,  being  uttered  from  her  heart,  Rives  the  Devi! 
a  rijrht  to  carry  away  the  sompnour.  Tills  condition,  whicli  ajirees 
exactly  with  the  Latin  story  published  by  Mr.  Wright  in  the  .trrii/ro- 
tiMfia,  did  not  apply  to  the  curse  of  the  carter,  who  '  spak  oou  thing, 
and  thought  another.' 


3G4  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

So  kepe  us  fro  the  temptour  Sathauas. 
Herknith  this  word,  beth  war  as  iu  this  cas. 
The  lyoun  syt  in  his  awayt  alway^ 
To  slen  the  innocent,  if  that  he  ma5^ 
Dispositli  yoiire  hertes  to  withstonde 
The  fend,  that  wolde  make  yow  thral  and  bonde ; 
He  may  not  tempte  yow  over  your  might/ 
For  Crist  wol  be  your  champioun  and  kniglit ; 
And  prayeth,  that  oure  Sompnour  him  repente 
Of  his  raysdede,  er  that  the  fend  him  hente.' 


THE    SOMPNOURES    PROLOGE. 

T^HTS  Sompnour  in  his  styrop  up  he  stood, 

J-    Upon  the  Frere  his  herte  was  so  wood, 

That  lyk  an  aspen  leef  he  quok  for  ire. 

'  Lordyngs,'  quod  he,  '  but  oon  thing  I  desire ; 

I  yow  biseke,  that  of  your  curtesye, 

Syn  ye  han  herd  tliis  false  Frere  ]ye, 

As  suffrith  me  I  may  my  tale  telle. 

This  Frei-e  bosteth  that  he  knowith  helle, 

And,  God  it  wot,  that  is  litil  wonder, 

Fj-eres  and  feendes  been  but  litel  asonder. 

For,  pardy,  ye  han  often  tyme  herd  telle, 

How  that  a  frere  i^avyscht  was  to  helle* 

In  spirit  ones  by  a  visioun, 

And  as  an  aungel  lad  him  up  and  doun, 

To  schewen  him  the  peynes  that  ther  were, 

In  al  the  place  saugh  he  not  a  frere. 

Of  other  folk  he  saugh  y-nowe  in  wo. 

Unto  this  aungel  spak  this  frere  tho : 

1  Psalm  X.  9.  '  i  Cor.  x.  i  3. 

3  A  favourite  mode  of  awakeninp  the  careless  in  the  middle  ayes. 
Rede  relates  a  story  of  a  monk  tlius  favoured  with  a  /rlinipse  of  tlie  otlier 
world,  upon  wliom  it  made  such  an  impression  that  he  never  after  was 
teen  to  smile.  The  idea  is  probably  derived  from  the  descent,  in  the 
Odyssey  and  JEneid,  of  Ulysses  and  .^neag  into  the  infernal  regions. 


THE   SOMPNOURES   TALE.  oCG 

'  Now,  sire,'  quud  lie,  '  liau  freres  such  a  jjrace, 

That  noon  of  hem  schal  comen  in  tliis  place?' 

'  Yis,'  quod  tliis  aungil,  'many  a  inylioun.' 

And  unto  Satlianas  lie  lad  him  duuii. 

'  And  now  hath  Sathanas,'  saith  he,  '  a  tayl 

Broder  than  of  a  carrik  is  the  sayl.' 

'  Hold  up  thy  tayl,  thou  Sathanas,'  quod  he, 

'  Schew  foi-th  thyn  crs,  and  let  the  frex'e  se 

Whei-  is  the  nest  of  fi-eros  in  this  place.' 

And  er  than  half  a  forlong  way  of  space, 

Right  so  as  bees  swarmen  out  ol"  an  hyvo, 

Out  of  the  develes  ers  thay  gonne  dryve, 

Twenty  thou.sand  freres  on  a  route, 

And  thorughout  hellc  swarmed  al  aboute, 

And  comen  agen,  as  fast  as  thay  may  goon, 

And  in  his  ers  thay  crepcn  evei'ichoon. 

He  clappid  his  tayl  agayn,  and  lay  ful  stille. 

This  frere,  whan  he  loked  had  his  fille 

Upon  the  torment  of  this  sory  place, 

His  spirit  God  restored  of  his  grace 

Unto  his  body  agayu,  and  he  awook ; 

But  natheles  for  fere  yit  he  quook, 

So  was  the  develes  ers  yit  in  his  mynde, 

That  is  his  lieritage  of  verray  kynde. 

God  save  yow  alle,  save  this  cursed  Frere; 

My  proloug  wol  I  ende  in  this  manere.' 


THE    SOMPNOUUES   TALE. 

LORUYNGS,  ther  is  in  En^'-'lond,  I  ge^se, 
A  mersschly  lond  called  Huldernesse,^ 
In  which  ther  went  a  lymytour  aboute 
To  preche,''  and  eek  to  begge,  it  is  no  doubte. 

•  A  district  on  the  coast  of  Yorksliire. 
-  Tho  object  of  St.  Francis  of  Assissi  and  .St.  Dominic,  tlie  founders 
of  the  mendicant  orders,  was  to  supply  tlie  want  of  popular  preacliinfj 
and   active  zeal,  to  which  the  paruoliial  and  older  monastic  systemt 


366  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES 

And  SO  bifel  it  on  a  day  this  frere 
Had  preched  at  a  chirch  in  tliis  manere, 
And  specially  aboven  evei"'  thing 
Excited  he  the  poepul  in  his  preching 
To  trentals/  and  to  give  for  Goddis  sake, 
Wherwith  men  mighten  holy  houses  make, 
Ther  as  divine  servys  is  honoured, 
Nought  ther  as  it  is  wasted  and  devoured ; 
Neither  it  needeth  not  for  to  be  give 
As  to  possessioneres,^  that  mow  lyve, 
Thanked  be  God,  in  wele  and  abundaunce. 
'  Trentals,'  sayd  he,  '  delyvereth  fro  penaunce 
Her  frendes  soules,  as  wel  eld  as  yonge, 
Ye,  whanne  that  thay  hastily  ben  songe, 
Nought  for  to  hold  a  prest  jolif  and  gay, 
He  syngith  not  but  oon  masse  in  a  day. 
Delyverith  out,'  quod  he,  '  anoon^  the  soules. 
Ful  hard  it  is,  with  fleischhok  or  with  oules 
To  ben  y-clawed,  or  brend,  or  i-bake ;  * 
Now  speed  yow  hastily  for  Cristes  sake.' 


were  not,  as  they  supposed,  practically  conducive.  They  proposed  to 
attain  this  object  by  raising  up  a  class  of  men  wlio  should  be  unshackled 
by  worldly  possessions  or  hopes  of  preferment,  and  who,  by  their  edu- 
cation, should  be  enabled  to  satisfy  the  awakening  thirst  for  knowledge 
among  the  people.  The  friars,  therefore,  as  indicated  in  the  text, 
were  the  popular  preachers  of  the  middle  ages  ;  and  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  the  general  diffusion  of  a  knowledge  of  Scripture,  and  the 
discussion  of  religious  subjects  by  the  lower  classes,  to  wliich  their 
preachings  gave  rise,  prepared  the  popular  mind  for  forming  a  decision 
respecting  those  metaphysical  questions  upon  which  the  Reformation 
was  ostensibly  founded. 

1  Thirty  masses  celebrated  for  the  benefit  of  souls  in  purgatory. 

^  The  friar  invidiously  calls  the  monks,  who  could  possess  property 
in  common,  and  tlie  parochial  clergy,  who  of  course  possessed  it  as 
laymen  d\d,  possexsioiiers.  The  friars,  by  their  rule,  were  obliged  to 
beg  their  bread,  but  so  irrational  a  rule  was,  as  might  be  expected, 
Eoon  evaded.  s  Harl.  JIS.  omits  atioon. 

*  Tlie  popular  preachers  and  painters  of  the  middle  ages  u.sed  to  re- 
liresent  the  punishments  of  sin  as  consisting  of  a  literal  tearing,  burn- 
ing,and  freezing  of  the  flesh, intcndingthem  to  be  understood  metaphori- 
cally ;  but  the  unlearned  of  course  applied  these  representations  in  a 
literal  sense.  In  Albert  DUrer'a  '  IJer  Kleiue  Passion'  is  a  very 
curious  example. 


THE    SOMPNOURES    TALE.  367 

Ami  whan  this  frere  had  sayd  al  liis  cntent, 
With  qui  cum  patre,^  fortli  his  way  he  went. 
Whan  folk  in  chirch  hatl  give  him  what  hem  lost, 
He  went  his  way,  no  leuger  wold  he  rest. 
With  scrip  and  pyked  staf,  y-touked  hye; 
In  every  hous  he  gan  to  pore  and  prye. 
And  beggyd  mele  or  chese,  or  el  lis  corn. 
His  felaw  had  a  staf  typped  witii  liorn, 
A  payr  of  tablis  al  of  yvory,^ 
And  a  poyntcl  y-])olisclit  fetisly. 
And  wroot  the  names  alway  as  he  stood 
Of  alle  folk  that  gaf  him  eny  good, 
Ascaunce  that  he  wolde  for  hem  preye. 
'  Gif  us  a  biisshel  whet,  or  malt,  or  reye, 
A  Goddes  kichil,*  or  a  trij)  of  chese, 
Or  elles  what  yow  list,  we  may  not  chese; 
A  Godiles  halpeny,  or  a  masse  peny;* 
Or  gif  us  of  yuure  brauiie,  if  ye  have  eny, 
A  dagoun  of  your  blanket,  leeve  dame, 
Oure  suster  deer, — lo!  her  I  write  your  name — 
Bacouu  or  beef,  or  such  thing  as  we  fynde.' 
A  stourdy  harlot  ay  went  hem  byhyude. 


'  This  is  part  of  tlie  formula  with  w)iicli  prayers  and  sermons  are 
Ftill  sometimes  coiiehulod  in  the  Cliurch  of  Kii<;lan(l. 

■•'  Thus  Jacke  Upland  asks  the  supposed  friar, '  Wliy  writest  tliou 
her  names  in  tliy  tables  tliat  ycveth  thee  mony  ?  sith  (iod  kiioweth  al 
thing:  for  itsemeth  by  tliy  writing,  tliat  (iod  would  not  reward  liem  ; 
but  tliou  writest  in  tliy  tables,  Go<l  would  els  forgotten  it.'  I'he 
meaning  of  recording  the  names,  however,  was  that  they  might  be 
remembered  in  the  i)r.iyers  of  the  brothcrhnod. 

3  Tyrwhitt,  after  showing  the  absurdity  of  Speght's  interpretation 
of  tlihs  expression,  says  that  it  is  common  in  French,  and  that  tlie 
meaning  is  explained  by  JI.  de  laMonnoye,in  a  note  upon  the  Coittestle 
B.  D.Pvricrs,  torn.  ii.,p.  107  : — •  Uien  n'est  jiluscoinniun  i\tu\ii  la  bouche 
des  bonnes  vieilles,  que  ces  especes  d'llebraisines;  •  II  in'en  coiite  un  bel 
ecu  de  Dieu  ;  il  ne  me  reste  que  ce  pauvre  enfant  de  Dieu  ;  donnez-moi 
une  benitc  aumone  de  Dieu." 

*  A  masse  pi  III/  is  jirobably  a  penny  for  saying  a  ma.ss.  Thus, 
.larke  l' plana  : — '  Freer,  when  thou  receive.st  a  penie  for  to  say  a 
masse,  whether  selle^t  thou  God's  boJie  ?"  &c.  He  might  as  well  have 
said  that  St.  I'liul  sold  the  Gospel  because  he  sometimes  accepted  pecu- 
niary aid  from  his  eonverts. 


368  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

That  was  her  hostis^  man,  and  bar  a  sak, 

And  wliat  men  gaf  hem,  layd  it  on  his  bak. 

And  whan  that  he  was  out  atte  dore.  anoon 

He  planed  out  the  names  everychoon, 

That  he  biforn  had  writen  in  his  tablis ; 

He  served  hem  with  nyties  and  with  fablis.     [Frere. 

'  Nay,  ther  thou  lixt,"  thou  Sompnour,'  sayd  the 
*  Pees,'  quod  our  host,  '  for  Cristes  moder  deere, 
Tel  forth  thy  tale,  and  spare  it  not  at  al.' 
'  So  thrive  I,'  quod  the  Sompnour,  '  so  I  schal  !* 

So  long  he  wente  hous  by  hous,  til  he 
Cam  til  an  hous,  ther  he  was  wont  to  be 
Refresshid  mor  than  in  an  hundrid  placis. 
Syk  lay  the  housbond  man,  whos  that  the  place  is, 
Bedred  upon  a  couche  lowe  he  lay. 
'  Deits  hie,'  ^  quod  he,  '  O  Thomas,  frend,  good  day !' 
Sayde  this  frere  al  curteysly  and  softe. 
'  O  Thomas,  God  yeld  it  yow,  ful  ofte 
Have  I  upon  this  bench  i-fare  ful  wel, 
Her  have  I  eten  many  a  mery  mel.' 
And  fro  the  bench  he  drof  away  the  cat,* 
And  layd  adoun  his  potent  and  his  hat. 
And  eek  his  scrip,  and  set  him  soft  adoun ; 
His  felaw  was  go  walkid  in  the  toun 
Forth  with  his  knave,  into  the  ostelrye, 
Wher  as  he  schop  him  thilke  night  to  lye. 

'  In  all  religious  houses  there  was  an  officer  specially  appointed  to 
wait  on  the  guests,  called  here  the  '  hostisman,'  or  guests' man,  Aos<, 
like  the  Latin  hospcs,  meaning  both  host  and  guest. 

-  The  friar's  vehement  denial  is  admirably  managed.  The  general 
resemblance  of  the  sompnour's  picture  is  so  perfect,  that  even  he  is 
carried  away  by  its  spirit,  and  believes  it  real;  but  he  thinks  he  can 
at  least  dispute  the  trifling  circumstance  of  the  blotting  out  of  the 
names. 

■■<  God  be  here,  apparently  a  form  of  benediction.  It  is  a  common 
plirase  amongst  the  peasantry  in  Ireland  and  Brittany  to  say,  on 
entering  a  house, '  God  save  all  here.' 

<  It  is  by  this  sort  of  by-play  that  Chaucer  gives  such  a  marvellous 
reality  to  his  scenes,  lie  does  not  say  that  the  friar  made  himself 
quite  at  home,  but  he  makes  you  see  it  with  your  eyes. 


THE   SOMPNOURES   TALE. 


309 


*  0  deerc  maistcr,'  quod  tlie  soeke  man, 
'How  have  yt-  lUrr  sitlitln-  IMmicIi  Iiv.lmu? 
I  saygh  yow  iioui,'lit  this  louiti'iiij^lit  or  more,* 

'  God  wot,'  quod  he,  '  labord  have  I  ful  sore; 
And  specially  tor  tliy  salvacioun 
Have  I  sayd  many  a  precious  orisouu, 
And  for  niyn  otlier  frendes,  God  hem  blesse. 
I  have  to  day  ben  at  your  chirche  at  messe, 
And  sayd  a  sermoun  after  my  simple  wit, 
Nouglit  al  after  the  text  of  holy  wryt. 
For  it  is  hai-d  for  yow,  as  I  suppose, 
And  therfor  wil  I  teche  yow  ay  the  glose. 
Glosjnig  is  a  ful  glorious  thing  ceitayn, 
For  letter  sleth,*  so  as  we  clerkes  sayu. 
Ther  have  I  tauglit  hem  to  be  charitable, 
And  spend  her  good  ther  it  is  resonablej 
And  ther  I  seigh  our  dame,  wher  is  she?' 
'  Yond  in  the  yerd  I  trowe  that  sche  be,' 
Sayde  tliis  man,  '  and  sche  wil  come  anoon.' 

'  Ey,  mayster,  welcome  be  ye,  by  seint  Johan  T 
Sayde  this  wyf,  '  how  fare  ye  hertily  T 

The  frere  arisetli  up  ful  curteysly, 
And  her  embracith''  in  liis  armes  narwe, 
And  kist  hir  swcte,  and  chirkith  as  a  sparwe 
With  his  lippes:  'Dame,'  quod  he,  'right  wel, 
As  lie  tliat  is  your  servaunt  everydel. 
Tliunkyd  be  God,  that  yow  gaf  soule  and  lif, 
Yit  saugh  I  not  this  day  so  fair  a  wyf 
In  al  the  cliirche,  God  so  save  me.' 

'  Ye.  God  amend  defautes,'  sir,'  quod  sche, 
'  Algates  welcome  be  ye,  by  my  fay.' 
'  Graunt  nieraj,  dame ;  this  have  1  found  alway. 


'  1  Cor.  iii.  6. 

'  Kissinp  was  form.^rly  the  ordinary  mode  of  salutation,  as  it  still  ii 
1b  some  part'  of  the  continent. 

3  A  .sort  of  nioclcst  <li.-<(iwtlifiiiiiij  of  lierself,  as  niucli  as  to  say,  ■  I 
know  I  have  niauy  faults,  but  may  God  amend  them.' 


VOL.  I. 


2    B 


370  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

But  of  your  grete  gooclnes,  by  youre  leve, 
I  wolde  pray  yow  that  ye  yow  not  greeve, 
I  wil  with  Tliomas  speke  a  litel  thro  we ; 
These  curates^  ben  ful  negligent  and  slowe 
To  grope  tendurly  a  conscience. 
In  schrift  and  preching"  is  my  diUgence, 
And  study  in  Petres  wordes  and  in  Poules, 
I  walk  and  fissche'^  Cristen  mennes  soules, 
To  yelde  J  hesu  Crist  his  propre  rent ; 
To  spred-en  his  word  is  al  myn  eutent.' 

'  Now,  by  your  leve,  o  deere  sir,'  quod  sche, 
'  Chyd  him  right  wel  for  seinte  Trinite.* 
He  is  as  angry  as  a  pissemyre, 
Though  that  he  have  al  that  he  can  desire. 
Though  I  him  wrye  on  night,  and  make  him  warm, 
And  over  him  lay  my  leg  other  myn  arm, 
He  groneth  lik  our  boor,  that  lith  in  sty. 
Othir  disport  of  him  right  noon  have  I, 

1  may  please  him  in  no  maner  caas.' 

'  O  Thomas,  jeo  vous  dy,  Thomas,  Thomas, 
This  makth  the  feend,  this  moste  ben  amendid. 
Ire  is  a  thing  that  highe  God  defendid, 
And  therof  wold  I  speke  a  word  or  tuo.' 

'  Now,  maister,'  quod  the  wyf,  '  er  that  I  go, 
What  wil  ye  dine?  I  will  go  theraboute.' 
'  ISTow,  dame,'  quod  he,  'jeo  vous  dy  saunz  doufe, 
Have  I  not  of  a  capoun  but  the  lyvere. 
And  of  your  softe  brede  but  a  schivere, 

'  The  seonlar  or  pavocliial  clergy,  who  had  aure  (cura)  of  souls, 
wliich  the  religious  orders  could  not  properly  be  said  to  have,  because 
their  jurisdiction  was  not  confined  to  tlie  ordinary  limits,  but  ex- 
tended, like  that  of  a  missionary, to  wliomsoever  they  could  persuade. 

2  The  friars,  like  tlie  modern  Jesuits,  turned  their  attention  par- 
ticularly to  the  popular  parts  of  theology,  preaching,  and  the  direction 
of  consciences. 

•'•  Luke  V.  10. 

*  Saint  means  properly  hoh/,  and  so  is  applied  to  the  Trinity,  the 
Saviour,  cliarity,  &c  ,  as  "well  as  to  Christian  men  and  women.  Seinte 
is  the  feminine  form  of  the  adjective,  to  agree  with  Trinite,  a  feminine 
noun  in  Lutiu  and  French. 


THE   SOMPN'OCRES   TALE.  •>>  I 

And  after  tliat  a  rostyd  pigges  heed, 
(But  that  I  wold  for  me  no  best  wore  deed') 
Than  had  I  with  yow  lionily  suffisaunce. 
I  am  a  man  of  litel  sustiuiuiuoe. 
My  spirit  hath  his  fostryng  on  the  Bible. 
The  body  is  ay  so  redy  and  so  jienyble 
To  wake,  that  my  stoiuak  is  destroyed. 
I  pray  yow,  dame,  that  ye  be  not  anoyetl, 
For  I  so  frondly  yow  my  conu.seil  schewe; 
By  Godl  I  nold  not  telle  it  but  a  fewe.' 

'  Now,  sii','  quod  sche,  '  but  o  word  er  I  go. 
My  child  is  deed  withinne  this  wykes  tuo, 
Soon  after  that  ye  went  out  of  tliis  touu.' 

'  His  deth  saugh  I  by  revelaciuuu,' 
Sayde  this  frere,  '  at  hoom  in  oure  dortour. 
I  dar  wel  .sayn,  er  that  half  an  hour 
After  his  deth,  I  seigh  him  boru  to  blis.se 
In  myu  a\'ysioun,  so  God  me  wisse. 
So  did  our  sextein,  and  our  fermerere,^ 
That  han  ben  trewe  freres  fift^y  yere ; 
Thay  may  now,  God  be  thanked  of  his  lone, 
Maken  her  jubile,^  and  walk  alloone. 
And  up  I  roos.  and  al  our  covent  eeke, 
With  many  a  teere  trilling  on  my  cheeke, 
7'e  Deum*  was  our  song,  and  nothing  ellis, 
Withouten  noys  or  claterying  of  bellis, 

1  This  is  perhaps  in  imitation  of  his  founder,  St.  Francis,  wliore 
charity  overtlowcd  even  upon  the  lower  animals,  whom  he  called  liis 
brothers  and  bi.-lers,  insomuch  tliat  he  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to 
remove  certain  of  them  which  found  shelter  in  the  folds  of  his  am))le 
hood. 

-  The  officer  who  had  clinrpe  of  the  farms  or  pranpos.  In  Jacke 
Upland  is  exposed  tlie  sophi>lry  by  which  the  friars  i-ndeavoured  to 
reconcile  the  po.s.-ession  of  fiu  iiis  with  their  '  rule.' 

■'  I'eeuliar  lionour.*  and  iirivilcges  were  granted  by  the  rule  of  St. 
Kenedict  to  those  monks  who  had  livid  lifty  years  in  the  order,  and 
who  were  then  sai<l  to  liave  lini-lied  their  jubilee.  One  of  these  pri- 
vileges was  that  of  walkinp  altme,  wliich,  for  obvious  reasons,  was  Ibr- 
bidden  to  the  other  relipiou~.  So  in  .lackeVplnnd  .■^'  What  betokei.eth 
that  ye  poe  tweim-  and  tweme  together?* 

■•  Nothing  but  a  thanksgiving  would  have  been  appropriate  for  » 

2  B  2 


372  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Save  that  to  Crist  I  sayd  an  orisoun, 
Thaiikyng  him  of  my  revelacionn. 
For,  sire  and  dame,  trustith  me  right  wel, 
Our  orisouns  ben  more  eflectuel. 
And  more  we  se  of  Goddis  secre  thinges, 
Than  borel  folk,  although  that  thay  ben  kinges. 
We  lyve  in  povert  and  in  abstinence, 
And  borel  folk  in  riches  and  dispence 
Of  mete  and  drink,  and  in  her  ful  delyt. 
We  han  all  this  worldes  lust  al  in  despyt.* 
Lazar  and  Dives  lyveden  diversely, 
And  divers  guerdoun  hadde  thay  thereby. 
Who  so  wol  praye,  he  must  faste,^  and  be  clene, 
And  fatte  his  soule,  and  make  his  body  lene. 
We  faren,  as  saith  thapostil;^  cloth  and  foode 
Sufficeth  us,  though  that  thay  ben  not  goode. 
The  cleunes  and  the  fastyng  of  us  freres 
Makith  that  Crist  acceptith  oure  prayeres. 
Lo,  Moyses  fourty  dayes  and  fourty  night 
Fasted,^  er  that  the  highe  God  of  might 
Spak  with  him  in  the  mount  of  Synay ; 
With  empty  wombe  fastyng  many  a  day, 
Receyved  he  the  lawe,  that  was  writen 
With  Goddis  fynger;  and  Eli,*  wel  ye  witen, 
In  mount  Oreb,  er  he  had  any  speche 
With  highe  God,  that  is  oure  lyves  leche. 
He  fastid,  and  was  in  contemplacioun. 
Aron,  that  had  the  temple  in  governacioun, 
And  eek  the  other  prestes^  every choon. 
Into  the  temple  whan  thay  schulden  goon 
To  preye  for  the  poeple,  and  doon  servise, 
Thay  nolden  drinken  in  no  maner  wise 


child  dying  in  infancy,  of  whose  translation  to  paradise  tlie  friar  also 

pretends  that  he  had  had  a  vision. 

1  Harl.  U^.delit.  ^  Harl.  JIS.  omits  he  must 

3  I  Tim.vi.  8.  *  Exod.  xxxiv.  i8. 

5  I  Kings  xix.  8.  '  Levit.  x.  9 


THE   SOMPKOURES   TALE. 


37:j 


No  (li-yiike,  which  that  (h-oiike  mi^ht  liem  make, 

But  tlier  in  abstinence  jirey  and  wake, 

Lest  that  thay  dediu ;  tak  heed  what  1  say — 

But  thay  ben  sobre'  that  for  tlie  pepul  pray — 

War  that  I  say — no  mor;  for  it  suthsith. 

Oure  Lord  Jhesu,  as  oure  lore  devysith, 

Gaf  us  ensanipil  of  fastyng  and  prayoresj 

Therfore  we  mendiuauntz,  we  scly  freres, 

Ben  wedded  to  povert  and  to  continence, 

To  charite,  humblesse,  and  abstinence, 

To  persecucioun  for  rightwisnesse, 

To  wepyng,  misericord,  and  clennesse. 

And  therfor  may  ye  seen  that  oure  prayeres 

(I  speke  of  us,  we  mendeauuts,  we  freres) 

I3en  to  the  hihe  God  more  acceptable 

Than  youres,  with  your  festis  at  your  table. 

Fro  Paradis  first,  if  I  schal  not  lye, 

Was  man  out  chaced  for  his  glotonye, 

And  chast  was  man  in  Paradis  certeyn. 

But  now  herk,  Thomas,  what  I  schal  the  seyn, 

I  ne  have  no  tixt  of  it,  as  I  suppose, 

But  I  schal  fyud  it  in  a  maner  glose ; 

That  specially  our  swete  Lord  Jhesus 

Spak  tliis  by  freres,  whan  he  s;i}do  thus, 

Blessed  be  thay  that  pover  in  spirit  ben.' 

And  so  forth  in  the  gospel  ye  may  seen, 

Whether  it  be  likir  oure  professioun, 

Or  heris  that  swymmen  in  possessioun. 

Fy  on  her  pomj),  and  on  her  glotenye. 

And  on  her  lewydnesse !  I  hem  defye. 

]\Ie  thinkith  thay  ben  lik  Jovynian,* 

Fat  as  a  whal,  and  walken  as  a  swan; 

Al  vinolent  as  hotel  in  the  spence.* 

Her  pi'ayer  is  of  ful  gret  revx'rence ; 

'  An  insinuation  tliuttlieparocliial  clergy  did  not  lead  very  sober  lives. 

2  Matt.v.  3. 

3  Trubably  the  fabiiloug  Emperor  of  Rome  in  one  of  the  Gesta  Jioma- 
norum.  *  As  full  of  wine  as  a  bottle  in  the  cellar  or  buttery. 


374  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Whan  tliav  for  soules  sayn  the  Psalm  of  David, 

Lo,  boef  thay  say,  Cor  meum  eructavit} 

Who  fohvith  Cristes  gospel  and  his  lore 

But  "wp.,  tliat  humble  ben,  and  ehast,  and  pore, 

Workers  of  Goddes  word,  not  auditours?" 

Therfbr  right  as  an  hauk  upon  a  sours  ^ 

Upspringeth  into  thaer,  right  so  prayeres 

Of  charitabil  and  chaste  busy  freres 

INTaken  her  soui-s  to  Goddis  eeres  tuo. 

Thomas,  Thomas,  so  mote  I  ryde  or  go. 

And  by  that  Lord  that  clepid  is  seint  Ive,* 

Ner  thou  oure  brother,  schuldestow  never  thrive. 

In  oure  chapitre  pray  we  day  and  night 

To  Crist,  that  he  the  sende  hele  and  might 

Thy  body  for  to  welden  hastily.' 

'  God  wot,'  quod  he,  '  therof  nought  feele  I, 
As  help  me  Crist,  as  I  in  fewe  yeeres 
Have  spendid  upon  many  divers  freres 
Ful  many  a  pound,  yit  fax*e  I  never  the  bet; 
Certeyn  my  good  have  I  almost  byset. 
Farwel  my  gold,  for  it  is  almost  ago.' 
The  frere  answerd,  '  0  Thomas,  dostow  sol 
What  needith  yow  dyveree  freres  seche? 
What  needith  him  that  hath  a  parfyt  leche 
To  sechen  othir  leches  in  the  toun? 
Youre  inconstance  is  youre  confusioun. 
Holde  ye  than  me,  or  elles  ovire  covent. 
To  praye  for  yow  insufficient "? 
Thomas,  that  jape  is  not  worth  a  myte ; 
Youre  malady  is  for  we  have  to  lite. 
A !  give  that  covent  half  a  quarter  otes; 
A!  give  that  covent  four  and  twenty  grotes; 


•  The  forty  fifth  Psalm  in  the  Vulgate  begins  Entctavit  cormeum  ; 
and  the  pun  is  on  the  word  eructiuit.  Tltr  ijriosts  aro  mid  to  say  '  for 
soiik'.s'  because  it  is  one  of  the  psahns  in  tlie  Ollichuti  (Ujiinctorutn. 

-  Jatnes  i.  ;i. 

•>  Like  a  falcon  soaring,  wliich  she  always  docs  before  swooping 
down  upon  her  prey. 

*  St.  Ive  was  an  exemplary  priest  of  Lantriguier,  in  Brctagnc. 


TlIK    SOMPXOUnES   TALE.  •'^  >  " 

A!  give  tliJit  fivre  a  pony,  ami  let  liiin  gO', 

Nay,  nay,  Tlioiuas,  it  may  nought  he  so. 

What  is  a  ferthing  worth  (h>part  in  tuelve? 

Lo,  ech  thing  that  is  ooned  in  hiniselve 

Is  more  strong  than  whan  it  is  to-skatrid. 

Tliomas,  of  nie  thou  sclialt  not  ben  y-tlatrid, 

Thow  woldist  have  our  labour  al  for  nought. 

The  hihe  God,  that  al  this  world  hath  wiought 

Saith,  that  the  werkinau  is  worthy  of  his  hyre.* 

Thomas,  nought  of  your  tresor  1  desire 

As  for  myself,  but  for  that  oure  covent 

To  pray  for  yow  is  ay  so  diligent ; 

And  for  to  buylden  Cristes  holy  chirche. 

Thomas,  if  ye  wil  lerne  for  to  wirche, 

Of  buyldyng  up  on  chirches  may  ye  fynde 

If  it  be  good,  in  Thomas  lyf  of  Ynde.' 

Ye  lye  her  ful  of  anger  and  of  ire, 

With  which  the  devel  set  your  hert  on  fuyre, 

And  chyden  her  the  holy  innocent 

Your  wj'f,  that  is  so  mi^ke  and  pacient. 

And  therfor  trow  me,  Thomas,  if  thou  list, 

Ne  stryve  nought  with  thy  wyf,  as  for  tin  best. 

And  ber  this  word  away  now  by  thy  faith, 

Touchinge  such  thing,  lo,  the  wise  man  saith, 

Withinne  thin  hous  be  thou  no  lyoun;' 

To  thy  subjects  do  noon  oppressioun; 

Ne  make  thyn  acqueyutis  fro  the  fle. 

And  yit,  Thomas,  eftsons  I  charge  the, 

'  Luke  X.  7. 

'  Ecclesiastical  history  says  that  the  Apostle  Thomas  was  the  evan- 
eelist  of  the  Imlies,  iiud  recommended  himself  to  a  sovereign  o(  that 
country  by  his  skill  in  hnildinj;.  This  is  conllrnied  by  the  tradition 
preserved  amonR  the  native  Christians  whom  the  early  European 
settlers  found  in  the  country,  and  who  are  called  tlie  Christians  of  St. 
Thomas  to  this  day  ;  and  alM)  by  the  extraordinary  similarity  between 
some  of  tlie  doctrines  and  forms  o{  Hindooism  and  liiuUlhism  and 
those  of  Christianity,  which  would  lead  one  to  suppose  that  the  latter 
had  at  some  time  been  received  at  least  in  conjanction  with  an  old 
iiiolatry.  *  Ecclua.  iv.  3o. 


376  'ihh   CA^'lERB'JRY    TALES. 

Be  war  for  ire  that  in  thy  bosom  slepitb. 

War  for  the  serpent,  that  so  slely  crepith 

Under  the  gras,  and  styngith  prively ; 

Be  war,  my  sone,  and  werk  paciently, 

For  twenty  thousand  men  han  lost  her  lyves 

For  stryvyng  with  her  lemmans  and  her  wyves. 

Now  syns  ye  han  so  holy  and  meeke  a  wif, 

What  nedith  yow,  Thomas,  to  make  strif  ? 

Ther  nys,  I  wis,  no  serpent  so  cruel. 

When  men  trede  on  his  tail,  ne  half  so  fel, 

As  womman  is,  when  sche  hath  caught  an  ire; 

Vengeans  is  thanne  al  that  thay  desire. 

Schortly  may  no  man,  by  rym  and  vers, 

Tellen  her  thoughtes,  thay  ben  so  dyvere. 

Ire  is  a  sinne,  oon  the  grete  of  sevene/ 

Abhominable  to  the  God  of  hevene, 

And  to  himself  it  is  destruccioun. 

This  eveiy  lewed  vicory  or  parsoun' 

Can  say,  how  ire  engendrith  homicide; 

Ire  is  in  soth  executour  of  pride. 

I  couthe  of  ire  seyn  so  moche  sorwe, 

My  tale  schulde  laste  til  to  morwe. 

Ire  is  the  grate  of  synne,  as  saith  the  wise,' 

To  fle  therfro  ech  man  schuld  him  devyse. 

And  therfor  pray  I  God  bothe  day  and  night, 

An  irons  man  God  send  him  litil  might. 

It  is  greet  harm,  and  also  great  pite, 

To  set  an  irons  man  in  hisch  desre. 


'  One  of  the  greatest  of  the  seven  deadly  sins. 

-  The  friar  characteristically  calls  the  parson  and  vicar  letrd,  that 
is,  unlearned.  The  parson  is  properly  the  parish  pi-kst,  or  rector  ;  the 
mcar  a  substitute  appointed  by  the  religious  house  to  « liich  the  grout 
tithes  were  sometimes  granted,  on  condition  that  they  provided  tor  the 
cure  of  souls  in  the  parish.  At  the  dissolution  of  the  aljbeys,  these 
great  tithes  were  given,  or  played  away  at  dice,  to  laynieii  by  Henry 
VIII.,  and  are  now  still  held  by  laymen,  who,  like  the  old  monasteries, 
give  the  small  tithes  to  the  vicar  or  substitute. 

^  This  apparently  ought  to  be  the  gate,  meaning  flood-gate,  oi'  sin. 
Tlie  allusion  will  be  to  Trov.  xvii.  14. 


THE    SOMPNOURES    TALE.  377 


*  Whilom  ther  was  an  irons  potestate, 
As  seith  Seuek,'  that  duryng  liis  estaat 
Ujwn  a  day  out  rideu  knightes  tiio; 
And,  as  furtuiie  wokle  right  as  it  were  so, 
That  ooii  of  hem  cam  home,  that  other  nought. 
Anoon  the  kniglit  bifore  the  juge  is  brought, 
Tliat  sixyde  thus,  Thou  hast  thy  felaw  slayu, 
For  which  I  dome  the  to  deth  certayn 
And  to  anothir  knight  comaundid  he, 
Go,  lede  him  to  the  deth,  I  charge  the. 
And  liapjied,  as  thay  wente  by  the  weye 
Toward  the  j)lace  ther  he  schulde  deye, 
The  knight  com,  which  men  wend  hadde  be  deed. 
Than  thoughten  thay  it  were  the  beste  reed 
To  lede  hem  bothe  to  the  juge  agajTi. 
Thay  sayden,  Lord,  the  knight  hath  not  slayn 
His  felaw;  lo,  heer  he  stont  hool  on  lyve. 
Ye  schal  be  deed,  quod  he,  so  mote  I  thrive! 
That  is  to  sayn,  bothe  oon,  tuo,  and  thre. 
And  to  the  firste  kuyght  right  thus  spak  he  ; 
I  deme  the,  thou  most  algate  be  deed. 
Thau  thoughte  thay  it  were  the  beste  rede, 
To  lede  him  forth  into  a  fair  mede. 
And,  quod  the  juge,  also  thou  most  lese  thin  heed, 
For  thou  art  cause  why  thy  felaw  deyth. 
And  to  the  thridde  felaw  thus  he  seith ; 
Thou  hast  nought  doon  that  I  comaundid  the. 
And  thus  he  let  don  sle  hem  alle  thre. 
Irons  Cambises  was  eek  dronkelewe. 
And  ay  delited  him  to  ben  a  schrewe; 
And  so  bifel,  a  lord  of  his  meigne, 
That  loved  vertues.  and  eek  moi-alite, 
Sayd  on  a  day  i»itwix  hem  tuo  I'ight  thus, 
A  lord  is  lost,  if  he  be  vicious; 


'    I'liis  and  the  following  story  of  Cambyses  a»?  told  by  Seneca,  D* 
Ira,  lib.  i.  c.  xvi. — T. 


378  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

An  irous  mau  is  lik  a  frentik  best, 

In  which  ther  is  of  wisdom  noon  arrest; 

And  dronkeues  is  eek  a  foul  record 

Of  any  mau,  and  namly  of  a  lord. 

Ther  is  ful  many  an  eyghe  and  many  an  eere 

Awaytand  on  a  lord,  and  he  not  where. 

For  Goddes  love,  dryuk  more  attemperelly : 

Wyn  makith  man  to  lese  wrecchedly 

His  mynde,  and  eek  his  lymes  everichoon. 

The  revers  schaltow  seen,  quod  he,  auoon, 

And  prove  it  by  thin  owne  experience. 

That  wyn  ne  doth  to  folk  non  such  olfonce. 

Ther  is  no  won  byreveth  me  my  might 

Of  bond,  of  foot,  ne  of  myn  eyghe  sight. 

And  for  despyt  he  dronke  moche  more 

An  hundrid  part  than  he  had  doon  byfore ; 

And  right  anoon,  this  irous  cursid  wrecche 

Let  this  knightes  sone  anoon  biforn  him  fecche, 

Comaunrlyng  hem  thay  schuld  biforn  him  stonde; 

And  sodeinly  he  took  his  bowe  on  honde, 

And  up  the  streng  he  pulled  to  his  eere, 

And  with  an  arwe  he  slough  the  child  right  there. 

Now  whethir  have  I  a  sikur  bond  or  noon] 

Quod  he.  Is  al  my  mynde  and  might  agoon? 

Hath  wyn  byrevyd  me  myn  eye  sight  1 

What  schidd  I  telle  the  answer  of  the  knight? 

His  sone  was  slayn,  ther  is  no  more  to  say. 

Be  war  therfor  with  lordes  how  ye  play, 

Syngith  Flacebo,"-  and  I  schal  if  I  can. 

But  if  it  be  unto  a  pore  man ; 

To  a  pore  man  men  schuld  his  vices  telle, 

But  not  to  a  lord,  they  he  schuld  go  to  belle. 


1  Placebo  Domino,  in  regione  vivorum  is  the  rendering  in  the  Vulgate 
of  that  passage  which,  in  the  authorized  version,  is  translated  '  I  will 
walk  before  the  Lord  in  the  land  of  the  living.'  It  was  familiar  to 
everyone  in  Chaucer's  time,  as  it  formed  one  of  the  antiplions  in  the 
ofrice  for  the  dead  ;  and  to  sing  placebo  means  to  be  humble  and  com- 
plaisant. 


THE    SOMPNOURES    TALE.  379 

Lo.  irons  Cinis'  thilke  Pereien, 

How  he  destniyecl  the  ryver  of  Gysen, 

For  that  an  hoi-s  of  his  was  dreynt  thcriune, 

Whan  that  lie  wente  Babih^yne  to  wynne : 

He  made  tliat  the  lyver  was  so  srual, 

Tliat  wommen  mighte  wade  it  over  al. 

Lo,  what  sayde  he,  that  so  wel  teche  canl* 

Ne  be  no  felaw  to  an  irons  man, 

Ne  with  no  wood  man  walke  by  the  way, 

Lest  the  repent.     I  wel  no  lenger  say. 

Now,  Tliomas,  leve  brothex',  leve  thin  ire, 

Thow  .schalt  me  fynde  as  just  as  is  a  .squire; 

Thyn  anger  doth  the  al  to  sore  smerte, 

Hald  not  the  develes  knyf  ay  at  thyn  herte,' 

But  schewe  to  me  al  thy  confessioun.' 

'  Nay,'  quod  this  syke  man,  '  by  seynt  Symoun, 
I  have  ben  schriven  this  day  of  my  cm-ate:* 
I  have  him  told  holly  al  myn  estate. 
Nedith  no  more  to  speken  of  it,  saith  he, 
But  if  me  list  of  myn  hiimilite.' 

'  Gif  me  than  of  thy  good  to  make  our  cloyster,' 
Quod  he,  '  for  many  a  muscle  and  many  an  oyster 
Hath  l)en  oure  foode,  our  cloyster  to  arreyse, 
Whan  other  men  han  ben  ful  wel  at  eyse; 
And  yit,  God  wot,  unnethe  the  foundement 
Parformed  is,  ne  of  oure  j)avymeut 
Is  nought  a  tyle*  yit  withinne  our  wones; 
By  God,  we  owe  yit  fourty  pound  for  stones. 


'  This  story  of  Cyrus  is  told  in  Seneca,  and  Herodotus,  lib.  i. ;  but 
the  river  is  called  Gyndes.  It  is  probably  that  mentioned  in  Gen.  ii.  i  3. 

-  I'rov.  xxii.  z-i. 

3  This  is  very  expressive  of  the  torment  of  anger,  and  recalls  Swift's 
epitaph — '  Ubi  8a;va  indignutio  ultL-rius  cor  laccrnre  nequit.'  Marl.  .M.S., 
alwaij. 

^  I  have  to-day  been  confessed  by  my  parish  priest; — an  announce- 
ment especially  dispkasing  to  the  friar. 

'"  Churches  and  public  buildings  wore  usually  floored  with  tiles  of 
various  colours  and  patterns,  in  tlie  arrangement  of  w  hich  exqui.-ite 
taste  was  displayed.  At  the  introduction  of  the  rage  for  p8eudo-clus>ic 
art,  these  were  replaced  by  dingy  stone. 


380  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Now  help,  Thomas,  for  him  that  harewed  helle, 
Or  elles  moote  we  cure  bookes  selle; 
And  gif  yow  Likke  oure  predicacioun, 
Thanne  goth  the  world  al  to  destruccioun. 
For  who  so  wold  us  fro  the  world  byreve, 
So  God  me  save,  Thomas,  by  youre  leve, 
He  wolde  byreve  out  of  this  world  the  sonne. 
For  who  can  teche  and  werken  as  we  conne? 
And  this  is  not  of  litel  tyme,'  quod  he, 

*  But  siththen  Elye  was  her,  or  Elisee,^ 
Han  freres  ben,  fynde  I  of  record, 

In  charite,  i-thanked  be  oure  Lord. 
Now,  Thomas,  help  for  saynte  Charite.' 
Adoun  he  sette  him  anoon  on  his  kne. 

This  sike  man  wex  welneigh  wood  for  ire, 
He  wolde  that  the  frere  had  beu  on  fuyr-e 
With  his  fals  dissimulacioun. 

*  Such  thing  as  is  in  my  possessioun,' 

Quod  he,  '  that  may  I  geve  yow  laid  noon  other ; 
Ye  sayn  me  thus,  how  that  I  am  your  brother.' 
'  Ye  certes,'  quod  the  frere,  '  trusteth  wel ; 
I  took  our  dame  the  letter,^  under  our  sel.' 
'  Now  wel,'  quod  he,  '  and  somewhat  schal  I  give 
Unto  your  holy  convent  whils  that  I  lyve; 
And  in  thyn  hond  thou  schalt  it  have  anoon, 
On  this  condicioxin,  and  other  noon, 
That  thou  depart  it  so,  my  deere  brother. 
That  every  frere  have  as  moche  as  other, 
This  schaltow  swere  on  thy  professioun, 
Withouten  fraude  or  cavillacioun.' 

*  I  swere  it,'  quod  this  frere,  '  upon  my  faith.' 
And  therwith  his  hond  in  his  he  laith ; 


'  Tlie  Hail.  MS.,  for  Elisce,  reads  Ele.  Tlie  friars  claimed  Elijah  and 
Elislia,  wbo,  it  apijeais  (i  Kings  xvii  ),  were  supported  on  tlie  volun- 
tary principle,  as  exanqdes  of  their  mode  of  life. 

*  Thus  Jacke  Upland  asks  the  friar, '  Why  aske  ye  no  letters  of 
bretherliead  of  other  men's  praicrs,  as  ye  desire  that  other  men  aske 
letters  of  you  ?'  And  again,  '  "Why  be  ye  so  hardie  to  grant  by  litters 
of  frateriiitic  to  nun  and  women,  that  they  shall  have  part  and  merit 
of  all  your  goo'le  deeds  ?' 


THE    SOMPNOURES   TALE.  381 

*  Lo  here  lu}-!!  bond,  in  me  schal  be  no  lak.' 

*  Now  thamie,  put  thyn  lioud  doiin  at  my  bak,' 
Sayde  this  man,  '  ami  gi-oi^e  \vv\  byhyiide, 
Bynethe  my  buttok,  there  schaltow  fyude 

A  tiling,  that  I  have  hud  in  privete.' 
'  A  !'  thought  this  frere,  '  that  schal  go  with  me.' 
And  douu  his  houd  ho  lauuclieth  to  the  clifte, 
In  hope  for  to  fynde  ther  a  gifte. 

And  whan  this  syke  man  felte  this  frere 
Aboute  his  tuel  grope  ther  and  heere, 
Amyd  his  bond  he  leet  the  freere  a  fiirt ; 
Ther  is  no  capul  drawyng  in  a  cart, 
That  might  have  let  a  fart  of  such  a  soun. 
The  frere  upstart,  as  doth  a  wood  lyoun : 
'  A !  false  chei-l,'  quod  he,  '  for  Goddes  bones  ! 
This  hastow  in  dt;.spit  don  for  the  noones; 
Thou  schalt  abye  this  fart,  if  that  I  may.' 

His  meyne,  which  that  herd  of  this  affray, 
Com  lepand  in,  and  chased  out  the  frere. 
And  forth  he  goth  with  a  foul  angiy  cheere, 
And  fat  his  felaw,  there  lay  his  stoor; 
He  lokid  as  it  were  a  wylde  boor, 
And  gi-}'nte  with  his  teeth,  so  was  he  wroth. 
A  stordy  paas  doun  to  the  court'  he  goth, 
Wher  as  ther  wonyd  a  man  of  gi-et  honour, 
To  whom  that  he  was  alway  confessour; 
This  worthy  man  was  lord  of  that  village. 
This  frere  com,  as  he  were  in  a  rage, 
Wher  that  this  lord  sat  etyng  at  his  bord: 
Unnethe  might  the  frere  sjieke  a  word. 
Til  atte  last  he  sayde,  '  God  yow  se!'^ 
This  lord  gan  loke,  and  sayde,  Beiieclicite  ! 


'  The  re!<iclcnce  of  tho  lord  of  the  manor  was  sometimes  called  '  the 
court,'  from  the  manorial  and  othur  courts  liuld  there;  just  as  the  resi- 
dence of  the  sovereign  for  tlie  time  biin;r  is  called  the  court,  because 
tormcrly  the  courts  of  law  always  followed  the  king's  person. 

'  A  laconic  form  of  salutation,  characteristic  of  an  angry  man,  and 
meaning,  May  God  look  upon  )\)u. 


382  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Wliat,  frere  Jolian!  what  maner  world  is  this? 
I  se  wel  that  som  thing  is  amys; 
Ye  loke  as  though  the  woode  were  ful  of  thevys. 
Sit  doun  anoon,  and  tel  me  what  your  gref  is, 
And  it  schal  ben  amendit,  if  that  I  may.' 

'  I  have,'  quod  he,  '  had  a  despit  to  day, 
God  yelde  yow,  adoun  in.  youre  vilage, 
That  in  this  Avorld  is  noon  so  pore  a  page, 
That  he  nold  have  abhominacioun 
Of  that  I  have  recey ved  in  youre  toun ; 
And  yet  ne  grevith  me  no  thing  so  sore, 
As  that  this  elde  cherl,  with  lokkes  hore. 
Blasphemed  hath  our  holy  covent  eeke.' 
*  Now,  maister,'  quod  this  lord,  '  I  yow  biseke.' 
'  No  maister,  sir,'  quod  he,  '  but  servitour, 
Though  I  have  had  in  scole  such  honour.* 
God  likith  not  that  Eaby  men  us  calle, 
Neither  in  market,  neyther  in  your  large  halle.' 
'  No  fors,'  quod  he,  '  tellith  me  al  your  greef.' 
Tliis  frere  sayd,  '  Sire,  an  odious  meschief 
This  day  bytid  is  to  myn  ordre  and  me. 
And  so  jmr  consequens  to  ech  degre 
Of  holy  chirche,  God  amend  it  soone!' 
'  Sir,'  quod  the  lord,  '  ye  wot  what  is  to  doone ; 
Distempre  yow  nought,  ye  ben  my  confessour. 
Ye  ben  the  salt  of  therthe,  and  savyour : ' 
For  Goddes  love,  youx-e  pacieuce  ye  holde ; 
Tel  me  your  greef     And  he  anoon  him  tolde 
As  ye  han  herd  bifore,  ye  wot  wel  what. 

The  lady  of  that  hous  ay  stille  sat, 
Til  sche  had  herd  what  the  frere  sayde. 
'  Ey,  Goddes  moodir !'  quod  she,  '  blisful  mayde ! 


>  The  friar  disclaims  the  title  of  Maister,  as  beiup;  forbidden 
(Malt,  xiii),  though  he  says  he  is  entitled  to  it  by  virtue  of  his  degree 
of  M.A.  in  the  schools.  This  is  an  admirable  picture  of  an  angry 
man  ;  nothing  i^leases  him,  not  even  the  courtesy  of  his  patron  th« 
great  man.  *  Matt.  v.  1 3. 


THE   SOMPNOURES   TALE. 


383 


Is  tlmr  oiiglit  elles?  tel  nic  faithfully.' 

'  Madame,'  quod  he,  '  how  thynke  yow  therhyl' 

'How  that  me  thynkith?'   (juod   sche;  'so  Cod  me 

s]>oede! 
I  say,  a  cherl  hath  doon  a  cherles  deede. 
What  sfliuld  I  say?  God  let  him  never  the! 
His  syke  heed  is  full  of  vanyte. 
I  hold  him  in  a  inaner  frenesye.' 
*  I\Iadame,'  quod  he,  '  I  wis  1  sclial  not  lye, 
But  I  in  othir  wise  may  be  wreke, 
I  schal  defame  him  over  al  wher  I  speke ; 
The  false  blasfememour,  that  chargid  me 
To  pai-ten  that  wil  not  dejjartrd  be, 
To  every  man  y-liche,  with  meschauuce!' 

The  lord  sat  stille,  as  he  were  in  a  ti'aunce, 
And  in  his  here  he  rollid  up  and  doun, 
'  How  had  this  cherl  ymaginacioun 
To  schewe  siieli  a  probleme  to  the  frere? 
Never  erst*  er  now  herd  I  of  such  matiere; 
I  trowe  the  devel  put  it  in  his  mynde. 
In  arsmetrik  schal  ther  no  man  fynde 
Biforn  this  day  of  such  a  questioun. 
Who  schulde  make  a  denionstracioun, 
That  eveiy  man  schuld  lia\  e  alyk  his  part 
As  of  a  soun  or  savour  of  a  fart? 
O  nyce  proude  cherl,  I  schrew  his  face ! 
Lo,  sires,'  quod  the  lord,  with  harde  grace, 
'  Who  ever  herde  of  such  a  thing  er  now] 
To  every  man  y-like?  tel  me  how. 
It  is  inq)Ossible,  it  may  not  be. 
Ey,  nyce  cherl,  God  let  him  never  the ! 
The  romblyng  of  a  fart,  and  every  soun, 
Nis  but  of  aier  reverberacioun, 
And  ever  it  wa.stith  lyte  and  lyte  away ; 
Ther  nys  no  man  can  deme,  by  my  fay, 


'  Harl.  MS.  efU 


384  THE    CANlVrCRBURY    TALES. 

If  that  it  were  departed  eqxially. 

What,  lo,  my  cherl/  what,  lo,  how  schrewedly 

Unto  my  confessour  to  day  he  S2:)ak: ! 

I  hold  him  certeinly  demoniak. 

Now  etith  your  mete,  and  let  the  cherl  go  play. 

Let  him  go  honge  himself  on  devel  way ! ' 

Now  stood  the  lordes  squier  at  the  bord, 
That  carf  his  mete,^  and  herde  word  by  word 
Of  al  this  thing,  which  that  I  of  have  sayd. 
*My  lord,'  quod  he,  'be  ye  noiight  evel  payd, 
I  couthe  telle  for  a  gowne-cloth 
To  yow,  sir  frere,  so  that  ye  be  not  wroth, 
How  that  this  fart  even  dejjarted  schuld  be 
Among  your  coveut,  if  I  comaunded  be.' 
'  Tel,'  qiiod  the  lord,  '  and  thou  schalt  have  anoon 
A  goune-cloth,  by  God,  and^  by  Seint  Johan!' 
'  My  lord,'  quod  he,  *  whan  that  the  wedir  is  fair, 
Withoute  wynd,  or  pertourbyng  of  ayr. 
Let  bring  a  large  whel  into  this  halle. 
But  loke  that  it  have  his  spokes  alle ; 
Twelf  spokes  hath  a  cart  whel  comunly ; 
And  bring  me  twelve  freres,  wit  ye  why? 
For  threttene*  is  a  covent  as  I  gesse; 
Your  noble  confessour,  her  God  him  blesse, 


•  This  nobleman  speaks  of  the  churl  as  viy  churl,  that  is,  my  serf  or 
Tillain.  On  the  extinction  of  slavery,  which  thus  appears  to  have 
been  in  force  ia  Chaucer's  time,  Ld.  Macaulay  remarks  : — '  The  bene- 
volent spirit  of  the  Christian  morality  is  undoubtedly  adverse  to  dis- 
tinctions of  caste.  But  to  the  Church  of  Rome  such  distinctions  are 
pecuUarly  odious,  &c.'  To  the  influence,  therefore,  of  the  theology  of 
the  church  of  the  middle  ages,  he  ascribes  its  imperceptible  disuse. 
He  adds; — '  Some  faint  traces  of  the  institution  of  villanage  were  detected 
by  the  curious  so  late  as  the  days  of  the  Stuarts  ;  nor  has  that  insti- 
tution ever,  to  this  hour,  been  abolished  by  statute.' — Hist.  Eng. ,yo\.  i., 
p.  22. 

*  It  appears  that  the  elegant  and  rational  practice  latterly  intro- 
duced, of  having  the  dishes  carved  by  an  attendant,  is  a  return  to  that 
of  our  ancestors. 

3  And  is  omitted  in  the  Harl.  MS.,  but  it  is  here  supplied  from 
Tyrwhitt,  as  manifestly  required  by  the  sense  and  metre. 

■*  Mr.  Wriglit  quotes  from  Thorn  to  show  that  a  convent  of  monks, 
with   their   superior,   properly  consisted  of  thirteen,  in  imitation  of 


THE   SOMPNOURES   TALE.  385 

Schal  pai-founi  up  the  nombre  of  this  covent. 

Thanne  schal  thay  knele  douu  by  oon  assent, 

And  to  fveiy  spokes  ende  in  this  nianere 

Fid  Siidly  lay  his  nose  schal  a  f'rere; 

Your  noble  confessour  ther,  God  him  save, 

8chal  hold  his  nose  upright  under  the  nave. 

Than  schal  this  churl,  with  bely  stifand  tought 

As  eny  tabor,  hider  ben  y-brought; 

And  sette  him  on  the  whele  of  this  cart 

Upon  the  nave,  and  make  him  lete  a  tart. 

And  yc  schul  seen,  up  peiil  of  my  lif. 

By  verray  proef  that  is  demonstratif, 

That  equally  the  aoun  of  it  wol  -wcnde. 

And  eek  the  stynk.  unto  the  spokes  ende; 

Save  that  this  worthy  man,  your  confessour, 

(Bycause  he  is  a  man  of  gret  honour) 

Schal  have  the  firste  fruyt,  as  resoun  is. 

The  noble  usage  of  freres  is  this, 

The  worthy  men  of  hem  first  schal  be  served. 

And  certeynly  he  hath  it  Avel  deserved ; 

He  hath  to  day  taught  us  so  mochil  good. 

With  preching  in  the  pulpit  ther  he  stood. 

That  I  may  vouchesauf,  I  say  for  me, 

He  hadde  the  firste  smel  of  fartes  thre; 

And  so  wold  al  his  covent  hardily, 

He  berith  him  so  fair  and  holily.' 

The  lord,  the  lady,  and  ech  man,  sauf  the  frere 
Sayde  that  Jankyn  spak  in  this  matiere 
As  wel  as  Euclide,  or  elles  Phtolome. 
Touchand  the  cherl,  thay  sayd  that  subtilte 
And  high  wyt  made  him  speken  as  he  spakj 
He  nas  no  fool,  ne  no  demoniak. 
And  Jankyn  hath  i-wonne  a  new  goune; 
My  tale  is  don,  we  beu  almost  at  toune. 

Christ  and  tlio  twelve  apostles.  Anno  Domini  m.c.xlvi.,  iste  Hiijro 
reparavit  iiiiti<iuum  nunierum  monachorum  istius  monasterii,  et  crant 
Ix.  nionaclii  profeusi  pra?ter  abbatem,  hoc  est,  quinque  conventM.'<  ia 
universe. — Dcctm  Scriptores,  col.,  1807. 

TOL.  I.  2    C 


386  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 


THE   CLERK   OF   OXENFORDES   PROLOGE. 

'  C IR  Clerk  of  Oxenford,'  our  hoste  sayde, 

^^  'Ye  ryde  as  stille  and  coy  as  doth  a  raayde, 
Were  newe  spoused,  sittyng  at  the  bord ;  ^ 
This  day  ne  herd  I  of  your  motith  a  word. 
I  trowe  ye  study  aboute  som  sophime ; 
But  Salomon  saith,  every  thing  hath  tyme.' 
For  Goddis  sake !  as  beth  of  better  cheere, 
It  is  no  tyme  for  to  stody  hiere. 
Tel  us  som  mery  tale,  by  yoiu'  fay; 
For  what  man  is  entred  unto  play. 
He  moot  nedes  unto  that  play  assent. 
But  prechith  not,  as  freres  doon  in  Lent, 
To  make  us  for  our  olde  synnes  wepe, 
Ne  that  thy  tale  make  us  for  to  slope. 
Tel  us  som  mery  thing  of  aventures. 
Youre  termes,  your  colours,  and  yoiir  figures. 
Keep  hem  in  stoor,  til  so  be  that  ye  endite 
High  style,  as  whan  that  men  to  kynges  write. 
Spekith  so  playn  at  this  tyme,  I  yow  pray, 
That  we  may  underetonde  what  ye  say.' 

This  worthy  Clerk  benignely  answerde ; 
'  Sir  host,'  quod  he,  '  I  am  under  your  yerde,' 
Ye  have  of  us  as  now  the  governaunce, 
And  therfor  wol  I  do  yow  obeissaunce, 
Als  fer  as  resoun  askith  hardily. 
I  wil  yow  telle  a  tale,  which  that  I 
Lerned  at  Padowe  of  a  worthy  clerk, 
As  proved  by  his  wordes  and  his  werk. 
He  is  now  deed,  and  nayled  in  his  chest. 
Now  God  give  his  soule  wel  good  rest ! 


1  Tyrwhitt  remarks  that  this  line  is  an  example  of  that  construction, 
common  to  all  writers  of  the  age,  which  omits  the  relative  pronoun. 

^  Eccles.  iii.  i. 

■*  Sub  ferula  tad,  under  your  rod,  a  common  expression  to  denote 
the  state  of  pupillafie. 


TIIK    CLERK    OF    OXENFORDKS    PROLOGE.  387 

Frauiicos  Potiurk,"  tlie  lauroat  poete, 

llif^hte  this  clerk,  wlios  rethoricjue  swete 

Euluinyiul  al  Ytail  of  poetrie, 

As  Liuiau''  ditl  of  pliilosopliie, 

Or  hiwue,  or  other  art  particulere ; 

But  deth,  that  wol  not  suffre  us  duellen  heere, 

r.iit  as  it  were  a  twyuclinj:;  of  an  ye, 

]lem  bothe  hath  slayn,  and  alle  we  schul  dye. 

But  forth  to  telle  of  this  worthy  man, 

That  tauglite  me  this  tale,  as  I  bigan, 

T  say  that  he  first  with  heigh  stile  enditith 

(Er  he  the  body  of  his  tale  wi-itith) 

A  proheme,  in  the  which  descrivith  he 

Pieniounde,  and  of  Saluces  the  contre, 

And  spekith  of  Appenyue  the  huUes  hye. 

That  ben  the  bouudes  of  al  west  Lombardye ; 

And  of  mount  Vesulus  in  special, 

Wher  a.s  the  Boo  out  of  a  welle  smal 

Takith  his  firste  springyng  and  his  sours, 

That  est-ward  ay  encresceth  in  his  coui^s 

To  Emyl-ward/  to  Ferare,  and  to  Venise, 

To  which  a  long  thing  were  to  devyse. 

And  trewely,  as  to  my  juggement, 

Me  thiuketh  it  a  thing  impertinent, 

Save  that  he  wold  conveyen  his  matiere; 

But  this  is  the  tale  which  that  ye  schuln  heere.' 


'  See  ante,  p.  ii,  et  ttq.  Even  if  tlie  ri-adiT  should  not  be  disposed 
to  think  that  Chaucor  meant  to  repru-sent  liiniscll',  in  the  person  of 
the  clerk,  as  having  learned  this  tale  from  the  mouth  of  I'etrarch,  at 
Padua,  yet  it  must  beconce(hd  that  this  passupe  looks  like  an  ncknow- 
ledgment,  on  the  part  of  t'haucer  hinist'lf,  of  thu  obligations  under 
which  he  lay  to  I'etrarch,  gracffully  introduced  in  the  words  of  the 
clerk.  One  cannot  conceive  what  object  the  poet  could  have  had  in 
the  passage  except  to  coniniemorato  a  real  interview. 

-  Joannes  of  l.ignano,  near  iMilan,  a  canonist  and  natural  plii- 
losopher,  who  nourished  about  i  37S5,  mentioned  by  Pauzerollus, /A- <  7. 
Lfg.  Interpret., \\h.  iii.  c.  xxv. 

^  Petrarch  .-peaks  of  the  Po  as  dividing  the  ..Kinilian  (hence  Clu»ucer'« 
Emyl-ward)  and  Flamiuian  regioun  from  Venice. 

2  c  2 


388  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 


THE     CLERKES    TALE. 

[That  the  original  of  this  story  was  older  than  Boccaccio's 
novel  admits  of  no  doubt.  Petrarch  was  acquainted  with  it 
many  years  before  it  was  related  by  Boccaccio,  whom  he  had 
himself,  probably,  supplied  with  the  chief  incidents.  But, 
while  we  have  many  subsequent  forms  of  it,  the  novel  in  the 
Decameron  is  the  earliest  now  known  to  exist.  The  French 
are  entitled  to  the  credit  of  having  first  introduced  it  to  the 
stage,  a  play  on  the  subject  having  been  produced  at  Paris  in 
1393,  about  nineteen  years  after  Petrarch's  death.  Dramas 
were  afterwards  founded  upon  it  in  Italy,  Germany,  and 
England.  Chaucer's  tale  is  the  earliest  narrative  in  our 
language  of  the  woes  and  virtues  of  Patient  Gnssell,  since 
rendered  familiar  to  the  English  reader  by  the  prominent  place 
it  occupies  in  our  ballad  literature.  Few  stories  enjoy  so  wide 
a  popularity.  The  incredible  resignation  of  the  heroine  may 
be  said  to  have  passed  into  a  proverb. 

Although  Chaucer  was  indebted  to  Petrarch  for  his  mate- 
rials, the  story  acquires  originality  in  his  hands  from  the 
sweetness  and  tenderness  of  expression  he  has  infused  into 
the  relation.  Charles  James  Fox,  who  had  never  seen 
Petrarch's  version,  describes  with  accuracy  the  character  of 
this  poem  when  he  observes,  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Lord 
Holland,  that  it  closely  resembles  the  manner  of  Ariosto.] 

'l^HER  is  at  the  west  ende  of  Ytaile, 

-*-    Doun  at  the  root  of  Vesulus  the  colde, 

A  lusty  playn,  abimdauut  of  vitaile, 

Wher  many  a  tour  and  toun  thoii  maist  byholde, 

That  foundid  were  in  tyme  of  fadres  olde. 

And  many  anotliir  delitable  sight, 

And  Saluces  this  noble  contray  liight. 

A  marqiiys  whilom  duellid  in  that  lend, 
As  were  his  worthy  eldris  him  bifore, 
And  obeisaunt  ay  redy  to  his  hond, 


THE   CLERKES   TALE.  SSU 

Were  alle  liis  liegis,  bothe  lesse  and  more. 
Thus  in  delyt  he  lyveth  and  hath  don  yore, 
Biloved  and  drad,  thiiigli  favour  of  fortune, 
Bothe  of  liis  lordos  and  of  his  conuine. 

Thorwith  lie  was,  as  to  speke  of  lynage, 
The  gentileste  born  of  Lumbardye, 
A  fair  jx'i-sone,  and  strong,  and  yong  of  age, 
And  fill  of  honour  and  of  curtesie ; 
Discret  y-nough  his  contre  for  to  gye, 
Savynge  in  som  thing  lie  was  to  blame; 
And  Wautier  was  this  yonge  lordes  name. 

I  blame  him  thus,  that  he  considered  nought 
In  tyme  comyng  what  mighte  bityde, 
But  on  his  lust  present  was  al  his  thought, 
As  for  to  hauke  and  liunte  on  every  syde; 
Wei  neigh  al  othir  cures  let  he  slyde, 
And  eek  he  nolde  (that  was  the  worst  of  al) 
Wedde  no  Avyf  for  no  thing  that  might  bifal. 

Only  that  poynt  his  poeple  bar  so  sore, 
That  llokmel  on  a  day  to  him  thay  went, 
And  oon  of  hem,  that  wisest  was  of  lore, 
(Or  elles  that  the  lord  wolde  best  assent 
That  he  schuld  telle  him  what  his  poejile  ment, 
Or  ellis  couthe  he  schewe  wel  such  matiere) 
He  to  the  marquys  sayd  as  ye  schuln  hiere. 

•0  noble  marquys,  youre  humanite 
Assureth  us  and  giveth  us  hardyuesse. 
As  ofte  as  tyme  is  of  necessite. 
That  we  to  yow  may  telle  oure  hevynesse; 
Acceptith,  lord,  now  of  your  gentilesse,* 
That  we  with  pitous  hert  unto  yow  pLiyne, 
And  let  your  eeris  my  vois  not  disdoync 

'  And  have  I  nought  to  doon  in  this  matore 
More  than  another  man  hath  in  this  place, 
Yit  for  as  moche  as  ye,  my  lord  so  deere, 


'  Harl.  MS,  necessitee;  a  mere  repetition  of  the  last  word  of  the 
preceding  liue  but  one. 


390  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Han  alway  schewed  me  favour  and  grace, 
I  dar  the  better  ask  of  yow  a  space 
Of  audience,  to  schewen  oure  request/ 
And  ye,  my  lord,  to  doon  right  as  yow  lest. 

'  For  certes,  lord,  so  wel  us  likith  yow 
And  al  your  werk,  and  ever  han  doon,  that  we 
Ne  couthen  not  ourselve  devysen  how 
We  mighte  ly  ve  more  in  felicite ; 
Save  oon  thing,  lord,  if  that  your  wille  be, 
That  for  to  be  a  weddid  man  yow  list, 
Than  were  your  pepel  in  sovereign  hertes  rest. 

'  Bowith  your  neck  undir  that  blisful  yok 
Of  sovereignete,  nought  of  servise, 
Which  that  men  clepe  spousail  or  wedlok; 
And  thenketli,  lord,  among  your  thoughtes  wi«o, 
How  that  our  dayes  passe  in  sondry  wyse; 
For  though  we  slepe,  or  wake,  or  rome,  or  ryde, 
Ay  fleth  the  tyme,  it  wil  no  man  abyde. 

*  And  though  your  grene  youthe  floure  as  yit. 
In  crepith  age  alway  as  stille  as  stoon, 
And  deth  manasith  every  age,  and  smyt 
fn  ech  estat,  for  ther  ascapith  noon. 
And  as  eerteyn,  as  we  knowe  every ch  on 
That  we  schuln  deye,  as  uncerteyn  we  alle 
Ben  of  that  day  that  deth  schal  on  us  falle. 

'  Acceptith  thanne  of  us  the  trewe  enteut, 
That  never  yit  refusid  youre  best. 
And  we  wil,  lord,  if  that  ye  wil  assent, 
Cliese  yow  a  wyf,  in  schort  tyme  atte  lest, 
Born  of  the  geutilest  and  the  heighest 
Of  al  this  lond,  so  that  it  oughte  seme 
Honour  to  God  and  yow,  as  we  can  deme, 

'  Deliver  us  out  of  al  this  busy  drede 
And  tak  a  wyf,  for  hihe  Goddes  sake. 
For  if  it  so  bifel,  as  God  forbede. 


'   Harl.  MS.,  to  Oiim-, 


THE  CLERKES  TALE.  391 

That  thurgh  yoxir  deth  your  lignage  schuld  aslake, 
And  that  a  straunge  successour  schuld  take 
Your  heritage,  O!  wo  were  us  on  lyve! 
Whei-for  we  pray  yow  hastily  to  wyve.' 

Her  meeke  prayer  and  her  pitous  chere 
!RIade  the  marquys  to  han  pite. 
'  Ye  wolde,'  quod  he,  *  myn  owne  pocple  deere, 
To  that  I  never  erst  thought  constreigne  me. 
I  me  rejoysid  of  my  liberte, 
That  selden  tyme  is  founde  in  mariage ; 
Ther  I  was  fre,  I  mot  ben  in  servage. 

'  But  nathelos  I  se  youre  trewe '  entent, 
And  trust  upon  your  witt,  and  have  doon  ay; 
Wherfor  of  my  fre  wil  I  wil  assent 
To  wedde  me,  as  soon  as  ever  I  may. 
But  ther  as  ye  have  profred  me  to  day 
To  chese  me  a  >v)'f,  I  wol  relese 
That  choys,  and  pray  yow  of  that  profre  cesse. 

*  For  God  it  woot,  that  childer  ofte  been 
Unlik  her  worthy  eldris  hem  bifore; 
Bounte  cometh  al  of  God,  nought  of  the  streen* 
Of  which  thay  ben  engeudrid  and  i-bore. 
I  trust  in  Goddes  bounte,  and  therfore 
My  mariage,  and  myn  estat  and  rest, 
I  him  bytake,  he  may  domi  as  him  lest. 

'  Let  me  aloon  in.  chesyng  of  my  wif, 
That  charge  upon  my  bak  I  wil  endure. 
But  I  yow  pray,  and  charge  upon  your  lyf, 
That  what  wyf  that  I  take,  ye  me  assure 
To  worschip  whil  that  hir  lif  may  endure, 
In  wed  and  werk,  bothe  heer  and  every  where, 
As  sclie  an  emperoures  doughtm-  were. 

'  And  forthermor  thus  schul  ye  swer,  that  ye 
Ageina  my  chois  schuln  never  grucche  ne  str3've 

'   llail.  ^IS.,  -ff  of  1JOU  llu  troi-f. 
-  Virtue  comes  from  U oil,  and  not  from  the  s^tt/i,  or  sfraiu  (race) 
from  wliich  men  are  descended. 


392  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

For  sins  I  schal  forgo  my  liberie 
At  your  request,  as  ever  mot  I  thrive, 
Thar  as  myn  hert  is  set,  tlier  wil  I  wyve. 
And  but  ye  wil  assent  in  such  manere, 
I  pray  yow  spek  no  more  of  this  matiere.' 

With  hertly  wil  thay  sworen  and  assentyn 
To  al  this  thing,  ther  sayde  no  wight  nay, 
Bysechyng  him  of  grace,  er  that  thay  wentyn, 
That  he  wold  gi-aunten  hem  a  certeyn  day 
Ot  his  spousail,  as  soone  as  ever  he  may ; 
For  yit  alway  the  peple  som  what  dredde 
Lest  that  the  marquys  wolde  no  wyf  wedde. 

He  graunted  hem  a  day,  such  as  him  lest, 
On  which  he  wolde  be  weddid  sicurly ; 
And  sayd  he  dede  al  this  at  her  requeste. 
And  thay  with  humble  hert  ful  buxomly, 
Knelyng  upon  her  knees  ful  i-everently, 
Him  thanken  alle,  and  thus  thay  have  an  end* 
Of  her  entent,  and  hom  agein  they  wende. 

And  herupon  he  to  his  officeris 
Comauudith  for  the  feste  to  purveye. 
And  to  his  prive  knightes  and  squyeres 
Such  charge  gaf  as  him  list  on  hem  leye : 
And  thay  to  his  comaundement  obeye, 
And  ech  of  hem  doth  his  diligence 
To  doou  unto  the  feste  reverence. 


PARS   SECUNDA. 

"VrOUGHT  fer  fro  thilke  palys  honurable, 
-^^    Wher  as  this  marquys  schop  his  mariage, 
Ther  stood  a  throp,  of  sighte  delitable, 
In  which  that  pore  folk  of  that  vilage 
Hadden  her  bestes  and  her  herburgage, 
And  after  her  labour  took  her  sustieuauuce. 
After  the  erthe  gaf  hem  abundaunce. 

Among  this  jiore  folk  there  duelt  a  man, 
Wliich  that  was  hoi  den  poi'est  of  hem  alle; 


THE    CLEUKE3    TALE.  393 

But  licighe  God  som  tynie  sendc  can 
Hit;  gi-ace  unto  a  litel  oxe  stalle. 
Janicula  men  of  that  throop  him  calle. 
A  cloupjhtcr  liad  he,  fair  y-ni)U!:^h  to  sight, 
And  Grisildes  this  yonge  mayden'  hight. 

But  for  to  speke  of  hir  vertuous  heaute, 
Than  was  sche  oon  the  fayrest  under  sonne; 
For  porely  i-fostercd  up  was  schc, 
No  licorous  lust  was  in  hir  body  ronne ; 
Wei  ofter  of  the  welle  than  of  the  tonne 
Sche  dronk,  and  for  sclie  wolde  vertu  please, 
Sche  knew  wel  lal)our,  but  noon  ydel  ease. 

But  though  this  mayden  tender  were  of  age, 
Yet  in  the  brest  of  her  virginite 
Ther  was  enclosed  rype  and  sad  corrage;' 
And  in  gret  reverence  and  charite 
Hir  olde  pore  fader  fostered  sche ; 
A  fewe  scheep  spynnyng  on  the  feld  .sche  kept, 
Sche  nolde*  not  ben  ydel  til  sche  slept. 

And  whan  sche  com  hom  sche  wolde  brynge 
Wortis  and  other  herbis  tymes  ofte, 
The  which  sche  schred  and  seth  for  her  lyvyng,* 
And  made  hir  bed  ful  hard,  and  no  thing  softe. 
And  ay  sche  kept  hir  fadi-es  lif  on  lofte,' 
With  eveiy  obeissance  and  diligence. 
That  child  may  do  to  fadres  reverence. 

Upon  Grisildes,  the  pore  creature, 
Ful  ofte  sithes  this  marquvs  set  his  ye. 

All  A       "^  J        9 

As  he  on  huntyng  rood  peraveuture. 
And  whan  it  fel  he  mighte  hir  espye, 
He  not  with  wantoun  lokyng  of  lolye 

'   Harl.  MS.,  daM/7Wer. 

'  A  mature  and  .<erious  digpoRition. 

*  Koldt  is  here  subsfituttd  for  iW</,  the  readinj;  of  the  flarl.  M.''..  ns 

hcinff  more  correct  KrammaticiiUy,  and  supplyinjr  a  syllable  rciiiiiiiJ 

by  the   metre.     Thus  in  the  next  line  xcoklc  occurs  in  the  very  same 

construction. 

^  Winch  she  slicod  and  boiled,  or  seethed  for  her  food. 

'  She  kept  her  father's  life  from  sinking,  that  is,  supported  him. 


394  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

His  eyghen  cast  upon  hir,  but  in  sad  wyse 
Upon  hir  cheer  he  wold  him  oft  avise, 

Comendyng  in  his  hert  hir  wommanhedc, 
And  eek  hir  vertu,  jjassyng  other  ^  wight 
Of  so  yong  age,  as  wel  in  cheer  as  dede. 
For  though  the  poeple  have  no  gret  insight 
In  vertvi,  he  considereth  aright 
Hir  bounte,  and  desposed  tliat  he  wolde 
Wedde  hir  oonly,  if  ever  he  wedde  scholde. 

The  day  of  weddyng  cam,  but  no  wight  cau 
Telle  what  womman  it  schulde  be ; 
For  which  mervayle  wondrith  many  a  man, 
And  sayden,  whan  they  were  in  privite, 
'  Wol  nought  our  lord  yit  leve  his  vanite  ? 
Wol  he  not  wedde?  alias,  alias  the  while! 
Why  wol  he  thus  himself  and  us  bigyle  V 

But  natheles  this  marquys  hath  doon  make 
Of  gemmes,  set  in  gold  and  in  asm-e,^ 
Broches  and  rynges,  for  Grisildes  sake, 
And  of  hir  clothing  took  he  the  mesure, 
By  a  mayde  y-lik  to  hir  of  stature. 
And  eek  of  other  ornamentes  alle 
That  unto  such  a  weddyng  schulde  falle. 

The  tyme  of  undern^  of  the  same  day 
Ap])rocliith,  that  this  weddyng  schulde  be, 
And  al  the  palys  put  was  in  array, 


'  The  Harl.  MS.  reads  any  other  vright ;  but  any,  which  seems  redun- 
dant, and  spoils  the  metre,  has  been  omitted. 

'■^  Azure,  or  blue,  was  the  colour  of  truth. 

^  The  glossary  explains  this  to  mean  the  third  hour  of  the  day,  or  tiine 
o'clock.  In  a  subsequent  line  [see  p.  415]  where  this  word  occurs 
again,  the  original  has  luyrd  tcrtid,  and,  in  this  place,  hard  prandii ; 
whence  it  may  be  inferred  that  in  Chaucer's  time  nine  o'clock,  or  nndcriu; 
was  the  usual  hour  of  prandium  or  dinmr. — See  Tyrwhitt.  The  pran- 
dilim  of  that  period,  liowever,  must  not  be  confounded  with  tlie  moderi; 
dinner.  It  took  place  at  nine  o'clock,  hence  called  hord  prandii.  There 
was  another  meal  at  noon,  or  soon  after ;  and  a  sujjper  (sec  Sqiujeren 
'/'ale)  before  going  to  bed.  The  two  forms  of  grace  in  tlie  Hreviary  an 
for  ante  prandium  and  a7ite  cwnam.  In  The  Schipnianne.s  Tale  it  ajipears 
that  the  family  heard  mass,  and  then  went  to  dinner ;  and  as  nobody 


THE   CLERKES   TALE.  395 

Bothc  h:\llc  iuiil  cli.iiahur,  y-lik  here  degre,' 
Houses  of  ortice  stuttid  witli  jilente  ; 
TluT  maystow  se  of  deyntevous  vitayle, 
That  may  Ije  fouiide,  a^  fer  as  histitli  Itaile, 

This  real  luarquys,  really  arrayd, 
Lordt'j  and  ladyes  in  his  compaignye, 
The  wliich  unto  the  feste  were  prayed, 
Aud  of  his  reteuu  the  bachelerie.' 
With  many  a  soun  of  sondry  melodye, 
Unto  the  vilage,  of  which  I  tolde, 
In  this  array  the  right  way  han  they  holde. 

Grysild  of  this  (God  wot)  ful  innocent, 
That  for  hir  schapen  was  al  this  array, 
To  fecche  water  at  a  welle  is  went. 
And  Cometh  horn  as  soone  as  sche  may, 
For  wel  sche  had  herd  say,  that  ilke  day 
The  marquys  schulde  wedde,  and,  if  sche  might, 
Sche  wold  have  seyen  somwhat  of  that  sight. 

Sche  sayd,  '  I  wol  with  other  maydenes  stonde, 
That  ben  my  felawes,  in  cure  dore,  and  see 
The  marqiiysesse,*  and  tL-^rfore  wol  I  fonde 
To  don  at  hom,  as  soone  -as  it  may  be, 
The  labour  which  that  longeth  unto  me, 
And  thaune  may  I  at  leysir  hir  byholde. 
And  sche  the  way  into  the  castel  holde.' 

And  ivs  sche  wold  over  the  threisshfold  goon. 
The  marquys  cam  and  gan  hir  for  to  calle. 
And  sche  set  doun  her  water-pot  anoon 
Bisides  the  threischfold  of  this  oxe  stalle,* 
And  doun  upon  hir  knees  sche  gan  falle. 


could  communicate  after  eatinp,  the  prandium  was,  therefore,  tlie  flrrt 
meal.  In  some  case;",  there  iiii;;ht  liave  been  a  slij^ht  oilUuinn  earlier; 
as  is  still  the  custom  abroml,  where  a  cup  of  coffee  is  sometimes  taken 
an  hour  or  two  before  ilie  (Ujei'mcr  a  tu /ourclitlte,  which  answers  to 
the  praiutiiim.  and  is  tlie  first  regular  meal. 

'   Other  MSS.  read  irlii-  in  hU  degre. 

•  Tlie  knights  or  bachelors.  ^  Marchioness. 

^  In  Italy,  and  other  continental  countries,  the  peasantry  to  this  d.iy 
live  in  the  same  houses  with  their  cattle. 


396  THE   CANTEKBUR-i    TALES. 

And  with  sad  countenaunce  she  knelith  stille, 
Til  sche  had  herd  what  was  the  lordes  wille. 

This  thoughtful  marquys  spak  unto  this  mayde 
Ful  soberly,  and  sayd  in  this  manere : 
'  Wher  is  your  fader,  Grisildesf  he  sayde. 
And  sche  with  reverence  in  humble  cheere 
Answerd,  '  Lord,  he  is  al  redy  heere.' 
And  in  sche  goth  withouten  lenger  let. 
And  to  the  marquys  sche  hir  fader  fet. 

He  by  the  hond  than  taldth  this  olde  man, 
And  sayde  thus,  whan  he  him  had  on  sydc: 
'  Janicula,  I  neither  may  ne  can 
Lenger  the  plesauns  of  myn  herte  hyde ; 
If  that  ye  vouchesauf,  what  so  betyde, 
Thy  doughter  wil  I  take  er  that  I  wende 
As  for  my  wyf,  unto  hir  lyves  ende. 

'  Thow  lovest  me,  I  wot  it  wel  certeyn, 
And  art  my  faithful  leige-man^  i-bore, 
And  al  that  likith  me,  I  dar  wel  sayn. 
It  likith  the,  and  specially  therfore 
Tel  me  that  poynt,  as  ye  have  herd  bifore, 
If  that  thou  wolt  unto  that  purpos  drawe. 
To  take  me  as  for  thy  sone-in-lawe.' 

The  sodeyn  caas  the  man  astoneyd  tho, 
That  reed  he  wax,  abaischt,  and  al  quakyng 
He  stood,  unnethe  sayd  he  wordes  mo, 
But  oonly  this :  '  Lord,'  quod  he,  '  my  willyng 
Is  as  ye  wol,  agenst  youre  likyng 
I  wol  no  thing,  ye  be  my  lord  so  deere; 
Eight  as  yow  list,  governith  this  matiere.' 

'  Yit  wol  I,'  quod  this  markys  softely, 
*That  in  tliy  chambre,  I  and  thou  and  sche 
Have  a  collacioun,  and  wostow  why? 
For  I  wol  aske  if  it  hir  wille  be 
To  })e  my  wyf,  and  reiile  hir  after  me; 
And  al  this  schal  be  doon  in  thy  presence, 
I  wol  nought  speke  out  of  thyn  audience.' 

'  See  ante,  p.  m,  note  i. 


THE   CLERKES   TALE.  397 

And  in  the  clianiber,  whil  thay  were  aboute 
The  tretys,  which  as  ye  schul  aftei-  hiere, 
The  poeple  cam  unto  the  hons  withoute, 
And  wondrid  hem,  in  how  honest  manere 
And  tendurly  sche  kept  hir  fader  deere; 
But  outerly  Grisildes  wonder  might, 
For  never  erst  ne  saugh  sche  such  a  sight. 

No  wonder  is  though  that  sclie  were  astoned, 
To  seen  so  gret  a  gest  come  into  that  place ; 
Sche  never  was  to  suche  gestes  woned, 
For  wliich  sche  loked  with  ful  pale  face. 
But  schortly  this  matiere  forth  to  chace. 
These  am  the  wordes  that  the  marquys  sayde 
To  this  benigne,  veiTay,  faithfid  mayde. 

'  Grisyld,'  he  sayde,  '  ye  schul  wel  understonde, 
It  liketh  to  your  fader  and  to  me. 
That  T  yow  wedde,  and  eek  it  may  so  stonde, 
As  I  sujjpose  ye  wil  that  it  so  be; 
But  these  demaundes  aske  I  first,'  quod  he, 
'  That  sith  it  schal  be  doon  in  hasty  wyse; 
Wol  ye  assent,  or  elles  yow  avyse? 

*  I  say  this,  be  ye  redy  with  good  hert 
To  al  my  lust,  and  that  I  frely  may 
As  me  best  liste  do  yow  laughe  or  smert, 
And  never  ye  to  gi-uch  it,  night  ne  day; 
And  eek  whan  I  say  ye,  ye  say  not  nay, 
Neyther  by  word,  ne  frownjmg  conteuaunoe? 
SwtT  this,  and  here  swer  I  oure  alliaiince.' 

Wondryug  upon  this  word,  quakyug  for  di^ede, 
Sche  sayde :  '  Lord,  undigne  and  unworthy 
I  am,  to  thilk  honour  that  ye  me  bede ; 
But  as  ye  wil  your  self,  right  so  wol  I ; 
And  here  I  swere,  that  never  wityngly 
In  werk,  ne  thought,  I  nyl  yow  di.sobeye 
For  to  the  deed,'  though  me  were  loth  to  deye.' 


'  [Tlie  true  reacIiiiK  is  'For  to  be  deed,'  where  cfctd  is  a  px?t  participU 
and  equivalent  in  meaning  to  'slain.'— W.W.  S.j 


398  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

'  This  is  y-nough,  Grisilde  myn,'  quod  he. 
And  forth  goth  he  with  a  ful  sobre  chere, 
Out  at  the  dore,  and  after  that  cam  sche, 
And  to  the  pepul  he  sayd  in  this  manere : 
'  This  is  my  wyf,'  quod  he,  '  that  stondith  heere. 
Honoureth  hir,  and  loveth  hir,  I  yow  pray, 
Who  so  me  loveth ;  ther  is  no  more  to  say.' 

And  for  that  no  thing  of  hir  olde  gere 
Sche  schulde  brynge  unto  his  hous,  he  bad 
Tliat  wommen  schuld  despoilen  hir  right  there, 
Of  which  these  ladyes  were  nought  ful  glad 
To  handle  hir  clothes  wherein  sche  was  clad; 
But  natheles  this  mayde  bright  of  hew 
Fro  foot  to  heed  they  schredde  han  al  newe. 

Hir  heeres  han  thay  kempt,  that  lay  untressed 
Ful  rudely,  and  with  hit-  fyngres  smale 
A  coroun  on  hir  heed  thay  han  i-dressed, 
And  set  hir  ful  of  nowches  gret  and  smale. 
Of  hir  array  what  schuld  I  make  a  tale? 
Unnethe  the  poeple  hir  knew  for  hir  fairnesse. 
Whan  sche  translated  was  in  such  richesse. 

This  marquis  hath  hir  spoused  Avith  a  ryng 
Brought  for  the  same  cause,  and  than  hir  sette 
Upon  an  hors  snow-whyt,  and  wel  amblyng. 
And  to  his  palys,  er  he  lenger  letfce, 
(With  joyful  poeple,  that  hir  ladde  and  mette)' 
Conveyed  hire,  and  thus  the  day  they  spende 
In  revel,  til  the  sonne  gan  desceude. 

And  schortly  forth  this  tale  for  to  chace, 
I  say,  that  to  this  newe  marquisesse 
God  hath  such  favour  sent  hir  of  his  grace, 
That  it  ne  semyd  not  by  liklynesse 
That  sche  was  born  and  fed  in  rudenesse, 
As  in  a  cote,  or  in  an  oxe  stalle, 
But  norischt  in  an  emperoures  halle. 


'  Accompanied  and  met  bei'. 


THE   CLERKES   TALE.  399 

To  every  wifijht  sche  waxen  is  so  deere, 
And  worschipful,  that  folk  ther  sche  was  bom, 
And  from  hir  buitlie  kuuw  hir  yer  by  yere, 
Unnethe  trowed  tliav,  but  dorst  han  sworn, 
Tliat  to  Janiclc,  of  which  J  spak  bifoni 
Sche  doughter  were,  for  as  by  conjecture 
Hem  thought  sche  was  another  creature. 

For  thougli  that  ever  vertuous  was  sche, 
Sche  was  enci-esed  in  such  excellence 
Of  thewes  goode,  i-set  in  high  bouute, 
And  so  discret,  and  fair  of  eloquence, 
So  benigne,  and  so  digne  of  reverence. 
And  couthe  so  the  poeples  hert  embrace, 
That  ech  hir  loveth  that  lokith  in  hir  face. 

Nought  oonly  of  Saluce  in  the  toun 
Publissched  was  the  bounte  of  hir  name, 
But  eek  byside  in  many  a  i-egloun. 
If  oon  sayd  W(,'l,  another  sayd  the  same. 
So  sprad  of  hire  heigh  bounte  the  fame. 
That  men  and  wommen,  as  wel  yong  as  olde, 
Gon  to  Sal  ace  upon  hir  to  byholde. 

Thus  Walter  louly,  nay  but  really,* 
Weddid  with  fortunat  honestete, 
In  Goddes  itees  lyveth  ful  esily 
At  home,  and  outward  grace  y-nough  hath  he ; 
And  for  he  saugh  that  under  low  degi'e 
Wa-s  ofte  vertu  y-hid,  the  poeple  him  helde 
A  prudent  man,  and  that  is  seen  ful  selde. 

Nought  oonly  this  Grisildes  thurgh  hir  witte 
Couthe  al  the  feet  of  wifly  horalynesse,* 
But  eek  whan  that  the  tyme  required  it, 
The  comun  profyt  couthe  sche  redresse; 
Ther  nas  discord,  rancour,  ne  hevynesse 
In  al  that  lond   tliat  sche  ne  couthe  appese, 
And  wisly  bryng  hem  alle  in  rest  and  ese. 


'  This  Walter  wedded  humbly,  or  (I  should  rather  gay)  royally 
-scU.,  because  of  his  wife's  virtue.  -  Harl.  MS.,  humtlesse. 


400  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Though  that  hir  hoiisbond  absent  were  anoon, 
If  gentilmen.  or  other  of  hir  contre, 
Were  wroth,  sche  wolde  brynge  hem  at  oon, 
So  wyse  and  rype  wordes  hadde  sche, 
And  juggement  of  so  gret  equite, 
That  sche  from  heven  sent  was,  as  men  wende, 
Poeple  to  save,  and  every  wrong  to  amende. 

Nought  longe  tyme  after  that  this  Grisilde 
Was  wedded,  sclie  a  dough ter  hath  i-bore; 
Al  had  hir  lever  han  had  a  knave ^  childe, 
Glad  was  this  marquis  and  the  folk  therfore, 
For  though  a  mayden  child  come  al  byfore, 
Sche  may  unto  a  knave  child  atteigne 
By  liklihed,  sith  sche  nys  not  bareigne. 

INCIPIT   TERTIA    PABS. 

THEE,  fel,  as  fallith  many  times  mo, 
Whan  that  this  child  hath  souked  but  a  throwe. 
This  marquys  in  his  herte  loiagith  so 
Tempte  his  wyf,  hir  sadnesse  "^  for  to  knowe, 
That  he  ne  might  out  of  his  herte  throwe 
This  mervaylous  desir  his  wyf  tassaye ; 
Nedeles,  God  wot,^  he  thought  hir  to  affraye. 

He  had  assayed  hir  y-nough  bifore, 
And  fond  hir  ever  good,  what  needith  it 
Hire  to  tempte,  and  alway  more  and  more? 
Though  som  men  prayse  it  for  a  subtil  wit, 
But  as  for  me,  I  say  that  evel  it  sit 
Tassay  a  wyf  whan  that  it  is  no  neede, 
And  putte  hir  in  anguysch  and  in  dreede. 

For  which  this  marquis  wrought  in  this  manere; 
He  com  aloone  a-night  ther  as  sche  lay 
With  Sterne  face,  and  with  ful  ti'ouble  cheere, 


'  Knave  meant — i,  a  boy   (German,  Icnabe) ;   2,  a  servant,  lik« 
ffar(on;  3,  from  the  peculiar  propensilies  of  the  latter  class,  a  rogue. 
-  To  know  her  sincerity.  ^  Harl.  MS.,  tww  God  wot. 


THE    CLERKES   TALE. 


401 


And  sayde  thus,  '  Grisild,'  quod  he,  '  that  day 
That  I  yow  took  out  of  your  pore  array, 
And  putte  yow  in  estat  of  lieigh  noblesse, 
\e'  have  not  tliat  forgeten,  as  I  gesse. 

*  I  say,  Grisikl,  tliis  present  dignite 
In  which  that  I  have  put  yow,  as  I  trowe, 
jNIiikitli  yow  not  forgetful  for  to  be 
That  1  yow  took  in  pore  estat  ful  lowe. 
For  any  wele  ye  moot  your  selve  knowe.* 
Tak  heed  of  every  word  that  I  yow  say, 
Ther  is  no  wight  that  herith  it  but  we  twoy. 

'  Ye  wot  your  self  how  that  ye  comen  heere 
Into  this  hous,  it  is  nought  long  ago ; 
And  though  to  me  that  ye  be  leef  and  deere, 
Unto  my  gentils  ye  be  no  thing  so. 
Thay  seyn,  to  hem  it  is  gret  schame  and  wo 
For  to  ben  subject  and  ben  in  servage 
To  the,  that  l)oru  art  of  a  smal  village. 

'  And  namely  syn  thy  dough ter  was  i-bore, 
These  wordes  han  thay  spoken  douteles. 
But  I  desire,  as  I  have  doon  byfoi'e, 
To  lyve  my  lif  with  hem  in  rest  and  pees; 
I  may  not  in  this  caas  be  reccheles ; 
I  moot  do  with  thy  doughter  foi'  the  best. 
Not  as  I  wolde,  but  as  my  pepul  lest. 

'  And  yit,  God  wot,  this  is  ful  loth  to  me. 
But  natheles  withoute  youre  witynge 
Wol  I  not  doon  ;  but  this  wol  I,'  quod  he, 
'  That  ye  to  me  assent  as  in  this  thing. 
Schew  now  your  paciens  in  your  wirching. 
That  thou  me  hightest  and  swor  in  yon  village. 
That  day  that  maked  was  oure  nuiriage.' 

Whan  sche  had  herd  al  this  sche  nought  ameevyd 
Nevther  in  word,  in  cheer,  or  countenaunce. 


'  The  Harl.  MS.  reads  yet,  which  makes  nonsense.  Yc  is  atloiiti-il 
from  Tyrwiiitt. 

-'  You  were  in  a  full  low  state  for  any  goods  that  you  possessed  in 
your  own  right. 

VOL.  I.  2d 


402  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

{For,  aa  it  semed,  sche  was  nought  agreeved); 
She  sayde,  '  Lord,  al  lith  in  your  plesaunce : 
My  child  and  I,  with  hertly  obei.<*aunce, 
Ben  youres  al,  and  ye  may  save  or  spille 
Your  oughne  thing;  Averkith  after  your  wilJe. 

'  Ther  may  no  thing,  so  God  my  soule  save, 
Liken  to  yow,  that  may  displesen  me; 
Ne  I  desire  no  thing  for  to  have, 
Ne  drede  for  to  lese,  save  oonly  ye. 
This  wil  is  in  myn  hert,  and  ay  schal  be, 
No  length  of  tyme  or  deth  may  this  deface, 
Ne  chaunge  my  coiTage  to  other  place.' 

Glad  was  this  marquis  for  hir  answeryng. 
But  yit  he  feyned  as  he  were  not  so. 
Al  dreery  was  his  cheer  and  his  lokyng. 
Whan  that  he  schold  out  of  the  chambre  go. 
Soon  after  this,  a  forlong  way  or  tuo. 
He  prively  hath  told  al  his  entent 
Unto  a  man,  and  unto  his  wyf  him  sent. 

A  maner  sergeant  was  this  prive  man. 
The  which  that  faithful  oft  he  founden  hadde 
In  thinges  grete,  and  eek  such  folk  wel  can 
Don  execucioun  in  thinges  badde ; 
The  lord  knew  wel  that  he  him  loved  and  draddo. 
And  whan  this  sergeant  wist  his  loi'des  wille, 
Into  the  chamber  he  stalked  him  ful  stille. 

'  Madame,'  he  sayd,  '  ye  most  forgive  it  me, 
Though  I  do  thing  to  which  I  am  constreyn:t ; 
Ye  ben  so  wys,  that  ful  wel  knowe  ye. 
That  lordes  hestes  mow  not  ben  i-feynit. 
They  mowe  wel  be  biwaylit  or  compleynit; 
But  men  moot  neede  unto  her  lust  obeye. 
And  so  wol  I,  there  is  no  more  to  seye. 

'  This  child  I  am  comaundid  for  to  take.' 
And  spak  no  more,  but  out  the  child  he  hent 
Dispitously,  and  gan  a  chiere  make, 
As  though  he  wold  han  slayn  it,  er  he  went. 
Grisild  moot  al  Buffer  and  al  consent; 


THE   CLERKES   TALE.  403 

Ami  as  a  lainl)  schc  sittetli  mceke  and  stille, 
And  let  this  cruel  serujeant  doon  lii.s  wille. 

Suspecious  was  tlie  defame  of  this  man, 
Suspect  his  face,  suspect  his  word  also. 
Suspect  the  tjme  in  which  he  this  bigan. 
Alias!   hir  doughter,  that  she  loved  so, 
Sche  wend  he  wold  han  slayen  it  I'ight  tho; 
But  natlieles  sche  neyther  weep  ne  siked, 
Conformyng  hir  to  that  the  marquis  liked. 

But  atte  last  sjx^ke  sche  bigan. 
And  mekely  sche  to  the  sei'geant  preyde, 
So  as  he  was  a  worthy  gentilman, 
That  she  most  kisse  hir  child,  er  that  it  deyd& 
And  on  hir  arm'  this  litel  child  sche  leyde, 
With  tul  sad  face,  and  gan  the  child  to  blesse,' 
And  lullyd  it,  and  after  gan  it  kesse. 

And  thus  sche  savd  in  hir  benij^ne  vois : 
'  Farwel,  my  child,  I  schal  the  never  see; 
But  sith  I  the  have  marked  withe  the  croys. 
Of  thilke  fader  blessed  mot  thou  be. 
That  for  us  divde  u])on  a  cros  of  tre; 
Thy  soule,  litel  child,  I  him  bytake, 
For  this  night  schaltow  deyen  for  my  sake.' 

I  trowe  that  to  a  norice  in  this  caas 
It  had  ben  hard  this  rewthe  for  to  see ; 
Wei  might  a  moder  than  have  cryed  alhis, 
But  natheles  so  sad  stedefast  was  sche, 
That  she  endured  al  adversite. 
And  to  the  sergeant  mekely  sche  sayde, 
'  Have  her  agayn  your  litel  yonge  mayde. 

'  Goth  now,'  quod  sche,  'and  doth  my  lordes  heste. 
But  0  thing  wil  I  jnay  j'ow  of  your  grace. 
That  but  my  lord  forbede  yow  atte  leste, 
Burieth  this  litel  body  in  som  place. 
That  bestes  ne  no  briddes  it  to-race.' 


'  Other  MSS.  read  barme,  the  Inp. 
*  Made  tlie  sign  of  the  cross  on  it. — See  mite.  p.  1 1 .  n<i(  ?  a. 

2  D  2 


404  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

But  he  no  word  wil  to  the  purpos  say, 
But  took  the  chikl  and  went  upon  his  way. 

This  sergeant  com  unto  this  lord  agayn, 
And  of  Grisildes  wordes  and  hir  cheere 
He  tolde  poynt  for  poynt,  in  schort  and  playn, 
And  him  presentith  with  his  doughter  deere. 
Somwhat  this  lord  hath  rewthe  in  his  manere, 
But  natheles  his  purpos  huld  he  stille, 
As  lordes  doon,  whan  thay  woln  have  her  wille; 

And  bad  the  sergeaunt  that  he  prively 
Scholde  this  childe  softe  wynde  and  wrappe, 
With  alle  circumstaunces  tendurly, 
And  carry  it  in  a  cofre,  or  in  his  lappe; 
Upon  peyne  his  heed  of  for  to  swappe 
That  no  man  schulde  knowe  of  this  entent, 
Ne  whens  he  com,  ne  whider  that  he  went ; 

But  at  Boloygne,  to  his  suster  deere, 
That  thilke  tyme  of  Panik  ^  was  countesse. 
He  schuld  it  take,  and  schewe  hir  this  matiere, 
Byseching  her  to  doon  hir  busynesse 
This  child  to  fostre  in  all  gentilesse. 
And  whos  child  that  it  was  he  bad  hir  hyde 
From  every  wight,  for  ought  that  mighte  bytyde. 

The  sergeant  goth,  and  hath  fulfild  tliis  thing. 
But  to  this  marquys  now  retourne  we ; 
For  now  goth  he  ful  fast  ymaginyng, 
If  by  his  wyves  cher  he  mighte  se. 
Or  l)y  hir  word  apparceyve,  that  sche 
Were  chaunged,  but  he  hir  never  couthe  fynde, 
But  ever  in  oon  y-like  sad  and  kynde. 

As  glad,  as  humble,  as  busy  in  servise 
And  eek  in  love,  as  sche  was  wont  to  be, 
Was  sche  to  him,  in  every  maner  wyse ; 
Ne  of  hir  doughter  nought  o  word  spak  sche ; 
Non  accident  for  noon  adversite 


'  Tyrwhitt  changed  the  word  to  Pavie,  not  adverting  to  the  original, 
where  it  is  said  that  the  Marquis's  sister  was  married  to  the  Count  of 
I'aiiko. 


THE   CLERK ES   TALE.  -^05 

Was  seyn  in  hir,  ne  never  hir  doughter  name 
Ne  nenipnyJ  sche,  in  ernest  ne  in  game. 

INCiriT   QUARTA   PARS. 

IN  this  estaat  tlier  passed  ben  foure  yer 
El-  sche  with  chikle  was,  but,  as  God  wolde, 
A  knave  child  sche  bar  by  this  Waltier, 
Fill  gracious,  and  fair  for  to  biholde ; 
And  whan  that  folk  it  to  his  fader  tolde, 
Nought  oonly  he,  but  al  his  contre,  merye 
Was  for  this  child,  and  God  thay  thank  and  heria 

Whan  it  was  tuo  yer  old,  and  fro  the  brest 
Departed  fro  his  noris,  iipon  a  day 
This  markys  caughte  yit  another  lest 
To  tempt  his  wif  yit  after,  if  he  may. 
O  !  needles  was  sche  tcnnpted  in  assay ; 
But  weddid  men  ne  knowen  no  mosure, 
Whan  that  thay  fynde  a  pacient  creature. 

'  Wyf,'  quod  this  marquys,  '  ye  han  herd  er  this 
My  pe])le  sekly  berith  ouie  mariage, 
And  uamly  syn  my  soue  y-boren  is, 
Now  is  it  wors  than  ever  in  al  our  age; 
The  murmur  sleth  mjTi  hert  and  my  corrage. 
For  to  myn  eeris  conieth  the  vois  so  smerte, 
That  it  wel  neigh  destroyed  hath  mjii  herte. 

'  Now  say  thay  thus.  Whan  Wauter  is  agoon, 
Than  schal  the  blood  of  Janicle  succede, 
And  ben  our  lord,  for  other  have  we  noon. 
Suche  wordes  saith  my  poeple,  out  of  drcde.' 
Wel  oucht  I  of  such  murmur  taken  heede. 
For  certeynly  I  drede  such  .sentence. 
Though  thay  not  pleynly  s])cke  in  my  audience. 

'  I  wolde  Ij've  in  pees,  if  that  I  might; 
Wherlor  I  am  disposid  outrely, 
As  I  his  suster  servede  by  night, 

»  You  may  be  sure.— See  ant;  p.  297,  note  4. 


406  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Riglit  SO  thynk  I  to  serve  him  prively. 
This  wai-n  I  you,  that  ye  not  sodeinly 
Out  of  your  self  for  no  thing  schuld  outraye : 
Beth  pacient,  and  tlierof  I  yow  praj^' 

'  I  have,'  quod  sche,  '  sayd  thus  and  ever  schal, 
I  wol  no  thing,  ne  nil  no  thing  certayn, 
But  as  yow  list;  nought  greveth  me  at  al, 
Though  that  my  dougliter  and  my  sone  be  slaya 
At  your  comaundement ;  this  is  to  sayne, 
I  have  not  had  no  part  of  children  twayne, 
But  first  syknes,  and  after  wo  and  pa}Tie. 

'  Ye  ben  oure  lord,  doth  with  your  owne  thing 
Right  as  yow  list,  ax.ith  no  red  of  me ; 
For  as  I  left  at  horn  al  my  clothing, 
Whan  I  fii'st  com  to  yow,  right  so/  quod  sche, 
'  Left  I  my  wille  and  my  liberte, 
And  took  your  clothing;  wherfor  I  yow  pre_ye, 
Doth  youre  plesaunce,  I  wil  youre  lust  obeye. 

'  And  certes,  if  I  hadde  prescience 
Your  wil  to  knowe,  er  ye  yoiire  lust  me  tolde, 
J  wold  it  doon  withoute  negligence. 
But  now  I  wot  your  lust,  and  what  ye  wolde, 
Al  your  plesaunce  ferm  and  stable  I  holde, 
For  wist  I  that  my  deth  wold  doon  yow  ease, 
Right  gladly  wold  I  deye,  yow  to  please. 

'  Deth  may  make  no  comparisouu 
Unto  your  love.'     And  whan  this  marquys  say 
The  Constance  of  his  wyf,  he  cast  adouu 
His  eyghen  tuo,  and  wondrith  that  sche  may 
In  pacience  sufFre  as  this  aiTay ; 
And  forth  he  goth  with  dreiy  countenaunce, 
But  to  his  hert  it  was  ful  gret  plesaunce. 

This  ugly  sergeaimt  in  the  same  wise 
That  he  hir  doughter  fette,  right  so  he, 
Or  worse,  if  men  worse  can  devyse. 
Hath  hent  hir  sone,  that  ful  was  of  beauie. 
And  ever  in  con  so  pacieut  was  sche. 


THE   CLERKF.S    TALK.  4u7 

Tliat  Bche  no  cheere  made  of  hevynesse, 
But  kist  hix'  sone,  and  after  gun  hiru  blessse. 

Save  this  sche  prayed  luiii.  it  that  he  iniglite, 
Her  litel  sone  he  wohl  in  eorthe  grave, 
His  tendre  lynies,  delicate  to  siglit, 
From  foules  and  from  Ijestes  him  to  save. 
But  sehe  noon  answer  of  him  miglite  have. 
He  went  lus  way,  as  him  no  thing  ne  rought, 
But  to  Boloyne  he  tenderly  it  brought. 

This  manjuis  wondreth  ever  tlie  lenger  the  more 
Upon  hir  pacience,  and  if  that  he 
Ne  hadde  S()tldy  knowen  therbifore, 
That  parfytly  hir  children  loved  sche. 
He  wold  have  wend  that  of  some  »ubtilt« 
And  of  malice,  or  of  cruel  eorrage. 
That  sche  had  suHVed  this  with  sad  vi.sage. 

But  wel  he  knew,  that,  next  himself,  certayn 
Sche  loved  hir  children  best  in  every  wise. 
But  now  of  wommen  wold  I  aske  fayn, 
If  these  as.sayes  mighteu  not  suffice? 
What  couthe  a  stourdy  housebonde  more  devyse 
To  prove  hir  wyfhode  and  her  stedefastnesse, 
And  he  contynuyng  ever  in  stourdynesse  ? 

But  ther  ben  folk  of  such  coudicioun. 
That,  whau  tht;y  have  a  certeyn  purjK^s  take, 
Thay  can  nought  stynt  of  her  entencioun, 
But,  right  as  tliay  were  bounden  to  a  stake, 
Thay  wil  not  of  her  firstc  purpos  slake; 
Bight  so  this  marquys  fullich  hath  ])urposed 
To  tempt  his  wyf,  a.s  he  was  first  disposed. 

He  waytcth,  if  by  word  or  counlenaunce 
That  sche  to  him  was  chaunged  of  coiage. 
But  never  couthe  he  fynde  variaunce, 
kX-he  was  ay  oon  in  hert  and  in  visage ; 
And  ay  the  terther  that  sche  was  in  age, 
The  more  trewe,  if  that  were  possible, 
fiche  was  to  him,  and  more  peuyble. 


408  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

For  whifth  it  semyd  this,  that  of  hem  tuo 
Ther  nas  but  oo  wil;  for  as  Walter  lest, 
The  same  plesaunce  was  hir  lust  also ; 
And,  God  be  thanked,  al  fel  for  the  best. 
Sche  schewed  wel,  for  no  worldly  unrest 
A  wyf,  as  of  hir  self,  no  thing  ne  scholde 
Wylne  in  effect,  but  as  hir  housbond  wolde. 

The  sclaunder  of  Walter  ofte  and  wyde  spi-adde. 
That  of  a  cruel  hert  he  wikkedly, 
For  he  a  pore  womman  weddid  hadde. 
Hath  morthrid  bothe  his  children  prively ; 
Such  murmur  was  among  hem  comunly. 
No  wonder  is ;  for  to  the  peples  eere 
Ther  com  no  word,  but  that  thay  mortherid  were. 

For  which,  wher  as  his  peple  therbyfore 
Had  loved  him  wel,  the  sclaunder  of  his  diffame 
Made  hem  that  thay  him  hatede  therfore ; 
To  ben  a  mordi-er  is  an  hateful  name. 
But  natheles,  for  ernest  or  for  game, 
He  of  his  cruel  purpos  nolde  stente, 
To  tempt  his  wyf  was  set  al  his  entente. 

Whan  that  his  doughter  twelf  yer  was  ot  age, 
He  to  the  court  of  Rome,  in  suche  wise 
Enformed  of  his  wille,  sent  his  message, 
Comaundyng  hem,  such  bulles  to  devyse. 
As  to  his  cruel  purpos  may  suffise. 
How  that  the  pope,  as  for  his  peples  reste. 
Bad  him  to  wedde  another,  if  him  leste. 

I  say,  he  bad,  thay  schulde  countretete 
The  popes  bulles,  makyng  mencioun 
That  he  hath  leve  his  firste  wyf  to  lete, 
As  by  the  popes  dispensacioun. 
To  stynte  rancour  and  discencioun 
Bitwix  his  peple  and  him;  thus  sayd  the  bulle, 
The  which  thay  han  publisshid  atte  fulle. 

The  rude  poepel,  as  it  no  wonder  is, 
Wende  ful  wel  that  it  had  be  right  so. 
But  whan  these  tydynges  come  to  Grisildis, 


THE  CLERKES  TALE.  409 

I  deeme  that  hir  herte  was  ful  wo ; 
But  sche  y-like  sad  for  evermo 
Disjinsid  was,  this  huinhh'  creature, 
Thadversite  of  fortun  al  te ndure ; 

Abydyng  ever  his  lust  and  his  plesaunce, 
To  whom  that  sche  was  give,  hert  and  al, 
As  to  hir  verray  worldly  suffisiiunce. 
But  schoi-tly  if  I  this  story  telle  schal, 
This  niarquys  writen  hath  in  special 
A  letter,  in  which  he  schewith  his  entent, 
And  secrely  he  to  Boloyne  it  sent. 

To  therl  of  Panyk,  which  that  hadde  tho 
Weddid  his  siister,  prayd  he  specially 
To  brynge  horn  agein  his  children  tuo 
In  honurable  estaat  al  openly. 
But  oon  thing  he  him  prayde  outerly, 
That  he  to  no  wight,  though  men  wold  enrpiere. 
Schuld  not  tellen  whos  children  thay  were, 

But  say  the  mayde  schuld  i-weddid  be 
Unto  the  markys  of  Saluce  anoon. 
And  as  this  eorl  was  prayd,  so  dede  he. 
For  at  day  set  he  on  his  way  is  goon 
Toward  Saluce,  and  lordes  many  oon 
In  riche  array,  this  mayden  for  to  guyde, 
Her  yonge  brother  rydyng  by  hir  syde. 

Arrayed  was  toward  hir  mariage 
This  freisshe  may  al  ful  of  gemmes  clere ; 
Hir  brother,  whicli  that  seven  yer  was  of  age, 
Arrayed  eek  ful  freissh  in  his  manere; 
And  thus  in  gret  noblesse  and  with  glad  chere 
Toward  Saluces  schapyng  her  journay. 
Fro  day  to  day  thay  ryden  in  her  way, 

IXCIPIT   PARS   QUlJfTA. 

AMONG  al  this,  after  his  wikked  usage. 
This  marquis  yit  his  wif  to  tempte  mor< 
To  the  uttrest  proef  of  hir  corrage, 


410  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Fully  to  hau  experiens  and  lore, 

If  that  sche  wei-e  as  stedefast  as  by  fore, 

He  on  a  day  in  open  audience 

Ful  boystrously  hath  sayd  hir  this  sentence. 

'  Certes,  Grisildes,  I  had  y-nough  plesaunce 
To  have  yow  to  my  wif,  for  your  goodnesse, 
,     And  for  youre  tx'outhe,  and  for  your  obeissai;nce, 
Nought  for  your  lignage,  ne  for  your  richesse ; 
But  now  know  I  in  verray  sothfastnesse, 
That  in  gret  loi-dschip,  if  I  wel  avyse, 
Ther  is  gret  servitude^  in  sondry  wyse; 

I  may  not  do,  as  every  ploughman  may; 
]My  poeple  me  constreignith  for  to  take 
Another  wyf,  and  cryen  day  by  day; 
And  eek  the  pope,'  rancour  for  to  slake, 
Consentith  it,  that  dar  I  undertake ; 
And  trewely,  thus  moche  I  wol  yow  say. 
My  newe  wif  is  coniyng  by  the  way. 

'  Be  strong  of  hert,  and  voyde  anoon  hir  place, 
And  thilke  dower  that  ye  broughten  me 
Tak  it  agayn,  I  graunt  it  of  my  grace. 
Retourneth  to  your  fadres  hous,'  quod  he, 
'  No  man  may  alway  have  prosperite. 
With  even  hert  I  rede  yow  endure 
The  strok  of  fortune  or  of  adventure.' 

And  sche  agayn  answerd  in  pacience : 
'  My  lord,'  quod  sche,  '  I  wot,  and  wist  alway, 
How  that  betwixe  your  magnificence 
And  my  poverte  no  wight  can  ne  may 
Make  comparisoun,  it  is  no  nay; 
I  ne  held  me  never  digne  in  no  manere 
To  ben  your  wyf,  ne  yit  your  chamberere. 

'  And  in  this  hous,  ther  ye  me  lady  made, 
(The  highe  God  take  I  for  my  witnesse, 


I  Harl.  MS.,  setwise. 
2  The  Harl.  MS.  for  pope  reads  popes;  the  meaning  evidently  is,  the 
Pope,  in  order  to  slake  or  allay  rancour,  consents,  &c. 


THE   CLERKES   TALE. 


411 


And  al  so  wisly  he  my  soiile  glade) 

[  never  luild  me  lady  ne  niaistresse, 

But  huinl)le  servauut  to  your  worthinesse, 

And  ever  schal,  wliil  that  my  lyf  may  duve, 

Aboven  every  worldly  creature. 

'  Tliat  yc  so  longe  of  your  bonicrnite 
Han  hoklen  me  in  honour  and  nubleye, 
Wher  as  I  was  not  worthy  for  to  be, 
That  thonk  I  God  and  yow,  to  whom  I  preye 
For-yeld  it  yow,  ther  is  no  more  to  seye. 
Unto  my  fader  gladly  wil  I  wende, 
And  with  him  duelle  unto  my  lyves  ende. 

'  Ther  I  was  fostred  as  a  child  ful  smal, 
Til  I  be  deed  my  lyf  ther  wil  I  lede, 
A  widow  clene  in  body,  hei*t,  and  al ; 
For  sith  I  gaf  to  yow  my  maydenhede, 
And  am  your  trewe  wyf,  it  is  no  drede, 
God  schilde  such  a  lordes  wyf  to  take 
Another  man  to  housbond  or  to  make. 

'  And  of  your  newe  wif,  God  of  his  gi'ace 
So  graunte  yow  wele  and  prosperite; 
For  I  wol  gladly  yelden  hir  my  place. 
In  which  that  I  was  blisful  wont  to  be. 
For  sith  it  liketh  yow,  my  lord,'  quod  sche, 
*  That  whilom  were  al  myn  hertes  reste. 
That  I  schal  gon,  I  wil  go  whan  yow  leste. 

'  But  ther  as  ye  profre  me  such  dowap'e 
As  I  ferst  brought,  it  is  wel  in  my  mynde. 
It  were  my  wrecchid  clothes,  no  thing  faire, 
The  whiehe  to  me  were  hard  now  for  to  fynde. 
O  goode  God !  how  gcntil  and  how  kynde 
Ye  semed  by  your  speche  and  your  visage, 
That  day  that  maked  was  our  mariagel 

'  But  soth  is  sayd,  algate  I  fynd  it  trewe. 
For  in  effect  it  proved  is  on  me. 
Love  is  nought  old  as  whan  that  it  is  newe. 
But  certes,  k)rd,  for  noon  adversite 
To  deyen  in  the  caa.Sj  it  schal  not  be 


412  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

That  ever  in  word  or  werk  I  schal  repenie 
That  I  yow  gaf  myn  hert  in  hoi  entente. 

'  My  lord,  ye  wot  that  in  my  fadres  place 
Ye  dede  nie  strippe  out  of  my  pore  wede, 
And  richely  me  cladden  of  your  grace ; 
To  yow  brought  I  nought  elles  out  of  drede, 
But  faitli,  and  nakednesse/  and  maydenhede  ; 
And  her  agayn  my  clothyng  I  restore, 
And  eek  my  weddyng  ryng  for  evermore. 

'  The  remenant  of  your  jewels  redy  be 
Within  your  chambur  dar  I  saufly  sayn.* 
Naked  out  of  my  fadres  hous,'  quod  sche, 
'  I  com,  and  naked  moot  I  torne  agayn. 
Al  yoiu'  pleisauns  wold  I  fuLfille  fayn ; 
But  yit  I  hope  it  be  not  youre  entent, 
That  I  smocles  out  of  your  paleys  went. 

'  Ye  couthe  not  doon  so  dishonest  a  thing, 
That  thilke  wombe,  in  whicli  your  children  leye, 
Schulde  byforn  the  poeple,  in  my  walkyng, 
Be  seye  al  bare :  wherfore  I  yow  pray 
Let  me  not  lik  a  worm  go  by  the  way; 
Remembre  yow,  myn  oughne  lord  so  deere, 
I  was  your  wyf,  though  I  unworthy  were. 

'  Wherfor,  in  guerdoim  of  my  maydenhede, 
Which  that  I  brought  and  no^ight  agayn  I  bere. 
As  vouchethsauf  to  geve  me  to  my  meede 
But  such  a  smok  as  I  was  wont  to  were, 
That  I  therwith  may  wrye  the  wombe  of  here 
That  was  your  wif ;  and  here  take  I  my  leve 
Of  yow,  myn  oughne  lord,  lest  I  yow  greve.' 

'  The  smok,'  quod  he,  '  that  thou  liast  on  thy  bak, 
Let  it  be  stille,  and  ber  it  forth  with  the.' 
But  wel  unnethes  thilke  word  he  spak, 


'  Harl.  MS.,  melceness.     Petrarch's  wouds  are — '  Neque  omnino  alia 
mihi  dos  fuit  quam  fides  et  mtditax.' 

-  The  Harl.  MS.,  evidently  by  mistake,  reads — 

'  Within  your  chanibcr  (lore  dar,'  &C. 


THE   CLERKES   TALE.  -4 13 

But  went  his  way  for  routhe  and  for  |tite. 
Byforu  the  folk  hiraelvcn  strippith  sche, 
And  in  l)ir  sinok.  witli  hoed  and  foot  al  hare. 
Toward  hir  fader  liouse  forth  is  sche  fare. 

The  folk  hir  folwen  wepyng  in  hir  weye, 
And  fortune  ay  thay  cursen  as  thay  goon ; 
But  sche  fro  wej)yng  kept  hir  eyen  drcye, 
Ne  in  this  tynie  word  ne  spak  .sche  noon. 
Hir  fader,  that  this  tyding  herd  anoon, 
Cursed  the  day  and  tynie,  that  nature 
Schoop  him  to  hen  a  ly\-es  creature. 

For  oute  of  doute  this  olde  pore  man 
Was  ever  in  suspect  of  hir  niariage; 
For  ever  he  deemed,  sitli  that  it  bigan, 
That  whan  the  lord  fuliilletl  had  his  corrage, 
Him  wolde  think  that  it  were  di.sparage 
To  his  estate,  so  lowe  for  to  light, 
And  voyden  hire  as  sone  as  ever  he  might. 

Agayn.s  his  doughter  hastily  goth  he; 
For  he  by  noyse  of  folk  knew  hir  comyng; 
And  witli  hir  olde  cote,  as  it  might  be, 
He  covered  hir  ful  sorwfully  wepynge; 
But  on  hir  body  might  he  it  nought  bringe. 
For  rude  was  the  cloth,  and  mor  of  age 
By  dayes  fele*  than  at  hir  niariage. 

Thus  with  hir  fader  for  a  certeyn  space 
Dwellith  this  flour  of  willy  pacience. 
That  neyther  by  her  wordes  ne  by  hir  face, 
Byfom  the  folk,  nor  eek  in  her  absence, 
Ne  sche  wed  sche  that  hir  w;is  doon  ofl'ence, 
Ne  of  hir  lughe  astiuit  no  remembraunce 
Ne  hadde  sche,  as  by  hir  countenavince. 

No  wonder  is,  for  in  hir  gi-et  estate  , 

Hir  gost  was  ever  in  playn  huniilite; 
Ne  tender  mouth,  noon  herte  delicate, 


'  Fflf  is  tin  Anglo-Sa.xon  for  many  ;   modern  German,  viel,  pro- 
nounced fieL 


414  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Ne  pompe,  ne  semblant  of  realte  ; 

But  ful  of  pacient  benignite, 

Discrete,  and  prideles,  ay  lioniirable, 

And  to  hir  housbond  ever  meke  and  stable. 

Men  speke  of  Job,  and  most  for  bis  hiiniblesse, 
As  clerkes,  whan  hem  lust,  can  wel  endite, 
Namely  of  men,  but  as  in  sothfastnesse, 
Though  clerkes  prayse  wommen  but  a  lite, 
Ther  can  no  man  in  humblesse  him  acquyte 
As  wommen  can,  ne  can  be  half  so  trewe 
As  wommen  ben,  but  it  be  falle  of  newe. 


PARS    SEXTA.^ 

Tj^RO  Boloyne  is  this  erl  of  Panik  y-come, 

-■-     Of  which  the  fame  iip-sprong  to  more  and  lass^ 

And  to  the  poeples  eeres  alle  and  some 

Was  couth  eek,  that  a  newe  marquisesse 

He  with  him  brought,  in  such  pomp  and  richesse, 

That  never  was  ther  seyn  with  mannes  ye 

So  noble  array  in  al  West  Lombardye. 

The  marquys,  which  that  schoop  and  knewal  this, 
Er  that  this  erl  was  come,  sent  his  message 
For  thilke^  cely  pore  Gi'isildis; 
And  sche  with  humble  hert  and  glad"  visage, 
Not  with  no  swollen  hert  in  hir  corrajre, 
Cam  at  his  best,  and  on  hir  knees  hir  sette. 
And  reverently  and  wyfly  sche  him  grette. 

'  Grisild,'  quod  he,  '  my  wil  is  outrely. 
This  mayden,  that  schal  w-eddid  be  to  me, 
Eecey\'ed  be  to  morwe  as  really 
As  it  possible  is  in  myn  hous  to  be; 
And  eek  that  every  wight  in  his  degre 


'  Harl.  MS.  has  no  division  liere. 
The  final  e  lias  been  added  to  tliUk,&s  more  correct,  grammatically, 
ftud  necessary  for  the  metre. 

3  Harl.  MS.,  f?ood. 


THE   CLERKES    TALE.  115 

Have  his  estaat  in  sittyng  and  servyse, 
In  high  plesaunce,  as  1  can  devyse. 

'  1  have  no  womman  suffisant  certeyne 
The  chaiabrt's  lor  tarray  in  ordinance 
After  my  hist,  and  therfor  wold  1  feyne, 
That  tliiu  were  al  such  inaner  governauuce; 
Thow  knowest  eek  of  al  my  plesaunce; 
Though  thyn  array  be  badde,  and  ille  byseye, 
Do  thou  thy  dever  atte  leste  weye.' 

'  Nought  oonly,  lord,  that  I  am  glad,'  quod  sche, 
'  To  don  your  lust,  but  I  desire  also 
Yow  for  to  serve  and  plese  in  my  degre, 
Withoute  feyntyng,*  and  schal  evermo; 
Ne  never  for  no  wele,  ne  for  no  wo, 
Ne  schal  the  gost  withinne  myn  herte  stente 
To  love  yow  best  with  al  my  trewe  entent.' 

And  with  tiiat  word  sche  gan  the  hous  to  dight, 
And  tables  fur  to  sette,  and  beddes  make. 
And  peyned  hir  to  doon  al  that  sche  might, 
Preying  the  chamberers  for  Goddes  sake 
To  hasten  hem,  and  faste  swepe  and  schake, 
And  sche  the  moste  servisable  of  alle 
Hath  every  chamber  arrayed,  and  his  halle. 

Abouten  undern  gan  this  lord'  alight, 
That  with  him  brought  these  noble  children  tweyej 
For  which  the  peple  ran  to  se  that  sight 
Of  her  array,  so  richely  biseye. 
And  than  at  erst  amonges  hem  thay  seye. 
That  Walter  was  no  fool,  though  that  him  lest 
To  chaunge  his  wyf ;  for  it  was  for  tlie  best. 

For  sche  is  fairer,  as  thay  demen  alle, 
Than  is  Grisild,  and  more  tender  of  age. 
And  fairer  fruyt  bitwen  hem  schulde  falle, 
And  more  plcsiiunt  for  hir  high  lynage, 
Hir  brother  eek  so  fair  was  of  visage, 

'  Harl.  MS.  reads  fiyni/ng,  evidently  by  mistake ;  Petrarch's  words  are 
•  Neque  in  hoc  unquani  Mit/tibor  ' 

-  Mr.  Wright  substitutes  <rrl,ds  a  more  exact  traiulatiuu  of  Petrarch's 
word,  comes. 


416  THE    CA^■TERBURY    TALES. 

That  hem  to  seen  the  peple  hath  caught  plesaunce, 
Comending  now  the  marquis  governauuce. 

O  stormy  poeple,  unsad  and  ever  untrewe, 
And  undiscret,  and  chaunging  as  a  fane, 
Delytyng^  ever  in  rombel  that  is  newe, 
For  lik  the  moone  ay  wax  ye  and  wane; 
Ay  ful  of  clappyng,  dere  y-nough  a  jane,'' 
Youre  doom  is  fals,  your  constaunce  yvel  previth, 
A  ful  gret  fool  is  he  that  on  yow  leevith. 

Thus  sayde  saad  folke  in  that  citee. 
Whan  that  the  poeple  gased  up  and  doun ; 
For  thay  were  glad  right  for  the  novelte, 
To  have  a  newe  lady  of  her  toun. 
No  more  of  this  now  make  I  menciovm. 
But  to  Grisildes  agayn  wol  I  me  dresse, 
And  telle  hir  Constance,  and  her  busynesse. 

Ful  busy  was  Gvisild  in  every  thing, 
That  to  the  feste  was  appertinent; 
Right  nought  was  sche  abaissht  of  hir  clothing, 
Though  it  were  ruyde,  and  som  del  eek  to-rent, 
But  with  glad  cheer  to  the  gate  is  sche  Avent, 
With  other  folk,  to  griete  the  marquisesse. 
And  after  that  doth  forth  her  busynesse. 

With  so  glad  chier  his  gestes  sche  receyveth, 
And  so  connyngly  everich  in  his  degre. 
That  no  defaute  no  man  aperceyveth, 
But  ay  thay  wondren  what  sche  might  be. 
That  in  so  pover  array  was  for  to  se, 
And  couthe  such  honour  and  reverence. 
And  worthily  thay  prayse  hir  prudence. 

In  all  this  mene  while  sche  ne  steut 
This  mayde  and  eek  hir  brother  to  comende 
With  al  hir  hert  in  ful  buxom*  entent, 

1  Harl.  MS.,  desymjng. 

2  Jane  is  a  small  coin  of  Genoa  (Janua).     Tlie  meaning  is,  Your 
praise  is  dear  enough  at  a  farthing. 

»  Buxom.  The  reading  of  the  Harl.  MS.  has  been  restored,  Jlr.  Wright 
having  chaiiireU  it  tu  uciUgne,  vvitliuut,  ai)i)urently,sulhcient  reiison, buxoiu 
meaning  obedient.    [But  most  MSSi.  read  Utnigne.—W .  W.  S.] 


THE   CLERKES   TALE.  417 

So  wel,  that  no  man  couthe  hir  pris  amende; 
But  atte  last  whan  that  these  lordes  wende 
To  sitte  doun  to  mete,  he  pjau  to  calle 
Grisikl,  as  sche  was  busy  in  his  liulle. 

*  Grisykl/  quod  he,  as  it  were  in  his  play, 

*  How  likith  the  my  wif  and  hir  Ijeautef 

'  liight  wel,  my  lord,'  quod  sche,  '  I'or  in  good  fay, 

A  fairer  saugh  I  never  noon  than  sche. 

I  pitiy  to  God  give  hir  prosperite; 

And  so  hojie  I,  that  he  wol  to  yow  sende 

Plesaunce  y-uough  unto  your  lyves  ende. 

'  On  thing  warn  I  yow  and  biseke  also, 
That  ye  ne  prike  with  no  tormentynge 
This  tendre  mayden,  as  ye  have  do  mo;* 
For  sche  is  fostrid  in  hir  norischinge 
More  tendrely,  and  to  my  supposyuge 
Sche  couth e  not  adversite  endure. 
As  couthe  a  pore  fostrid  creature.' 

And  whan  this  Walter  saugh  hir  pacience, 
Hir  glade  cheer,  and  no  malice  at  al. 
And  he  so  oft  had  doon  to  Im*  offence. 
And  sche  ay  sad  and  constant  as  a  wal, 
Continuyng  ever  hir  innocence  over  al, 
This  sturdy  marquys  gan  his  herte  dresse 
To  reweu  upon  hir  wyfly  stedefastnesse. 

'  This  is  y-nough,  Grisilde  myn,'  quod  he, 

*  Be  now  no  more  agast,  ne  yvel  apayed. 
I  have  thy  faith  and  thy  beniguite, 

As  wel  as  ever  womman  was,  assayed 
In  gret  estate,  and  projtreliche  arrayed; 
Now  knowe  I,  dere  wyf,  thy  stedefastnesse;' 
And  hir  in  armes  took,  and  gan  hir  kesse. 

And  sche  for  wonder  took  of  it  no  keepe ; 
Sche  herde  not  what  thing  he  to  hir  sayde, 
Sche  ferd  as  sche  had  stei-t  out  of  a  sleepe, 


'  [I'lio  wonl ' mo '  iiK'an^  ' otlicr',' a  delicate  way  of  saylni?  'another.' 
Tlie  Italian  text  ti;is  uWra,aiKl  tilt-  Latin  lias  alteram.  Chaucer  follows  the 
latter  throughout.— \V.  W.  S.] 


VOL.  I. 


O 


U    E 


418  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Til  sche  out  of  liir  masidnesse  abrayde. 
'  Grisild,'  quod  he,  '  by  God  that  foi'  us  deyde, 
Thou  art  my  wyf,  ne  noon  other  I  have, 
Ne  never  had,  as  God  my  soule  save. 

'  This  is  my  doughter,  which  thou  hast  supposed 
To  be  my  wif ;  that  other  faithfully 
Schal  be  myn  heir,  as  I  have  ay  purposed; 
Thow  bar  hem  in  thy  body  trewely. 
At  Boloyne  have  I  kept  him  prively ; 
Tak  hem  agayn,  for  now  maistow  not  seye. 
That  thou  hast  lorn  noon  of  thy  children  tweye. 

'  And  folk,  that  other  weyes  han  seyd  of  me, 
I  warn  hem  wel,  that  I  have  doon  this  deede 
For  no  malice,  ne  for  no  cruelte, 
But  for  tassaye  in  the  thy  wommanhede ; 
And  not  to  slen  my  children,  (God  forbede !) 
But  for  to  kepe  hem  prively  and  stille, 
Til  I  thy  purpos  knewe  and  al  thy  wil.' 

Whan  sche  this  herd,  aswoned  doun  sche  fallith 
For  pitous  joy,  and  after  her  swownyng 
Sche  bothe  hir  yonge  children  to  hir  callith, 
And  in  hir  armes  pitously  wepyng 
Embraseth  hem,  and  tenderly  kissyng, 
Ful  lik  a  moder  with  hir  salte  teris 
Sche  bathis  bothe  hir  visage  and  hir  eeris. 

O,  such  a  pitous  thing  it  was  to  see 
Her  swownyng,  and  hir  humble  vois  to  heere ! 
'  Graunt  mercy,  lord,  God  thank  it  yow,'  quod  sche, 
'  That  ye  han  saved  me  my  chikb-en  deere/ 
Now  rek  I  never  to  be  deed  right  heere, 
Sith  I  stond  in  your  love  and  in  your  grace. 
No  fors  of  deth,  ne  whan  my  spirit  pace. 

'  O  tender  deere  yonge  children  myne, 
Youre  woful  moder  wende  stedefastly, 
That  cruel  houndes  or  som  foul  vermyne 


1  Harl.  MS  — 

'  That  ye  han  kept  my  children  so  deert.' 


THE   CLERKES   TALE.  4  Hi 

Had  eten  yow;  but  God  of  his  mercy, 

And  your  benigne  fader  tenderly 

Hatli  doou  yow  kepe.'     And  in  tliat  same  stoiinde 

Al  sodeinly  sche  swapped  duuu  to  i^-ounde. 

And  in  hir  swough  so  sadly  holdith  sche 
Hir  children  tuo,  whan  sche  gan  hem  tembrace, 
That  with  gret  sleight  and  gret  dilKculte 
The  children  from  her  arm  they  gonne  arace. 
O !  many  a  teer  on  many  a  pitous  face 
Doun  ran  of  hem  that  stoodeu  hir  bisyde, 
Unnethe  aboute  hir  mighte  thay  abyde. 

Waltier  hir  gladith,  and  hir  sorwe  slakith, 
Sche  lysith  up  abaisshed  from  hir  traunce, 
And  every  wight  hir  joy  and  feste  niakith, 
Til  sche  hath  caught  agayn  her  continaunce. 
Wauter  hir  doth  so  faithfully  plesaunce, 
That  it  was  dayute  to  see  the  cheere 
Bitwix  hem  tuo,  now  thay  be  met  in  feere. 

These  ladys,  whan  that  thay  her  tyme  say, 
Han  taken  hir,  and  into  chambre  goon, 
And  stripi)e  hir  out  of  hir  rude  ax-niy, 
And  in  a  cloth  of  gold  that  brighte  schon, 
With  a  coroun  of  many  a  riche  stoon 
Upon  hir  heed,  thay  into  halle  hir  brought; 
And  thcr  sche  was  honoured  as  hir  ouglit. 

Thus  hath  this  pitous  day  a  blisful  ende ; 
For  every  man  and  womnian  doth  his  might 
This  day  in  mirth  and  revel  to  despende, 
Til  on  the  welken  schon  the  sterres  bright; 
For  more  solempne  in  every  mannes  sight 
This  feste  was,  and  gretter  of  costage, 
Than  was  the  revel  of  hir  mariage. 

Ful  many  a  yer  in  heigh  prosperite 
Lyven  these  tuo  in  concord  and  in  rest, 
And  richeliche  his  doughter  mai-ied  he 
Unto  a  lord,  on  of  the  worthiest 
Of  al  Ytaile,  and  thanue  in  pecs  and  rest 

•'>  V  2 

^     r«    w 


420  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

His  wyves  fader  in  liis  coui't  he  kepitli, 
Til  that  the  soule  out  of  his  body  crepith. 

His  sone  succedith  in  his  heritage, 
In  rest  and  pees,  after  his  fader  day ; 
And  fortunat  was  eek  in  mariage, 
Al  put  he  not  his  wyf  in  gret  assay. 
This  world  is  not  so  strong,  it  is  no  nay, 
As  it  hath  ben  in  olde  tymes  yore. 
And  herknith,  what  this  auctor  saith  therfore. 

This  story  is  sayd,  not  for  that  wyves  scholde 
Folwe  Grisild,  as  in  humilite, 
For  it  were  importable,  though  thay  wolde; 
But  for  that  every  wight  in  his  degre 
Schulde  be  constant  in  adversite. 
As  was  Grisild,  therfore  Petrark  writeth 
This  story,  which  with  high  stile  he  enditeth. 

For  sith^  a  womman  was  so  pacient 
Unto  a  mortal  man,  wel  more  us  oughte 
Receyven  al  in  gre  that  God  us  sent. 
For  gret  skil  is  he  prove  that  he  wroughte, 
But  he  ne  temptith  no  man  that  he  boughte,' 
As  saith  seint  Jame,  if  ye  his  pistil  rede; 
He  provith  folk  al  day,  it  is  no  drede ; 
And  suffrith  us,  as  for  our  exercise, 
With  scharpe  scourges  of  adversite 
Ful  ofte  to  be  bete  in  sondry  wise ; 
Nought  for  to  knows  cure  wille,  for  certes  he, 
Er  we  were  born,  knew  al  our  frelte ; 
And  for  oui'e  best  is  al  his  governaunce ; 
Let  us  thanne  lyve  in  vertuous  suffraunce. 
But  00  word,  lordes,  herkneth  er  I  go : 
It  were  ful  hard  to  fynde  now  a  dayes 
As  Grisildes  in  al  a  toun  tlire  or  tuo ; 
For  if  that  thay  were  put  so  such  assayes, 
The  gold  of  hem  hath  now  so  bad-de  alayes 


2 


•  Harl.  MS.,  swich.    The  reading  in  -he  text  is  that  of  the  Lansd.  XS. 
-  James  i.  ij. 


l'eNVOYE   DE   CHAUCER.  421 

With  l)i-as,  that  though  the  copi  be  iair  at  ye, 
It  wokle  rather  brest  in  tiio  than  i>lye. 

For  wliicli  hocr,  for  the  wyves  love  of  Bathe, — 
Wlios  lyf  ami  alio  of  hir  secte  God  mcyutene 
In  high  maistry,  and  elles  were  it  scathe, — 
I  wil  with  lusty  hortc  freiseh  and  gi-ene, 
Say  yow  a  song  to  glade  yow,  I  wene; 
And  lat  us  stjTit  of  eruostful  matiere. 
Herknith  ray  song,  that  saith  in  this  manere. 


l'eNVOYE    DE   CHAUCER.* 

G<  PiISILD  is  deed,  and  eek  hir  pacience, 
^   And  botlie  at  oones  bui'ied  in  Itayle  ; 
For  whiche  I  ciye  in  open  audience, 
No  weddid  man  so  hardy  be  to  assayle 
His  wyves  pacience,  in  liope  to  fynde 
Grisildes,  for  in  certeyn  he  schal  fayle. 

O  noble  wyves,  ful  of  heigh  prudence, 
Let  noon  humilite  your  tonges  nayle ; 
Ne  lat  no  clerk  have  cause  or  diligence 
To  write  of  yow  a  story  of  such  mervayle, 
As  of  Grisildes  pacient  and  kynde, 
Lest  Chichivache''  yow  swolvve  in  hir  entraile. 

Folwith  ecco,  that  holdith  no  silence, 
But  ever  answereth  at  the  countretayle  ; 

'  In  the  Envoye,  Chaucer  seems  to  indemnify  himself  for  his  patient 
aJortion  of  I'etrarch  in  tlie  foregoing  tale,  by  giving  the  reins  to  his 
characteristic  wit  and  irony. 

-  Tlic  allusion  is  to  tlie  subject  of  an  old  ballail,  still  preseni'cd  in 
the  MS.  Harl.,  sjSi,  fol.  i7o,b.  It  is  a  kind  of  I'ageant,  in  which 
two  beasts  are  introduced,  called  liijcorne  and  Chichevachc.  The  former 
is  supposed  to  feed  upon  obedient  husband.s,  and  the  latter  upon 
patient  wives ;  and  the  humour  of  the  piece  consists  in  representing 
Bycomc  as  pampered  witli  a  Huperlluity  of  food,  and  Chichevachc  as 
half-starved.     Tlie  name  Cliichevaclie  is  French,  vacca  parca. — T. 

Tyrwliitt  is  in  error  in  calling  the  ballad  a  I'ageant.  It  is  a  set  of 
verses  intended  to  be  inscribed  on  a  tapestry  representing  the  two 
beasts.  There  is  a  broad.-iide  woodcut  of  them  in  the  Society  of 
Antiquaries' Library.  For  a  poem  by  Lydgate  on  this  subject,  see 
Lydgate's  Minor  Tocms, edited  by  Mr.  Ilalliwell  for  the  I'ercy  Society. 


422  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Beth  nought  bydaffed  for  your  innocence, 
But  scharply  tak  on  yow  the  govemayle  ; 
Empryntith  wel  this  lessoun  on  your  mynde, 
For  comun  profyt,  sith  it  may  avayle. 

Ye  archewyves,  stondith  at  defens, 
Syn  ye  ben  strong,  as  is  a  greet  chamayle, 
Ne  suffre  not  that  men  yow  don  offens. 
And  sclendre  wyves,  felle  as  in  batayle, 
Beth  egre  as  is  a  tyger  yond  in  Inde ; 
Ay  clappith  as  a  mylle,  T  yow  counsaile. 

Ne  drede  hem  not,  do  hem  no  reverence, 
For  though  thin  housbond  armed  be  in  mayle, 
The  arwes  of  thy  crabbid  eloquence* 
Schal  perse  his  brest,  and  eek  his  adventayle  : 
In  gelousy  I  rede  eek  thou  him  bynde, 
And  thou  schalt  make  him  couche  as  doth  a  quayle. 

If  thou  be  fair,  ther  folk  ben  in  prosenee 
Schew  thou  thy  visage  and  thin  apparaile ; 
If  thou  be  foul,  be  fre  of  thy  despense, 
To  gete  the  frendes  do  ay  thy  travayle ; 
Be  ay  of  chier  as  light  as  lef  on  lynde, 
And  let  hem  care  and  wepe,  and  wryng  and  wayle.* 


THE  PROLOGE  OF  THE  MARCHAUNDES  TALE. 

'  "ITTEPYN'G  and  wailyng,  care  and  other  sorwe 

~  '     I  knowe  y-nough,  bothe  on  even  and  on  morwe,' 
Quod  the  Marchaimd,  '  and  so  doon  other  mo, 
That  weddin  ben ;  I  trowe  that  it  be  so, 


'  These  three  lines  possess  a  force  of  diction  that  will  remind  the 
reader  of  Dryden.  ['And  eek  his  adventayle'  means  'and  even  his 
helmet,"  i.e.  will  bruise  his  head,  however  securely  protected.— W.  W.  S.] 

-  Tyrwhitt  states  that  in  some  MSS.  the  following  stanza  is  inter- 
posed : — 

•  This  worthy  clerk,  when  ended  was  his  tale, 
Oure  hoste  said  and  swore  by  cockes  bones. 
Me  were  lever  than  a  barrel  of  ale 


THE  PROLOGE  OF  TUE  MARCUAUNDES  TALE.  423 

For  wel  I  woot  it  fareth  so  with  me. 

I  have  a  -w-yf,  the  woi-ste  that  may  be, 

For  thoui;h  the  feend  to  liir  y-coupled  were, 

Sche  wold  him  overmacche  I  dar  wel  swere. 

What  schuld  I  yow  reherse  in  special 

Hir  higli  malice?  sche  is  a  schrewe  at  al. 

Ther  is  a  long  and  a  large  difference 

Betwix  Grisildes  grete  pacience, 

And  of  my  ^vyf  the  passyng  cnielte. 

Were  I  unboundeu,  al  so  mot  I  the, 

I  wolde  never  eft  come  in  the  snare. 

We  weddid  men  lyve  in  sorwe  and  care, 

Assay  it  who  so  wil,  and  he  schal  fynde 

That  I  say  soth,  by  seint  Thomas  of  Inde, 

As  for  the  more  part,  I  say  not  alle; 

God  schilde  that  it  scholde  so  byfalle. 

A !  good  sir  host,  I  have  y-weddid  be 

Tliise  monethes  tuo,  and  more  not,  parde ; 

And  yit  I  trowe  that  he,  that  al  his  lyve 

Wyfles  hath  ben,  though  that  men  wold  him  rive 

Uuto  the  hert,  ne  couthe  in  no  manere 

Tellen  so  moche  sorwe,  as  I  now  heere 

Couthe  telle  of  my  wyfes  cursednesse.' 

*  Now,'  quod  our  ost, '  Marchaunt,  so  God  yow  blcsse! 
Sin  ye  so  moche  knowen  of  that  art, 
Ful  hortily  tellith  us  a  pai-t.' 
'  Gladly,'  quod  he,  '  but  of  myn  oughne  sore 
For  sory  hert  I  telle  may  na  more.' 


My  wyf  at  home  had  herd  tliis  k-gend  ones: 
This  is  a  gentil  tale  for  the  nonea, 
As  to  my  purpos,  \viste  ye  my  wille, 
But  thing  that  wol  not  i)o,  let  it  be  stilie.' 

If  these  lines  be  Chaucer's,  they  can  be  considered  only  as  a  fragment 
of  an  unfinished  prologue  which  he  afterwards  cancelled.  He  has  made 
use  of  the  same  thought  in  the  prologue  which  connects  the  Muiil.'s 
Tale  with  the  Tale  oj  MdilHU.i.  .Air.  Wright  says  that  in  some  AI.'>.S. 
the  prologue  given  in  the  text  is  omitted,  and  in  others  a  diflVrent  pro- 
logue is  given,  and  the  Chrkes  Tale  is  in  some  followed  by  the  Fraiikt- 
lej/nes.  The  prologue  and  arrantrcment  of  the  Harl.  MS.,  as  given  in 
the  text,  are,  however,  evidently  the  genuine  ones. 


424  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 


THE    MARCHAUNDES    TALE. 

[The  earliest  form  in  which  this  tale  has  been  preserved  is  a 
Latin  fable  by  Adolphus,  written  about  13 15,  containing  the 
adventure  of  the  pear-tree.  There  is  also  a  Latin  prose 
version  in  the  Appendix  to  JEsops  Fahles,  printed  in  the 
15th  century.  Mr.  Wright  has  republished  both  these  pieces 
in  his  Latin  Stories.  Chaucer,  in  all  probability,  derived  the 
subject  from  a  French  fabliau  older  than  either;  enriching 
his  original,  as  usual,  with  his  own  wit,  and  with  those 
graphic  pictures  of  manners  which  confer  upon  this  tale  a 
particular  value.  Pope's  modern  version,  January  and  May, 
is  familiar  to  all  readers.  The  introduction  of  Pluto  and 
Proserpine  as  the  King  and  Queen  of  '  Faerie,'  Tyrwhitt 
believes  to  belong  exclusively  to  Chaucer.  On  this  point 
generally,  see  page  335,  notes  i  and  2.] 

"IXrHILOM  tlier  was  dwellyng  in  Lombardy 

'  '     A  worthy  knight,  that  born  was  of  Pavy, 
In  which  he  ly ved  in  gret  prosperite ; 
And  fourty  yer  a  wifles  man  was  he, 
And  folwed  ay  his  bodily  delyt 
On  wommen,  ther  as  was  his  appetyt, 
As  doon  these  fooles  that  ben  secnlere.^ 
And  whan  that  he  was  passed  sixty  yere,* 
Were  it  for  holyness  or  for  dotage, 
I  can  not  say,  but  such  a  gret  corrage 
Hadde  this  knight  to  ben  a  weddid  man, 
That  day  and  night  he  doth  al  that  he  can 
Taspye  wher  that  he  mighte  weddid  be ; 
Praying  our  Lord  to  graunte  him,  that  he 

'  This  is,  perhaps,  ironical,  uttered  with  a  sly  glance  at  the  monk, 
frere,  and  other  priests  who  were  present ;  otherwise  the  propriety  of 
the  expression  in  the  mouth  of  the  mercliant,  himself  a  secular  person, 
is  not  apparent. 

-'  Tlie  reading  in  the  text  is  taken  from  the  Lansd.  MS.,  in  prefer- 
ence to  that  of  the  Harl.  MS.,  which  gives  the  age  as  xl.,  probably 
a  transposition  of  Ix.  The  knight,  it  seems,  w.ns  wifeless  for  forty 
years  after  the  usual  time  of  marriage — about  twenty. 


THE   MAKCHAUNDES   TALE.  42'» 

Miglit  ooncs  knowcn  of  that  blisful  lif 

That  is  bitwix  an  housboud  and  his  wyf, 

And  for  to  lyvc  under  that  holy  liond 

W'itli  which  God  first  man  to  woiunian  bond. 

'  Noon  other  lif,'  sayd  he,  '  is  worth  a  bene ; 

For  wedlok  is  so  holy  and  so  clone. 

That  in  this  Avorld  it  is  a  paradis.' 

Thus  sayd  this  olde  knight,  that  was  so  wys. 

And  certeinly,  as  soth  as  God  is  king. 

To  take  a  \\-y{  it*  is  a  glorious  tiling, 

And  namely  whan  a  man  is  old  and  hoor, 

Than  is  a  A\yf  the  fruyt  of  his  tresor ;" 

Than  schuld  he  take  a  yong  wif  and  a  foir, 

On  which  he  niight  engondre  him  an  hair, 

And  lede  his  lyf  in  mirthe  and  solace, 

Wheras  these  bachileres  synge  alias, 

Whan  that  thay  fyude  eny  adversite 

In  love,  which  is  but  childes  vanite. 

And  trewely  it  sit  wel  to  be  so. 

That  bachilers  have  ofte  peyue  and  wo; 

On  brutil  ground  thay  bulde,  and  brutelnesse 

Thay  fynde,  whan  thay  wene  sikemesse; 

Thay  lyve  but  as  a  brid  other  as  a  best, 

Tn  liberte  and  under  noon  arrest; 

Ther  as  a  weddid  man,  in  his  estate, 

Lyvith  his  lif  blLsfuP  and  ordinate. 

Under  the  yok  of  manage  i-bounde ; 

Wel  may  his  herte  in  joye  and  blisse  abounde; 

For  who  can  be  so  buxom  as  a  wyf? 

Who  is  so  trewe  and  eek  so  ententyf 

To  kepe  him,  seek  and  hool,  as  is  his  make? 

For  wele  or  woo  sche  wol  him  not  toi*sake. 


'  It  is  adopted  from  Tyrwhitt,  being  necessary  for  the  metre. 
*  All  the  knijihfs  reasons  for  marriajie  are  purposely   made  ridicu- 
lous ;  for  no  one  would  di'siro  to  tmve  a  wife  wlio  was  the  '  fruit  ot  h\i 
treasure' — that  is  to  say,  who  had  married  him  fee  money. 
3  Ilarl.  MS.,  6(wi7y. 


426 


THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Sche  is  not  wery  him  to  love  and  serve, 
Theigh  that  he  lay  bedred  til  that  he  sterve. 
And  yet  som  clerkes  seyn  it  is  not  so, 
Of  whiche  Theofrast  is  oon  of  tho. 
What  fors  though  Theofrast  liste  lye? 
Ne  take  no  wif,  quod  he,  for  housbondrye,* 
As  for  to  spare  in  houshold  thy  dispense; 
A  trewe  servaunt  doth  more  diligence 
Thy  good  to  kepe,  than  thin  oughne  wif, 
For  sche  wol  clayme  half  part  in  al  hir  lif. 
And  if  that  thou  be  seek,  so  God  me  save, 
Thyiie  verray  frendes  or  a  trewe  knave 
Wol  kepe  the  bet  than  sche  that  waytith  ay 
After  thy  good,  and  hath  doon  many  a  day. 
And  if  that  thou  take  a  wif,  be  war 
Of  oon  peril,  which  declare  T  ne  dar.^ 

This  entent,  and  an  hundrid  sithe  wors, 
Writith  this  man,  ther  God  his  bones  curs. 
But  take  no  keep  of  al  such  vanite ; 
Deffy  Theofrast,  and  herkne  me. 
A  wyf  is  Goddes  gifte  verrayly ; 
Al  other  maner  giftes  hardily, 
As  landes,  rentes,  pasture,  or  comune. 
Or  other  moeblis,  ben  giftes  of  fortune, 
That  passen  as  a  schadow  on  a  wal. 
But  dred  not,  if  I  playnly  telle  schal, 
A  wyf  wil  last  and  in  thin  hous  endiu-e, 
Wei  lenger  than  the  lust  peradventure. 
Mariage  is  a  fiil  gret  sacrament  f 
He  which  hath  no  wif  I  hold  him  schent ; 


'  What  follows,  to  the  line  beginning  '  After  thy  good,'  &c.,  is  taken 
from  Theoplira.stUH,  Liber  Aurcolus,  quoted  by  Jerome. 

-  Of  these  two  lines  there  are  many  versions  in  the  different  MSS. 
Tyrwhitt  omits  them  altogether,  and  thinks  that,  even  if  genuine, 
they  were  intended  as  the  opening  of  a  new  argument,  which  Chaucer 
afterwards  car^ellcd. 

•'  Kplies.  V.  33.  The  difference  between  our  version  and  the  Vulgate, 
which  Chaucer  follows,  arises  from  the  ambiguity  of  the  original  word, 
fivvrripiov,  which  is  translated  by  the  Latin  sacranKntum. 


THE   MARCHAUNDES  TALE.  427 

He  lyveth  lu'lples,  and  is  al  desolate 
(I  speke  of  folk  in  seculer'  estate). 
And  herken  why,  I  say  not  this  for  nought, 
That  womman  is  for  niannes  help  i-wrou<:;ht. 
The  hcighe  God,  whan  he  had  Adam  maked. 
And  saugh  him  al  aloone  body  naked, 
God  of  his  grete  goodnes  sayde  thanne, 
Let  us  now  make  an  helpe  to  this  manne 
Lyk  to  himself;  and  than  he  made  Eve. 
Her  may  ye  see,  and  here  may  ye  preve, 
That  vryi  is  mannes  help  and  his  comfort, 
His  paradis  terrestre  and  his  desport. 
So  buxom  and  so  vertuous  is  sche, 
Thay  mosten  neede  lyve  in  unite ; 
O  fleisch  thay  ben,  and  on  blood,  as  I  gesse. 
Have  but  oon  hert  in  wele  and  in  distresse. 

A  wyf?  a!  seinte  Mary,  benedicite, 
How  might  a  man  have  eny  adversite 
That  hath  a  vryfl  certes  I  can  not  say. 
The  joye  that  is  betwixen  hem  tway 
Ther  may  no  tonge  telle  or  herte  think. 

If  he  be  pore,  sche  helpith  him  to  swynk; 

Sche  kepith  his  good,  and  wastith  never  a  del ; 

And  al  that  her  housbond  list,  sche  likith  it  wel ; 

Sche  saith  nought  oones  nay,  whan  he  saith  ye  ; 

Do  this,  saith  he;  al  redy,  sir,  saith  sche. 
0  blisful  ordre,  o  wedlok  precious ! 

Thou  art  so  mery,  and  eek  so  vertuous, 

And  so  comendid,  and  approved  eek, 

That  every  man  that  holt  him  worth  a  leek. 

Upon  his  bare  knees  ought  al  his  lyf 

Thankeu  his  God,  that  him  hath  sent  a  wif, 

Or  pray  to  God  oon  hiia  for  to  sonde 

To  be  with  him  unto  hia  lyves  ende. 

For  than  his  lyf  is  .set  in  sikernesse; 

He  may  not  lie  deceyved,  as  I  gesse, 

'  The  knight  means  to  say, '  I  do  not  mean  to  apply  this  to  the 
clergy,  but  to  the  laity — to  secular  persons.' 


428  THE    CAIfTERBURy   TALES, 

So  that  he  worche  after  his  wyfes  red; 
Than  may  be  boldely  here  up  his  heed, 
Thay  beu  so  trewe,  and  also  so  'wjse, 
For  whiche,  if  thou  wolt  do  as  the  wyse, 
Do  alway  so,  as  womnian  wol  the  rede. 
Lo  how  that  Jacob,  as  the  clerkes  rede, 
By  good  counseil  of  his  moder  Rebecke, 
Band  the  kydes  skyn  about  his  nekke ; 
For  which  his  fader  benesoun  he  wan.^ 
Lo  Judith,  as  the  story  telle  can, 
By  wys  counseil  sche  Goddes  poepel  kept, 
And  slough  him  Oliphernus  whil  he  slept. 

Lo  Abygaille,^  by  good  counseil  how  sche 
Savyd  hir  housbond  Nabal,^  whan  that  he 
Schold  han  ben  slayn.     And  loke,  Hester  also  * 
By  good  counseil  delivered  out  of  wo 
The  poeple  of  God,  and  made  him  Mardoche 
Of  Assuere  euhaimsed  for  to  be. 
Ther  nys  no  thing  in  gre  superlatif 
(As  saith  Senec)*  above  an  humble  wyf. 
Suffre  thy  wyves  tonge,  as  Catoun*  hjt, 
Sche  schal  comaunde,  and  thou  schalt  suffre  it. 
And  yit  sche  wil  obeye  of  curtesye. 

A  wif  is  keper  of  thin  housbondrye : 
Wei  may  the  sike  man  wayle  and  wej^e, 
Ther  as  ther  is  no  wyf  the  hous  to  kepe. 
I  warne  the,  if  wisely  thou  wilt  wirche, 
Love  wel  thy  wyf,  as  Crist  loveth  his  chirche;' 
If  thou  lovest  thiself,  thou  lovest  thy  wyf 
No  man  hatith  his  fleissch,  but  in  his  lif 

•  Gen.  xxvii.  *  i  Sam.  xv. 

3  Harl.  MS.,  Kacab,  a  mere  clerical  error. 

''  Harl.  jMS.,  for  Hester  also,  reads  after  also,  and  for  Mardoche,  Mati- 
doche ;  but  these  are  obviously  clerical  errors. 

5  Tyrwhitt  informs  us  that  in  tlie  margin  of  MS.  C.  i.,  is  given  thia 
quotation  from  Seneca : — '  Sicut  nihil  est  superius  benigna  conjuge,  ita 
nihil  est  crudelius  infesta  muliere.' 

G  The  nom  de  guerre  of  the  compiler  of  the  Disticha,  a  well-known 
mediaeval  collection  of  apliorisms.  Tlie  passage  is  given  in  the  margin  of 
MS.  C.  i.: — 'Uxorislinguam,  si  frugi  est,  ferre  memento.'         '  Eplies.  v. 


THE   MARCUAUNDES   TALE.  429 

He  fostritli  it,  and  therfore  wame  I  tl>e 
Clierissh  thy  wyf,  or  thou  schalt  never  the. 
lluusboii.l  :ui(l  wit"  what  so  men  j.ij)c  or  pleye, 
Of  ■worklly  folk  hoklcn  tlie  righte  weye ; 
Thay  ben  so  knyt,  ther  may  noon  harm  bytyde, 
And  nameliche  upon  the  wyves  sydo. 
For  which  this  January,  of  which  I  tolde, 
Considered  hath  iiiwith  his  dayes  olde 
The  lusty  lif,  the  vertuous  quiete, 
That  is  in  manage  honey-swete. 

And  for  his  freudes  on  a  day  he  sente 
To  tellen  hem  theftect  of  his  entent. 
Witli  face  sad,  lie  hath  hem  this  tale  told; 
He  sayde,  '  Fi-endes,  I  am  hoor  and  okl, 
And  almost  (God  woot)  at  my  pittes  brinke,' 
Upon  my  soule  som  what  most  I  thynke. 
I  have  my  body  folily  dis{)C'iulid, 
Blessed  be  God  that  it  sehal  be  amendid; 
For  I  wil  be  certeyn  a  weddid  man, 
And  that  anoon  in  al  the  hast  I  can. 
Unto  som  mayde,  fair  and  tender  of  age. 
I  pray  yow  helpith  for  my  mariage 
Al  sodeynly,  for  I  wil  not  abydej 
And  I  wil  fonde  tespien  on  my  syde, 
To  whom  1  may  be  weddid  hastily. 
But  for  als  moche  as  ye  ben  mo  than  I, 
Ye  schul  rather  such  a  thing  as])ien 
Than  I,  and  wher  me  lust  beste  to  allien. 
But  oo  thing  warne  I  yow,  my  freudes  deere, 
I  wol  noon  old  wyf  have  in  no  mauere ; 
Sche  schal  not  passe  sixtene  yer  certayn. 
Old  fisch  and  young  fleisch,  that  wold  I  have  ful  fuya 
Bet  is,'  quod  he,  '  a  pyk  than  a  pikerell. 
And  bet  than  olde  boef  is  the  tendre  vel. 
I  wil  no  womman  twenty  yer  of  age, 
It  nys  but  bene-straw  and  gret  forage. 


•  At  the  brink  of  my  grave. 


430  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

And  eek  these  olde  wydewes  (God  it  woot) 
Thay  can  so  moclie  craft  of  Wades ^  boot, 
So  moche  broken  harm  whan  that  hem  list, 
That  with  hem  schuld  I  never  lyven  in  rest. 
For  sondry  scolis  maken  subtil  clerkes ; 
Womman  of  many  a  scole'''  half  a  clerk  is. 
But  certeyn,  a  yong  thing  may  men  gye, 
Right  as  men  may  warm  wax  with  hondes  plye. 
Wherfor  I  say  yow  plenerly  in  a  clause, 
I  wil  noon  old  wyf  han  right  for  that  cause. 
For  if  so  were  I  hadde  so  meschaunce, 
That  I  in  hir  ne  couthe  have  no  plesaunce, 
Then  sch  aid  I  lede  my  lyf  in  advoutrie, 
And  go  streight  to  the  devel  whan  I  dye. 
Ne  children  schuld  I  noon  upon  hir  geten ; 
Yet  were  me  lever  houndes  had  me  eten, 
Than  that  myn  heritage  schulde  falle 
In  straunge  bond;  acd  thus  I  telle  yow  alle. 
I  doute  not,  I  wot  the  cause  why 
Men  scholde  wedde ;  and  forthermor  woot  I, 
Ther  spekith  many  man  of  mariage. 
That  wot  nomore  of  it  than  wot  my  page 
For  whiche  causes  man  schuld  take  a  wyf. 
If  he  ne  may  not  chast  be  by  his  lif,* 
Take  him  a  wif  with  gret  devocioun, 
Bycause  of  lawful  procreacioun 


1  Tyrwhitt,  after  quoting  Speght's  words, '  Concerniiig  Wade  and 
his  bote  called  Guingelot,  as  also  his  strange  exploits  in  the  same, 
because  the  matter  is  long  and  fabulous,  I  passe  it  over,'  adds,  '  Tan- 
tamne  rem  tarn  negligenter  ?'  It  is  curious  that  no  history  of  these 
celebrated  adventures  has  come  down  to  us,  though  so  popular  in  the 
middle  ages.  Mr.  Wright  says  that  M.  Fr.  Jlichel,  in  au  essay,  Sitr 
Vade,  has  collected  all  that  is  known  of  this  famous  northern  hero. 
He  appears  to  have  been  a  sort  of  Scandinavian  Ulysses,  and  is, 
therefore,  cited  as  an  example  of  craft  and  cunning.  See  Troilus  ami 
Creadde,  b.  iii : — 

'lie  songe.she  pleyde,  he  tolde  a  tale  of  Wade." 

2  Harl.  MS.,  sld/e. 

3  This  argument,  taken  from  the  old  EngUsh  Rltuale.  is  retained  in 
the  exhortation  prefixed  to  the  marriage  service  in  the  Book  of 
Common  Prayer. 


THE   MARCHAUNDES   TALE.  431 

Of  cliildreu,  to  thonour  of  God  above, 
And  not  oonly  for  paniinoiir  and  for  love; 
And  foi-  thay  schuldu  Icccheryc  cschiewe, 
And  yeld  oure  dettcs  whan  that  it  is  due; 
Or  for  that  ilk  man  schulde  helfjen  other 
In  meschief,  as  a  sustor  schal  thu  brother, 
And  lyvo  in  chastite  ful  holily. 
But,  sires,  by  your  leve,  that  am  not  I 
For  God  be  thanked,  I  dar  make  avaunt, 
I  fele  my  lemys  stark  and  sutKhaunt 
To  doon  al  that  a  man  bilongetli  unto ; 
T  wot  my  selve  best  what  I  may  do. 

'  Though  I  be  hoor,  I  fare  as  doth  a  tree. 
That  blossemitli  er  that  the  fruyt  i-waxe  be, 
A  blossemy  ti'e  is  neither  drye  ne  deed; 
I  fele  me  no  wlicr  hoor  but  on  myn  heed. 
Myn  hcrte  and  al  my  lynies  ben  as  greene, 
As  laiirer  thurgh  the  yeer  is  for  to  seene. 
And  synues  ye  han  herd  al  myn  entent, 
I  pray  yow  to  my  wille  ye  assent.' 

Diverse  men  diversly  him  tolde 
Of  mariage  many  ensamples  olde; 
Some  blamed  it,  some  praised  it  certayn; 
But  atte  laste,  schoi'tly  for  to  sayn, 
(As  alday  fallith  altercacioun, 
Bitwixe  frendes  in  dispitesoun) 
Ther  fel  a  strif  bitwen  his  bretheren  tuo. 
Of  wliich  that  oon  was  clepid  Placebo,* 
Justinus  sothly  cleped  was  that  other. 
Placebo  sayde :   '  O  January,  brother. 
Ful  litel  need  had  ye,  my  lord  so  deere, 
Counseil  to  axe  of  eny  that  is  heere; 
But  that  ye  ben  so  ful  of  sapience, 
That  yow  ne  likith  for  your  heigh  prudence 
To  wayve  fro  the  word  of  Salamon. 
This  word,  said  he,  unto  us  eveiychoon : 


'  This  name  indicates  bis  compIaL>aace.     See  atUe,  p.  }^8,  note  i. 


432  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Werk  al  thing  by  coimsail,  thus  sayd  he, 

And  thanne  schaltow  nought  repente  the. 

But  though  that  Salamon  speke  such  a  word, 

Myn  owne  deex^e  brother  and  my  lord, 

So  wisly  God  bring  my  soule  at  rest,^ 

I  holde  your  oughne  counseil  is  the  best. 

Por,  brother  myn,  of  me  tak  this  motif, 

I  have  now  ben  a  covirt-man  al  my  lyf, 

And  God  wot,  though  that  I  umvorthy  be, 

I  have  standen  in  ful  gret  degre 

Abouten  lordes  in  ful  high  estat ; 

Yit  had  I  never  with  noon  of  hem  debaat, 

I  never  hem  contraried  trewely. 

I  wot  wel  that  my  lord  can  more  than  I ; 

What  that  he  saith,  I  hold  it  ferm  and  stable, 

I  say  the  same,  or  elles  thing  semblable. 

A  ful  gx'et  fool  is  eny  counselour. 

That  servith  any  lord  of  high  honour, 

That  dar  presume,  or  oones  thenken  it. 

That  his  counseil  schuld  passe  his  lordes  wit 

Nay,  lordes  ben  no  fooles  by  my  fay. 

Ye  have  your  self  y- spoken  heer  to  day 

So  heigh  sentens,  so  holly,  and  so  wel, 

That  I  consente,  and  conferme  every  del 

Your  wordes  alle,  and  youre  oppinioun. 

By  God  ther  is  no  man  in  al  this  toun 

Ne  in  Ytaile,  couthe  better  have  sayd ; 

Crist  holdith  him  of  this  ful  wel  apayd. 

And  trewely  it  is  an  heigh  corrage 

Of  any  man  that  stopen  is  in  age. 

To  take  a  yong  wyf,  by  my  fader  kyn; 

Your  herte  hongith  on  a  joly  pyn. 

Doth  now  in  this  matier  right  as  yow  lest, 

For  fynally  I  hold  it  for  the  best.' 

Justinus,  that  ay  stille  sat  and  herde. 

Right  in  this  wise  he  to  Placebo  answerde. 

•  Harl.  MS.,  at  ese  and  rest,  which  spoils  the  metre 


THE    MAKCIIAUNDES    TALE. 


433 


'  Now,  brother  myn,  be  pacient  I  yow  pray, 

Syns  ye  have  sayd,  and  herkiiith  what  I  say : 

Senek  amonges  other  wordus  wyse 

Saith,  that  a  man  aught  him  wel  avyse, 

To  whom  he  glveth  his  lond  or  his  CiiteL 

And  syas  I  aught  avyse  me  right  wel, 

To  whom  I  give  my  good  away  fro  me, 

Wel  more  I  aught  advised  for  to  be 

To  whom  I  give  my  body ;  for  alwey 

I  warn  yow  wel  it  is  no  childes  pley 

To  take  a  wyf  withoute  avisement. 

Men  most  enquere  (this  is  myn  assent) 

Wher  sche  be  wys,  or  sobre,  or  dronkelewe. 

Or  proud,  or  eny  other  way  a  schrewe, 

A  chyder,  or  a  wastour  of  thy  good. 

Or  riche  or  pore,  or  elles  man  is  wood. 

Al  be  it  so,  that  no  man  fynde  schal 

Noon  in  this  world,  that  trottith  hool  in  al,* 

Neyther  man,  ne  best,  such  as  men  can  devyse. 

But  natheles  it  aught  y-nough  suffise 

With  any  ^vyf,  if  so  were  that  sche  hadde 

!RIo  goode  thewes  than  hir  vices  badde ; 

And  al  this  askith  leyser  to  enquere. 

For  God  woot,  I  have  weped  many  a  tere 

Ful  prively,  .syns  I  have  had  a  wyf. 

Prayse  who  so  wil  a  weddid  mannes  lif, 

Certcs  I  fynd  in  it  but  cost  and  care, 

And  observciunce  of  alle  blisses  bare. 

And  yit,  God  woot,  myn  neighebours  aboute, 

And  namely  of  wommeu  many  a  route, 

Sayn  that  1  have  the  moste  stedefast  wyf. 

And  eek  the  meekest  oon  that  berith  lyf ; 

But  I  woot  best,  wher  wryngith  me  my  scho.* 

Ye  may  for  me  right  as  yow  liste  do. 


'  A  mpf.nphor  from  horses,  nii-.-knin^,  Xo  woman  U  witliout  fauIU, 
just  as  there  id  no  horso  whicli  will  trot  perlfctly  souud  in  all 
respects. 

*  St>e  ante,  p.  }ii,  note  4. 

VOL.  I.  2    F 


■i34  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Avysith  yow,  ye  ben  a  man  of  age, 

How  that  ye  entren  into  mariage ; 

And  namly  with  a  yong  wit"  and  a  fair. 

By  him  that  made  water,  eorthe,  and  air, 

The  yongest  man,  that  is  in  al  this  route, 

Is  busy  y-nough  to  bring  it  wel  aboute 

To  have  his  wif  alloone,  trustith  me ; 

Ye  schul  not  please  hir  fully  yeres  thre, 

This  is  to  say,  to  doon  hir  ful  plesaunce. 

A  wyf  axith  ful  many  an  observaunce. 

I  pray  yow  that  ye  be  not  evel  apayd.' 

'  Wel,'  quod  this  January,  '  and  hastow  sayd  1 

Straw  for  thy  Senec,  and  for  thy  proverbis ! 

I  counte  nought  a  panyer  ful  of  herbes 

Of  scole  termes;  wiser  men  than  thow. 

As  I  have  sayd,  assenten  her  right  now 

Unto  my  purpose:  Placebo,  what  say  yel' 

'  I  say  it  is  a  cursed  man,'  quod  he, 

^  That  lettith  matrimoigne  sicurly.' 

And  with  that  word  thay  lysen  up  sodeinly, 

And  ben  assented  fully,  tliat  he  scholde 

Be  weddid  whan  him  lust,  and  wher  he  wolde. 

The  fantasy  and  the  curious  busynesse 
Fro  day  to  day  gan  in  the  soule  impresse 
Of  January  aboute  his  mariage. 
Many  a  fair  schap,  and  many  a  fair  visage, 
Ther  passith  thorugh  his  herte  night  by  night. 
As  who  so  took  a  mirrour  polissched  bright, 
And  set  it  in  a  comun  market  place. 
Than  schiild  he  se  many  a  figure  pace 
By  his  mirrour ;  and  in  the  same  wise 
Gan  January  in  his  thought  devyse 
Of  maydens,  which  that  dwellid  him  l)isyde ; 
He  wist  not  where  that  he  might  abyde. 
For  though  that  oon  have  beaute  in  hir  face. 
Another  stant  so  in  the  poeples  grace 
For  hir  sadness  and  hir  benignite, 
That  of  the  poeple  grettest  vois  hath  sche ; 


THE    MARCIIAUNDES   TALE.  431 

And  som  were  liche  and  hadde  badde  name. 

But  natheles,  bitwix  enie.'^t  and  game, 

He  atte  last  appoyiitcd  him  an  oon,  ■ 

And  let  al  other  tVo  his  herte  goon, 

And  cbes  hir  of  his  outline  auctorite, 

For  love  is  blynd  al  day,  and  may  not  se. 

And  ^vhan  ho  '.vas  into  hcdde  brought, 

He  purtrayed  in  his  hert  and  in  his  thought 

Hir  freische  beaute,  and  hir  age  tendre, 

Hir  myddel  smal,  hir  armcs  long  and  sclendre, 

Hir  wise  governaunce,  hir  geutilesse, 

Hir  woramanly  berjTig,  and  hir  sadnesse. 

And  whan  that  he  on  hir  was  coudescendid. 
Him    thought    his    chois    mighte    nought    bt- 

ameudid : 
For  whan  that  he  himself  concludid  hadde, 
Him  thought  ech  other  mannes  witte'  so  baddf. 
That  impossible  it  were  to  repplie 
Agayn  his  choys :  this  was  his  fantasia. 
His  frendes  sent  he  to,  at  his  instaunce, 
And  prayed  hem  to  doon  him  that  plesaunce, 
That  hastily  thay  wolde  to  him  come ; 
He  wold  abrigge  her  labour  alle  and  some. 
Nedith  no  more  for  him  to  gon  ne  lyde, 
He  was  appoynted  thcr  he  wold  abyde. 
Placebo  cam,  and  eek  his  frendes  soone, 
And  althirfirst  he  bad  hem  alle  a  boone. 
That  noon  of  hem  noon  argumentis  make 
Agayn  the  purpos  which  that  he  had  take; 
Which  purpos  was  plesaunt  to  God,  sayd  he, 
And  verray  gi-ound  of  his  propperite. 

He  sayd,  ther  was  a  mayden  in  that  toun, 
Which  that  of  beaute  hadde  gret  rcnoun, 
Al  wore  it  so,  sche  were  of  smal  dogre, 
Suffisith  him  hir  youthe''  and  hir  beaute; 


*  Harl.  MS.,  icyf.   The  reading  in  tlio  text  is  from  the  Lansd.  M9 
a  llftrl.  M.S,rrou//ie. 


F    2 


436  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Which  mayde,  he  sayd,  he  wold  have  to  his  wyf, 

To  lede  in  ease  and  holinesse  his  lyf ; 

And  thanked  God,  that  he  might  have  hir  al, 

That  no  wight  with  his  blisse  parten  schal ; 

And  preyed  hem  to  labonre  in  this  neede, 

And  schapen  that  he  faile  not  to  speede. 

For  than  he  sayd,  his  spirit  was  at  ease ; 

'  Than  is,'  quod  he,  '  no  thing  may  me  displease, 

Save  oon  thing  prikkith  in  my  conscience. 

The  which  I  wil  reherse  in  your  presence. 

I  have  herd  sayd,'  qnod  he,  '  ful  yore  ago, 

Ther  may  no  man  have  parfyt  blisses  tuo, 

This  is  to  say,  in  erthe  and  eek  in  hevene. 

For  though  he  kepe  him  fro  the  synnes  sevene,' 

And  eek  from  ylk  a  braunche  of  thilke  tre, 

Yit  is  ther  so  parfyt  felicite 

And  so  gret  ease  and  lust  in  mariage, 

That  ever  I  am  agast  now  in  myn  age. 

That  I  schal  lede  now  so  mery  a  lyf, 

So  delicat,  withoute  wo  and  stryf, 

That  I  schal  have  myn  heven  in  erthe  heere. 

For  sith  that  verrey  heven  is  bought  so  deere 

With  tribulacioun  and  gret  penaunce, 

How  schuld  I  thanne,  that  live  in  such  plesaunce 

As  alle  weddid  men  doon  with  her  wyves, 

Come  to  blisse  ther  Crist  eterne  on  lyve  is? 

This  is  my  drede,  and  ye,  my  bretheren  tweye, 

Assoilith  me  this  questioun,  I  yow  preye.' 

Justinus,  which  that  hated  his  folye, 
Answerd  anoon  right  in  his  japerie; 
And  for  he  wold  his  longe  tale  abrigge. 
He  wolde  noon  auctorite  alegge. 
But  sayde,  '  Sir,  so  ther  be  noon  obstacle 
Other  than  this,  God  of  his  high  miracle. 
And  of  his  mercy  may  so  for  yow  wirche. 
That  er  ye  have  your  rightes  of  holy  chirche, 

•  The  seven  deadly  sins,  from  wliich  all  the  others  branch  out  a.' 
from  a  stem. 


THE   MARCHAUNDES  TALE.  437 

"Y  e  may  repente  of  weddid  mannes  lyf, 

In  which  ye  sayu  ther  is  no  wo  ne  stryf; 

Aud  ellis  God  forbode,  hut  he  sente 

A  weddid  man  grace  him  to  rcpeute 

Wei  ofte,  rather  than  a  sengle  man. 

And  tlu'rfor,  sire,  the  beste  reed  I  can, 

Dispaire  vow  nought,  but  liave  in  youre  memorie, 

Pei-ad venture  slie  may  be  your  purgatorie ; 

Sche  may  be  Goddes  meue  aud  Goddes  wliippe; 

Thau  schal  your  soule  up  to  heven  skippe 

Swylter  than  doth  an  arwe  out  of  a  bowe. 

I  hope  to  God  herafter  you  shuln  knowe, 

That  ther  nys  noon  so  grct  felicite 

In  mariage,  ne  nevermor  schal  be, 

That  you  schal  lette  of  your  savacioun, 

So  that  ye  use,  as  skile  is  and  resoun, 

The  lustes  of  your  \ryi  attemperely, 

And  tliat  ye  please  hir  not  to  amorously; 

And  that  ye  kepe  yow  eek  from  other  syune. 

INIy  tale  is  doon,  for  my  witt  is  tliynne. 

Leth  not  agast  hereof,  my  brother  deere, 

But  let  us  waden  out  of  this  matiere. 

The  wif  of  Bathe,'  if  ye  han  understonde, 

Of  mariage,  which  ye  han  now  in  honde, 

Declared  hath  ful  wel  in  litel  space; 

Fareth  now  well,  God  have  yow  in  his  grace.' 

And  with  that  word  this  Justinus  and  his  brother 
Han  tak  her  leve,  and  ech  of  hem  of  other. 
And  whan  they  saugh  that  it  most  needis  be, 
Thay  wroughten  so  by  sleight  and  wys  trete, 
That  sche  this  mayden,  which  that  Mayhus  hight, 
As  hastily  as  ever  that  sche  might, 
Schal  weddid  be  unto  this  Januarie. 
I  trow  it  were  to  longe  yow  to  tarie, 
If  I  yow  tolde  of  every  scrit  and  bond, 
By  which  that  sche  was  feoffed  in  his  lond ; 

'  Justimis  is  here  made  to  speak  as  if  he  had  actually  heard  the 
it'uffJ  Satluii  Tale,  which  had  been  just  recited. 


438  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Or  for  to  herken  of  hir  riche  array. 
But  finally  y-comen  is  that  daj', 
That  to  the  chirche  bothe  ben  thay  went, 
For  to  receyve  the  holy  sacrament.^ 
Forth  comth  the  preost,  with  stoole'^  about  his  necke, 
And  bad  hir  be  lik  Sarra  and  Rebecke^ 
In  wisdom  and  in  trouth  of  naariage ; 
And  sayd  his  orisouns,  as  is  usage, 
And  crouched*  hem,  and  bad  God  schuld  hem  bles 
And  made  al  secur  y-nough  with  holinesse. 
Thus  ben  thay  weddid  with  solempnite ; 
And  atte  feste  sittith  he  and  sche 
With  othir  worthy  folk  upon  the  deyes. 
Al  ful  of  joy  and  blis  is  the  paleys, 
And  ful  of  instrumentz,  and  of  vitaile, 
The  moste  deintevous  of  al  Yiaile. 
Bifom  hem  stood  such  instruments  of  soun, 
That  Orpheus,  ne  of  Thebes  Amphioun, 
Ne  maden  never  such  a  melodye. 
At  every  cours  ther  cam  loud  menstralcye,' 

'  Either  the  sacrament  of  marriage,  or  the  holy  eucharist,  which 
was  then  usually  received  by  the  newly  married,  a  custom  still 
enjoined  by  the  English  Book  of  Common  Prayer.  See  rubric  after 
marriage  service. 

-  The  stole  is  a  strip  of  silk,  which  used  formerly  to  be  richly 
embroidered  and  fringed  at  the  ends,  worn  round  the  neck  with  the 
ends  hanging  down  before  by  priests,  and  over  the  left  shoulder  by 
deacons,  and  is  supposed  to  symbolize  the  '  yoke'  of  Christ. 

3  The  exhortation  to  be  like  Sarah  and  Rebecca  is  retained  in  the 
English  service. 

■*  He  crouched  them  means  he  made  the  sign  of  the   cross  over 
them.     Thus,  in  Skelton's  Colin  Clout,  Ryott  is  represented — 
'  And  by  his  syde  his  whynarde,  and  his  pouche. 
The  devyll  might  dance  therein  for  any  crouche.' 
Here  crouche  means  a  piece  of  money  marked  with  a  cross,  to  which 
symbol  the  devil  is  supposed  to  have  a  peculiar  antipathy.     The  form 
in  the  liiiufile  JRomanum  is,  'Ego  conjungo  vos  in  matrimoniimi.     In 
nomine  Patris  +  et  Filii  et  Spiritus  Sancti.     Amen.'    Tliemark  means 
that  the  priest  was  to  sign  them  in  this  form  with  his  hai.-d. 

*  There  is  an  example  of  the  custom  of  ushering  in  the  several 
courses  at  solemn  feasts  with  music  in  Dugdale's  OrUjincs  JurUUcinks, 
p.  1 55,  where  he  describes  the  observances  at  Christmas  in  the  Innec 
Temple.     At  dinner, '  at  the  first  course  is  served  in  a  fair  and  l;irge 


THE   MARCHAUNDES   TALE.  439 

That  never  tromped  Joab'  for  to  heere, 
Ne  he  Theo(h)nia.s  yit  half  so  cleere 
At  Thebes,  whan  the  eitee  was  iu  doute. 
Bachus  the  "wyn  hem  schenchith  al  aboute, 
Auil  Venus  hui^hith  upon  eveiy  wiglit, 
(For  Janiuiry  was  bycome  liir  knight, 
And  wolde  bothe  assayen  his  corrage 
In  liberte  and  eek  in  manage) 
And  with  liir  fuyrlirond  in  hir  houd  aboute 
Dauuceth  bit'ure  the  bryde  and  al  tlie  route. 
And  certeynly  I  dar  right  wel  say  this, 
Ymeneus,  that  god  of  weddyng  is, 

bore's  liead,  upon  a  silver  platter,  wUh  minstralci/e.'  Holinshed 
(Chron.  iii.  76)  says  that  in  the  year  1  i/o,  Henry  II.  '  served  his  sonne 
at  the  table  as  sewer.  brinjjiiiK  up  the  bore's  head  [then  tlie  principal 
dish]  irith  trumpets  bejore  it  accordiiui  to  the  manner.'  In  the  collection 
of  Christmas  Carols,  published  by  Wynkyn  de  Worde  in  iS^i.is  tlir 
following  specimen  of  the  '  minstralcye'  used  on  such  occasions : — 

'  Caput  apri  defero 
Keddens  laudes  Domino. 

The  bore's  head  in  hand  bring  I, 
With  garlans  gay  and  rosemary  ; 
I  pray  you  all  singe  merely, 
Qui  estis  in  convivio. 

The  bore's  head,  I  understand. 
Is  the  chefe  servyce  in  the  lande, 
I^ke,  wherever  it  be  fande, 

Servite  cum  cantico,'  &c. 

VVarton  says  that  this  carol,  with  many  variations,  was  still  retained 
in  liis  time  at  Queen's  Coll.,  Oxford.  In  another,  contained  in  the 
'  Parkinpton  .M.S.,"  a  miscellany  of  the  lifteenth  century,  is  a  bill  of 
fare,  which  would  puzzle  the  most  accomplished  cook  of  modern  times  -. — 

'  Hey,  hey,  hey,  hey,  the  borys  hede  is  armyd  gay. 
•  ••••• 

Then  commys  in  the  second  kowrn  with  mykylle  pryrte, 
'fhecr.innus,  thi;  herroun-',  the  bitters  by  tliT  sydo, 
The  pertrychys  and  the  plowers,  the  uonlcokes  and  the  snyt. 

With  hey,  hey,"  &c. 

'  Joab  is  David's  captain  of  the  host,  and  is  often  represented  as 
'  blowing  the  trumpet,'  to  call  together  the  army  of  .luduh.  Tyrwhitt 
bupposis  that  Theodainas  is  a  character  in  some  romantic  history  of 
Thebes.  He  is  prelixed  emphatically,  as  in  p.  4:'?,  him  Oliphemuj 
him  Mardoche. 


440  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Seigh  never  his  lif  so  mery  a  weddid  man. 

Holde  thy  pees,  thow  poete  Marcian/ 

That  writest  us  that  ilke  weddyng  merye 

Of  hir  Philologie  and  him  Mercurie, 

And  of  the  songes  that  the  Muses  songe ; 

To  sma]  is  bothe  thy  penne  and  eek  thy  tonge 

For  to  descrive  of  this  mariage. 

Whan  tender  youthe  hath  weddid  stoupyng  age, 

Ther  is  such  mirthe  that  it  may  not  be  write; 

Assaieth  it  your  self,  than  may  ye  wyte 

If  that  I  lye  or  noon  in  this  mateere. 

Mayus,  that  sit  with  so  benigne  a  cheere, 

Hir  to  bihold  it  seemed  feyerye;^ 

Queen  Esther  loked  never  with  such  an  ye 

Un  Assuere,  so  meke  a  look  hath  sche; 

I  may  not  yow  devyse  al  hir  beaute ; 

But  thus  moche  of  hir  beaute  telle  I  may. 

That  sche  was  lyk  the  brighte  morw  of  JMay, 

Fullild  of  alle  beaute  and  plesaunce. 

This  January  is  ravyscht  in  a  traunce, 
At  every  tyme  he  lokith  in  hir  face, 
But  in  his  hert  he  gan  hir  to  manace, 
That  he  that  night  in  armes  Avoid  hir  streyue 
Harder  than  ever  Paris  did  Eleyne. 
But  natheles  yit  had  he  gret  })ite 
That  thilke  night  ofFenden  hir  most  he. 
And  thought :  '  Alas  !  O  tendre  creature, 
Now  wolde  God  ye  mighte  wel  endure 
Al  my  corrage,  it  is  so  scharp  and  keene ; 
I  am  agast  ye  schul  it  not  susteene. 
For  God  forbede,  that  I  dede  al  my  might. 
Now  wolde  God  that  it  were  woxe  night. 
And  that  the  night  wold  stonden  evermo. 
I  wold  that  al  this  poeple  were  ago.' 


'  An  African,  who  lived  in  the  time  of  Heraclius,  and  wrote  at 
Komo,  among  other  things,  a  poem  on  grammar  and  the  arts,  under 
rhe  name  of  De  A'apliis  PhUolofiim  et  Mtrcimi. 

*  lt.-:eemed  like  being  in  fairy-land. 


THE   MARCIIAUNDES   TALE.  Ill 

And  f)Tially  he  doth  al  liis  labour, 
As  he  best  mighte,  savyng  his  honour, 
To  hast  licm  from  the  mete  in  subtil  wise. 

Tlio  tymo  cam  that  resoun  was  to  ryse, 
Anil  after  that  men  daunce,  and  drynke  fast. 
And  spices  al  about  the  hous  thay  cast. 
And  ful  of  joy  ;xnd  blis  is  every  man, 
Al  but  a  squier,  that  liii^ht  Damyan, 
Which  karf  to-for  the  knight  ful  many  a  day ; 
He  was  so  ravyssht  on  his  lady  May, 
That  for  the  verray  peyue  he  was  nigh  wood : 
Almost  he  swelt  and  swowned  ther  he  stood; 
So  sore  hath  Venus  hurt  him  with  liir  brond, 
As  that  sclie  bare  it  daunsyng  in  hir  liond. 
And  to  his  bod  he  went  him  hastily; 
No  more  of  him  as  at  this  tyme  telle  I ; 
But  ther  I  lete  him  now  his  wo  complcyne, 
Til  freisshe  May  wol  rewen  on  his  jjeyne. 
O  perilous  fuyr,  that  in  the  bed-straw  bredith ! 
O  famuler  fo,  that  his  service  bedith ! 
O  seiwaunt  traitour,  false  homly  hewe,' 
Lyk  to  the  nedder  in  bosom  sleighe"  untrewe, 
God  schild  us  alle  from  your  acqueintance ! 
O  January,  dronkcn  in  plesaunce 
Of  mariage,  so  how  thy  lJ)amyan, 
Thyn  oughne  squier  and  thy  borne  man, 
Entendith  for  to  do  the  vilonye; 
God  graunte  the  thin  homly  fo  espye. 
For  in  this  world  nys  worse  pestilence 
Than  homly  foo,  alday  in  thy  presence. 

Pariburmed  hath  the  sonne  his  ark  diourne, 
No  longer  may  the  body  of  him  sojourue 


•  Sir.  Wriplit  lins  restored,  from  tlie  Ilarl.  MS.,  the  true  reaUiiijf 
given  ill  tlu-  text,  (corrupted  liy  'Iyr«liitt  into  O  JaUc  of  holy  heur.) 
and  explains  it  thus:  Jtvic  is  from  tlie  An^lo-Saxon  hiu-a.a  servant: 
homly  Ifir  means,  therefore,  domestic  ser\-ant. 

-  aieighe  is  iuiruducod  from  the  Lansd.  MS.  to  complete  tbc 
metre. 


442  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES, 

On  thorisonte,  as  in  that  latitude ; 

Niglit  with  his  mantel,  that  is  derk  and  rude, 

Gan  oversprede  themesperie  aboute ; 

For  which  departed  is  the  lusti  route 

Fro  January,  with  thank  on  every  side. 

Hoom  to  her  houses  lustily  thay  ryde, 

Wher  as  they  doon  her  tliinges,  as  hem  leste. 

And  whan  they  seigh  her  tyme  thay  goon  to  re,ste. 

Soone  after  that  this  hasty  Januarie 

Wold  go  to  bed,  he  wold  no  lenger  tarie. 

He  di'inkith  yjjocras,^-  clarre,  and  vernage 

Of  spices  hote,  to  encrese  his  corrage ; 

And  many  a  letuary  had  he  ful  fyn, 

Siich  as  the  cursed  monk  daun"  Constantin 

Hath  writen  in  his  book  de  Coitu; 

To  ete  hem  alle  he  wold^  no  thing  eschieu. 

And  to  his  prive  frendes  thus  sayd  he : 

'  For  Goddes  love,  as  soone  as  it  may  be, 

Let  voyden  al  this  hous  in  cui-teys  wise.' 

And  thay  han  doon  right  as  he  wold  devyse. 

1  Ypocras  is  a  mixture  of  wine  and  spices,  probably  so  called  because 
prescribed  by  Hippocrates.  Clarre  is  wine  clarified  with  honey.  Ver- 
nage  is  the  wine  de  agro  Veronensi.  It  was  usual  to  drink  spiced  wine 
immediately  before  going  to  bed  ;  and  in  the  court  of  France  there 
was  an  officer  specially  appointed  to  superintend  this  branch  of  the 
household,  and  called  I'espicier.  Thus,  in  The  Squier  of  Lorn  Degree, 
the  King  of  Hungary  attempts  to  comfort  his  daughter  by  promising 
her  all  sorts  of  luxuries,  among  others 

'  Ye  shall  have  rumney  and  malespine, 
Both  3/pocrasse  and  vernage  wine. 

*  tf  *  » 

Both  Clare,  pyment,  and  rochell.' 
For  mixing  honey  with  wine  our  ancestors  had  the  authority  of  the 
prince  of  Epicureans  : — 

'  Xisi  Hymettia  niclla  Falerno 
Ne  biberis  diluta.' — Hor.  Sat.  lib.  ii. ;  Sat.  ii.  iS. 

2  Daun  is  a  corruption  of  Dom,  for  Dominus,  the  title  usually  given 
to  the  Benedictines,  as  Dom  Martene,in  allusion  to  which  La  Fontaine, 
in  his  fables,  maliciously  calls  the  hog  Dom  Porceaux.  This  Dom 
Constantine  was  a  writer  on  medicine,  and  flourished  about  a.u.  io8o. 
—Fabric.  liibl.  Med-  JCtat. 

•*  For  M:o/d  the  Harl.  MS.  reads  nas. 


THE    MATICHAUXDES   TALE.  443 

^IfH  drinkt'ii,  jiikI  the  travers  drawe  anoon ; 

The  luniyd  was  lirought  abcdde  as  stille  as  stoon; 

And  wlian  the  bitl  was  with  the  prost  y-blessid;' 

Out  of  the  chambre  hath  every  wight  him  dressed, 

And  January  liath  fast  in  aruics  take 

ili.s  freis.sho  May,  liis  paradys,  liis  make. 

He  hillith  hir,  he  kissith  hii*  full  ofte; 

With  thikke  bristlis  on  his  berd  uusofte, 

Lik  to  the  skyn  of  houndfisch,  .schaip  as  brere;, 

(For  he  was  schave  al  no  we  in  his  manere) 

He  rubbith  hir  about  hir  tendre  face, 

And  sayde  thus :  '  Alias !  I  mot  trespace 

To  yow,  my  spouse,  and  yow  gretly  otl'eude, 

Or  tyme  come  that  I  wol  doun  desceude; 

But  natheles  considerith  this,'  quod  he, 

'  Ther  nys  no  werkmen,  whatsoever  he  be, 

That  may  bothe  werke  wel  and  hastily; 

This  wol  be  doon  at  leysir  parfitly. 

It  is  no  fors  how  longe  that  avc  pleye; 

In  trewe  wedlock  coupled  be  we  tweye; 

And  blessed  be  the  yok  that  we  ben  inne, 

For  in  our  actes  we  mow  do  no  synne. 

A  man  may  do  no  synne  with  his  wit, 

No  hurt  himselven  with  his  oughne  knyf : 

For  we  hau  leve  to  play  us  by  the  lawe.' 

Thus  laborith  he,  til  that  the  day  gan  dawe, 
And  than  he  takith  a  sop  in  fyn  clarre, 
And  upright  in  his  bed  than  sittith  he. 
And  after  that  he  song  ful  lowd  and  clere, 
And  kissed  his  wyl",  and  made  wautoun  cheere. 


'  The  following  is  a  translation  of  the  form  of  blo.-fsin;?  the  nuptial 
bed  to  be  found  in  the  service  books  used  before  the  Ueformaiion  : — 

V.  Our  help  is  in  the  name  of  tlie  Lord. 

R.  Who  hath  made  hcavi-n  and  earth. 

V.  The  Lord  be  with  you. 

R.  And  witli  thy  spirit. 
O  Lord,  bless  this  bed  ;  that  all  who  rest  therein  may  be  in  peHce  with 
thee,  and  continui'  in  thy  will,  and  grow  old,  and  multiply  in  length 
of  dayj,  and  liually  come  to  thy  heavenly  kingdom,  through  Christ. 


444  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

He  was  al  coltissh,  ful  of  ragerye, 

And  ful  of  jargoun,  as  a  flekked  pye. 

The  slakke  skin  about  his  nekke  scliakith,^ 

Whil  that  he  song,  so  chavmteth  he  and  craketli. 

But  God  wot  what  that  May  thought  in  hir  hert, 

Whan  sche  him  saugh  up  sittyng  in  his  schert, 

In  his  night-cappe,  and  with  his  nekke  lene ; 

Sche  praysith  nought  his  pleying  worth  a  bene. 

Than  sayd  he  thus :  '  My  reste  wol  I  take 

Now  day  is  come,  I  may  no  lenger  wake.' 

And  doun  he  layd  his  heed  and  sleep  til  prime. 

And  afterward,  whan  that  he  saugh  his  tyme, 

Up  riseth  January,  but  freissche  May 

Holdith  hir  chamber  unto  the  fourthe  dav. 

As  usage  is  of  wyves  for  the  best. 

For  every  labour  some  tyme  moot  have  rest, 

Or  elles  longe  may  he  not  endure; 

This  is  to  say,  no  lyves  creature. 

Be  it  of  fissch,  or  brid,  or  best,  or  man. 

Now  wol  I  speke  of  woful  Damyan, 
That  languyssheth  for  love,  as  ye  schuln  here; 
Therefore  I  speke  to  him  in  this  manere. 
I  say,  '  O  sely  Damyan,  alias ! 
Answere  to  my  demaunde,  as  in  this  caas, 
How  schaltow  to  thy  lady,  fi'eissche  May, 
Telle  thy  woo  1     Sche  wol  alway  say  nay ; 
Eek  if  thou  speke,  sche  wol  thy  woo  bywreye ; 
God  be  thy  help,  I  can  no  better  seye.' 

This  seke  Damyan  in  Venus  fuyr 
So  brennith,  that  he  deyeth  for  desir; 
For  which  he  put  his  lyf  in  aventure^ 
No  lenger  might  he  in  this  wo  endui'e, 
But  prively  a  penner^  gan  he  borwe, 
And  in  a  letter  wrot  he  al  his  sorwe, 


'  Harl.  MS.  slalceth.  which  is  a  repetition  of  the  former  idea.     The 
n'.idinf;  in  the  text  is  from  the  Lansd.  MS. 
-  Mr.  Wright  says  tliat  a  penner  was  a  case  containing  writing- 


TUE    MARCUAUNDES   TALE.  44^ 

In  maner  of  a  corapleynt  or  of  a  lay, 
Unto  his  faire  frcissclie  lady  May. 
And  in  a  imi*s  of  silk,  lung  on  liis  schert, 
Ik'  hutli  it  put,  and  layd  it  at  liis  liert. 

The  moone  that  a-noon  was  thilke  day 
That  January  hath  weddid  fieissche  May 
In  tuo  of  Taurc,  was  into  Caucre  gliden ; 
So  long  hath  ^layus  in  hu-  chambre  abiden, 
As  custom  is  unto  these  nobles  alle.' 
A  brydo  schal  not  eten  in  the  halle, 
Til  dayes  foure  or  thre  dayes  attc  lest 
I-passed  ben,  than  let  hir  go  to  the  fest. 
The  fourthe  day  coraplet  fro  noon  to  noon, 
Whan  that  the  heighe  masse  was  i-doon, 
In  halle  sitte  this  Januaiy  and  INIay, 
As  freissch  as  is  the  bi-ighte  someres  day. 
And  so  bifelle,  that  this  goode  man 
Rcmembrid  him  upon  this  Damyan, 
And  sayde,  '  Seinte  Mary !  how  may  this  be, 
That  Damyan  entendith  not  to  me! 
Is  he  ay  scuk?  or  how  may  this  bityde"?' 
His  squiers,  which  that  stoode  ther  bisyde, 
Excusid  him,  bycanse  of  his  syknesse. 
Which  letted  him  to  doon  his  busyncsse; 
Noon  other  cause  mighte  make  him  larie. 
'  That  me  for-thinketh,'  quod  this  Januavie ; 
'  He  is  a  gentil  squyer,  by  my  trouthe, 
If  that  he  dcvde,  it  were  harm  and  routhe. 
He  is  as  wys,  discret,  and  eek  secre. 
As  any  man  I  wot  of  his  degre, 
And  thcrto  manerly  and  servysable, 
And  for  to  be  a  thrifty  man  right  able. 


materials,  ami  quotes  an  early  vocabulary,  called  Xominale,  in  wliich, 
among  the  '  nomina  rerum  pcrtinentium  clcrico,'  is  pninare.  n  peinn  r. 
In  Occleve's  portrait  (see  ante,  p.  19)  Chaucer  is  represented  with  a  pcnner 
suspended  Ironi  his  neck. 

«  This  appears  to  bo  the  origin  of  our  custom  of  spendiug  the  honeymoon 
in  retirement. 


146  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

But  after  mete,  as  soon  as  ever  I  may, 

I  wol  myself  visit  liim,  and  eek  May, 

To  doon  him  al  the  confort  that  I  can.' 

And  for  that  word  him  blessed  eveiy  man, 

That  of  his  bounte  and  his  gentilesse 

He  wolde  so  comfort  in  seekenesse 

His  squyer,  for  it  was  a  geutil  deede. 

'  Dame,'  quod  this  January,  '  tak  good  heede, 

At  after  mete,  ye  with  your  wommen  alle, 

(Whan  ye  han  ben  in  chambre  out  of  this  halle 

That  alle  ye  goo  to  se  this  Damyan ; 

Doth  him  desport,  he  is  a  geutil  man,^ 

And  tellith  him  that  I  wil  him  visite, 

Have  T  no  thing  but  rested  me  a  lyte ; 

And  spedith  yow  foste,  for  I  wol  abyde 

Til  that  ye  slepe  faste  by  my  syde.' 

And  with  that  word  he  gan  unto  him  calle 

A  squier,  that  was  marchal  of  his  halle, 

And  told  hirh  certeyn  thinges  that  he  wolde. 

This  freissche  May  hath  streight  hir  wey  i-holde 
With  alle  hir  wommen  unto  Damyan. 
Doun  by  his  beddes  syde  sat  sche  than, 
Comfortyng  him  as  goodly  as  sche  may. 

This  Damyan,  whan  that  his  tyme  he  say. 
In  secre  wise,  his  purs,  and  eek  his  bille. 
In  which  that  he  i-writen  had  his  wille. 
Hath  put  into  hir  hond  withouten  more. 
Save  that  he  siketh  wonder  deepe  and  sore. 
And  softely  to  hir  right  thus  say  he ; 
'  Mercy,  and  that  ye  not  discover  me ; 
For  I  am  deed,"  if  that  this  thing  be  kidde.' 
This  purs  hath  sche  inwith  hir  bosom  hud. 


^  This  is  an  illustration  of  the  fact,  that  in  the  middle  ages  men  of 
good  family  fiociueiitly  accepted  service  in  the  Iiouseliolds  of  people  of 
rank.     Damyan,  here  called  a  '  gentil  man,'  is  elsewhere  described  as 
being  a  homlij  hew,  or  domestic  servant,  in  the  house  of  January. 
*  Harl.  MS.  runs  on  as  follows  : — 

'  if  that  this  thing  discovered  be. 
This  purs  in  hir  bosom  hud  hath  sche.' 


THF.    MARCIIAUXDES   TALE. 


447 


And  went  liir  way;  yc  gete  no  more  of  me; 
But  imto  January  comeu  is  sche, 
That  on  his  beddes  syde  sit  ful  softe. 
He  takith  hir.  and  kissitli  hir  ful  ofte ; 
And  hiyd  him  doun  to  slope,  and  that  anoon. 
Sche  feyned  hir  as  that  sche  moste  goon 
Thcr  as  ye  woot  that  every  wiglit  moot  neede ; 
And  whan  sche  of  this  bille  hath  taken  heede, 
Sche  rente  it  al  to  cloutes  atte  laste, 
And  into  the  privy  softcly  it  cast. 

Who  studieth  now  but  faire  freissche  jNIayl 
Adoun  by  olde  January  sche  lay, 
That  slepith,  til  that  the  coughe  hath  him  awaked ; 
Anoon  he  prayde  stripen  hir  al  naked. 
He  wold  of  hir,  he  sayd,  have  some  plesaunce; 
Hii'  clothis  dede  him,  he  sayde,  som  grevaunce. 
And  sche  obeieth,  be  hir  lief  or  loth. 
But  lest  that  precious  folk  be  with  me  wroth, 
How  that  he  wroughte  I  dar  not  telle, 
Or  whethir  it  semed  him  paradys  or  helle ; 
But  here  I  lete  hem  werken  in  her  wise 
Til  evensong  rong,  and  than  thay  most  arise, 

Whethir  it  be  by  desteny  or  adventure, 
Were  it  l)y  influence,  or  by  nature, 
Or  by  constellacioun,  that  in  such  estate 
The  heven  stood  that  tyme  fortunate, 
As  for  to  putte  a  bille  of  Venus  werkis 
(For  alle  thing  hath  tyme,  a.s  soyn  these  clerkis) 
To  eny  womman  for  to  gete  hir  love, 
I  can  not  say ;  but  grete  God  above, 
That  knowith  that  noon  acte  is  causeles, 
He  dome  of  al,  for  I  wil  holde  my  pees. 
But  soth  is  this,  how  that  this  freisshe  May 
Hath  take  such  impressioun  that  day, 
Of  pite  on  this  sike  Damyan, 
That  from  hir  herte  sche  ne  dryve  can 

The  reading  in  the  text  is  from  the  Lansd.  MS.,  and  is  adopttd  b«cau;>e 
it  avoids  the  repetition  of  rhymes  in  the  other  reading. 


448  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

The  remembraunce  for  to  doon  him  ease. 
'  Certeyn,'  thought  sche,  '  whom  that  this  thing  dis- 
"  I  rekke  not,  for  her  I  him  assure,  [please 

To  love  him  best  of  eny  creature, 
Though  he  no  more  hadde  than  his  scherte.' 
Lo,  pite  renneth  soone  in  gentil  herte.^ 
Heer  may  ye  see,  how  excellent  fraunchise 
In  womman  is  whan  thay  narow  hem  avyse. 
Som  tyraunt  is,  as  ther  ben  many  oon. 
That  hath  an  hert  as  hard  as  is  a  stoon. 
Which  wold  han  lete  sterven  in  the  place 
Wei  rather  than  han  graunted  him  her  grace ; 
And  hem  rejoysen  in  her  cruel  pride, 
And  rekken  nought  to  ben  an  homicide. 

This  gentil  May,  fulfillid  of  pite. 
Right  of  hir  hond  a  letter  maked  sche. 
In  which  sche  grauntith  him  hir  verray  grace; 
Ther  lakkid  nought  but  oonly  day  and  place, 
Wher  that  sche  might  unto  his  lust  suffise ; 
For  it  schal  be,  right  as  he  wol  devyse. 
And  whan  sche  saugh  hir  tyme  vipon  a  day 
To  "visite  this  Damyan  goth  May, 
And  subtilly  this  lettre  doun  sche  thruste 
Under  his  pylow,  rede  it  if  him  luste. 
Sche  takith  him  by  the  honde,  and  hard  him  twiste 
So  secrely,  that  no  wight  of  it  wiste, 
And  bad  him  be  al  hool,  and  forth  sche  wente 
To  January,  whan  that  he  for  hir  sente. 
U])  ryseth  Damyan  the  nexte  morwe, 
Al  passed  was  his  siknes  and  his  sorwe. 
He  kembith  him,  he  pruneth  him  and  pyketh, 
He  doth  al  that  unto  his  lady  likith; 
And  eek  to  Januaiy  he  goth  as  lowe 
As  ever  did  a  dogge  for  the  bowe.'' 
He  is  so  plesaunt  unto  every  man, 
(For  craft  is  al,  who  so  that  do  it  can) 

>  This  proverbial  expression  occurs  before,  ante,  p.  145. 
*  As  we  say,  a  dog  ibr  the  guu. 


THE   MARCHAUNDES   TALE.  449 

Tlmt  every  wight  is  fayxi  to  speke  him  good ; 
And  fully  in  his  ladys  grace  he  stood. 
Tims  K'to  I  Duniyan  ahout  his  neede, 
And  iu  my  talo  lortli  I  wol  procedf. 
Sonieclerkes  holden  that  felicite' 
Slant  in  del  it,  and  thertur  certeyn  he 
This  noble  January,  with  al  his  might 
In  honest  wise  as  longith  to  a  knight, 
Schop  him  to  lyve  ful  deliciously. 
His  housyng,  his  array,  as  honestly 
To  his  degre  was  maked  as  a  kynges. 
Amonges  other  of  his  honest  thinges 
He  had  a  gardyn  walled  al  with  stoon, 
So  fair  a  gardyn  wot  I  no  wher  noon. 
For  out  of  doute  I  veiTely  suppose, 
That  he  that  wroot  the  Romaims  of  the  Rose,* 
Ne  couthe  of  it  the  beaute  wel  devyse ; 
Ne  Priapus  ue  might  not  wel  suffice. 
Though  he  be  god  of  gardyns,  for  to  telle 
Tlie  beaute  of  the  gardyn,  and  the  welle, 
That  stood  under  a  laurer  alway  gi'eene. 
Ful  ofte  tyme  he  Pluto  and  his  queene' 
Preserpiua,  and  al  the  fayerie, 
Desporten  hem  and  maken  melodye 
Aboute  that  welle,  and  daunced,  as  men  tolde. 
This  noble  knight,  this  Januaiy  the  olde. 
Such  deynte  hath  iu  it  to  walk  and  pleye, 
That  he  wold  no  wiglit  sulire  here  the  keye, 
Save  he  himself,  for  of  the  smale  wyket 
He  bar  alway  of  silver  a  smal  cliket. 
With  which  whan  that  him  list  he  it  unschette. 
And  whan  he  wolde  pay  his  wyf  hir  dette 

'  Alluding  to  the  Kpicurcan  philosopliy. 
'  The  Roman  df  la  Itose  was  begun  by  Williiim  of  Loris,  who  died 
about  iz6o,  and  was  finished  by  John  of  Meun,  one  of  the  wits  of 
the  court  of  Charlca  le  IJel.  'Ihe  (lillicultiesi  of  a  lover  in  obtaining 
the  object  of  his  lovo  nro  (lei)lct<xl  under  the  allegory  of  a  rose  Iu  a  beautiful 
ganleu  surroauded  by  walls  and  1kiIj.'i~<. 

'  See  aiiU-,  p.  U5,  note  2.  ^ 

VOL.  r.  2   G 


450 


THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 


In  somor  sesoun,  thider  wold  he  go, 

And  May  his  wyf,  and  no  wight  but  thay  tuo; 

And  thinges  which  that  weren  not  doon  in  bedde, 

He  in  the  gardyn  parformed  hem  and  spedde. 

And  in  this  wise  many  a  mery  day 

Lyved  this  January  and  freische  May; 

But  worldly  joye  may  not  alway  endure 

To  Januaiy,  ne  to  no  creature. 

O  sodeyn  hap !  o  thou  foi-tune  unstable  ! 
Lyk  to  the  scorpioun  so  desceyvable, 
That    flaterist   with    thin    heed   whan    thou    wilt 

stynge; 
Thy  tayl  is  deth,  thurgh  thin  envenymynge. 
O  britel  joye !  o  sweete  venym  queynte ! 
O  monster,  that  so  subtily  caust  peynte 
Thyn  giftes,  under  hew  of  stedfastnesse. 
That  thou  desceyvest  bothe  more  and  lesse ! 
Why  hastow  January  thus  deceyved, 
That  haddist  him  for  thy  fulle  frend  recey ved  1 
And  now  thou  hast  byreft  him  bothe  his  yen. 
For  sorw  of  which  desireth  he  to  dyen. 
Alias !  this  noble  January  fre, 
Amyd  his  lust  and  his  pi'osperite 
Is  woxe  blynd,  and  that  al  sodeynly. 
He  wepith  and  he  weyleth  pitously ; 
And  therwithal,  the  fuyr  of  jalousye 
(Lest  that  his  wif  schuld  falle  in  some  folye) 
So  brent  his  hei'te  that  he  wolde  fayn 
That  som  man  bothe  hir  and  him  had  slayn ; 
For  neyt-her  after  his  deth,  nor  in  his  lyf, 
Ne  wold  he  that  sche  were  love  ne  wyf. 
But  ever  lyve  as  wydow  in  clothes  blake, 
Soup  as  the  turtil  that  lost  hath  hir  make. 
But  atte  last,  after  a  moneth  or  tweye, 
His  sorwe  gan  aswage,  eoth  to  seye. 


1    Sole,  alone,  or  a  widow,  like  the  turtle,  &c.    Femme  sole  is   the 
!<4'al  phrase  for  an  unmarried  woman. 


THE    MAnCHALNDES    TALE.  451 

For  whan  he  wist  it  may  noon  other  b^ 
He  pacicntly  took  his  advci-site; 
Save  out  of  cloute  he  may  not  forgoon, 
That  lie  nas  jalons  evermore  in  oon; 
Whicli  jalousie  it  was  so  outrageous, 
That  neyther  in  halle,  ne  in  noon  other  lious, 
Ne  in  noon  other  place  never  the  mo 
He  nokle  sutire  hir  to  lyde  oi-  go, 
But  if  that  he  had  hond  on  hir  alway. 
For  which  ful  ofte  wepeth  freische  May, 
That  loveth  Damyan  so  benignely, 
That  sche  moot  outher  deyeu  aodeinly, 
Or  elles  sche  moot  han  him  as  hir  lest; 
She  waytith  whan  hir  lierte  wolde  brest. 
Upon  that  other  syde  Damyan 
Bicomen  is  the  sorwfulleste  man 
That  ever  was,  for  neyther  night  ne  day 
Ne  might  he  speke  a  word  to  fressche  May, 
As  to  his  purj)0s,  of  no  such  matiere, 
But  if  that  January  most  it  heere, 
That  had  an  hond  upon  hir  everrao. 
But  uutheles,  by  WTityng  to  and  fi'o, 
And  prive  signes,  wist  he  what  sche  ment, 
And  sche  knew  eek  the  f^ii  of  his  entent. 
O  Januaiy,  what  might  it  thee  availe, 
if  tliou  might  see  as  fer  as  scliippes  saile? 
For  as  good  is  blj'nd  deceyved  be, 
As  to  be  deceyved  whan  a  man  may  see. 
Lo,  Argus,  which  that  had  an  hundred  eyen, 
For  al  tliat  ever  he  couthe  poure  or  prien, 
Yet  was  he  blent,  as,  God  wot,  so  ben  moo, 
That  weneth  wisly  that  it  be  nought  so; 
Passe  over  is  an  ease,'  I  say  no  more. 
This  freissche  May,  that  I  spak  of  so  yore, 
In  warm  wex  hath  empiyntod  the  cliket, 
That  Jauuaiy  bar  of  the  sniale  wiket, 

'  Apparently  a  proverbial  expressiion,  similar  to  'Of  little  moddlits 
comes  great  ease.' 

O   o   'T 

^        (-T        « 


452  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

By  which  into  his  gardyn  ofte  he  went, 
And  Damyan  that  knew  al  hir  entent 
The  cliket  counterfeted  prively; 
Ther  nys  no  more  to  say,  but  hastily 
Som  wonder  by  this  cliket  schal  betyde, 
Which  ye  schal  heeren,  if  ye  wol  abyde. 

O  noble  Ovyde,  wel  soth  saistow,  God  woot, 
What  sleight  is  it  though  it  be  long  and  hoot, 
That  he  nyl  fynd  it  out  in  some  manerel 
By  Piramus  and  Thesbe  may  men  leere ; 
Though  thay  were  kept  ful  longe  streyt  over  a), 
Thay  ben  accorded,  rownyng  tliurgh  a  wal, 
Ther  no  wight  couthe  han  found  out  swich  a  sleight 
For  now  to  purpos ;  er  that  dayes  eyght 
Were  passed  of  the  moneth  of  Juyl,  bifille 
That  January  hath  caught  so  gret  a  wille, 
Thorugh  eggyng  of  his  wyf,  him  for  to  pleye 
In  his  gardyn,  and  no  wight  but  they  tweye, 
That  in  a  morwe  unto  this  May  saith  he  : 
'  Rys  up,  my  wif,  my  love,  my  lady  fre ; 
The  turtlis  vois  is  herd,^  my  douve  sweet ; 
The  wynter  is  goon,  with  his  raynes  wete. 
Come  forth  now  with  thin  eyghen  columbine. 
How  fairer  ben  thy  brestes  than  is  the  wyne. 
The  gardyn  is  enclosed  al  aboute : 
Com  forth,  my  swete  spouse,  out  of  doute, 
Thou  hast  me  woimded  in  myn  hert,  o  wyf  j 
No  spot  in  the  knew  I  in  al  my  lif. 
Com  forth,  and  let  us  take  oure  desport, 
I  ches  the  for  my  wyf  and  my  comfort.' 
Such  olde  lewed  wordes  used  he. 
On  Damyan  a  signe  made  sche, 
That  he  schuld  go  bifoi'n  with  his  cliket. 
This  Damyan  than  hath  opened  the  wiket, 
And  in  he  stert,  and  that  in  such  manere, 
That  no  wight  it  mighte  see  nor  heere, 


Tliis  phraseology  is  taken  from  the  Song  of  Solomon. 


THE    MARCIIAUNDES   TALE.  453 

And  stille  he  sect  under  a  bussch.     Anoou 

This  January,  a-s  blynJ  as  is  a  stoon, 

With  Mayus  in  his  liond,  and  no  vdght  mo, 

Into  this  freische  gardyn  is  ago, 

And  clappid  to  the  wiket  sodeinly. 

'  Now,  wyf,'  quod  he,  '  her  nys  but  ye  and  I, 

Tliou  art  the  creature  that  I  best  love; 

For  by  that  Lord  that  sit  in  heven  above, 

Lever  ich  had  to  dyen  on  a  knyf, 

Than  the  oftende,  decre  trewe  wyf. 

For  Goddes  sake,  thenk  how  I  the  chees, 

Nought  tor  no  coveytise  douteles, 

But  oonly  for  the  love  I  liad  to  the. 

And  though  that  I  be  old  and  may  not  se, 

Beeth  trewe  to  me,  and  I  wol  telle  yow  why ; 

Thre  thinges,  cei-tes,  schul  ye  wynne  therby ; 

First,  love  of  Crist,  and  to  your  self  honour, 

And  al  m}Ti  heritage,  toun  and  tour. 

I  give  it  yow,  makith  chartres  as  yow  leste ; 

This  schal  ben  doon  to  morw  er  sonne  reste, 

So  wisly  God  my  soule  briuge  to  blisse ! 

I  pray  yow  first  in  covena\int  ye  me  kisse. 

And  though  that  I  be  jalous,  wjt  me  nought;' 

Ye  ben  so  deep  empi-inted  in  my  thought, 

That  whan  that  I  considi-e  your  beaute. 

And  therwithal  the  xmlikly  eelde  of  me, 

I  may  nought,  certes,  though  I  schulde  dye, 

Forbere  to  ben  out  of  your  compauye 

For  veiTay  love ;  this  is  withouten  doute : 

Now  kisse  me,  "wyf,  and  let  ns  rome  aboute." 

This  freissche  ^lay,  whan  sche  his  wordes  heixle, 

Benignely  to  January  answerde, 

But  tirst  and  forward  sche  bigan  to  wepe : 

*  I  have,'  quod  sche,  '  a  soule  for  to  kepe 

As  wel  as  ye,  and  also  myn  honour, 

And  of  my  wifhod  thilke  tendre  flour, 


'  Do  not  impute  It  to  me. 


454 


THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 


Whicli  that  I  have  ensured  in  your  hond, 

Whan  that  the  prest  to  yow  my  body  bond; 

Wherfor  I  wil  answer  in  this  manere, 

With  the  leve  of  yow,  myn  owen  lord,  so  deere. 

I  pray  to  God  that  never  dawe  the  day, 

That  I  ne  sterve,  as  foule  as  womman  may, 

If  ever  I  do  unto  my  kyn  that  schame, 

Or  elles  I  empaire  so  my  name. 

That  I  be  falsj  and  if  I  do  that  lak, 

Doth  strepe  me,  and  put  me  in  a  sak, 

And  in  the  nexte  ry ver  do  me  drenche ; 

I  am  a  gentil  womman,  and  no  wenche. 

Why  speke  ye  thus?  but  men  ben  ever  untrewe, 

And  wommen  ban  reproef  of  yow  ever  newe. 

Ye  have  noon  other  countenaunce,  I  leve, 

But  speke  to  us  as  of  untrust  and  repreve. ' 

And  with  that  word  sche  saugh  wher  Damyan 

Sat  in  the  buissh,  and  coughen  sche  bigan ; 

And  with  hir  fyngres  signes  made  sche. 

That  Damyan  schuld  clymb  upon  a  tre, 

That  charged  was  with  fruyt,  and  up  he  went; 

For  verrayly  he  knew  al  hir  entent. 

And  every  signe  that  sche  couthe  make, 

Wei  bet  than  January  hir  oughne  make. 

For  in  a  letter  sche  had  told  him  al 

Of  this  matier,  how  he  worche  schal. 

And  thus  I  lete  him  sitte  in  the  pirie. 

And  January  and  May  romynge  mirye. 

Bright  was  the  day,  and  bliew  the  firmament  ^ 
Phebus  hath  of  gold  his  stremes  douu  i-sent 
To  gladen  every  flour  with  his  warmnesse; 
He  was  that  tyme  in  Gemines,  as  I  gesse, 
But  litel  fro  his  declinacioun 
Of  Canker,  Joves  exaltacioun. 
And  so  bifel  that  brighte  morwen  tyde. 
That  in  that  gardyn,  in  the  ferther  syde, 
Pluto,  that  is  the  kyng  of  fayerye, 
And  many  a  lady  in  liis  compaignie 


THE    MARCHAUNDE8   TALE.  455 

Folwyng  his  wif,  the  queene  Preserpina/ 
Whiche  that  he  ravesched  out  of  Ethna, 
Whil  that  sche  gadred  floures  in  tlie  mede, 
(In  Chuidiau'  ye  may  the  story  rode, 
How  in  his  grisly  carte  he  hir  fette) ; 
This  kino;  of  favTy  than  adoun  him  sette 
Upon  a  bench  of  turves  freissh  and  greene, 
And  right  anoon  tlius  sayd  he  to  his  queene : 

*  My  wyf,'  quod  he,  '  ther  may  no  wight  sny  nay, 
Thexperieus  so  preveth  every  day, 
The  tresoun  which  that  womman  doth  to  man. 
Ten  hundrid  thousand  stories  tellen  I  can 
Notixble  of  your  untrouth  and  hrutelnesse. 
O  Salamon,  wys  and  richest  of  richesse, 
Fulfild  of  sapiens,  and  of  worklly  glorie, 
Ful  worthy  ben  thy  wordes  to  memorie 
To  every  wight,  that  wit  and  rcsoun  can. 
Thus  praysith  he  yit  the  bouute  of  man ; 
Among  a  thousand  men  yit  fond  I  oon, 
But  of  alle  wommen  found  I  uever  noon.* 
Thus  saith  the  king,  that  knoweth  your  wikkednes.«e  j 
That  Jhesus,^^iws  Sirac,*  as  I  gesse, 
Ne  spekith  of  yow  but  selde  reverence. 
A  wild  fuyr  and  corrupt  pestilence 
So  falle  upon  your  bocUes  yit  to  night ! 
Ne  see  ye  not  this  honurable  knight? 
Bycause,  alias !  that  he  is  blynd  and  old, 
His  owne  man  schal  make  him  cokewold ; 


1  Harl.  MS.  reads  :— 

.  .  .  .  '  Proserpine 
Ech  after  other  as  right  as  a  lyne.' 

!  CI.  Claudianus  was  an  Egyptian  by  birth,  and  wrote  in  the  reign 
of  Tluodosius  and  his  sons,  Arcadius  and  llonorius.  The  work  here 
alluded  to  is  his  poem,  De  Unptu  Prostrpiiicc.  lie  has  also  written  Df 
Bello  Getico,  and  many  epistles  and  shorter  pieces.  Coleridge  sayj 
that  he  is  '  projjerly  the  first  of  the  moderns,  or  at  least  the  tran- 
sitional link  between  the  classic  and  tlie  gothic  modes  of  thought.' 
■^Table  Talk:  ^  Eccles.  vii.  a8. 

*  .lesus,  the  son  of  Sirach,  the  writer  of  the  apocryphal  book  ot 
Ec'cU'siasticus. 


456   .  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Loo,  wher  he  sitt,  the  lecchour,  in  the  tre ! 
Now  wol  I  graunten,  of  my  majeste, 
Unto  this  olde  blinde  worthy  knight, 
That  he  schal  have  agein  his  eyghen  sight, 
Whan  that  liis  wyf  wol  do  him  vilonye ; 
Than  schal  he  knowe  al  her  harlotrye, 
Bothe  in  reproef  of  her  and  other  mo.' 
'  Ye  schal  r  quod  PreserjDine,  '  and  wol  ye  sol 
Now  by  my  modres  Ceres  ^  soule  I  swere, 
That  I  schal  give  hir  suffisaunt  answers. 
And  alle  wommen  after  for  hir  sake ; 
That  though  thay  be  in  any  gult  i-take. 
With  face  bold  thay  schul  hemself  excuse, 
And  bere  hem  doun  that  wolde  hem  accuse. 
For  lak  of  answer,  noon  of  hem  schal  dyen. 
Al  had  ye  seyn  a  thing  with  bothe  your  yen,' 
Yit  schul  we  wymmen  visage  it  hardily. 
And  wepe  and  swere  and  chide  subtilly, 
That  ye  schul  ben  as  lewed  as  ben  gees; 
What  i-ekkith  me  of  your  auctoriteesi 
I  wot  wel  that  this  Jew,  this  Salamon, 
Fond  of  us  wommen  fooles  many  oon ; 
But  though  he  ne  fond  no  good  womman, 
Yit  hath  ther  founde  many  another  man 
Wommen  ful  trewe,  ful  good,  and  vertuous ; 
Witnesse  on  hem  that  dwelle  in  Cristes  hous. 
With  martirdom  thay  proved  hir  constaunce.' 
The  Romayn  gestes*  eek  make  remembraunce 


'  Harl.  MS.,  Sires. 
-  Harl.  MS. — '  Al  had  a  man  nci/n  a  thhir;  with  hothe  his  yen.' 
3  Proserpine  here  indicates  the  true  source  of  the  respect  with  which 
women  were  treated  in  tlie  middle  ages,  to  which  cliivalrous  feelinj^ 
modern  civilization  owes,  in  great  measure,  its  superiority  over  the 
old.  Yet  when  Lydgate  founds  tlie  claim  of  women  toouriespect 
upon  tlie  fortitude  they  displayed  in  the  early  ages  of  Christianity,  and 
upon  the  purity  and  virtue  of  their  lives,  Warton  turns  liim  into  ri(ii- 
cule  for  not  rather  alleging  '  their  beauty,  amiable  accomplishments,' 
&c.,  by  which  they  '  refine  our  sensibilities.' 

^  [The  Gesta  Romanorum  certainly  contains  the  story  of  Lucretia,  but  for 
the  most  part  the  tales  hardly  sustain  tlie  character  here  given  to  thera.J 


THE   MARCUAUNDES   TALE.  .457 

Of  many  a  veraay  trowe  wjt'  also. 

But,  sire,  be  uoiiglit  wrath,  al  be  it  so, 

Though  that  he  s;iyd  he  fond  no  good  woniman, 

T  pi'ay  yow  tak  the  sentens  of  the  man ; 

He  lueute  thus,  that  in  sovereign  bounte 

Nis  noon  but  God,  that  sit  in  Trinite. 

Ey,  for  verrey  God  that  nys  but  oon, 

What  make  ye  so  moche  of  Sahimon? 

What  thougli  he  made  a  temple,  Goddes  hous] 

What  though  he  were  riche  and  glorious? 

So  made  he  eek  a  temple  of  fals  godis, 

How  might  he  do  a  thing  that  more  forbod  is? 

Parde,  als  fair  as  ye  his  name  emplastre, 

He  was  a  lecchour  and  an  ydolastre, 

And  in  his  eelde  he  vcn"ay  God  forsook ; 

And  if  that  God  no  hadde  (as  saith  the  book) 

[-spai-ed  him  for  his  fadres  sake,^  he  scholde 

Have  lost  his  regno  rather  than  he  wolde. 

i  sette  right  nought  of  the  vilonye, 

That  ye  of  wommcn  write,  a  boterflie ; 

I  am  a  womman,  needes  most  I  speke, 

Or  elles  swelle  tyl  myn  herte  breke. 

For  syn  he  sayd  that  we  ben  jangleresses, 

As  ever  hool  I  moote  brouke  my  tresses,* 

J  schal  not  spare  for  no  curtesye 

To  speke  him  harm,  that  wold  us  vilonye.' 

'  Dame,'  quod  this  Pluto,  '  be  no  lenger  wroth, 

I  give  it  up:  Tiut  sith  I  swore  myn  oth, 

That  I  wil  graunte  him  his  sight  agein. 

My  word  schal  stonde,  I  warne  yow  certeyn ; 

I  am  a  kyng,  it  sit  me  nought  to  lye.' 

'  And  I,'  quod  sche,  '  am  queen  of  faierie. 

Hir  answer  schal  sche  have,  I  undertake ; 

Let  us  no  mo  wordes  herof  make. 


>  I  Kings  xi.  it. 
■'  The  sea  goddesses  in  the  classics,  and  the  mermaids  and  other 
fairies  in  the  popular  mythology,  are  represented  as  geuerallj  b'vn 
combing  their  hair.     Hence,  i^erliaps,  Proserpine's  oatli. 


458  THE    CANTERBURY    TALEK. 

Forsoth  I  "wol  no  lenger  yow  contrarie,' 
Now  let  us  turne  agajrn  to  Januarye, 
That  in.  this  gardyn  with  this  faire  May 
Syngeth,  ful  merier  than  the  papinjay, 
'  Yow  love  I  best,  and  schal,  and  other  noon.' 
So  long  about  the  aleys  is  he  goon, 
Til  he  was  come  agaynes  thilke  pirie, 
Wher  as  this  Damyan  sittith  ful  mirye 
On  heigh,  among  the  freische  levyes  greene. 
This  freissche  May,  that  is  so  bright  and  scheene, 
Gan  for  to  syke,  and  sayd,  '  Alias  my  syde ! 
Now,  sir,'  quod  sche,  '  for  aught  that  may  bityde. 
I  most  han  of  the  peres  that  I  see. 
Or  I  moot  dye,  so  sore  longith  me 
To  eten  of  the  smale  peris  greene ; 
Help  for  hir  love  that  is  of  heven  queene ! 
I  telle  yow  wel  a  womman  in  my  plyt* 
May  have  to  Iruyt  so  gret  an  appetji; 
That  sche  may  deyen,  but  sche  it  have.' 

*  Alias !'  quod  he,  '  that  I  nad  heer  a  knave 
That  couthe  climbe,  alias !  alias ! '  quod  he, 

*  J^'or  I  am  blynd.'     '  Ye,  sire,  no  foi's,'  quod  sche; 
'  But  wolde  ye  vouchesauf,  for  Goddes  sake, 

The  piry  inwith  your  armes  for  to  take, 
(For  wel  I  woot  that  ye  mystruste  me) 
Than  schold  I  clymbe  wel  y-nough,'  quod  sche, 
'  So  I  my  foot  might  set  upon  your  bak.' 
'  Certes,'  quod  he,  '  theron  schal  be  no  lak, 
Might  I  yow  helpe  with  myn  herte  blood.' 
He  stovipith  doun,  a)id  on  his  bak  sche  stood, 
And  caught  hir  by  a  twist,"  and  up  sche  goth. 
(Ladys,  I  pray  yow  that  ye  be  not  wroth, 
I  can  not  glose,  I  am  a  rude  man :) 
And  sodeinly  anoon  this  Damyan 


'  An  allusion  to  the  well-known  vulgar  error  about  the  longings  ol 
pregnant  women. 

'  I.e.  a  twig. 


THE    MARCIIAUNDES   TALE.  459 

Grtin  pullen  up  the  smok,  and  in  he  throng. ' 

And  whan  that  Pluto  saujjh  this  jirete  wronjr. 
To  January  lio  gaf  agayn  his  siglit, 
'Ami  made  him  see  aa  wel  as  ever  he  might. 
And  wlian  lie  thus  had  caught  his  sight  again, 
Ne  was  ther  never  man  of  thing  so  fayn ; 
But  on  his  wyf  his  thought  was  evermo. 
Up  to  the  tree  he  kest  his  eyghen  tuo, 
And  seigh  that  Damyan  his  -wjf  had  di-essid 
Tn  Avliich  manor  it  may  not  ben  expressid, 
But  if  I  wolde  speke  uncurteisly. 
And  up  he  gaf  a  roryng  and  a  cry, 
As  doth  tlie  moder  whan  the  child  schal  dye ; 
'Out!  help!  alias!  haiTow!'  he  gan  to  crie; 
'  O  stronge  lady  stoure,  what  dos  thow?' 

And  sche  answerith:  '  Sire,  what  eylith  yow? 
Have  paciens  and  resoun  in  your  mynde, 
I  have  yow  holi)en  on  botlie  your  eyen  blyndo. 
Up  peril  of  ray  soule,  I  schal  not  lyen. 
As  me  was  taught  to  hele  with  your  yen, 
Was  nothing  bet  for  to  make  yow  see, 
Thau  stroggle  with  a  man  upon  a  tree ; 
God  woot,  I  dede  it  in  ful  good  entent.' 
'  Stroggle ! '  quod  he,  '  ye,  algat  in  it  went. 
God  give  yow  bothe  on  schames  deth  to  dyen  I 
He  swyved  the ;  I  saiigh  it  with  myn  yen ; 
And  ellcs  be  I  honged  by  the  hals.' 
'  Than  is,'  quod  sche,  '  my  medicine  fals. 
For  certeynly,  if  that  ye  mighten  see, 
Ye  wold  not  say  tho  wordes  unto  me. 
Ye  han  som  glymsyng,  and  no  parfyt  sight.' 
*  I  se,'  quod  he,  '  as  wel  as  ever  I  might, 

'  Tyrwhitt  remarks  that  after  this  verse,  the  printed  editions 
(except  Caxton  z.  and  Tynson  i,  3)  liave  eipht  others  of  the  lowest 
and  most  siipertliioii.s  ribaldry,  llotli  he  and  .Mr.  Wriplit  reject  them, 
together  with  some  others  of  the  same  character  that  occur  a  little 
farther  on,  as  not  being  found  in  any  .MS.  of  autliority. 

-  Tliese  two  lines,  not  being  in  tlie  Ilarl.  MS.,  are  given  from 
Tyrwhitt. 


460  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

(Thankid  be  God)  with  1:)othe  myn  yen  tuo, 

And  by  my  troutb  me  thought  he  did  the  so.' 

'  Ye  mase,  mase,  goode  sir,'  quod  sche ; 

'  This  thank  have  I  for  I  have  maad  yow  see ; 

Alias !'  quod  sche,  '  that  ever  I  was  so  kynde.' 

'  Now,  dame,'  quod  he,  '  let  al  passe  out  of  mynde ; 

Com  doun,  my  leef,  and  if  I  have  myssayd, 

God  help  me  so,  as  I  am  evel  appayd. 

But  by  my  faders  soule,  I  wende  have  seyn, 

How  that  this  Damyan  had  by  the  leyn. 

And  that  thy  smok  had  layn  upon  thy  brest.' 

'  Ye,  sire,'  quod  sche,  '  ye  may  wene  as  yow  lest ; 

But,  sire,  a  man  that  wakith  out  of  his  slep. 

He  may  not  sodeynly  wel  take  keep 

Upon  a  thing,  ne  seen  it  parfytly. 

Til  that  he  be  adawed  verrayly. 

Right  so  a  man,  that  long  hath  blynd  i-be, 

He  may  not  sodeynly  so  wel  i-se. 

First  whan  the  sight  is  newe  comen  agayn. 

As  he  that  hath  a  day  or  tuo  i-sayn. 

Til  that  your  sight  y-stablid  be  a  while, 

Ther  may  ful  many  a  sighte  yow  bigile. 

Beth  war,  I  pray  yow,  for,  by  heven  king, 

Ful  many  man  wenith  for  to  se  a  thing. 

And  it  is  al  another  than  it  semeth; 

He  that  mysconceyveth  he  mysdemeth.'^ 

And  with  that  word  sche  leep  doun  fro  the  tre. 
This  January  who  is  glad  but  hel 
He  kissith  hir,  and  clippith  hir  ful  ofte. 
And  on  hir  wombe  he  strokith  hir  ful  softe ; 
And  to  his  paleys  hom  he  hath  hir  lad. 
Now,  goode  men,  I  pray  yow  to  be  glad- 
Thus  endith  her  my  tale  of  Januarye, 
God  blesse  us,  and  his  moder  seinte  Marie ! 


'  He  whose  senses  convey  an  incorrect  idea  to  his  mind,  cannot 
form  a  correct  judgment. 


4G1 

THE  SQUYEKES  PROLOGE. 

'  T?  Y !  Goddes  mercy !'  s;iyd  our  Hoste  tho, 

-L^   '  Now  such  a  wyf  I  pray  God  keep  me  fia 
Lo,  "whicbe  sleightes  and  subtilitees 
In  wommen  ben;  for  ay  as  busy  as  bees 
Ben  thay  us  seely  men  for  to  desceyve, 
And  from  a  soth  over  wol  thay  weyve. 
By  this  Marchaundes  tale  it  proveth  wel. 
But  douteles,  as  trewe  as  eny  steel 
1  have  a  wyf,  thou£;h  that  sche  pore  be; 
But  of  hir  tonge  a  hibbyng  schrewe  is  sche ; 
And  yit  sche  hath  an  heep  of  vices  mo. 
Therof  no  fors;  let  alle  such  thinges  go. 
But  wite  ye  what?  in  counseil  be  it  seyd, 
Me  rewith  sore  I  am  unto  hir  teyd; 
And  if  I  scholde  reken  every  vice, 
Which  that  sche  hatli,  T  wis  I  were  to  nyce ; 
And  cause  wliy,  it  schuld  reported  be 
And  told  to  hir  of  som  of  this  meyne, 
(Of  whom  it  needitli  not  for  to  declare, 
Syn  wommen  connen  oute  such  chaffare)  ;* 
And  eek  my  witte  suflisith  nought  therto 
To  tellen  al;  wherfor  my  tale  is  do.''^ 

'  Sir  Squier,  com  forth,  if  that  your  wille  be, 
And  say  us  a  tale  of  love,  for  cex"tes  ye 
Connen  theron  as  moche  as  ony  man.' 

'  Nay,  sire,'  c^uod  he ;  *  but  I  wil  say  as  I  can 
With  herty  wil,  for  I  wil  not  rebelle 
Against  your  wille ;  a  tale  wil  I  telle, 
Have  me  excused  if  that  I  speke  amys ; 
My  wil  is  good ;  and  thereto  my  tale  Ib  this.' 


'  Tyrwhitt  is  at  a  loss  to  understand  this  parenthesis,  but  it 
■eems  to  mean, '  Of  whose  vices  I  will  not  speak;  for  women,  of  whom 
there  are  many  in  this  comp:iny,  know  well  how  to  divul/je  it.' 

-  [A  division  should  probably  bo  m;ule  hero;  seo  Scheme  of  tho  Order  of 
the  Tales,  vol.  ii.  pp.  ;5i-J54J  In  the  next  line  but  one  the  Liarl.  M6. 
omits  of  love. 


■162  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 


THE    SQUYERES    TALE. 

[This  tale,  to  which  Warton  assigns  the  first  place  in  the 
collection,  is  apparently  founded  upon  a  story  of  Arabian 
origin,  ennobled,  no  doubt,  by  Chaucer  in  the  process  of 
transplantation.  Almost  all  the  incidents  and  circumstances 
are  found  scattered  in  different  Arabian  tales,  though  not 
combined  in  any  one.  It  possesses  the  fascination  of  one  of 
the  Arabian  Nights,  deepened  in  human  interest;  the 
special  attributes  of  Oriental  fiction  are  faithfully  preserved 
in  its  gorgeous  details  and  fantastical  enchantments ;  and  it 
is  coloured  throughout  by  those  peculiar  characteristics  of 
Eastern  literature  which  may  be  traced  to  the  genius  and 
religion  of  the  people.  Brilliancy  of  fancy  the  Easterns 
certainly  possess,  but  it  is  the  fancy  of  the  opium-eater; 
their  highest  aspirations  never  contemplate  any  enjoyment 
beyond  that  of  sensuality  or  power.  Supernatural  influences 
enter  largely  into  the  machinery  of  Eastern  romance;  but 
they  assume  the  form  of  magic,  and  are  attached  to  material 
charms,  as  in  the  brazen  horse,  the  mirror  and  the  ring  of 
this  tale.  The  Oriental  fabulists  sympathise  only  with  success ; 
the  dignity  of  suffering  virtue  finds  no  responsive  chord  in 
their  hearts,  which  are  of  the  earth,  earthy.  The  main 
differences  between  the  literatures  of  the  East  and  West  may 
be  partially  estimated  by  a  compai-ison  between  this  un- 
finished tale  and  the  story  of  Constance,  or  The  Romance 
of  the  Saint  Graal.  The  latter  are  Impressed  with  a  feeling 
of  responsibility,  and  of  the  immutability  of  the  law  of  right 
and  wrong,  which  gives  an  elevation  even  to  their  most 
extravagant  flights.  Such  moral  elevation  Is  sought  for  in 
vain  In  Eastern  romance.  Apart,  however,  from  the  radical 
defects  of  this  style  of  fiction,  its  want  of  aim  and  mere 
sensuousness.  The  Sq^uyeres  Tale  displays  pre-eminently 
Chaucer's  marvellous  powers  o^ picture-ivriting.  The  mag- 
nificent festivities  of  a  feudal  castle,  heightened  by  some 
glittering  touches   borrowed  from   a  Saracenic  palace,   are 


THE   SQUYERES   TALE.  463 

prodiuoa  befort  the  mind's  eye  with  startling  reality  and 

^jor^'eous  efl'ect.     Tyrwhitt  and  Warton  both  follow  ]Milton 

in  tliinkincf  that  Chaucer  lell  this  talc  'half-told;'  but,  from 

the  followint;  lines   in  The   Temple  of  Glass,  by  Hawes,  a 

poet  of  the  reign  of  llenry  VII.,  it  would  appear  that  in  his 

time  a  continuation  was  in  existence,  whether  by  Chaucer  or 

one  of  his   imitators   there  are  no  means  of  ascertaining. 

The  poet  describes  the  ornaments  of  the  Temple: — 

An  J  uppcrniore  men  depiiiiten  might  ^ee 
Howe,  with  lierriiip,  poodlie  Canace, 
Of  every  foiile  the  leden  and  the  sons' 
C'ouKl  understand,  as  she  them  walked  among. 
And  how  her  brother  so  often  holpen  was 
In  his  mischefe,  by  the  steed  of  brass. 

In  T/ie  Squj/ercs  Tale,  as  it  at  present  exists,  we  have  no 

account  of  Canacc's  brother's  '  mischiefes,'  nor  of  the  assistance 

he  received  from  the  enchanted  steed.     Tyrwhitt  gives  the 

following  sketch  of  what  he  supposes  to  be  the  intended  sequel 

of  the  story,  in  which  he  difl'ers  essentially  from  Spenser's 

continuation.     *  The  outline,  therefore,  of  the  unfmished  part 

of  this  tale,  according  to  my  idea,  is  nearly  this ;  the  conclusion 

of  the  story  of  T/ie  Faucon, 

By  mediation  of  Camballus, 

with  the  help  of  the  ring ;  the  conquests  of  Cambuscan;  the 

winning  of  Theodora  by  Algarsif,  with  the  assistance  of 

the  horse  of  brass;  and  the  marriage  of  Canace  to  some 

knight,  who  was  first  obliged  to  fight  for  her  with  her  ttco 

brethren;  a  method  of  courtship  ver}' consonant  to  the  spirit 

of  ancient  chivalry.'] 

4  T  San-ay,  in  the  lond  of  Tartary, 
-^  Ther  dwelled  a  kyng  that  werryed  Russy, 
Thurgh  wliicli  ther  deyed  many  a  douglity  man; 
This  uubil  kyug  was  cleped  C'amliyuskau,' 
Wliieh  in  his  tyme  was  of  so  gret  renoun, 
That  ther  nas  nowhcr  in  no  regioun 

I  Tlii-  name  (cqiiivalont  to  7A-\viU  Kh.an)  includes  the  mon.irch's  title. 
The  Uarl.  and  Umsd.  .MSS.  ditTer  IVuni  the  ordinary  reading,  ''ambuikan, 
which  Milton  folluwud  iu  U  I'cntiruso. 


464  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

So  excellent  a  lord  in  alle  thing : 

Him  lakked  nought  that  longed  to  a  kyng. 

As  of  the  secte  of  which  that  he  was  born, 

He  kept  his  lawe  to  which  he  was  sworn  j^ 

And  therto  he  was  hardy,  wys,  and  riclie, 

And  pitous  and  just,  and  alway  y-liche, 

Soth  of  his  word,  benign  and  honurable ; 

Of  his  corage  as  eny  centre  stable; 

Yong,  freisch,  and  strong,  in  armes  desirous, 

As  eny  bachiler  of  al  his  hous. 

A  fair  jjerson  he  was,  and  fortunat, 

And  kepte  so  wel  his  real  astat, 

That  ther  was  nowher  such  a  ryal  man. 

This  noble  kyng,  this  Tartre,  this  Cambynskan, 

Hadde  tuo  sones  by  Eltheta  his  wyf. 

Of  which  the  eldest  highte  Algarsyf,* 

That  other  was  i-cleped  Camballo. 

A  doughter  had  this  worthi  king  also. 

That  yongest  was,  and  liighte  Canace ; 

But  for  to  telle  yow  al  hir  beaute, 

It  lith  not  on  my  tonge,  ne  my  connyng, 

I  dar  nought  undertake  so  heigh  a  thing; 

Myii  Englissh  eek  is  insufficient. 

It  moste  be  a  rethor  excellent 

That  couth  his  colours  longyng  for  that  art, 

If  he  schold  hir  discryve  in  eny  part ; 

I  am  non  such,  I  mot  speke  as  I  can. 

And  so  bifel  it,  that  this  Cambynskan 
Hath  twenty  wynter  born  his  dyademe ; 
As  he  was  wont  fro  yer  to  yer,  I  deme, 
He  leet  the  fest  of  his  nativite 
Don  cry  en,  thurghout  Sarray  his  cite, 
The  last  Idus  of  March,  after  the  yeer. 
Phebus  the  sonne  was  joly  and  cleer, 

'  He  kept  the  laws  of  that  form  of  rch"gion  to  which  he  was  sworn 
or  bound. 

2  Tlie  Harl.  MS.  gives  Algaryf  for  Algarsyf,  and  SamhaUo  for 
Camballo. 


THE  SQUYERES  TALE.  1G5 

For  he  was  neigh  his  exaltaciouii 
III  Martes  face,  and  in  his  niansioun 
In  Aries,  the  colcrik,  the  liote  signe. 
Ful  histy  was  the  wedir  and  benigue, 
For  which  the  foules  ageiu  the  Sonne  scheene, 
What  for  the  sesoun  and  for  the  yonge  gi'eeue, 
Ful  lowdc  song  in  here  alfecciouns, 
Hem  semed  have  geten  hem  protecciouus 
Agens  the  swerd  of  wyuter  kene  and  cold. 
This  Cambynskan,  of  wliich  I  have  told, 
In  royal  vesture,  sittyng  on  his  deys 
With  dyadeni,  ful  heigh  in  his  paleys; 
And  held  liis  fest  solcmpne  and  so  riche, 
That  in  this  woi-lde  was  there  noon  it  liche. 
Of  wliich  if  I  schal  tellen  al  tharray, 
Than  wold  it  occupie  a  someres  day; 
And  eek  it  needith  nought  for  to  devyse 
At  every  cours  the  ordi-e  and  the  servyse. 
I  wol  nat  tellen  of  her  straunge  sewes, 
Ne  of  her  swannes,*  ne  here  heroun-sewes. 
Ek  in  that  lond,  as  tellen  knightes  olde, 
Ther  is  som  mete  that  is  ful  deynte  holde, 
That  in  this  lond  men  reccli  of  it  but  smal; 
Ther  is  no  man  it  may  reporten  al. 
I  wel  not  tarien  you,  for  it  is  pryme,' 
And  for  it  is  no  fruyt,  but  los  of  tyme, 
Unto  my  purpos  I  wol  have  my  recours. 
That  so  bifelle  after  the  thridde  cours, 
Whil  that  this  kyng  sit  thus  in  his  nobleye, 
Herkyng  his  mynstrales  her  thinges  pleye 

1  The  swan  was  formiTly  a  favourite  disJi.  It  is  still  considered 
a  great  delicacy  in  Norfolk,  and  the  fat  cspi'cially  is  as  much  esteemed 
%s  that  of  venison  by  Ka.<t  Anglian  gourmets.  The  old  Norwich 
corporation  used  to  proceed  annually  down  the  river  in  their  state 
barges  to  Yarmouth,  sicnn-hoppimj — that  is,  catching  and  marking 
the  young  birds — a  custom  still  followed  by  tl\e  corporation  of  London. 
From  this  custom  we  drrive  the  tavern  sign  of  the  Swan  with  Two 
Necks,  a  corruption  of  Swan  with  fwo  Nicks,  the  marks  made  by  the 
Lord  Mayor  on  the  swans  on  the  Thames.  Herons  may  now  sometimes 
be  seen  in  the  Norwich  game-market.         '  See  anti ,  p.  118,  note  2. 

VOL.  I.  2   H 


466  THE  CANTERBUEY   TALES. 

Byforne  him  atte  boord  deliciously/ 
In  atte  halle  dore  al  sodeynly 
Ther  com  a  knight  upon  a  steed  of  bras, 
And  in  his  hond  a  brod  myrour  of  glas; 
Upon  his  thumb  he  had  of  gold  a  ryng/ 
And  by  his  side  a  naked  swerd  hangyng : 
And  up  he  rideth  to  the  heyghe  bord.* 
In  al  the  halle  ne  was  ther  spoke  a  word, 
For  mervayl  of  this  knight ;  him  to  byholde 
Ful  besily  they  wayten  yong  and  olde. 

This  straiinge  knight  that  cam  thus  sodeynly, 
Al  armed  sauf  his  heed  ful  richely, 
Salued  the  kyng  and  queen,  and  lordes  alle 
By  ordre,  as  they  seten  into  halle, 
With  so  heigh  reverens  and  observaunce, 
As  wel  in  speche  as  in  contynaunce. 


1  See  ante,  p.  438,  note  5.  ' 

^  The  ring  was  a  symbol  of  great  sigHificance  in  the  middle  ages, 
and  was  frequently  of  large  size,  and  worn  on  the  thumb. 

3  The  palaces  of  the  early  Norman  kings  and  nobility  consisted  of 
one  large  oblong  hall,  like  our  college  halls,  at  one  end  of  which  was 
a  raised  platform,  from  which  there  was  a  door  into  a  cellar,  or 
buttery,  or  spence;  and  over  that  a  sleeping  apartment  for  the  great 
lord  and  his  family.  The  hall  was  furnished  with  long  tables,  and 
with  a  'heyghe  bord'  on  the  dais,  at  which  the  seigneur  dined,  and 
was  strewn  with  rushes,  which  at  night  served  for  a  bed  for  his  nume- 
rous retainers.  This  was  the  type  of  all  the  mediaeval  dwellings  ;  but 
as  refinement  advanced,  the  number  of  private  sleeping  apartments 
would,  of  course,  be  increased.  See  Domestic  Architecture  of  tlie 
Middle  Ages.  A  horseman  might  easily  ride  up  such  a  hall,  without 
causing  any  disarrangement  of  the  furniture,  which  consisted  only  of 
boards  on  tressels,  and  a  few  forms  and  joint-stools.  Thus,  in  Percy's 
fine  ballad  of  King  Estmere: — 

'  Kynge  Estmere  he  light  off  his  steede, 
Up  at  the  fayre  hall  board. 
The  frothe  that  cam  from  his  brydle  bitte 
Light  on  King  Bremor's  beard,' 
as  he  sat  at  dinner.     Thus,  also,  in  the  Life  of  Alexander,  by  Adam 
Davie,  who  flourished  about  the  year  1 3 1 2  : — 
'  To  the  paleis  they  gon  ride. 
And  fond  thisfeste  in  all  pruyde; 
Forth  goth  Alesaunder  saun  fable 
Kyght  to  thee  heygh  table.' 


THE   SQUYERES   TALE.  407 

That  Gaweyn*  -svith  his  olde  curtesy e, 
They  he  were  come  agein  out  of  fayrye, 
Ne  couthe  him  nouglit  amende  with  uo  word. 
And  after  this,  bilbru  the  highe  bord 
He  with  a  manly  vois  sayd  this  message, 
After  the  forme  used  in  liis  langage, 
Withouten  vice  of  sillabil  or  letter. 
And  for  his  tale  schulde  seme  the  better, 
Accordaunt  to  his  wordes  was  his  cheere. 
As  techeth  art  of  speche'''  hem  that  it  leere. 
Al  be  it  that  I  can  nat  sowue  his  style, 
Ne  can  nat  clymben  over  so  heigh  a  style,* 
Yit  say  I  this,  as  to  comun  entent. 
Thus  moche  amounteth  al  that  ever  he  ment, 
If  it  so  be  that  I  have  it  in  mynde. 

He  sayd :  '  The  kyng  of  Arraby  and  of  Yude, 
My  liege  lord,  on  this  solempne  day 
Saluteth  you  as  he  best  can  or  may, 
And  sendeth  you,  in  honour  of  your  feste, 
By  me,  that  am  redy,  at  al  his  he^te, 
This  steede  of  bras,  that  esily  and  wel 
Can  in  the  space  of  o  day  naturel, 
(This  is  to  say,  in  four  and  twenty  houres) 
Wher  so  yow  lust,  in  droughthe  or  in  schoures, 
Beren  your  body  into  every  place. 
To  which  your  herte  wilneth  for  to  pace, 
"Withouten  wem  of  you,  thurgh  foul  and  fair.* 
Or  if  you  lust  to  flee  as  heigh  in  thair 

'  The  Uarl.  MS.  reads  Eweii,  probably  from  the  scribe  having  con- 
founded the  two  heroes  Ywaiiie  and  Gawaine  in  tlie  romance  of  that 
name  ;  but  Gawaine  is  evidently  the  person  meant,  for  he  is  always  con- 
sidered the  model  of  courtesy  in  the  court  of  Arthur,  as  in  Percy? 
ballad  :— 

'  Then  bespake  him  Ser  Gawaine, 
That  was  ever  a  frentle  knight.' 

2  'It  was  the  boast  of  one  of  their  historians  that  the  Norman  gentlc-- 
men  were  orators  from  their  cradle.' — Macaulay,  Hist.  Kug.,  vol.  i. 

s  This  appears  to  be  a  pun  on  the  word  slyU. 

*  The  horse  and  mirror  will  remind  the  reader  of  the  enchanted 
carpet  and  perspective  glass  given  to  Prince  Ahmed  by  the  fairy  I'ari 
lianou,  in  The  Arabian  Aiylds. 

2    H    2 


468  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

As  doth  an  egle,  whan  him  list  to  sore, 
This  same  steede  schal  here  you  evermore 
Withoute  harm,  til  ye  be  ther  yow  leste, 
(Though  that  ye  slepen  on  his  bak  or  reste), 
And  tome  agein,  with  wrything  of  a  pjni. 
He  that  it  wrought,  he  cowthe  many  a  gyn ; 
He  wayted  many  a  consteUacloun, 
Er  he  had  do  this  operacioun, 
And  knew  ful  many  a  seaP  and  many  a  bond. 

'  This  mirour  eek,  that  I  have  in  myn  bond, 
Hath  such  a  mighte,  that  men  may  in  it  see 
When  ther  schal  faUe  eny  advei'site 
Unto  your  regne,  or  to  your  self  also, 
And  openly,  who  is  your  frend  or  to. 
And  over  al  this,  if  eny  lady  bright 
Hath  set  hir  hert  on  eny  maner  wight, 
If  he  be  fals,  sche  schal  his  tresoun  see. 
His  newe  love,  and  his  subtilite. 
So  openly,  that  ther  schall  nothing  hyde. 
Wherfor  ageins  this  kisty  somer  tyde 
This  mirour  and  this  ryng,  that  ye  may  see, 
He  hath  send  to  my  lady  Canacee, 
Your  excellente  doughter  that  is  heere. 

'  The  vertu  of  this  ryng,  if  ye  wol  heere, 
Is  this,  that  who  so  lust  it  for  to  were 
Upon  hir  thomb,  or  in  hir  pi;rs  to  here, 
Ther  is  no  foul  that  fleeth  under  the  heven. 
That  sche  ne  schal  understonden  his  steven, 
And  know  his  menyng  openly  and  pleyn, 
And  answer  him  in  his  langage  ageyn ; 


'  Warton  says  on  this  line,  '  Seal  may  mean  a  talismanic  sigil 
used  in  astrology.  Or  the  hermetic  seal  used  in  chemistry.  Or  con- 
nected with  bfmd,  may  sis,'nify  contracts  made  witli  spirits  in  chemical 
operations.  But  all  these  belong  to  the  Arabian  fthilosophy.  See 
d'Herbelot,  Diet.  Orient.,  pp.  8  lo,  looS.'  The  east  was  always  the  land 
of  magic,  which  was  imjjorted  into  Western  Europe  by  the  Cru- 
saders. They  had  unhappily  forgotten  the  example  of  the  early 
Christians,  who,  on  their  conversion,  burned  their  magical  books. 
Acts  xix.  19. 


THE   SQUTERES   TALE.  469 

Aud  every  gvas  that  groweth  upon  roote 
Scho  schal  eek  know,  to  whom  it  wol  do  boote, 
Al  be  hio  woundes  never  so  deep  and  wyde. 

'  This  naked  swerd,  that  liangeth  hy  my  side, 
Such  vertu  hath,  that  what  man  that  it  smyte, 
Thurghout  his  armur  it  wol  kerve  and  byte, 
Were  it  as  thikke  as  a  brannclicd  ook ; 
And  what  man  is  i-wound<tl  with  the  strook 
Schal  never  be  hool,  til  that  you  lust  of  grace 
To  strok  him  with  the  plat  in  thilke  place 
Ther  he  is  hurt;  this  is  as  moche  to  seyn. 
Ye  moote  with  the  platte  swerd  agein 
Stroke  him  in  the  wound,  and  it  wol  close. 
This  is  the  verray  soth  withouten  glose, 
It  faiJleth  nought,  whil  it  is  in  your  hold.' 

And  whan  this  knight  thus  had  his  tale  told, 
He  rit  out  of  the  halle,  and  doun  he  light. 
His  steede,  which  that  schon  as  sonne  bright, 
Stant  in  the  court  as  stille  as  eny  stoon. 
This  knight  is  to  his  chambre  lad  anoon, 
And  is  imarmed,  and  to  mete  i-sett. 
This  presentz  ben  ful  richely  i-fett, 
This  is  to  sayn,  the  swerd  and  the  myrrour, 
And  born  anon  unto  the  highe  tour, 
With  cei-tein  officers  ordcynd  therfore; 
And  unto  Canace  the  ryng  is  bore 
Solenipnely,  ther  sche  s)i;  atte  table ; 
But  sikerly,  withouten  eny  fable, 
The  hors  of  bras,  that  may  nat  be  remewed, 
It  stant,  as  it  were  to  the  ground  i-glewed ; 
Ther  may  no  man  out  of  the  place  it  dryve 
For  noon  engyn  of  wyndas'  or  polj^e; 
And  cause  why,  for  they  can  nought  the  craft. 
And  therfor  ii;  th(!  ]>lace  thei  have  it  laft. 
Til  tliat  the  knight  hath  taught  hem  the  mancro 
To  voyden  him,  as  ye  schul  after  heere. 

•  Harl.  MS.,u^rfjm5r. 


470  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Greet  was  the  pres  that  swarmed  to  and  fro 
To  gauren  on  this  liors  that  stondeth  so; 
For  it  so  high^  was,  and  so  brod  and  long, 
So  wel  proporcioned  to  be  strong, 
Kight  as  it  were  a  steed  of  Lumbardye;* 
Therto  so  horsly,  and  so  quyk  of  ye, 
As  it^  a  gentU  Poyleys  courser  were; 
For  certes,  fro  his  tayl  unto  his  eere 
Nature  ne  art  ne  couthe  him  nought  amende 
In  no  degre,  as  al  the  poepel  wende. 
But  evermore  her  moste  wonder  was, 
How  that  he  couthe  goon,  and  was  of  bras; 
It  was  of  fayry,  as  the  poeple  semed. 
Diverse  peple  diversly  they  demed ; 
As  many  hedes,  as  many  wittes  been. 
They  murmured,  as  doth  a  swarm  of  been, 
And  made  skiles  after  her  fantasies, 
Rehersyng  of  the  olde  poetries, 
And  seyden  it  was  i-like  the  Pegase,* 
The  hors  that  hadde  wynges  for  to  fle ; 
Or  elles  it  was  the  Grekissch  hoi's  Synon,* 
That  broughte  Troye  to  destruccioun, 
A-s  men  may  in  the  olde  gestes  rede. 
'  Myn  hert,'  quod  oon,  '  is  evermore  in  drede, 
I  trow  som  men  of  armes  ben  therinne, 
That  schapen  hem  this  cite  for  to  wynne ; 
It  were  good  that  such  thing  were  knowe.' 
Another  rowned  to  his  felaw  lowe. 
And  sayde :  '  It  lyth,  for  it  is  rather  lik 
An  apparence  maad  by  som  magik, 

1  Harl.  MS.,  wyd. 

-  The  rich  plains  of  Lombard/  produced  a  breed  of  strong  heavy 
horses,  like  our  Lincolnshire  dray-horse,  well  suited  to  carry  a  knight 
in  heavy  armour.  The  steed  of  brass  combined  the  bone  and  power  ol 
this  heavy  war-horse  with  the  spirit  and  breeding  of  a  '  gentil  Poyleys 
courser,'  that  is,  a  thorough-bred  horse  of  Apulia,  French  Poille. 

s  Tlip  Ihul.  MS.  reads  i/',  which  does  not  make  sense.  It  is  from 
Tyrwhitt.  ■•  Margin  of  Harl.  MS,  equus  per/aseus. 

^  [Tlie  text  should  be '  the  Grekes  hors  Sinon,'  i.e.,  the  liorse  of  Sinon  the 
Greek,  a  usual  Middle-English  idiom.— \V.  W.  S.] 


THE    SQUYERES    TALE.  471 

As  jogeloui-s'  pleyen  at  this  festes  grete.' 

Of  soudry  thoughtes  thus  they  jangle  and  trete, 

As  leweil  peple  demeth  comunly 

Of  thinges  that  beu  maad  more  subtily 

Than  they  can  in  her  lewednes  comprehende, 

They  dii nn  n  Ljladly  to  the  badder  ende. 

And  soiu  ui'  hciu  wondi'cd  on  the  niiiTour, 

That  born  was  up  into  the  maister  tour/ 

How  men  might  in  it  suche  thinges  se. 

Another  answerd,  and  sayd,  it  might  wel  be 

Katurelly  by  composiciouns 

Of  angels,"  and  of  heigh  reflexiouns; 

And  sayde  that  in  Rome*  was  such  oon. 

They  speeke  of  Alhazen*  and  Vitilyon, 

And  Aristotle,  that  writen  in  her  lyves 

Of  queynte  myrrours  and  prospectyves, 

As  knowen  they  that  han  her  bokes  herd. 

And  other  folk  have  wondred  on  the  swerd, 

That  -wolde  passe  thorughout  every  thing; 

And  fel  in  speche  of  Telophus  the  kyng, 

And  of  Achilles  for  his  queynte  spere, 

For  he  couthe  with  it  bothe  hele  and  dere,* 

Right  in  such  wise  as  men  may  with  the  swerd, 

Of  which  right  now  ye  have  your  selven  herd. 


1  See  ante,  p.  }$^,  note  5. 

-  The  chief  tower,  called  the  donjon.  •'  Angles. 

*  An  allusion  to  a  maRical  image  said  to  have  been  placed  by  tlie 
enchanter  Virgil  in  the  niidUle  of  Kome,  which  communicated  to  the 
Emperor  Titus  all  the  secret  olTenrea  committed  every  day  in  the  city. 
Ge^ta  Roman.,  c.  Ivii.  The  poet  was  invested  with  the  character  of  u 
necromancer,  or  wizard,  because  the  heathen  mythology  enters  so 
largely  into  his  writings. 

s  titiT\.yiS.ioT  AUiazen  reads  Alcnjt.  Alhnzcni  et  VitcllionL^  opera 
are  extant,  printed  at  Basil  in  i57s.  The  first  is  supposed  by  his 
editor  to  have  lived  about  a.d.  i  100,  and  the  second  in  a.d.  1270. — T. 

«  Telephus,  the  son  of  Hercules  and  Auge.was  wounded  by  Achilles 
with  his  speor,  and  healed  by  the  application  of  some  rust  from  tlie 
same  weapon.  I'etronius,  in  his  epigram  De  Tdeplw,  exactly  describe* 
the  qualities  of  Cambynskan's  magic  sword :—' Umie  d:itum  est  vulnus, 
contigit  iude  salus.'  [The  allusion  is  in  Ovid,  whence  Chaucer  tool;  it. 
-W.W.S.] 


472  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

They  speeken  of  sondry  hardyng  of  metal, 
And  speken  of  medicines  therwithal, 
And  how  and  whan  it  schulde  harded  be, 
Which  is  unknowe  algat  unto  me. 
Tho  speeken  they  of  Canacees  ryng, 
And  seyden  alle,  that  such  a  wonder  thing 
Of  craft  of  rynges  herd  they  never  noon, 
Sauf  that  he  Moyses  and  kyng  Salamon^ 
Hadden  a  name  of  connyng  in  such  art. 
Thus  seyen  the  peple,  and  drawen  hem  apart.* 
But  natheles  som  seiden  that  it  was 
Wonder  thing  to  make  of  feme  aisschen  glas,' 
And  yit  is  glas  novight  like  aisschen  of  feme, 
But  for  they  han  i-knowen  it  so  feme ; 
Therfor  cesseth  her  janglyng  and  her  wonder. 
As  sore  wondred  som  of  cause  of  thondei', 
On  ebbe  and  flood,  on  gossomer,  and  on  myst. 
And  on  alle  thing,  til  that  the  cause  is  wist. 
Thus  jangien  they,  and  demen  and  devyse. 
Til  that  the  kyng  gan  fro  his  bord  arise. 

Phebus  hath  left  the  angel  merydyonal, 
And  yit  ascendyng  was  a  best  roial, 
The  gentil  Lyoun,  with  his  Aldryan,* 
Whan  that  this  gentil  kyng,  this  Cambynskan, 
Bos  fro  his  bord,  ther  as  he  sat  ful  hye ; 
Biforn  him  goth  ful  lowde  menstralcye, 

1  It  is  easily  seen  how  JMoses  and  Solomon  came  to  be  ranked  among 
magicians.  Moses  was  '  learned  in  all  the  learning  of  the  Egyptians  ;' 
but  the  Egyptian  learning,  like  all  Eastern  philosophies,  if  they  can 
be  dignified  by  the  name,  was  a  form  of  magic  and  soothsaying. 
Exodus,  passim.  Solomon,  in  his  old  age,  served  tlie  false  gods  Ash- 
toreth,  Chemosh,  and  Molech,  whose  worship  consisted  in  a  most 
impure  and  cruel  necromancy. 

«  Harl.  MS.  :— 

'  The  people  on  every  part.' 

■'  The  peoi)le  said.  This  miraculous  sword,  glass,  and  ring,  arc  not 
more  wonderful  than  the  manufacture  of  glass,  which  is  made  of  the 
aslus  of  fern,  and  other  jihuits,  and  sand,  and  yet  is  like  none  of  it3 
component  parts  ;  nor  would  any  one  have  guessed  of  what  it  is  com- 
posed, had  they  not  been  so  far  previously  informed. 
*  Harl.  MS.,  Adryan. 


THE   SQUVERES    TALE.  47lj 

Til  he  cam  to  his  ch;iml>re  of  iiarcnientz,' 
Tlier  as  thor  were  divers  instrumcntz, 
That  is  y-like  an  heven  for  to  heere. 

Now  (hiuiicen  lusty  Venus  chiicb-en  decrej 
For  in  the  tissch  her  lady  sat  liil  heyghe/ 
And  loketh  on  hem  with  a  frendly  eyghe. 
This  noble  kyng  is  set  upon  his  trone; 
This  strauu^e  knight  is  fet  to  him  fnl  sone, 
And  in  the  dauiice  he  gan  with  Canace. 
Her  is  the  revel  and  the  jolyte, 
That  is  not  able  a  dnl  man  to  de\-yse; 
He  most  have  knowe  love  and  his  servise, 
And  ben  a  festly  man,  as  freisch  as  May, 
That  schulde  you  dexyse  such  array. 
Who  couthe  telle  you  the  forme  of  daunce 
So  uncouth,  and  so  freischc  countinaunce, 
Such  subtil  lokyng  of  dissimilynges, 
For  drede  of  jalous  folk  apparcey^yngesl 
No  man  but  Lauucolet,^  and  he  is  deed. 
Theifore  I  passe  over  al  this  lustyheed, 
I  say  no  more,  but  in  this  joljiiesse 
I  leto  hem,  til  men  to  soper  hem  dresse. 
The  styAvard  byt  the  spices  for  to  hye 
And  eek  the  wyn,  in  al  this  melodye; 
Thes  usschers  and  thcs  squyei-s  ben  agon, 
The  spices  and  the  wyn  is  come  anoon ; 
They  eet  and  drank,  and  whan  this  had  an  ende, 
Unto  the  temple,  as  resoun  was,  they  wende ; 

'  Chamhrr  (if  parennii.t  is  translated  by  Cotprave  the  presence- 
cliainl)er,  and  III  ile  pnrnneng,  a  bed  of  state.  Pan  meiu!  originally  siiiii- 
lied  all  sorts  of  ornaincntal  furniture  or  clntlic'i.  from  /tarer,  to 
adorn.    See  ante,  p.  169,  and  Ug.  of  (1.  ir.  Dido,  verse  i8x  :— 

'To  dauncin)?  clianibres.  iul  of  p.-ircmente8. 
Of  riclie  lieildis  and  of  jovementes, 
Tliis  Knea-t  U  Icdde  after  the  nicte.' 
The  Italian"!  have  the  same  exjiression,  Isl.  di  Conn.   Triilint..  lib.  iii. : — 
'II  rontflice,  ritornato  alia  canwra  de'  jtaramenti  co'  Cardinal!.' — T. 
*  See  antr,  p.  )i%  note  2. 

'  I.aunci'lut  intrigued  witli  Queen  Goenever,  and  was  tlierefore  skilled 
in  such  arts. 


474  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

The  sei-vise  doon,  they  soupen  al  by  day.' 
What  needeth  you  to  rehersen  her  array? 
Ech  man  wot  wel,  that  a  kynges  feste 
Hath  plente,  to  the  lest  and  to  the  meste, 
And  deyntees  mo  than  ben  in  my  knowyng. 
At  after  souper  goth  this  noble  kyng 
To  see  this  hors  of  bras,  with  al  his  route 
Of  lordes  and  of  ladyes  him  aboute. 
Swich  wondryng  was  ther  on  this  hors  of  bras, 
That  seth  this  grete  siege  of  Troye  was, 
Ther  as  men  wondrid  on  an  hors  also, 
Ne  was  ther  such  a  \vondryng  as  was  tho. 
But  fynally  the  kyng  asked  the  knight 
The  vertu  of  this  courser,  and  the  might, 
And  prayd  him  tellen  of  his  governaunce. 
The  hors  anoon  gan  for  to  trippe  and  daunce. 
Whan  that  the  knight  leyd  hand  upon  his  rayne, 
And  sayde,  '  Sir,  ther  is  nomore  to  sayne, 
But  whan  you  lust  to  ryde  any  where, 
Ye  moote  trille  a  pyn,  stant  in  his  ere, 
Which  I  schal  telle  you  betwen  us  two, 
Ye  moste  nempne  him  to  what  place  also, 
Or  what  countre  you  luste  for  to  ryde. 
And  whan  ye  come  ther  you  lust  abyde. 
Bid  him  descende,  and  trille  another  pynne, 
(For  therin  lith  theffet  of  al  the  gjTine) 
And  he  wol  doun  descend  and  do  your  wille, 
And  in  that  place  he  wol  abyde  stille ; 
Though  al  the  world  had  the  contrary  swore, 
He  schal  nat  thennes  be  i-throwe  ne  bore. 
Or  if  you  lust  to  bid  him  thennes  goon, 
Trille  this  pyn,  and  he  wol  vanyssh  anoon 
Out  of  the  sight  of  every  maner  wight. 
And  come  agein,  be  it  by  day  or  night. 
Whan  that  you  lust  to  clepen  him  agaya 
lu  such  a  gyse,  as  I  schal  yow  sayn 


See  ante,  p.  J94,  note  3. 


THE    SQUYERES   TALE.  475 

Betwixe  you  and  me,  iiud  thcrfor  soone, 
Byd  whan  you  lust,  ther  nys  nomor  to  donne. 
Euformed  wlian  the  kyng  was  of  the  knight, 
And  liad  conceyved  in  his  wit  aright 
The  maner  and  the  forme  of  al  this  thing, 
Ful  glad  and  blith,  this  noble  doughty  kyng 
Repeyiyng  to  his  revel,  as  biforn, 
The  l)ridel  is  unto  the  tour  i-boru. 
And  kept  among  his  jewels  leef  and  deere; 
The  hors  vanyscht,  I  not  in  what  manere, 
Out  of  her  sight,  ye  get  nomore  of  me ; 
But  thus  I  late  him  in  his  jolite 
This  Cambinskan  his  lordes  festeyng, 
Til  wel  neigh  the  day  bigan  to  spryng. 

INCIPIT    SECUNDA    PARS. 

THE  norice  of  digestioun,  the  sleep, 
Gan  to  hem^  wynk,  and  bad  of  him  take  keep, 
That  mirthe  and  labour  wol  have  his  rest;' 
And  with  a  galpyng''  mouth  hem  alle  he  keste, 
And  sayd,  that  it  was  tyme  to  lye  doun, 
For  blood  was  in  his  dominacioun : 
'  Cherischeth  blood,  natures  trend,'  quod  he. 
They  thankyn  him  galpyug,  by  two  and  thre; 
And  every  wight  gan  drawe  him  to  his  rest. 
As  sleep  hem  bad,  they  took  it  for  the  best. 


'  Hi'm  has  been  substituted  from  Tyrwhitt,  as  giving  a  better  sense 
than  him,  the  reading  of  the  Hurl.  MS. 

-  Of  tlii.s  line  there  are  several  readings;  that  given  in  the  text 
ftom  the  Harl.  MS.  is  rejected  by  Mr.  Wri;:ht  for  moche  mete  and 
laliour,  which  seems  neither  to  give  so  good  a  sense,  nor  to  agree  with 
the  metre.  The  meaning  appears  obvious,  though  Tynvhitt  thinks 
otlierwise.  What  can  be  more  to  the  purpose  than  to  say  that  mirth 
and  labour  equally  require  rest  ? 

■'  There  is  something  excessively  grotesque  and  highly  characteristic 
of  mediaeval  taste  in  the  person iticat ion  of  .Sleep  kissing  the  revellers 
with  yawning  mouth,  and  jetting  them  all  yawning  :  and  their  thank- 
ing him  in  yawns  'by  one,  by  two,  by  three" — all  gradually  dropping 
in,  and  joining  in  a  grand  yawning  chorus. 


476  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Here  dremes  schul  not  now  be  told  for  me ; 
Ful  were  here  lieedes  of  fumosite, 
That  canseth  drem,  of  which  ther  is  no  charge. 
They  slepen  til  that^  it  was  prime  large," 
The  nioste  part,  but  it  were  Canace ; 
Sche  was  ful  mesurable,^  as  wommen  be. 
For  of  hir  fader  had  sche  take  hir  leve 
To  go  to  reste,  soon  after  it  was  eve; 
Hir  luste  not  appalled  for  to  be, 
Ne  on  the  morwe  unfestly  for  to  se ; 
And  kept  hir  fii-ste  sleep,  and  then  awook. 
For  such  a  joye  sche  in  hir  herte  took, 
Bothe  of  hir  queynte  ryng,  and  hir  myrrour, 
That  twenty  tyme  chaunged  hire  colour; 
And  in  hire  sleep,  right  for  the  impressioun 
Of  liir  myrrour,  sche  had  a  visioun. 
Wherfor,  or  that  the  sonne  up  gan  glyde, 
Sche  cleped  upon  hir  maistresse  beside. 
And  sayde,  that  hire  luste  for  to  ryse. 
These  olde  wommen,  that  ben  gladly  wyse, 
As  is  here  maystresse,*  answered  her  anoon. 
And  sayd,  '  Madame,  whider  wold  ye  goon 
Thus  er\j1  for  folk  ben  alle  in  reste.' 
'  I  wil,'  quod  sche,  '  aiyse,  for  me  leste 
No  lenger  for  to  slepe,  and  walke  aboute.' 
Her  maistres  clepeth  wommen  a  gret  route, 
And  up  they  risen,  a  ten  other  a  twelve. 
Up  ryseth  fresshe  Canace  hir  selve. 
As  rody  and  bright,  as  is  the  yonge  sonne 
That  in  the  i^am  is  ten  degrees  i-ronne; 
No  heiher  was  he,  whan  sche  redy  was ; 
And  forth  sche  walked  esily  a  pas, 
Arayed  after  the  lusty  sesoun  soote 
Lightly  for  to  play,  and  walke  on  foote, 


1  That  has  been  added  from  Tyrwhitt  for  tlie<¥ake  of  the  metre. 

2  See  ante,  p.  218,  note  2.    Prime  large  appeals?  to  mean  till  the  hour  ol 
prime  was  nearly  spent,  and  the  hour  of  tierce  was  about  to  begin. 

s  Moderate  in  eating  and  sleeping.  *  Her  governess. 


THE    SQUYERES   TALE.  477 

Nought  but  with  fyve  or  six  of  hir  nieyne; 
And  in  a  trench'  t'er  in  the  park  .<j;'>th  sche. 
'Phe  vapour,  which  that  of  the  erthc  glod, 
Maketh  the  sonne  seme  rody  and  brod; 
But  natheles,  it  was  so  fair  a  siglit, 
That  it  made  alle  hero  hcrtes  for  to  light, 
Wliat  for  the  sesoun,  wluit  for  tlie  niornyng 
And  for  the  foules  that  sche  herde  syng. 
For  right  auoon  sclie  wiste  what  tlicy  inent 
lliglit  by  here  song,  and  knew  al  here  enteut. 

The  knotte,'  why  that  every  tale  is  told, 
If  that  it  be  taryed  til  lust  be  cold 
Of  hem  tliat  lian  it  after  herkued  yore, 
The  savour  passeth  ever  lenger  the  more, 
For  fulsomnes  of  the  prolixite; 
And  by  this  same  resoun  thinketli  me 
I  schulde  to  the  knotte  condesceude, 
And  make  of  hir  walkynge  soue  an  ende. 

Amyddes  a  tree  for  druye  as  whit  as  chalk,' 
As  Canace  was  pleyyug  in  liir  walk, 
There  sat  a  feukoun  over  liir  lieed  ful  hye, 
That  with  a  pitous  vols  bigan  to  crye. 
That  al  the  woode  resowneil  of  liire  cry. 
And  beten  hadde  sche  hir  self  so  pitously* 
With  bothe  hir  wynges,  to  the  reede  blood 
Ran  eudelong  the  tree,  ther  as  sche  stood. 
And  ever  in  oou  sche  cried  and  sche  schryght. 
And  with  hir  bek  hir  selve  so  sche  pight. 
That  ther  nys  tigi-e  uon  no  cruel  beste, 
That  dwelleth  eyther  in  wood,  or  in  forests, 
That  uold  han  ■wej>t,  if  tliat  he  wepen  cowde, 
For  sort '  of  hir,  sche  Sebright  alway  so  lowde. 

•  Trench  appeura  to  mean  dell. 

-  The  complication  of  circumstanci-.s  wliich  forms  the  interest  of  the 
story.  The  expression  is  Horace's: — '  Dignus  vindice  nodus.' — Epist. 
arf  PUcnes. 

3  A.s  white  as  challc  for  very  dryness. — See  ante,  p.  i88,  note  I. 

*  The  line  is  not  an  Aloxanilrinc,  of  which  Chaucer  lias  none.  Tlie 
•tn  in  Mm  i.s  vi'r>-  rapiil.  For  had,  the  Lllc:iiuerc  ilij.  rc;iUd  luith,  wliicll 
settles  the  scansion.— \V.  W.  S.] 


478  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

For  ther  nas  never  yit  no  man  on  lyve, 

If  that  lie  coutlie  a  fuukoun  wel  discrive, 

That  herd  of  such  another  of  fairnesse 

As  wel  of  plumage,  as  of  gentillesse 

Of  schap,  of  al  that  might  i-rekened  be. 

A  faukoun  peregryn^  than  semed  sche 

Of  fremde  lond ;  and  ever  as  sche  stood, 

Sche  swowned  now  and  now  for  lak  of  blood, 

Til  wel  neigh  is  sche  fallen  fro  the  tre. 

This  faire  kynges  doughter,  Canace, 

That  on  hir  fynger  bar  the  queynte  ryng, 

Thurgh  which  sche  understood  wel  every  thing 

That  eny  foul  may  in  his  lydne'^  sayn, 

And  couthe  answer  him  in  his  lydne  agayn, 

Hath  understonde  what  this  faukoun  sej^de, 

And  wel  neigh  almost  for  the  rewthe  sche  deyde. 

And  to  the  tree  sche  goth  ful  hastily, 

And  on  this  faukoun  loketh  pitously, 

And  held  hir  lappe  abrod,  for  wel  sche  wist 

The  faukoun  moste  falle  fro  the  twist, 

Whan  that  sche  swowned  next,  for  lak  of  blood. 

A  long  while  to  wayten  hir  sche  stood. 

Til  atte  last  sche  spak  in  this  manere 

Unto  the  hauk,  as  ye  schul  after  heere. 

'  What  is  the  cause,  if  it  be  for  to  telle, 

That  ye  ben  in  that  furyalle  peyne  of  helle  V 


'  Tyrwhitt  quotes  from  an  old  treatise  of  falconry.  '  La  seconde 
lignie  est  faucons,  que  horn  apele  pelerins,  par  ce  que  nus  ne  trove  son 
ni.  Ains  est  pris  autresi  come  en  pcleriiiage,  et  est  mult  legiers  a 
norrir,  et  mult  cortois,  et  vaillans,  et  de  bone  maniere.'  This  agrees 
witli  Chaucer's  description  of  the  falcon  as  of  fremde,  or  foreign  lond. 
From  being  mvU  courtois  it  was  called  the  falcon  gcntil,  or  gentle. 
Thus  in  Tlie  Assembly  of  Foules  : — 

'  The  gentle  faucon,  that  with  his  feet  distreineth 
The  king's  hand,'  &c. 
-  Leden  or  Uchie — language,  Saxon  ;  a  corruption  of  the  word  Latin. 
Dante  uses  Latin  in  the  same  sense.    Canz.  i. : — 
'  E  cantine  gli  augelli 
Ciascuno  in  suo  Intitw.' 


TUF.    SQUYERES    TALE,  479 

Quod  Caimce  unto  this  hauk  above ; 

'  Is  this  for  sorwe  of  deth,  or  elles  love? 

For  as  I  trowe,  this  Ijeu  causes  tuo 

That  causen  most  a  gentil  herte  wo. 

Of  other  harm  it  iieedetli  iiouicht  to  speke, 

For  ye  your  self  upou  your  self  awreke; 

Which  preveth  wel,  that  either  ire  or  drede 

!Mote  ben  enchesoun  of  your  cruel  dede, 

Sith  that  I  see  noon  other  wight  you  chace. 

For  love  of  God,  so  doth  your  selve  gi-ace. 

Or  what  may  ben  your  helpel  for  west  ner  est 

Ne  saugh  I  never  er  now  no  bryd  ne  beste, 

That  ferde  with  him  self  so  pitously. 

Ye  sle  me  with  your  sorwe  so  verrily, 

I  have  of  you  so  gret  compassioun. 

For  Goddes  love,  come  fro  the  tree  adoun ; 

And  as  I  am  a  kynges  doughter  trewe, 

If  that  I  verrayly  the  cause  knewe 

Of  your  disese,  if  it  lay  in  my  might, 

I  wold  amenden  it,  or  that  it  wer  night,' 

Als  wisly  help  me  grete  God  of  kynde. 

And  herbes  schal  I  right  y-nowe  fynde. 

To  helen  with  your  hurtes  ha^tyly.' 

Tho  Sebright  this  faukoun  more  jjitously 

Than  ever  sche  did,  and  fil  to  ground  anoon, 

And  lay  aswowne,  deed  as  eny  stoon, 

Til  Canace  hath  in  hir  lap  y-take, 

Unto  that  tyme  sche  gan  of  swowne  slake  ; 

And  after  that  sche  gan  of  swown  abreyde, 

Eight  in  hir  haukcs  lydue  thus  sche  sayde. 

'  That  pite  reuneth  sone  in  gentil  hert ' 

(Felyng  his  similitude  in  peynes  smerte) 

Is  jiroved  ald;iy,  as  men  may  see, 

As  wel  by  wer'k  as  by  auctorite;* 


'   Ilarl.  MS  ,  if  that  1  miyfU. 
•  As  well  by  example  as  by  this  provprb. 


48U  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

For  gentil  herte  kepeth  gentillesse. 
I  see  wel,  that  ye  have  on  my  distresse 
Compassioun,  my  faire  Canace, 
Of  verray  wommanly  benignite, 
That  nature  in  your  principles  hath  set. 
But  for  noon  hope  for  to  fare  the  bet, 
But  for  to  obeye  unto  your  herte  fre, 
And  for  to  make  othere  war  by  me, 
As  by  the  whelp  chastised  is  the  lyotan ; 
And  for  that  cause  and  that  conclusioun, 
Whiles  that  I  have  a  leyser  and  a  sjDace, 
Myn  harm  I  wil  confessen  er  I  pace.' 
And  whil  sche  ever  of  hir  sorwe  tolde. 
That  other  wept,  as  sche  to  water  wolde, 
Til  that  the  faucoun  bad  hir  to  be  stille. 
And  with  a  sighhe  thus  sche  sayd  hir  tille. 

'  Ther  I  was  bred,  (alias  that  ilke  day !) 
And  fostred  in  a  roch  of  marble  gray 
So  tendrely,  that  nothing  eyled  me, 
I  ne  wiste  not  what  was  adversite, 
Til  I  couthe  flee  ful  heigh  under  the  sky. 
Tho  dwelled  a  tercelet '  me  faste  by, 
That  semed  welle  of  alle  gentillesse ; 
Al  were  he  ful  of  tresoun  and  falsnesse, 
It  was  i- wrapped  binder  humble  cheere. 
And  under  heewe  of  trouthe  in  such  manere, 
(Jnder  plesaunce,  and  under  besy  pcyne. 
That  no  wight  wende  that  he  couthe  feyne. 
So  deep  in  greyn  he  deyed  his  colours. 
Right  as  a  serpent  hut  him  under  floures 
Til  he  may  see  his  tyme  for  to  byte : 
Right  so  this  god  of  loves  ypocrite" 

'  The  tercelet  is  the  male  of  the  peregrine  falcon,  and,  unlike  most 
other  males,  is  smaller  and  less  courageous  than  the  female.  See 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  Act  ii.  sc.  a  : — 

'  O  for  a  falconer's  voice 
To  lure  this  tassel-gentle  back  again." 
^  Harl.  MS. — '  This  god  of  Jove,  this  ypocryte.'     The  meaning  is,  '  thit 
hypocritical  worskipper  of  the  god  of  love.' 


THE   SQUYERES   TALE.  481 

Doth  SO  his  sermonys  and  his  observaiince, 

Under  subtil  colour  and  aqueyntaunce, 

That  sowucth  unto  gontilesse  of  love. 

As  in  a  tombe  is  al  the  faire  above, 

And  under  is  the  corps,'  whiche  that  ye  wot; 

Such  was  this  ipocrite,  bothc  cold  and  hot, 

And  in  this  wise  he  served  his  entent, 

That,  sauf  the  teend,  noon  wiste  what  he  raent. 

Til  he  so  long  had  wcped  and  compleyned, 

And  many  a  yocr  his  service  to  me  t'eyned, 

Til  that  myn  hert,  to  pitous  and  to  nyce, 

Al  innocent  of  his  crouned  malice, 

For-fered  of  his  deth,  as  thoughte  me, 

Upon  his  othes  and  his  sewerte, 

Graunted  him  love,  on  this  condicioun, 

That  evermo  myn  honour  and  my  renoun 

Were  saved,  both  pry  vy  and  apert ; 

That  is  to  sayn,  that,  after  his  desert, 

I  gaf  him  al  myn  hert  and  al  my  thought, 

(God  woot,  and  he,  that  other  weye  nought) 

And  took  his  hei-t  in  chaunge  of  myn  for  ay. 

But  soth  is  sayd,  go  sithens  many  a  day, 

A  trew  wight  and  a  theef  thenketh  nought  oon. 

And  when  he  saugh  the  thyng  so  fer  i-goon. 

That  I  had  gi-aunted  him  fully  my  love, 

In  such  a  wyse  as  I  have  &\yd  above, 

x\.nd  geven  him  my  trewe  hert  as  fre 

As  he  swor  that  he  gaf  his  herte  to  me. 

Anon  this  tigre,  ful  of  doublenesse, 

Fil  on  his  knees  with  so  gi'et  devoutenesae, 

With  so  high  reverence,  as  by  his  chere, 

So  lyk  a  gentil  lover  of  manere, 

So  ravj'sched,  as  it  semede,  for  joye, 

That  never  Jason,  ne  Parys  of  Troye, 


'  Matt,  xxiii.  z~. 
-  God  aud  lie  know  that  I  loved  him  in  no  other  way. 

VOL.  I.  2    1 


482 


THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Jason?  certes,  ne  noon  other  man, 
Sith  Lameth  ^  was,  that  altherfirst  bygat 
To  loven  two,  as  writen  folk  biforn, 
Ne  never  sith  the  firste  man  was  born, 
Ne  couthe  man  by  twenty  thousand  part 
Contrefete  the  sophemes  of  Ids  art; 
Ne  were  worthy  to  unbokel  his  galoche, 
Ther  doublenes  of  feynyng  schold  approche, 
Ne  so  couthe  thankyn  a  wight,  as  he  did  me, 
His  maner  was  an  heven  for  to  see 
To  eny  womman,  were  sche  never  so  wys ; 
So  peynteth  he  and  kembeth,°  poynt  devye, 
As  wel  his  wordes,  as  his  continaunce. 
And  I  so  loved  him  for  his  obeisaunce, 
And  for  the  trouthe  I  demed  in  his  herte, 
That  if  so  were  that  eny  thing  him  smerte, 
Al  were  it  never  so  litel,  and  I  it  wist, 
Me  thought  I  felte  deth  at  myn  hert  twist. 
And  schortly,  so  ferforth  this  thing  is  went, 
That  my  wil  was  his  willes  instrument; 
This  is  to  say,  my  wille  obeied  his  wille 
In  alle  thing,  as  fer  as  resoun  fille, 
Kepyng  the  boundes  of  my  worschip  ever ; 
Ne  never  had  I  thing  so  leef,  ne  lever, 
As  him,  God  woot,  ne  never  schal  nomo. 
This  laste  lenger  than  a  yeer  or  two, 
That  I  supposed  of  him  nought  but  good. 
But  fynally,  atte  laste  thus  it  stood. 
That  fortune  wolde  that  he  moste  twynne 
Out  of  the  place  which  that  I  was  inne. 
Wher  me  was  wo,  it  is  no  questioun; 
I  can  nat  make  of  it  descripcioun. 
For  o  thing  dar  I  telle  boldely, 
I  know  what  is  the  peyne  of  deth,  therby, 


'  Lamech  was  the  first  who  had  two  wives. — Gen.  iv. 
'-'  Combeth.     The  sense  in  the  text  is  settles,  or  arranges,  his  words 
BJid  countenance  at  poynt  devys,  with  care  and  precision. 


THE   SQUYERES   TALE.  48o 

Which  harm  I  felt,  for  he  ne  miglitc  byleve.' 

So  ou  a  day  of  me  he  took  liis  leve. 

So  sorwfiU  eek,  that  I  went  verrayly, 

That  lie  had  ft-led  als  moche  harm  as  I, 

AMian  that  I  herd  him  speke,  and  saiigh  his  hewe. 

But  natheles,  I  thought  he  was  so  trewe, 

And  eek  that  he  schulde  repeire  ageyn 

Withinne  a  litel  while,  soth  to  seyn, 

And  resouu  wold  eek  that  he  moste  go 

For  his  honour,  as  oft  it  happeth  so.^ 

Than  I  made  vertu  of  necessite, 

And  took  it  wel,  sethens  it  moste  be. 

As  I  best  might,  I  had  fro  him  my  sorwe, 

And  took  him  by  the  hand,  seint  Johan  to  borwe," 

And  sayde  thus:  '  Lo,  I  am  youres  al, 

Beth  such  as  I  have  be  to  you  and  schal.' 

What  he  answerd,  it  needeth  nat  to  reherse: 

Who  can  say  bet  than  he,  who  can  do  werse? 

Whan  he  hath  al  wel  sayd,  than  hath  he  doon. 

Therfor  bihoveth  him  a  ful  long  spoon, 

That  schal  ete  with  a  feend  ;*  thus  herd  I  say. 

So  atte  last  he  moste  foi-th  his  way, 

And  forth  he  fleeth,  til  he  cam  ther  him  leste. 

Whan  it  cam  him  to  purpos  for  to  reste, 

I  trow  he  hadde  thilke  text'  in  mynde. 

That  alle  thing  repeyryng  to  his  kynde 

'  I  can  form  some  conception  of  the  pain  of  death  from  what  I  then 
suffered.     I  felt  such  distress  as  lie  could  not  believe. 

-  Harl.  MS.  omits  asoflit  happeth  so.  The  words  are  supplied  from 
Tyrwhift. 

3  With  the  help  of  St.  John,  a  common  form  of  invocation. 

'  This  expressive  proverb  was  coniinon  in  the  middle  ages.  3Ir. 
WriRlit  points  out  two  places  in  Shakespeare  where  it  occurs.  Comnhj 
of  Errors,  Act  iv.  sc.  3, '  .Marry,  he  must  have  a  lonj;  spoon  that  must 
eat  with  the  devil ;'  and  Timpcst,  Act  ii.sc.  a,  .Stephano  says,  '  Slercy  ! 
mercy  !  this  is  a  devil,  and  no  monster:  1  will  leave  him;  I  have  no 
long  spoon." 

*  This  is  taken  from  Boethius,  lib.  iii.  met.  a,  thus  translated  by 
Chaucer  : — '  All  thynjres  sekcn  aytn  to  liirpropre  course,  and  all  thynges 
rejoy.sen  on  hir  retourninge  ugayne  to  hir  nature.'  The  comparison  of 
the  bird  is  fVom  the  same  source. 

o    ,    o 


484 


THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 


Gladeth  liimself;  thus  seyn  men,  as  I  gesse; 

Men  loven  of  kynde  newefangilnesse, 

As  briddes  doon,  that  men  in  cage  feede. 

For  theigli  thou  night  and  day  take  of  hem  heede, 

And  straw  her  cage-faire  and  soft  as  silk, 

And  geve  hem  sugre,  hony,  breed,  and  mylk, 

Yet  right  anoon  as  that  his  dore  is  uppe, 

He  with  his  feet  wil  sporne  doun  his  cuppe/ 

And  to  the  wode  he  wil,  and  wormes  ete ; 

So  newefangel  be  thei  of  her  mete, 

And  loven  non  leveres  of  propre  kinde ; 

No  gentiles  of  blood  ne  may  hem  binde. 

So  ferde  this  tercelet,  alas  the  day ! 

Though  he  were  gentil  born,  and  fresh,  and  gay. 

And  goodly  for  to  see,  and  humble,  and  free. 

He  saw  upon  a  time  a  kite^  fle. 

And  sodeynly  he  loved  this  kite  soo, 

That  al  his  love  is  clene  fro  me  goo; 

And  hath  his  trouthe  falsed  in  this  wise. 

Thus  hathe  the  kite  my  love  in  hir  servise, 

And  I  am  lorue  withoute  remedy.' 

And  with  that  worde  this  faukon  gan  to  cry, 

And  swowneth  eft  in  Canacees  barme. 

Gret  was  the  sorwe  for  that  haukes  harme. 

That  Canace  and  alle  hire  wommen  made; 

They  nysten  howe  they  myght  the  faukon  glade. 

But  Canace  hom  bereth  hir  in  hir  lappe. 

And  softely  in  piastres  gan  hir  wrappe, 

Ther  as  sche  with  hir  bek  hadde  hurt  hir  selve. 

Now  can  nought  Canace  bot  herbes  delve 

Out  of  the  grounde,  and  maken  salves  newe 

Of  herbes  precious  and  fyne  of  hewe, 


'  A  leaf  or  two  have  unfortunately  been  lost  from  the  Harl.  MS. 
after  this  line,  and  I  am  obliged  to  take  the  remainder  of  the  tale  from 
Tyrwhitt,  collated  with  the  Lansd.  MS.— W. 

-  The  kite  is  a  cowardly  species  of  hawk,  quite  unfit  for  falconry, 
and  was,  therefore,  the  emblem  of  everything  base,  in  the  ages  when 
the  love  of  this  sport  almost  amounted  to  madness. 


THE   SQUYERES   TALE.  485 

To  Helen  with  this  hauk;'  fro  day  to  night 
Sche  doth  hir  bcsines,  and  al  liir  might. 
And  by  hir  heddcs  heed  sche  made  a  mcwe,* 
And  covered  it  with  veluettes  blewe,^ 
In  signe  of  tre^vthe  that  is  in  womman  seene ; 
And  al  withoute  the  mewe  is  peynted  gi-eene, 
In  wliichc  were  peynted  alle  this  false  foules, 
As  ben  this  tideves,  tercelettes,  and  owles; 
And  pies,  on  hem  for  to  crye  and  chide, 
Right  for  despite  were  peynted  hem  byside.* 

Thus  lete  I  Canace  hir  liauk  kepyng. 
I  wil  nomore  nowe  speken  of  hir  rynge, 
Til  it  come  eft  to  purpos  for  to  scyn, 
How  that  this  faukon  gat  hir  love  ageyn 
Repentaunt,  as  the  story  telleth  us, 
By  mediacioun  of  Canibalhis 
The  kinges  sone,  of  which  that  I  yow  tolde ; 
But  hennesforth  I  wil  my  proces  holde 
To  speken  of  aventures,  and  of  batailes. 
That  yit  was  never  herd  so  grete  mervailes. 
First  wil  I  telle  yow  of  Cambynskan, 
That  in  his  time  many  a  cite  wan ; 
And  after  wil  I  speke  of  A  Igarsif, 
How  that  he  wan  Theodora  to  his  wif  * 
For  whom  ful  ofte  in  grete  peril  he  was, 
Ne  had  he  ben  holpen  by  the  hors  of  bras. 


'  To  heal  this  hawk  with. 

-  A  mew  was  the  technical  name  for  the  place  where  hawks  were 
kept  to  mew  or  moult  in. 

^  Ulue  was  the  colour  of  truth,  and  preen  of  inconstancy  ;  hence,  in 
Chaucer's  lialUule  on  an  Inconstant  Lady : — 

'  Instede  of  blewe,  thus  may  ye  were  al  grene." 

^  The  MSS.  transpose  these  two  lines,  evidently  by  mistake.  Mag- 
pies are  obse^^•ed  to  follow  all  birds  and  beasts  of  prey  with  loud  cries, 
as  if  scoldinfj  them,  to  which  habit  the  allusion  refers. 

i  The  lines  of  this  couiiUt  are  also  transposed  in  many  SISS.  and 
printed  editions.  Tyrwhitt  puts  them  right,  and  observes. '  According 
to  the  common  arrangement,  old  Cambuscun  is  to  «-i>i  Theotlorn  to  kit 
«•«/.  and  we  are  not  told  what  is  to  be  the  obtject  of  Algarsifs  adven- 
tures.' 


486  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

And  after  wil  I  speke  of  Camballo, 
That  fought  in  listes  with  the  bretheren  tuo 
For  Cauace,  er  that  he  might  hir  wynne, 
And  ther  I  left  I  -wol  ageyn  beginne/ 


THE   FRANKELEYNES   PROLOGE. 

'  TN  faith,  Sqnier,  thou  hast  the  wel  y-quit" 

J-  And  gentilly,  I  preise  wel  thy  wit,' 
Quod  the  Frankeleyn,  'considering  thin  youthe; 
So  felingly  thou  spekest,  sire,  I  aloue  the. 
As  to  my  dome,  ther  is  non  that  is  here, 
Of  eloquence  that  schal  be  thy  pere, 
If  that  thou  live ;  God  geve  thee  goode  chance, 
And  in  vertue  send  the  continuance, 
For  of  thy  speking  I  have  gret  deinte. 
I  have  a  sone,  and  by  the  Trinite 
It  were  me  lever  than  twenty  pound  worth  lond, 
Though  it  right  now  were  fallen  in  my  hond, 
He  were  a  man  of  swiche  discretion, 
As  that  ye  ben ;  fie  on  possession,  ^ 


>  In  the  Lansd.  MS.  the  following  lines  are  added : 

•  Bot  I  wil  here  now  maalie  a  knolte 
To  the  time  it  cume  next  to  my  lotte ; 
For  here  be  telawes  bebinde  an  bepe  trtulye. 
That  woUle  talke  ful  besilye, 
And  have  her  sjxirte  as  welo  as  I, 
And  the  dale  jtasseth  fast  certanly. 
Therefore,  osfe.  tabeth  nowe  f^oode  lieede 
Who  schalle  next  telle,  and  late  him  speede. ' — W. 

[The  lines  here  quoted  are  spurious,  but  the  Ellesmere  MS.  and  otIiei"s  have 
two  additional  lines,  which  are  probably  genuine,  though  tlie  sentence 
is  left  incomplete.    They  are  :— 

"  Appollo  whirleth  up  his  char  so  hye. 
Til  that  tlie  god  Mercurious  hous  the  slye."  .  .  . 

Add  He  entreth.  The  meaning  is,  the  time  flies  till  the  sun  enters  the  sign 
Gemini,  which  was  the  mansion  of  Mercury.— W.  W.  S.] 

2  All  from  this  verse  to  tlie  end  of  the  second  paragraph,  '  Tliat  wot  1 
wel  that  it  is  good  y-now,'  i's  supplied  Ironi  the  Lansd.  by  Mr.  Wriglit. 

'  I  care  not  for  property  or  iwssession,  unless  the  owner  be  \irluuus. 


THE    FRANKELEYNF.S    PKOLOOE.  487 

But  if  a  man  be  vertuous  withal. 
1  have  my  sone  snibbtd,  aud  yet  shal, 
Fur  he  to  vertue  listeth  not  to  enteud, 
But  for  to  play  at  dis,  and  to  dispend. 
And  lese  all  that  he  hath,  is  his  usage; 
And  he  had  lever  talken  with  a  page, 
Than  to  commune  with  any  gentil  wight, 
Ther  he  might  leren  gentillesse  aright' 

'  Straw  for  your  gentillesse !'  quod  our  hoste. 
'  What  ]     Frankeleyn,  parde,  sire,  wel  thou  \vo»t. 
That  eche  of  you  mote  tellen  at  the  lest 
A  tale  or  two,  or  breken  his  behest.' 
'  That  know  I  wel,  sire,'  quod  the  Frankeleyn, 
*  I  pray  you  haveth  me  not  in  disdein. 
Though  I  to  this  man  speke  a  word  or  two,' 
'  Tell  on  thy  tale,  withouten  wordes  mo.' 
'  Gladly,  sire  hoste,'  quod  he,  '  I  wol  obeye 
Unto  your  wille ;  now  herkeneth  what  I  seye ; 
I  wol  you  not  contrarien  in  no  wise, 
As  fer  as  that  my  wittes  may  suffice. 
I  pray  to  God  that  it  may  plesen  you. 
That  wot  I  wel  that  it  is  good  y-uow. 

'  This  olde  gentil  Bretons  in  here  daies 
Of  divers  aventures  maden  hues,* 
Rimyden  in  her  firste  Breton  tonge ; 
Wliiche  laies  with  here  instruinentes'  thei  songe. 
Other  elles  redden  hem  for  her  })lesance, 
And  one  of  hem  have  I  in  remembrance, 
Which  I  schal  seie  Avith  goode  wil  as  I  can. 
But,  sires,  because  I  am  a  burel  man, 

'  This  expression  appears  to  be  from  the  conclusion  of  Marie's  Lair 

lEliduc: — 

•Del  avcnture  de  ces  treis, 
Li  auncicn  Bretun  curtcis 
Firent  le  lai  pur  remembrcr." 
-  They  were  sung  to  the  harp,  as  appears  from  a  fragment  in  ilr. 

Doiice'8  collection : — 

*  Bone  lais  de  harpe  vus  apri?, 
Lais  Bretons  de  nostrc  puis.' 


488  THE   CAXTERBURY   TALES. 

At  my  beginnyng  first  I  you  beseche 

Haveth  me  excused  of  my  rude  speche, 

I  lerned  never  retborik  certeine ; 

Thinge  that  I  speke,  it  most  be  bare  and  pleine ; 

I  slept  never  on  the  mount  of  Parnaso, 

Ne  lerned  Marcus,  Tullius,  ne  Citbero.' 

Colours  ne  know  I  non,  witbouten  drede. 

But  sucbe  colours  as  growen  in  tbe  mede, 

Or  elles  suche  as  men  deye  with  or  peinte; 

Coloiu's  of  retborik  ben  to  me  queynte ; 

My  spirit  feletb^  nougbt  of  sucbe  matiere. 

But  if  you  luste  my  tale  scbal  ye  bere.' 


THE   FRANKELEYNES    TALE. 

[The  Breton  lay,  from  which  the  Frankeleyne  professes  to 
have  derived  his  story,  is  not  known  to  exist.  The  subject, 
however,  seems  to  have  survived  in  a  popular  fabliau, 
■which  Boccaccio  has  drawn  upon  in  the  Decameron,  and 
also  introduced  into  his  Philocopo.  The  reader  will  observe 
the  ditference  between  the  spirit  of  the  Teutonic  and  of  the 
Breton  fable,  characteristic  of  the  marked  distraction  between 
the  Saxon  and  British  races.  The  former  is  familiar  with 
traits  of  daring  and  heroic  virtue,  and  sometimes  of  violence 
and  crime ;  the  latter  is  tinged  with  a  certain  soft  and  refined 
licentiousness  which  confuses  the  moral  perception,  and  indi- 
cates the  presence  of  the  Italian  element  introduced  by  the 
Koman  colonists,  but  happily  expelled  from  the  national 
character  by  our  Saxon  forefathers.  In  this  tale  there 
are  passages  which  equal,  and  perhaps  exceed,  in  beauty 
any  that  Chaucer  ever  wrote ;  and  indeed  nothing  but  his 

'  This  blundering  about  Cicero's  name  is  probably  designed  as  an 
affectation  by  which  the  country  gcutlemau  shows  his  contempt  for  all 
such  learning. 

'  A  most  expressive  phrase  to  denote  the  inability  of  an  uncultivatetl 
mind  to  appreciate  the  beauties  of  style;  answering  to  the  French 
pnUcr. 


THE    FUANKELEYNES    TALE.  489 

judicious  and  clopfant  treatment  could  have  redeemed  so  un- 

pleasjng  a  story.] 

TN  Armoi-ik,  that  clopid  is  Bretaigne, 

-*-  TlicT  wa.s  a  kiiyght,  that  loved  and  dede  hi.?  peyne 

To  serveu  a  lady  iu  his  beste  wise  ; 

And  many  a  labour,  many  a  grete  emprise 

He  for  liis  lady  -svi-ouht,  or  sche  were  wonne ; 

For  sche  was  on  the  fairest  under  sonne, 

And  eke  therto  com  of  so  liihe  kinrede, 

That  welc  uunethes  dorst  this  knyht  for  drede 

Tel  hir  his  wuo,  his  peine,  and  his  distresse. 

But  at  the  last,  sche  for  his  worthinesse, 

And  namely  for  his  meke  obeissance, 

Hath  suche  a  pite  cauglit  of  his  penance, 

That  prively  sche  fel  of  his  accorde 

To  take  him  for  hir  husboude  and  hir  lorde, 

(Of  suche  lordschip  as  men  han  over  hire  wyves);' 

And,  for  to  lede  the  more  in  blisse  her  lyves, 

Of  his  fre  wil  he  swore  hire  as  a  knyht, 

That  never  in  his  wil  be  day  ne  nyht 

Ne  scholde  he  upon  him  take  no  maistrie 

Ageines  hir  wille,  ne  kyihe  hire  jelousye, 

But  liire  obeie,  and  folowe  hire  wille  in  al, 

As  any  lover  to  his  lady  schal ; 

Save  that  the  name  of  sovereignete 

That  wolde^  he  have  for  schame  of  his  degre. 

Sche  thonketh  him,  and  with  ful  grete  humblesse 

Sche  seide ;  '  Sir,  seththe  of  youre  geutillesse 

Ye  profer  me  to  have  als  large  a  reyne, 

Ne,  wold  nevere  God  betwix  us  tweyne, 

As  in  my  gulte,  were  eyther  werre  or  strif  * 

Sir,  I  wil  be  youre  humble  trewe  wif, 


1  Apparently  ironical. 

-  The  Lansd.  MS.  reads  twlde,  wliich  completely  destroys  the  mean- 
iog  of  the  passage. 

3  Nor.  would  to  God,  that  there  should  ever  be  strife  between  us  two 
oa  account  of  any  guilt  of  mine. 


490  THE   CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Have  here  my  trouthe,  til  that  myn  herte  brustc* 

Thus  ben  they  bothe  in  quiete  and  in  ruste. 

For  o  thinge,  sirea,  saufly  dar  I  seie, 

That  frendes  everyche  other  motte  obeie, 

If  thei  wil  longe  holde  compaigne. 

Love  wil  nouht  ben  constreyned  by  maistre. 

Whan  maistre  commeth,  the  god  of  love  anon 

Beteth  his  winges,  and  fare  wel,  he  is  gon.^ 

Love  is  a  thinge,  as  any  spirit,  fre. 

Wommen  of  kinde  desiren  liberte, 

And  nouht  to  be  constreined  as  a  thral ; 

And  so  doth  men,  if  I  the  sothe  saie  schal. 

Loke  who  that  is  most  pacient  in  love, 

He  is  at  his  avantage  al  above.'' 

Paciens  is  an  hihe  vertue  certein, 

For  it  venquisheth,  as  this  clerkes  seiu, 

Thinges  that  rigour  never  sholde  atteine. 

For  every  worde  men  may  nouht  chide  ne  pleine. 

Lerueth  to  sufi'er,  or  elles,  so  most  I  gon. 

Ye  schul  it  lerne  whether  ye  wol  or  non. 

For  in  this  world  certein  no  wight  ther  is, 

That  he  ne  doth  or  seyth  som  time  amis. 

Ire,  or  sikenesse,  or  constellacioun, 

Wyn,  wo,  or  chaunginge  of  complexioun, 

Causeth  ful  oft  to  don  amys  or  speken. 

On  every  wronge  men  maye  nouht  be  wreken  ; 

After  the  time  most  be  temperance 

To  every  wight  that  can  of  governance. 

And  therfor  hath  this  worthy  wise  knight 

To  liven  in  ese  sufFrance  hir  behight ; 

And  sche  to  him  ful  wisely  gan  to  swere, 

That  nevere  schold  ther  be  defaute  in  hire. 

Here  may  men  seen  an  humble  wise  accorde ; 

Thus  hath  sche  take  hire  servant  and  hir  lorde, 


'  The  reader  will  remark  the  elegant  simplicity  and  practical  wisdom 
of  this  passage,  so  characteristic  of  Chaucer's  genius. 

-  That  is,  He  who  asserts  the  least  authority  in  matters  of  love, 
possesses  in  reality  the  most. 


THE    FRANKELEYNES   TALE.  491 

Servant  in  love,  ;ind  lurde  in  manage. 

Tliau  was  he  bothe  in  lunk-.scliipe  and  servage ! 

Servage?  nay,  but  iu  lordesohij)  al  above, 

Setlieu  he  hath  bothe  his  lady  and  his  love; 

His  lady  certes,  anil  liis  wif  also, 

The  which  that  law  of  love  accordeth  to. 

And  whan  hu  Wiui  in  this  prosperite, 

Home  with  liis  wif  he  goth  to  his  contre, 

Nouht  fer  fro  Peumarke;^  thor  his  dwollinge  was, 

Wher  as  he  leveth  in  blisse  and  in  solas. 

Who  conthe  telle,  but  he  had  wedded  be. 
The  joy,  the  ese,  and  the  prosperite, 
That  is  betwix  an  housboud  and  his  wif? 
A  yere  and  more  lasteth  this  blisful  lif, 
Til  that  this  knight,  of  which  I  spak  of  thus, 
That  of  Cairmd  was  cleped  Arviragus, 
Schope  him  to  gon  and  dwelle  a  yere  or  tweyne 
In  Engelond,  that  cleped  eke  was  Bretayne, 
To  seke  in  arnies  worschipe  and  honour, 
(For  al  his  lust  he  set  in  suche  labour) ; 
And  dwelleth  there  tuo  yere;  the  boke  seith  thus. 

Now  wil  I  stint  of  this  Arviragus, 
And  speken  I  wil  of  Dorigen  his  wif. 
That  loveth  hire  husbond  as  hire  hertes  lif. 
For  his  absence  wepeth  sche  and  siketh. 
As  don  this  noble  wives  whan  hem  liketh ; 
Sche  mometh,  waketh,  waileth,  fasteth,  pleyneth ; 
Desire  of  his  presence  hir  so  distreincth, 
That  al  this  wide  world  sche  set  at  nouht. 
Hire  frendes,  which  that  knewe  hir  hevy  thouht, 

'  Penmark  is  to  be  found  in  the  mo<lern  maps  of  Brittany,  between 
Brest  and  Fort  I'Orient.  All  the  names  in  this  poem  arc  Breton,  and 
many  will  be  recognized  by  any  one  who  has  been  in  Wales.  I'tnmarl: 
is  from  Pun.  caput,  and  mark,  limes,  retjio ;  the  tirst  element  of  the 
word  enters  into  many  Welsh  names,  as  Penman  jl/nwr,  the  prcat  head- 
land. Cairnul  means  the  red  city;  Cair.a.  city,  is  found  in  Carnarvon, 
Carlisle,  and  Carhai.x  in  Brittany.  Drofiuen  or  lx>rguen  was  the  name 
of  the  wile  of  Alain  I.  Aurelius  is  a  Breton  name  derived  from  tho 
Roman  colonists.  Arviraijtis  is  apparently  a  Breton  name  latinized,  as 
Caractacus  from  Caradoc,  and  is  found  in  Juvenal,  Sat.  iv.  la?. 


492  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

Comforten  hire  in  al  that  ever  thei  may ; 

Thei  prechen  hire,  thai  tellen  hire  nyht  and  day, 

That  causeles  sche  sleth  hir  self,  alas ! 

And  every  comfort  possible  in  this  cas 

They  don  to  hire,  with  al  here  businesse, 

And  al  to  make  hire  leve  hire  hevynesse. 

By  proces,  as  ye  knowen  everychone, 

Men  mowe  so  longe  graven  in  a  stone, 

Til  som  figui'e  therinne  emprinted  be; 

So  longe  have  thei  comforted  hire,  that  sche 

Receyved  hath,  by  hope  and  by  resoun. 

The  emprintinge  of  hire  consolacioun. 

Thorugh  which  hire  grete  sorwe  gan  assuage ; 

Sche  may  not  alway  duren  in  suche  rage. 

And  eke  Arviragiis,  in  al  this  care, 

Hath  sent  his  lettres  home  of  his  welfare, 

And  that  he  wolde  come  hastily  ageyn. 

Or  elles  had  this  sorwe  hire  herte  sleyn. 

Hire  frendes  sauh  hire  sorwe  gan  to  slake. 

And  preiden  hire  on  knees,  for  Goddes  sake, 

To  come  and  romen  in  here  companye, 

Away  to  driven  hire  dei'ke  fantasie ; 

And  finally  sche  graunted  that  request, 

For  wel  sche  sauh  that  it  was  for  the  best. 

Now  stode  hir  castel  faste  by  the  see. 
And  often  with  hire  frendes  walked  sche, 
Hir  to  disporten  on  the  bank  an  hihe, 
Wher  as  sche  many  a  schip  and  barge  sihe, 
Sailinge  her  cours,  wher  as  hem  liste  to  go. 
But  yit  was  that  a  parcel  of  hir  wo. 
For  to  hir  selve  ful  oft,  '  alas !'  seid  sche, 
*  Is  ther  no  schip,  of  so  many  as  I  se, 
Wil  bringen  home  my  lorde?  than  were  myu  herte 
Al  warisshed  of  this  bitter  peine  smerte.' 

Another  time  wold  sche  sitte  and  thinke, 
And  kast  hir  eye  dounward  fro  the  bi-inke ; 
But  whan  sche  sawh  the  grisly  rokkes  blake, 
For  verray  fere  so  wolde  hire  herte  qwake. 


THE    FRANKELEYNES   TALE.  493 

That  on  hir  feet  sche  mylite  uoulit  hir  snstene. 

Than  wokle  sche  sit  adoun  upon  the  grene, 

And  pitously  into  the  see  biholde, 

And  seyn  right  thus,  witli  careful  sikes  colde 

*  Eterne  God,  that  thorugh  thy  purveauce 

Ledest  this  world  by  certein  governance, 

In  idel,^  as  men  sein,  ye  nothinge  make. 

But,  Lord,  this  grisely  fendely  rockes  blake, 

That  semen  rather  a  foule  confusioun 

Of  werke,  than  any  faire  creacioun 

Of  suche  a  parfit  wise  God  and  stable, 

Why  han  ye  wrouht  this  werk  unresonable? 

For  by  this  werke,  southe,  northe,  este,  ne  west, 

Ther  nis  i-fostred  man,  ne  brid,  ne  best; 

It  doth  no  good,  to  ray  wit,  but  anoyeth. 

See  ye  nouht.  Lord,  how  mankind  it  destroyeth? 

An  hundred  thousand  bodies  of  manlcinde 

Han  rokkes  slein,  al  be  they  nouht  in  mynde; 

Which  mankinde  is  so  faire  parte  of  tliy  wei'ke. 

Thou  madest  it  like  to  thyu  owen  raerke,'' 

Than,  semeth  it,  ye  had  a  gret  cherte 

Toward  mankinde ;  but  how  than  may  it  be, 

That  ye  suche  meues  make  it  to  destroyen  ] 

Which  menes  doth  no  good,  but  ever  anoyen. 

I  woot  wel,  clerkes  woln  sein  as  hem  lest 

By  argumentz,  that  al  is  for  the  best, 

Though  I  ne  can  the  causes  nought  y-knowe ; 

But  thilke  God  tliat  maad  the  wind  to  blowe, 

As  kepe  my  lord,  this  is  my  conclusioun; 

To  clerkes  lete  I  al  disputisoun; 

But  wolde  God,  that  al  this  rokkes  blake 

Were  sonken  into  helle  for  liis  sake ! 

This  rokkes  slee  myu  herte  for  the  fere.' 

Thiis  wold  sche  say  with  many  a  pi  tons  tere. 

Hire  frendes  sawe  that  it  uas  no  disport 
To  I'omen  by  the  see,  but  discomfort, 


'  In  vain.  *  In  thine  own  image,  Gen.  ii. 


494  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

And  schope  hem  for  to  pleien  somwhere  elles. 
They  leden  hire  by  rival's  and  by  welles, 
And  eke  in  other  places  delitables; 
They  dauncen  and  they  play  at  ches  and  tables.* 
So  on  a  day,  right  in  the  morwe  tide, 
Unto  a  gardeyn  that  was  ther  beside, 
In  which  that  they  had  made  her  ordinance 
Of  vitaile,  and  of  other  purveance, 
They  gon  and  plaie  hem  al  the  longe  day; 
And  this  was  on  the  sixte  morwe  of  May ; 
Which  May  had  peinted  with  his  softe  schoures 
This  gardeyn  ful  of  leves  and  of  floxires : 
And  craft  of  mannes  bond  so  curiously 
Arrayed  had  this  gardeyn  trewely. 
That  never  was  ther  gardeyn  of  suche  pris, 
But  if  it  were  the  verray  paradis. 
The  odour  of  floures  and  the  fresshe  siht, 
Wold  ban  y-maked  any  herte  light 
That  ever  was  born,  but  if  to  gret  sikenesse 
Or  to  gret  sorwe  held  it  in  distresse. 
So  ful  it  was  of  beaute  and  plesaunce. 
And  after  dinner  gan  thay  to  daunce 
And  singe  also,  sauf  Dorigen  alone, 
Which  made  alway  hire  compleynt  and  hire  mone. 
For  sche  ne  sawh  him  on  the  daunce  go. 
That  was  hir  housbond,  and  hire  love  also ; 
But  natheles  sche  moste  hir  time  abide, 
And  with  good  hope  lete  hire  sorwe  slide. 
Upon  this  daunce,  amonges  othere  men, 
Daunced  a  squier  before  Dorigen, 
That  fresscher  was  and  jolier  of  array. 
As  to  my  dome,  than  is  the  monetli  of  May. 


•  Chess  and  backgammon  are  supposed  to  be  very  ancient.  The 
former  is  mentioned  in  the  Iliad.  '  Robert  of  Gloucester,'  a  poet  of 
the  reign  of  Edward  I.,  enumerates  it  among  other  knightly  amuse- 
ments : — 

'  Wyth  pleyynge  at  tables,  other  atte  chekoro, 
Wyth  castynge,  otlier  wyth  s.setynge,  other  in  some  other  manere.' 


THE   FRANKELEYNES   TALE.  405 

He  sinifeth  and  dannseth  passing  any  man, 

Tliat  is  or  was  siththo  that  the  world  began; 

Therwith  he  was,  if  men  scluild  him  descrive, 

On  of  the  beste  faringe  men  on  live, 

Yonge,  strong,  riht  virtuous,  and  riche,  and  wise, 

And  wel  beloved,  and  holden  in  gret  })rise. 

And  schortly,  if  the  soth  I  tellen  schal, 

Unwoting  of  this  Dorigen  at  al, 

This  lusty  squier,  servant  to  Venus, 

Which  that  y-cleped  was  Aurilius, 

Had  loved  liire  best  of  any  creature 

Two  yere  and  more,  as  was  his  adventure ; 

But  never  dorst  he  tellen  hire  his  grevance, 

Withouten  cuppe  he  drank  al  his  penance.* 

He  was  dispeired,  nothing  dorst  he  seye, 

Sauf  in  his  songcs  sorawhat  wolde  he  wreye 

His  woo,  as  in  a  general  compleyniug ; 

He  said,  he  loved,  and  was  beloved  nothing. 

Of  suche  matier  made  he  many  layes, 

Songes,  compleyntes,  roundelets,  vii-elayes;* 

How  that  he  dorste  not  his  sorwe  telle. 

But  languissheth  as  doth  a  fuyr  in  helle ; 

And  deie  he  must,  he  seid,  as  did  Ekko' 

For  Narcisus,  that  dorst  nought  telle  hir  wo. 

In  other  maner  than  ye  here  me  seye 

Ne  dorst  he  noulit  to  hii-e  his  wo  bewreye, 


'  This  line  is  obscure  ;  but  it  seems  to  mean,  lie  indulged  his  sor- 
row witliout  limit,  as  one  who  drinks  without  cup;  i.  e.,\%Ttliout  measure. 

-  Of  these  kinds  of  poems  we  have  examples  in  Chaiu-er's  works,  an 
Id  fhe  Complaint  of  Mart  and  Venui.    The  poem  bej^nnlnff— 

'Alone  walking 
In  thi>u;.'ht  plainyng 
And  s<irr  sijjliinj;, 
All  deolate,'  (.vol.  Ui.  p.  4:6) 

is  a  specimen  of  the  virclaye,  nearly  oynonymous  with  '  round '  or 
•  roundclet,'  the  origin,  probably,  of  what  is  now  called  a  •catch.' 

^  Mtlamorph.,  lib.  iii.  370.  Ovid  was  a  favourite  author  in  the 
middle  ages,  and  Mr.  Wright  says  that  the  story  ol  A'arciaiius  was 
made  the  subject  of  a  Fnncb  Jabltau, 


496  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES. 

Sauf  that  paraventure  som  time  at  daunces, 

Ther  yonge  folk  kepen  her  observaunces, 

It  may  wel  be  he  loked  on  hir  face 

111  suche  a  wise,  as  man  that  axeth  grace, 

But  nothing  wiste  sche  of  his  entent. 

Natheles  it  happed,  er  they  thennes  went, 

Because  that  he  was  hire  neighebour, 

And  was  a  man  of  worschipe  and  honour, 

And  had  y-knowen  him  oft  times  yore, 

Thei  felle  in  speche,  and  forth  ay  more  and  more 

Unto  his  purpos  drowh  Aurilius ; 

And  whan  he  sawh  his  time,  he  seide  thus. 

'  Madame,'  quod  he,  '  by  God,  that  this  world  mad' 

So  that  I  wist  it  might  your  herte  glade, 

I  wolde  that  day,  that  your  Arviragus 

Went  over  see,  that  I  Aurilius 

Had  went  ther  I  schold  never  come  agein; 

For  wel  I  wot  my  servise  is  in  vein. 

My  guerdon  nys  but  bresting  of  myn  herte. 

Madame,  reweth  upon  my  peines  smerte, 

For  with  a  word  ye  may  me  sle  or  save. 

Here  at  youre  feet  God  wold  that  I  were  grave ; 

I  ne  have  as  now  no  leiser  more  to  seye ; 

Have  mercy,  swete,  or  ye  wol  do  me  deye.' 

Sche  gan  to  loke  upon  Aurilius ; 
'  Is  this  your  wil,'  quod  sche,  'and  say  ye  thus? 
Never  erst,'  quod  sche,  '  ne  wist  I  what  ye  ment ; 
But  now,  Aui-ilie,  I  know  your  entent. 
By^  thilke  God,  that  gave  me  soule  and  lif, 
Ne  schal  I  never  ben  untrewe  wif 
In  word  ne  werk ;  as  fer  as  I  have  witte, 
I  wil  ben  his  to  whom  that  I  am  knitte. 
Take  this  for  final  answer  as  of  me.' 
But  after  that  in  play  thus  seide  sche : 
'  Aurilie,'  quod  sche,  '  by  hihe  God  above, 
Yit  wil  I  graunte  you  to  be  your  love, 

1  3fr.  Wright  reads  But. 


THE   FKANKELEYNES   TALE. 


497 


(Sill  I  yow  see  so  pitously  complcyue), 

Loke,  what  day  that  endelong  Broteigne 

Ye  reniewe  al  the  I'okkes,  ston  by  ston, 

That  they  ne  lettcu  schip  ne  bote  to  gon; 

I  say,  whan  ye  have  maad  this  cost  so  cloue 

Of  rokkes.  that  ther  nys  no  ston  y-sene, 

Than  wol  1  hive  yow  best  of  aiij'  man, 

Have  liere  my  troutlie,  in  al  that  eve)"  I  can; 

For  wel  I  wot  that  that  schal  never  betide. 

Let  suche  folie  out  of  youre  herte  glide. 

What  dejTite  scholde  a  man  have  in  his  lif, 

For  to  go  love  another  mannes  wif, 

That  hath  hir  body  whan  that  ever  him  likethf 

Aurilius  ful  often  sore  siketh ; 

'  Is  ther  non  other  grace  in  you  V  quod  he. 

'  No,  by  that  Lord,'  quod  sche,  '  that  maked  me.' 

Wo  was  Aurilie.whan  that  he  this  herde, 

And  with  a  sorweful  herte  he  thus  answerde. 

'Madame,'  quod  he,  'this  were  an  impossible. 

Than  moste  I  deie  of  sodeyn  deth  horrible.' 

And  with  that  word  he  turned  him  anon. 

Tho  come  hir  other  frendes  many  on, 
And  in  the  alleyes  romed  up  and  doun, 
And  nothing  wist  of  this  conclusioun, 
But  sodeyuly  began  to  revel  newe, 
Til  that  the  brighte  soune  had  lost  his  hewe, 
For  the  orizont  had  reft  the  sonne  his  liht, 
(This  is  as  much  to  sayn  as  it  was  nyht);' 
And  home  thei  gon  in  joye  and  solas; 
Sauf  only  wrecche  Aurilius,  alas ! 
He  to  his  hous  is  gon  with  sorweful  herte. 
He  saith,  he  may  not  from  his  deth  asterte. 
Him  semeth,  that  he  felt  his  herte  colde. 
Up  to  the  heven  his  handes  gan  he  holde. 


'  The  Frankclcyne  appears  to  have  been  inadvertently  betrayed 

into  the  U!<e  of  a  poetical  c.vpresiiiou,  which  hu  ha;itc-ni  to  trauslata 
into  plain  English. 

VOL.  r.  2  K 


498  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

And  on  his  knees  bare  he  set  him  doun, 

And  in  his  raving  seid  his  orisoun. 

For  verray  wo  out  of  his  witte  he  braide, 

He  nyst  nouht  what  he  spak,  but  thus  he  seidej 

With  pitous  herte  his  pleynt  hath  he  begonue 

Unto  the  goddes/  and  first  unto  the  sonne. 

He  seid,  '  Apollo,  God  and  governour 

Of  every  plante,  herbe,  tre,  and  flour, 

That  givest  after  thy  declinacioun 

To  eche  of  hem  his  tyme  and  sesoun, 

As  that  thin  herbergh  chaungeth  low  and  liihe; 

Lord  Phebus,  cast  thy  merciable  eye 

On  wrecche  Aurilie,  which  that  am  for-lorne. 

Lo,  lord,  my  lady  hath  my  deth  y-sworne 

Withouten  gilt,  but  thy  benignite 

Upon  my  dedly  herte  have  some  pite. 

For  wel  I  wot,  lord  Pliebus,  if  you  lest. 

Ye  may  me  helpen,  sauf  my  lady,  best. 

Now  voucheth  sauf,  that  I  may  you  devise 

How  that  I  may  be  holpe  and  in  what  wise. 

Your  blisful  suster,  Lucina^  the  schene, 

That  of  the  see  is  chief  goddes  and  qwene  ;— 

Though  Neptunus  have  deite  in  the  see, 

Yit  emperes  aboven  him  is  sche ; 

Ye  knowe  wel,  lord,  that  right  as  hir  desire 

Is  to  be  quiked  and  lihted  of  your  fire, 

For  which  sche  folwith  yow  ful  besily. 

Right  so  the  see  desireth  naturelly 

To  folwen  hir,  as  sche  that  is  goddesse 

Both  in  the  see  and  rivers  more  and  lesse. 

Wherfor,  lord  Phebus,  this  is  my  request, 

Do  this  miracle,  or  do  myn  herte  brest ; 


1  See  ante,  p.  as,  note  i. 
-  One  of  the  names  of  Diana,  here  called  goddess  of  the  sea, 
because  the  tides  are  influenced  by  the  changes  of  the  moon.  He  does 
not  address  himself  to  Diana  immediately,  probably  because  he  could 
not  expect  that  such  a  prayer  should  be  favourably  received  by  the 
goddess  of  chastity. 


THE   FRANKELEYNES   TALE.  401) 

That  now  next  at  this  opposlcioun, 
Which  in  the  signe  schal  be  of  the  Lyoun, 
As  preyeth  hire  so  grete  a  flood  to  bringe, 
Tliat  live  fathome  at  the  lost  it  overspringe 
The  hihest  rokke  iu  Anuorik  Uretaiue, 
And  let  this  flod  enduren  yeres  twaine; 
Than  certes  to  my  lady  may  I  say, 
Holdeth  yoiu'  host,  the  rokkes  ben  away. 
Lord  Phebus,  this  miracle  doth  for  me, 
Prey  hire  sche  go  no  faster  cours  than  ye; 
I  sey  this,  preyeth  your  suster  that  sche  go 
No  taster  cours  than  ye  this  yeres  tuo; 
Than  schal  sche  even  be  at  ful  alway. 
And  spring-flood  lasten  bothe  night  and  day. 
And  but  sche  vouchesauf  in  suche  manere 
To  gi-aunten  me  my  sovereigne  lady  dere, 
Prey  hir  to  sinken  every  rok  adoun 
Into  hir  owen  darke  reccioun 
Under  the  grounde,  ther  Pluto  duelleth  iune, 
Or  nevermo  schal  I  my  lady  wynne. 
Thy  temple  in  Delphos  wil  I  barfote  seke;' 
Lord  Phebus,  se  the  tei'es  on  my  cheke, 
And  on  my  peyne  have  some  compassioun.' 
And  with  that  word  in  sorwe  he  fel  adoun. 
And  lou£;-e  time  he  lay  forth  in  a  traunce. 
His  brother,  which  that  knew  of  his  penaunce, 
Up  cauht  him,  and  to  bed  he  hath  him  brouht. 
Dispeired  in  this  turment  and  this  thouht. 
Let  I  this  woful  creature  lye, 
Chese  he  for  me  whether  he  wol  leve  or  deye. 

Arviragus  with  hele  and  gi-eto  honour 
(As  he  that  was  of  chevalrie  the  flour) 
Is  comen  home,  and  other  worthy  min. 
O,  blisful  art  thou  now,  thou  Dorigen, 
That  hast  thy  lusty  housboud  iu  thin  armes, 
The  fressche  knight,  the  worthy  man  of  amies, 


•  Vow8  and  pilgrimages  were  common  to  all  forms  of  reli;non. 


•2  K  -2 


500  THE    CANTERBURY    TALES. 

That  loveth  the,  as  his  owen  hertes  lif; 

Nothing  list  him  to  be  imaginatif, 

If  any  wight  had  spoke,  while  he  was  onte, 

To  hire  of  love;  he  had  of  that  no  doute; 

He  noulit  entendeth  to  no  suche  matere, 

But  daunceth,  justeth,  and  maketh  mery  chere. 

And  thus  in  joye  and  blisse  I  let  hem  dwelle, 

And  of  the  sike  Aurilius  wol  I  telle. 

In  langour  and  in  turment  furius 

Two  yere  and  more  lay  wrecche  Aurilius, 

Er  any  foot  on  erthe  he  mighte  gon ; 

Ne  comfoi-t  in  this  time  had  he  non, 

Sauf  of  his  brother,  which  that  was  a  clerk. 

He  knew  of  al  this  wo  and  al  this  werk ; 

For  to  non  other  creature  certein 

Of  this  matere  he  dorste  no  word  seyn; 

Under  his  brest  he  bar  it  more  secre 

Than  ever  dede  Pamphilus  for  Galathe.* 

His  brest  was  hole  withouten  for  to  sene, 

But  in  his  herte  ay  was  the  arwe  kene; 

And  wel  ye  wote  that  of  a  sursanure 

In  surgerie  ful  pex'ilous  is  the  cure, 

But  men  myght  touch  the  arwe  or  come  therby. 

His  brother  wepeth  and  weyleth  prively. 

Til  at  the  last  him  fel  in  remembraunce, 

That  whiles  he  was  in  Orleaunce  in  Fraunce,* 

As  yonge  clerkes,  that  ben  likerous 

To  reden  artes  that  ben  curious, 


1  Urry,  misled  by  his  classical  learning,  altered  this  line  to 

•  Than  Polyphemus  did  for  Galathee  ;' 
but  the  allusion  is  to  a  Latin  poem  popular  in  Chaucer's  time,  in  which 
Pamphilus  describes  his  love  of  Galatea  in  the  following  style: — 

'  Vulueror,  et  clausum  porto  sub  pectore  telum,'  &c. 
— See  TYRwniTT. 

2  The  University  of  Orleans  was  a  celebrated  seat  of  learning  till  it 
wag  supplanted  by  that  of  Paris ;  and,  as  Mr.  Wright  remarks,  the 
rivalry  between  them  probably  gave  riae  to  the  imputation  t)»at  magic 
was  practised  at  Orleans. 


THE   FRANKELEYNES   TALE.  501 

Seken  in  every  halke  aud  every  heme  * 

Piirticulere  sciences  for  to  lerne, 

He  him  remembreth,  that  upon  a  day, 

At  Orloauiioe  in  stu'.lio  a  boke  ho  seye 

Of  niagik  naturel,  which  liis  fehiw," 

That  was  that  time  a  bacheler  of  law, 

Al  were  he  ther  to  lerne  another  craft, 

Had  i)rively  upon  his  desk  y-laft; 

Which  book  spak  moche  of  operaciouns 

Touchinge  the  eight  and  twenty  mansiouns 

That  longen  to  the  mone,  and  siiche  folie 

As  in  oure  dayes  nys  not  worth  a  flye; 

For  holy  chcrches  feith,*  in  our  byleve, 

jSTe  suffreth  non  illusioun  us  to  greve. 

And  wlian  this  boke  was  in  his  reniembraunce, 

Anon  for  joye  his  herte  gan  to  dauuce, 

And  to  him  self  he  seide  prively ; 

'  My  brother  schal  be  warisshed  hastely ; 

For  I  am  siker  that  ther  be  sciences, 

By  which  men  maken  divers  apparences, 

Such  as  this  subtil  tregetoures  pleyn.' 

For  oft  at  festes  have  1  wel  herd  seyn, 


'  Every  hole  and  corner.  '  See  note  4  below. 

^  In  the  examination  of  conscience  by  the  ten  commanilinents,  the 
old  books  of  theology  class  fortune-telling,  magic,  interpretation  of 
dreams,  aud,  in  short,  the  belief  in  any  power  not  dependent  upon 
God,  among  the  breaches  of  the  first  commandment. 

■•  Tyrwhitt  here  obser^'es: — '  If  we  compare  the  feats  of  the  tre- 
getours,  as  described  in  this  passage,  with  those  which  are  afterwards 
performed  by  the  clerke's  magic,  for  the  entertainment  of  his  guests, 
we  shall  find  them  very  similar;  aud  they  may  both  be  illustrated  by 
the  following  account  which  Sir  John  Mandevile  has  given  of  the  ex- 
hibition before  the  grite  chaii: — 'And  then  comen  jo</ulours  and 
e/icluititoures,  that  don  many  mMrvaylles ;  for  they  maken  to  come  in 
the  ayr  the  sonnc  and  the  mone,  be  scmynge,  to  every  mannes  .-iglit. 
And  after  tliey  muken  tlie  niglit  so  dark,  that  no  man  may  see  no 
thing.  And  after  they  maken  the  day  to  come  ayen  fair  and  pleasant 
with  bright  sonne  to  every  mannes  sight.  And  then  they  bringen  in 
daunCi  s  o(  lUc  faire.-it  damysellos  of  the  world  and  riehe.«t  arrayed.  .  .  . 
And  than  they  m.ike  Lin/i/lites  to  jiiiixtm  in  amies  full  lustily,  &«. 
And  tli&n  they  maku  to  come  in  hunti/n;/  for  the  lurt  and  for  the  boor, 
with  houndcs  reuning  with  open  nioutUe.'— MANDKVLLii'sI/VafU^.p. 


502  THE   CANTERBURY  TALES. 

That  tregetoures,  within  an  halle  large, 

Have  made  come  in  a  water  and  a  barge, 

And  in  the  halle  rowen  up  and  doun. 

Som  time  hath  semed  come  a  grim  lyoun; 

And  som  time  floures  springe  as  in  a  mede; 

Som  time  a  vine,  and  grapes  white  and  rede ; 

Som  time  a  castel  al  of  lime  and  ston, 

And  whan  hem  liketh  voideth  it  anon; 

Thus  semeth  it  to  every  mannes  sight. 

Now  than  conclude  I  thus,  if  that  I  might 

At  Orleaunce  som  olde  felaw  finde, 

That  hath  this  mones  mansions  in  mynde, 

Or  other  magik  naturel  above, 

He  scholde  wel  make  my  brother  have  his  lov& 

For  with  an  apparence  a  clerk  may  make 

To  mannes  sight,  that  alle  the  rokkes  blake 

Of  Breteigne  were  y-voided  everichon, 

And  schippes  by  the  brinke  comen  and  gon, 

And  in  suche  forme  endure  a  day  or  tuo; 

Than  were  my  brother  warisshed  of  his  wo, 

Than  most  sche  nedes  holden  hire  behest, 

Or  elles  he  schal  schame  hire  at  the  lest.' 

What  schold  I  make  a  lenger  tale  of  this? 

Unto  his  brothers  bedde  comen  he  is, 

And  suche  comfort  he  gaf  him,  for  to  gon 

To  Orleaunce,  that  he  up  stert  anon. 

And  on  his  way  forth-ward  than  is  he  fare. 

In  hope  for  to  ben  lissed  of  his  care. 

Whan  they  were  come  almost  to  that  cite, 

But  if  it  were  a  tuo  furlong  or  thre, 

A  yonge  clerke  roming  by  himself  they  mette, 

Which  that  in  Latine  thriftily  hem  grette. 

iSS — 6.  See  also  p.  z6t  : — '  Andwherit  be  by  craft  or  nygrotnancye,  I 
wot  nere.'  Trcgetotir  appears  to  be  derived  from  trcget,  deceit,  which 
has  probably  the  same  root  as  trehuchet,  a  machine  used  in  war,  also  a 
enare  for  catching  birds.  The  same  word  may  be  traced  in  the 
Italian  trabocheito,  a  species  of  trap-door;  from  which  trcf/ctoiir  is  pos- 
sibly derived,  as  Tyrwhitt  supposes,  in  consequence  of  his  frequent  um 
of  such  deceptions. 


THE    FRANKELEYNES    TALE.  503 

And  after  that  he  seyd  a  wonder  tliiuge ; 

'  I  know,'  qviod  he,  '  the  cause  of  your  coiuyiige.' 

And  er  thoy  fortlier  any  foote  went, 

He  toUl  hem  al  that  was  in  lier  entent. 

Tliis  Breton  ck-rk  him  asked  of  fehiwes. 

The  whicli  he  had  y-knowen  in  ohle  dawes;' 

And  he  answerd  him  that  they  dede  were, 

For  which  he  wept  ful  often  many  a  tore. 

Doun  of  his  hors  Aurilius  light  anon, 
And  forth  with  this  magicien  is  he  gon 
Home  to  his  hons,  and  made  him  wel  at  ese; 
Hem  kicked  no  vitaile  that  might  hem  plese. 
So  wel  arraie<l  hous  as  ther  was  on, 
Aurilius  in  his  lif  saw  never  nou. 
He  schewed  him,  er  they  went  to  soupere, 
Forestas,  parkes  ful  of  wild  dere. 
Ther  saw  he  hartes  with  her  homes  hee, 
The  OT'etest  that  were  ever  seen  with  eve. 
He  saw  of  hem  an  hundred  slain  with  houudes, 
Aud  som  with  arwes  blede  of  bitter  woundea. 
He  saw,  whan  voided  were  the  wikle  dere, 
Thise  faukoners  upon  a  faire  rivere. 
That  with  hir  haukes  han  the  heron  slein. 
Tho  saw  he  knyhtes  justen  in  a  jjlcyn. 
And  after  this  he  dede  him  suche  jilcsaunce. 
That  he  him  schewed  his  lady  in  a  daunce, 
On  which  him  selveu  daunced,  as  hint  thouht.' 
And  whan  this  mai.stcr,  that  this  magik  wiouht. 
Saw  it  wa.s  time,  he  clapped  his  hondes  two, 
And,  fare  wel !  al  the  revel  is  ago. 
And  yet  remued  they  never  out  of  the  hous, 
Whiles  they  sawe  alio  this  sightes  mcrvelou.s  ; 
But  in  his  stodie,  ther  his  bokes  be, 
They  saten  stille,  and  no  wight  but  they  tlire. 


'  The  clianpe  oi  ilayt  into  tlairrg,  for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme,  in  a  ?ery 
great  jioctiral  licence.  The  Itri'ton  clerk  iti  very  uaturally  ri-prcseuteJ 
u  a.'iking  uftcr  lii<  old  collude  cimiiKinioiid, 

'  iee  aiiii\\).  501,  note  4. 


604  THE   CANTERBURY   TALES. 

To  him  this  maister  called  than  his  squyere, 

And  sayde  him  thus,  'May  v/e  go  to  soupere? 

Almost  an  houre  it  is,  I  undertake, 

Sin  I  yow  bad  our  soper  for  to  make, 

Whan  that  this  worthy  men  wenten  with  me 

Into  my  stodie,  ther  as  my  bokes  be.' 

'  Sire,'  quod  this  squyere,  '  whan  it  lyketh  you. 

It  is  al  redy,  though  ye  wolde  righte  now.' 

*  Go  we  than  soupe,'  quod  he,  '  as  for  the  best, 

This  amorous  folk  som  time  moste  have  rest.' 

At  after ^  soper  fel  they  in  ti'ete 
What  somme  schold  his  maisters  guerdon  be. 
To  remue  alle  the  rokkes  of  Bretaigne, 
And  eke  fro  Gerounde  to  the  mouth  of  Seine.  ^ 
He  made  it  strange,  and  swore,^  so  God  him  save, 
Lesse  than  a  thousand  pound  he  wolde  nought  have,* 
Ne  gladly  for  that  somme  he  wolde  not  goon. 
Aurilius  with  blisful  hert  anoon 
Answerde  thus ;  '  Fy  on  a  thousand  pound ! 
This  wyde  world,  which  that  men  say  is  round, 
I  wold  it  give,  if  I  were  lord  of  it. 
This  bargeyn  is  ful  dry ve,  for  we  ben  knyt ; 
Ye  schal  be  payed  trewly  by  my  trouthe. 
But  loketli  now,  for  necligence  or  slouthe. 
Ye  tarie  us  heer  no  lenger  than  to  morwe.' 
'Nay,'  quod  this  clerk,  'have  her  my  faith  to  boi'we.' 

To  bed  is  goon  Aiu-ilius  whan  him  leste. 
And  wel  neigh  al  night  he  had  his  reste. 
What  for  his  labour,  and  his  hope  of  blisse, 
His  woful  hert  of  penaunce  had  a  lisse. 

'  The  expression  at  after  is  still  used  iu  Yorkshire. 

>  Including  the  coasts  of  Saintonge,  I'oitou,  Bretagnc,  and  part  of 
Normandy. 

3  The  attentive  reader  will  no  doubt  have  remarked  that  the  correct 
grammatical  inflections  of  the  verb  have  not  been  preserved  in  the 
part  taken  from  Tyrwhitt,  with  nearly  so  much  exactness  as  in  that 
founded  upon  tlie  Ilarl.  M.S.  Thus,  in  this  page,  we  have  the  verb  in 
the  plural,  swore,  with  the  subject,  he,  in  the  singular. 

••  The  lacuna  in  the  Harl.  SIS.  ends  with  this  line.    See  ante,  p.  4^4 
note  I. 


THE   FRAN'KELETNES  TALE.  505 

Upon  the  luorwo,  whan  tliat  it  was  day, 
To  Ereteign  take  thoi  the  righte  way, 
Aurilius,  and  this  niagicien  bisyde, 
And  ben  descendid  ther  thay  wol  abyde; 
And  this  was,  as  these  bookes  we  remembro. 
The  cokle  frosty  scisoun  of  Deccmbre. 
Phebus  wax  old,  and  liewed  lyk  latoun, 
That  in  his  hootc  declinacioun 
Schon  as  the  burned  gold,  with  stremes  bright; 
But  now  in  Capricorn  adoun  he  light, 
Wher  as  he  schon  ful  i)ale,  I  dar  wel  sayn. 
The  bitter  frostos  with  the  sleet  and  rayn 
Destroyed  hath  the  grcne  in  eveiy  yerd. 
Janus  sit  by  the  fuyr  with  double  berd,' 
And  dryuketh  of  liis  bugle  horn  the  wyu  ; 
Biforn  him  stont  the  braun  of  toskid  swyn,' 
And  iiowel^  crieth  every  lusty  man. 
Aurilius,  in  al  that  ever  he  can, 


'  Janus,  with  double  beard,  represents  the  winter  solstice. 

:  The  boar's  head  was  the  appropriate  dish  at  Christmas.  Aubrey, 
in  a  MS.,  dated  1678,  says,  '  Before  the  la.=t  civil  wars,  in  pcntlemcn'a 
houses  at  Christmas,  the  first  diet  that  was  brouRht  to  table  was  a 
boars  head  with  a  lemon  in  his  moutli.'  Jlorant,  in  his  account  of 
Horn  Church,  Hl<t.  E><sex,i.  74-  informs  us  that  'the  inhabitants  paj 
the  great  tithes  on  Chrismas-day.  and  are  treated  with  a  bull  and 
brawn.  The  boar's  head  is  wrestled  for.  The  poor  have  the  scraps.'— 
Brand's  Pop.  Antiq.     See  a7ite,p.  4J3,  note  S.  ,  .       ^ 

3  Spe-ht  says  that  this  word  'signifath  D>  us  mbiscum.  and  is  taken 
for  Christmas  and  twenty  or  thirty  dales  next  before.'  Tyrwhitt  gives 
another  derivation  from  Menage,  in  voce  Nowel.  He  says, '  Noel  m 
French  is  derived  from  natalis,  and  .signiCcd  originally  a  cry  of  joy  at 
Christmas,  le  jour  natai  de  nitre  Scifjncur.  It  was  afterwards  the  usual 
cry  of  the  people  upon  all  occasions  of  joy  and  fistivity.'— //i.</.  <l>- 
Charles  VII.,  par  Chartier,  p.  3-  At  the  pioclaniation  of  Henry  \l., 
'  fut  cri6  sur  la  fosse  de  son  pire  ii  haute  voi.v,  Vive  le  Uoy  Henii,  Roy 
de  France  et  d'Angleterre  ;  et  avec  cela  fut  crie  Aoil  des  assistans,  con- 
fortans  les  dits  Anglois.'  Kotwithstanding  the  high  authority  of 
Menage,  this  word  would  rather  appear  to  be  derived  from  the  Frcncli 
nouvdles,  news,  and  to  have  been  adopted  as  an  appropriate  cry  of  joy 
at  thefestivalofour  Lord's  nativity,  from  the  angelic  announcement 
to  the  shepherds, '  Behold,  I  bring  you  good  <Wi/K/.<!.' &c..  Luke  11  10  j 
whence  the  Christian  dispensation  itself  is  called  Euavy.Aior,  translated 
Into  the  Saxon  Gospel,  good  news,  or  nouvelles.    The  cry  JSyice/  will 


506  THE    CANTERBURY   TALES, 

Doth  to  his  maister  chier  and  reverence, 
And  peyneth  him  to  doon  his  diligence 
To  bringen  him  out  of  his  peynes  smerte, 
Or  with  a  swerd  that  he  wold  slytte  his  herte. 

This  subtil  clerk  such  routhe  had  of  this  man, 
That  night  and  day  he  spedeth  him,  that  he  can. 
To  wayte  a  tyme  of  his  conclusioun ; 
This  is  to  say,  to  make  illusioun, 
By  such  an  apparence  of  jogelrie, 
(I  can  no  termes  of  astrologie) 
That  sche  and  every  wight  schold  wene  and  saye, 
That  of  Breteygn  the  rokkes  were  awaye, 
Or  elles  they  sonken  were  under  the  grounde. 
So  atte  last  he  hath  a  tyme  i-founde 
To  make  his  japes  and  his  wrecchednesse 
Of  such  a  supersticious  cursednesse. 
His  tables  Tollitanes^  forth  he  brought 
Ful  wel  corrected,  ne  ther  lakked  nought, 


tlius  be  less  inappropriate  to  any  general  occasion  for  rejoicing  than  it 
would  be  if  derived  from  Deus  nohiscam,  or  natalis. 

This  view  is  sustained  by  the  fact  that  the  Christmas  carols  generally 
took  the  form  of  tidings,  or  nouvdles,  delivered  by  an  angel,  as  in  the 
following  simple,  but  beautiful,  specimen  in  tlie  Northern  dialect,  printeil 
at  Edinburgh  in  1621  from  an  old  copy,  and  given  in  Brand's  I'op.  Antiq.  .- 

I  come  from  hevin  to  tell 
The  best  noweUis  that  ever  befell ; 
To  yaw  this  tythinges  trew  1  bring 
And  I  will  of  them  say  and  sing. 

This  day  to  yow  is  borne  ane  childe 
Of  Blarie  meike  and  Virgine  mylde ; 
That  blissit  barne,  benign  and  kynde, 
Sail  yow  rejoice  baith  heart  and  mynd. 

[The  derivation  of  noel  is  from  Lat.  vatalis ;  of.  Provencal  nadal.  The 
derivation  suggested  from  nouvdles  is  not  reconcilable  witli  plionetic  laws. 
See  r.rachet.— \V.  W.  S.] 

1  The  astronomical  tables  composed  by  order  of  Alfonso  X.,  King  of 
Castile,  about  the  middle  of  tlie  tliirteenth  century,  were  sometimes 
called  'Tabula:  Toletana;  from  their  being  adapted  to  the  city  of  Toledo. 
— T.  'The  poet  describes  the  Alplwnsine  astronomical  tables  by  the 
several  parts  of  them,  wherein  some  technic:il  terms  occur  which  were 
used  by  the  old  astronomers,  and  continued  by  the  corapilere  of  those 


THE   CANTEHCURY    TALES.  507 

"Neitlior  Ills  collect,  ne  his  expaus  yeerea, 
Neither  his  routes,  ne  his  otlier  goeres, 
As  ben  his  centris,  and  his  arcjiunentis, 
And  his  proporciDnels  couvenientis 
For  her  equaeiouns  in  every  thing. 
And  by  his  thre  speeres  in  his  worchiug. 
He  knew  fill  wol  how  fer  Allnath  was  schove 
Fro  tlie  heed  of  thilk  fixe  Aries  above. 
That  in  tlie  foiirthe  speere  considi'cd  is. 
Fill  subtilly  he  calkiled  al  this. 
Whan  he  liad  founde  his  iirst  mancioun, 
Ho  know  tho  remonanut  by  jjrojiorcioun; 
And  knew  the  arisyng  of  this  nioone  wel. 
And  in  whos  face,  and  terme,  and  every  dol  ; 
And  knew  ful  wel  the  moones  mancioun 
Acovdaimt  to  his  operacionn; 
And  knew  also  his  other  observannces, 
For  suche  ilhisionns  and  siiche  nieschaunces. 
As  hethen  folk*  used  in  tliilke  dayes. 
For  which  no  lenger  maked  he  delayes, 


tables.  CoUixt  yeeres&re  certain  sums  of  years  with  the  motion  of  th« 
heavenly  bodies  corresponding  to  them,  as  of  30,  40,  60,  80,  100,  &c., 
dij-jjosed  into  tables  ;  and  ej-pan.'i  yceie-f  are  the  sin;,'lf  years,  with  the 
motions  of  the  Iieavenly  bodies  answering  to  them,  beginning  at  1,  and 
continued  on  to  tlie  smallest  collict  sum,  as  io,  40,&c.  A  root  or  mdijt 
is  any  certain  time,  taken  at  the  author's  pleasure,  from  which,  as  an 
era,  the  celestial  motions  are  to  be  computed.  By  Proporcioiiels  cou- 
venientis are  meant  the  tables  of  proportional  parts.  Centre,  argument. 
and  other  terms  there  used,  have  peculiar  significations  in  tlie  old  astro- 
nomers and  the  Alphonsine  writers,  well  known  to  astronomers,  wliich 
it  would  be  too  tedious  to  explain  here,  as  well  as  unnecessary  for 
common  readers.' — Additions  to  Urry's  Gloss.  Speere  means  of  course 
sphere.  '  Alnath  is  a  fixed  star  in  the  horns  of  Aries,  from  whence  the 
first  mansion  of  the  moon  taketli  his  name.' — S.  Mnnciviin  appears  to 
have  tlie  same  meaning  as  hoitue  in  the  following  problem  in  Cliauecr'o 
treatise  on  the  use  of  the  Astrolabie: — '  Tlie  concliK-ion  of  the  equation 
of  houses  after  the  astrolabie.'  Centris  is  e.xplaincd  in  tlie  same 
treatise  as  follows : — '  The  names  of  the  sterres  ben  written  in  the  niar- 
ginc  of  thy  reete  [explained  before  to  mean  a  part  of  the  instrument 
which  resembles  a  net]  there  they  sit,  of  the  whychu  sterres  the  small 
point  is  clepcd  the  centure.' 

'  The  Franklin  very  properly  classes  all  these  observances  among 
the  illusions  of  thu  classical  idolatr)'. 


508  THE    FRANKLEYNES   TALE. 

But  tliurgli  his  magik,  for  a  wike  or  tweye, 
It  semecl  that  the  rokkes  were  aweye. 

Aurilius,  which  yet  dispayred  is 
Wher  he  schal  han  his  love  or  fare  amys, 
Awayteth  night  and  day  on  this  miracle ; 
And  whan  he  knew  that  ther  was  noon  obstacle, 
That  voyded  were  these  rokkes  everichoon, 
Doun  to  his  maistres  feet  he  fel  anoon, 
And  sayd ;  '  I  wrecched  woful  Aurilius, 
Thanke  you,  lord,  and  my  lady  Venus, 
That  me  han  holpe  fro  my  cares  colde.' 
And  to  the  temple  his  way  forth  he  hath  holde, 
Wher  as  he  knew  he  schold  his  lady  se. 
And  whan  he  saugh  his  tyme,  anoon  right  he 
With  dredful  hert  and  with  ful  humble  cheere 
Salued  hath  his  owne  lady  deere. 
'  My  soverayn  lady,'  quod  this  woful  man, 
*  Whom  I  most  drede,  and  love,  as  I  can. 
And  lothest  were  of  al  this  world  displese, 
Nere  it  that  I  for  you  have  such  desese, 
That  I  most  deye  her  at  youre  foot  anoon, 
Nought  wold  I  telle  how  me  is  wo  bygoon, 
But  certes  outher  most  I  dye  or  pleyne ; 
Ye  sleen  me  gulteles  for  verrey  peyne. 
But  of  my  deth  though  that  ye  have  no  routhe- 
Avyseth  yow,  or  that  ye  breke  your  trouthe ; 
Repenteth  yow  for  thilke  God  above, 
Or  ye  me  sleen,  bycause  that  I  you  love. 
For,  madame,  wel  ye  woot  what  ye  han  hight ; 
Nat  that  I  chalenge  eny  thing  of  right 
Of  yow,  my  soverayn  lady,  but  youre  grace ; 
But  in  a  gardyn  yonde,  at  such  a  place, 
Ye  wot  right  wel  what  ye  byhighte  me, 
And  in  myn  bond  your  trouthe  plighte  ye. 
To  love  me  best ;  God  woot  he  sayde  so, 
Al  be  that  I  unworthy  am  therto ; 
Madame,  I  speke  it  for  thonour  of  yow, 
More  than  to  save  myn  hertes  lif  right  now; 


TUE   CAliTERBURY   TALES.  509 

I  liiivo  do  so  as  yc  comaundcd  me, 

Aud  if  ye  voucliesauf,  yo  may  go  sc. 

Doth  as  you  list,  have  youre  byheste  in  mynde, 

For  ciuyk  or  deed,  right  ther  ye  schul  me  fymk- ; 

In  yow'lith  ul  to  do  me  lyve  or  deye] 

Ent  wel  I  wot  the  rokkes  ben  aweye.' 

He  taketh  his  leve,  and  sche  astoned  stood ; 
lu  alle  hir  face  nas  oon  (h-op  of  blood; 
Sche  wende  never  have  be  in  such  a  trappe. 
'  Alias!'  quod  sche,  'that  ever  this  schulde  happel 
For  wend  I  never  by  possibilite. 
That  such  a  moustre  or  merveyl  mighte  be ; 
It  is  agayus  the  proces  of  nature.' 
And  horn  sche  goth  a  sorwful  creature, 
For  verray  fere  unnethe  may  sche  go. 
Sche  wepeth,  wayleth  al  a  day  or  tuo, 
And  swowneth,  that  it*  routhe  was  to  see; 
But  why  it  was,  to  no  wight  tolde  sche, 
For  out  of  toune  was  goon  Arviragus. 
But  to  hir  self  sche  spak,  and  sayde  thus, 

With  face  pale,  and  with  ful  sorwful  chiere, 

In  hir  complcint,  as  ye  schul  after  hiere. 

'  Alias  r  quod  sche,  '  on  the.  Fortune,  I  pleyne, 

That  unwar  wrapped  me  hast  in  thy  cheyne, 

Fro  which  tcscape,  woot  I  no  socour. 

Save  oonly  deth,  or  elles  dishonour ; 

Oon  of  these  tuo  bihovcth  me  to  chese. 

But  nathcles,  yet  have  I  lever  leese 

:My  lif,  than  of  my  body  to  have  schame, 

Or  knowe  my  selve  fals,  or  lese  my  name; 

And  ^v-ith  my  deth  I  may  be  quyt,  I  wys. 

Hath  ther  not  many  a  noble  wyf,  cr  this. 

And  many  a  mayden,  slayn  hir  self,  alias! 

Rather  than  with  her  body  doon  trespas? 

I   Tynvhitts  rcarlinfj  is  here  adopted  in  preference  to  in,  that  of  th« 
Harl.  MS.,  which  Bcems  to  give  uo  seiue. 


510  THE   FRANKELEYNES   TALE. 

Yis^  certeynly;  lo,  stories^  beren  -witnes. 

Whan  thritty  tiraimtz  ful  of  cursednes 

Hadcle  slayn  Plddon  in  Atlienes  atte  fest, 

Thay  comaunded  Ms  dougttres  to  arest, 

And  bryngen  hem  biforn  hem  in  despit 

Al  naked,  to  fulfil  le  her  foule  delyt  j 

And  in  her  fadres  blood  they  made  hem  daunce 

Upon  the  pavyment,  God  geve  hem  meschaunce. 

For  which  these  woful  maydens,  ful  of  drede, 

Rather  than  they  wolde  lese  her  maydenhede, 

They  prively  ben  stert  into  a  welle, 

And  drenched  hem  selfen,  as  the  bookes  telle. 

'  They  of  ^lecene  leet  enquere  and  seeke 
Of  Lacidomye  fifty  maydenes  eeke. 
On  which  thay  wolden  doon  her  leccherie; 
But  was  ther  noon  of  al  that  companye 


1  It  ia  observed  by  the  Rev.  E.  Chenevlx  Trench,  in  his  admirable 
work  On  the  Study  of  Words ,  thz.t  'the  fine  distinction  between  'yea' 
and  '  yes,' '  nay'  and  '  no,'  that  once  existed  in  English,  has  quite  dis- 
appeared. '  Yea'  and  *  Xay'  in  Wiclif  s  time,  and  a  good  deal  later, 
were  the  answers  to  questions  framed  in  the  affirmative.  '  Will  he 
come  ?'  To  this  it  would  be  replied, '  Tea,'  or  '  Xay,'  as  the  case  re- 
quired. But '  Will  he  not  come  ?' — to  this  the  answer  would  have  been 
'  Yes'  or  'STo.'  Sir  Thomas  More  finds  fault  with  Tyndale,  that  in  his 
translation  of  the  Bible  he  had  not  observed  this  distinction,  which  was 
evidently,  therefore,  going  out  even  then — that  is,  in  the  reign  of 
Henry  VIII.,  and  shortly  after  it  was  quite  forgotten.'  It  will  be  seen 
that  this  distinction  is  strictly  maintained  in  Chaucer's  language. 
Here  Dorigen  frames  her  question  in  the  negative  form, '  Hath  ther 
iiot  many  a  noble  wyf  ?'  &c. — to  which  she  properly  answers  '  Yig.' 
Again,  in  page  516,  the  philosopher  asks, '  Have  I  not  holden  cove- 
naunt?'  &c. — and  the  answer  again  is, '  Yis.'  'Wbereas,  at  page  34Z, 
the  answer  to  the  question  '  Than  have  I  gete  of  yow  the  maystry  ?'  &c. 
— is  '  Ye.'  The  negative  reply  to  a  question  framed  in  an  affirmative 
form  is  always  '  2say,'  as,  at  page  51J,  the  answer  to  the  question  '  la 
ther  aught  elles?'  An  example  of  the  negative  reply  i\o,  to  a 
question  framed  in  the  negative  form,  occurs  at  p.  516.  Analogous, 
though  not  exactly  similar,  is  the  distinction  in  French  between  ■  Oui' 
and  '  Si.'  The  former  is  the  reply  to  a  question  in  the  affirmative  form, 
as  '  Aimez  vous  Paris  ?' '  Oui ;'  the  latter  is  used  to  contradict  a  negative 
assertion,  as,  '  Je  crains  que  vous  n'aimez  pas  Paris' — '  Si,  je  I'aime.' 

'  They  are  all  taken  from  HieronyuMi  contra  Jovinianum,  lib.  i.  c 
55.— T. 


Tin;    r.VNTKRHURY    TALES.  511 

That  solio  lias  slayn.  :uul  with  a  goixl  entente 
Ches  nxther  for  to  deye.  than  to  ju^sento 
To  ben  ojiinvssetl  of  liir  mayilonheile. 
Why  sohuKl  I  than  to  »U\von  hen  in  divdo? 

'  IjO  eek  tlie  (yrmnt  Aristoeliih>s. 
That  loved  a  mayden  heet  Stiuii^halides. 
Whan  that  hir  father  shiyn  wa,s  on  a  night, 
l-nto  Dyanes  tenipK^  i^oth  sehe  right, 
And  hent  the  yniage  in  hir  hondes  tuo, 
Fro  which  yniago  woU  sehe  ne\  er  go, 
No  wight  niiglit  of  it  hir  hondes  araee.* 
Til  sehe  was  slayn  right  in  the  selve  plaeo. 
Now  sith  that  niaydens  haddo  sueh  ilespit 
To  hen  defonled  with  niannes  toul  delit, 
Wei  aught  a  wyf  rather  hir  self  to  sle. 
Than  he  defonled,  as  it  thenketh  uu-. 

•What  sehal  I  seyn  of  Uasdnihaldes  wyt', 
Tliat  at  Cartage  hyraft  hir  self  the  lyfl 
For  whan  sehe  sa\igh  that  IJoniayns  wan  the  touu, 
Sehe  took  hir  ohihlren  alle.  au.l  skiptc  adouu 
Into  the  fnyr.  and  ehes  rather  to  deye. 
Tlian  eny  Koiuayn  dide  hir  vilonye. 

'  Ilath  nought  Luci-esso  slayn  hir  self,  alias! 
At  Rome,  whanne  sehe  oppressid  was 
Of  Tarquynl  for  hir  thought  it  was  a  sehanio 
To  lyven.  whan  sehe  hadde  lost  hir  name. 

'  The  seven  may  dens  oi'  Milesie  also 
Han  slayn  hem  self  for  verray  drede  and  wo, 
Kather  tlum  folk  of  tJawle  hoiu  seludde  opprosae. 
Mo  than  a  thousand  stories,  svs  I  gosae, 
Contho  T  now  telle  as  touehing  this  matiere. 

'  Whan  llabi-adaee  was  slayn,  his  wif  so  doere 
Hir  selvon  slough,  and  leet  hir  blood  to  glyde 
In  Habradaees  woundes,  deepe  and  wyde; 


'   .<r<J<"c.  wMi'h  is  TyrwIiittV  romiiuR.  Is  rtiloptoil  instonil  of  nw.  llml 
of  tlio  llail.  MS.,  Hs  Miiting  tlio  uu'Ux<  bctUT.     lloth  wurJs  arc  tYoiH 


512  THE   FRANKELEYNES   TALE. 

And  seyde,  my  body  atte  leste  way 

Ther  schal  no  wiglit  defoulen,  if  I  may. 

What  schold  I  mo  ensamples  herof  sayn? 

Sethtlien  so  many  lian  hem  selven  slayn 

Wei  rather  than  they  wolde  defouled  be, 

I  wol  conclude  that  it  is  best  for  me 

To  slen  my  self  than,  be  defouled  thus. 

I  wol  be  trewe  unto  Arviragus, 

Or  rather  sle  my  self  in  som  manere, 

As  dede  Democionis  dou2,'hter  deere. 

Bycause  sche  wolde  nought  defouled  be. 

O  Cedasus,  it  is  ful  gret  pite 

To  reden  how  thy  doughteren  dyed,  alias! 

That  slowe  hem  self  for  suche  maner  caas. 

As  gret  a  pite  was  it  or  wel  more, 

The  Theban  maydeu,  that  for  Nichonore 

Hir  selven  slouo-h.  risiht  for  such  maner  wo. 

Another  Theban  mayden  dede  right  so, 

For  oon  of  Macidone  had  hir  oppressed, 

Sche  with  hire  deth  hire  maydenhede  redressed. 

What  schal  I  sayn  of  ISTiceratis  wif, 

That  for  such  caas  biraffc  hir  self  hir  lyf  ? 

How  trewe  eek  was  to  Alcebiades 

His  love,  that  for  to  dyen  rather  ches, 

Than  for  to  suflre  his  body  unburied  be? 

Lo,  which  a  wif  was  Alceste?'  quod  sche, 

'What  saith  Omer  of  good  Penolope? 

Al  Grece  knoweth  of  hii*  chastite. 

Pardi,  of  Laodomya  is  writen  thus. 

That  whan  at  Troye  Avas  slayn  Prothesilaus, 

No  lenger  wol  sche  lyve  after  his  day. 

The  same  of  noble  Porcia  telle  I  may; 

Withoute  Brutes  kynde  sche  myght  not  lyve,^ 

To  whom  sche  had  al  hool  hir  hei'te  gyve. 


'  This  verse  is  rcstorod  from  the  Harl.  MS.  It  is  rejected  by  5Ir. 
Wright ;  but  it  appears  to  give  as  good  a  moaning,  and  to  be  a  better 
bne  than  Tyrwhitt'8. 


THE   CANTERBURY   TALEa.  olc* 

The  parfyt  wyfliod  of  Artemesye 
Honoured  is  tlniifjli  al  tlie  Barbarie; 

0  Teuta*  queen,  thy  wifiy  chastite 
To  alle  wyves  may  a  inirour  be.' 

Thus  playned  Dorigeu  a  day  or  tweye, 
Pui-jjosyng  ever  tliat  sche  wolde  deye; 
But  natheles  upon  the  tliridde  night 
Horn  cam  Arviragus,  tlie  wortliy  knight, 
And  asked  hir  why  that  sche  wt-jjt  so  soi'e; 
And  sche  gan  wepe  ever  lenger  the  more. 
Alias!'  quod  sche,  'that  ever  was  I  born! 
Thus  have  T  sayd,'  quod  sclie,  '  thus  liave  T  sworn  ;' 
And  told  him  al,  as  ye  han  herd  bifore;* 
It  nedeth  nought  reherse  it  you  no  more. 

This  housbond  with  "lad  chiere  in  good  wise 
Answerd  and  .sayde,  as  I  schal  you  devyse. 
'  Is  ther  aught  elles,  Dorigen,  but  this?' 
'  Nay,  nay,'  quod  sche,  '  God  me  so  rede  and  wis. 
This  is  to  moche,  and  it  wex-e  Goddes  wille.' 
'  Ye,  wyf,'  quod  he,  '  let  slepe  that  may  be  stille, 
It  may  be  wel  peraunter  yet  to  day, 
Ye  schal  your  trouthe  hoi  den,  by  my  fay. 
For  God  so  wisly  have  mercy  on  me, 

1  hadde  wel  lever  i-stekid  for  to  be, 

For  verray  love  which  that  I  to  you  have. 
But  if  ye  scholde  your  trouthe  kepe  and  save. 
Trouthe  is  the  heighest  thing  that  men  may  kepe.' 
But  with  that  word  he  gan  anoon  to  wepe. 
And  sayde,  '  I  yow  forbede  up  peyne  of  deth, 
That  never  whil  ye  la-steth  lyf  or  breth. 
To  no  wight  telle  you  of  this  aventure. 
As  I  may  best  I  wil  my  woo  endure. 
Ne  make  no  contenaunce  of  hcvynesse. 
That  folk  of  you  may  deme  harm  or  gesse.' 
And  forth  he  cleped  a  squyer  and  a  mayde. 
'  Go  forth  anoon  with  Dorigen,'  he  sayde, 

'   Hurl.  MS..  O  Thena. 
'  The  Harl.  MS.,  evidently  by  mistake,  rends  bi/tmi. 

VOL.  I.  2    I. 


514  THE  FEANKELEYNES   TALE. 

'  And  bryngeth  hir  to  such  a  place  anoon.' 
Thay  take  her  leve,  and  on  her  wey  they  gon ; 
But  thay  ne  wiste  why  sche  thider  went, 
He  nolde  no  wight  tellen  his  entent. 

This  squyer,  which  that  hight  Aurilius, 
On  Dorigen  that  was  so  amerous, 
Of  aventvire  happed  hire  to  mete 
Amyd  the  toun,  right  in  the  quyke^  strete; 
As  sche  was  boun  to  goon  the  wey  forth-right 
Toward  the  gardyn,  ther  as  sche  had  hight. 
And  he  was  to  the  gardyn- ward  also; 
For  wel  he  spyed  whan  sche  wolde  go 
Out  of  hir  hous,  to  eny  maner  place. 
But  thus  thay  mette  of  adventure  or  grace, 
And  he  salueth  hir  with  glad  entent, 
And  askith  hire  whider-ward  sche  went. 
And  sche  answered,  half  as  sche  were  mad, 
'  Unto  the  gardyn,  as  myn  housbond  bad, 
My  trouthe  for  to  holde,  alias!  alias!' 
Aurilius  gan  wondren  on  this  caas, 
And  in  his  hert  had  gret  compassioun 
Of  hire,  and  of  hir  lamentaciouu. 
And  of  Arviragus  the  worthy  knight, 
That  bad  hir  hold  al  that  sche  hadde  hight, 
So  loth  him  was  his  wif  schuld  breke  hir  trouthe. 
And  in  his  hert  he  caught  of  this  gret  routhe, 
Consideryng  the  best  on  every  syde, 
That  fro  his  lust  yet  were  him  lever  abyde, 
Than  doon  so  high  a  cheerlissch  wrecchednesse 
Agayns  fraunchis  of  alle  gentilesce , 
For  which  in  fewe  wordes  sayd  he  thus. 
'  Madame,  saith  to  your  lord  Arviragus, 
That  sith  I  se  his  grete  gentilesse 
To  you,  and  eek  I  se  wel  your  dif^resse, 

•  The  meaning  of  this  epithet  is  not  obvious;  but  it  must  signify 
the  crowded  street,  that  is,  the  street  which  was  quich,  or  alive,  vi\\\\ 
people,  the  most  frequented  street,  as  we  say,  the  Main  street,  or  High 
itreet,  of  a  country  town. 


THE    CANTERDURY    TALES. 


515 


That  him  were  lever  have  schame  (and  that  wore 

Than  ye  to  lue  scluikle  breke  youre  trouthe,     [ruuthe) 

I  have  wel  lever  ever  to  suflVe  woo, 

Thau  I  departs  the  love  bytwix  yow  tuo. 

I  yow  release,  madame,  into  your  hond 

Quyt  every  seurement  and  every  bond 

That  ye  han  maad  to  me  as  herbifom, 

Sith  thilke  tyme  which  that  ye  were  bom. 

My  trouthe  I  plight,  I  sclial  yow  never  repreve 

Of  no  byhest,  and  her  I  take  my  leva, 

As  of  the  trewest  and  the  beste  wif 

That  ever  yit  I  knew  in  al  my  lyf. 

But  every  wyf  be  war  of  hir  byhest. 

On  Dorigen  remembreth  atte  lest. 

Thus  can  a  squyer  doon  a  geutil  dede, 

As  wel  as  can  a  knyght,  withouten  drede." 

Sche  thanketh  him  upon  hir  knees  al  bare, 
And  hoom  unto  hir  hoiisbond  is  sche  fare, 
And  told  him  al,  as  ye  han  herd  me  sayd ; 
And,  be  ye  siker,  he  was  so  wel  apayd. 
That  it  were  impossible  me  to  write. 
What  schuld  I  lenger  of  this  caasendite? 
Ai'virajjus  and  Dorifjen  his  wif 
In  sovereyn  blisse  leden  forth  here  lyf, 
Never  eft  ne  was  ther  anger  hem  bytwen ; 
He  cherisscheth  hir  as  though  sche  were  a  queen, 
And  sche  was  to  him  trewe  for  evermore; 
Of  these  tuo  folk  ye  gete  of  me  nomore. 

Aurilius,  that  his  cost  hath  al  forlorn, 
CuTseth  the  tyme  that  ever  he  was  born. 
'  Alias !'  quod  he,  '  alias,  that  I  byhight 
Of  pured  gold  a  thousand  pound  of  wight 
Unto  this  pliilosophre !  how  schal  I  doo  I 
I  se  no  more,  but  that  I  am  for-doo. 
Myn  heritage  moot  I  needes  selle. 
And  ben  a  begger,  her  may  I  not  duelle, 


I  See  ante,  p.  V)^,  note  ^ 


516  THE    FRANKELEYNES   TALE. 

And  schamen  al  my  kynrede  m  this  place, 
But  I  of  him  may  gete  better  gr-ace. 
But  natheles  I  wol  of  him  assay 
At  certeyn  dayes  yeer  by  yer  to  pay, 
And  thanke  him  of  his  grete  curtesy e. 
My  trouthe  wol  I  kepe,  I  wol  not  lye.' 
With  herte  soor  he  goth  unto  his  cofre, 
And  broughte  gold  unto  this  philosophre, 
The  value  of  fyf  hundred  pound,  I  gesse, 
And  him  bysecheth  of  his  gentilesce 
To  graunte  him  dayes  of  the  remenaunt; 
And  sayde,  '  Maister,  I  dar  wel  make  avaunl^ 
I  fayled  never  of  my  trouthe  as  yit. 
For  sikerly  my  dettes  schal  be  quyt 
Towardes  yow,  how  so  that  ever  I  fare 
To  goon  and  begge  in  my  kurtil  bare; 
But  wolde  ye  vouchesauf  upon  seurte 
Tuo  yer  or  thre  for  to  respite  me, 
Than  were  I  wel,  for  elles  most  I  selle 
Myn  heritage,  ther  is  nomore  to  telle.' 

This  philosophre  sobrely  answerde, 
And  seyde  thvLS,  whan  he  these  wordes  herde ; 
'  Have  I  not  holden  covenaunt  unto  the  V 

*  Yis  certes.  wel  and  trewely,'  quod  he. 

'  Hastow  nought  had  thy  lady  as  the  likethf 

*  No,  no,'  quod  he,  and  sorwfully  he  siketh. 
'What  was  the  cause?  tel  me,  if  thou  can.' 
Aurilius  his  tale  anoon  bygan, 

And  told  him  al  as  ye  han  herd  bifore, 

It  needeth  nat  to  you  reherse  it  more. 

He  sayde,  Arviragus  of  gentilesse 

Had  lever  dye  in  sorwe  and  in  distresse, 

Than  that  his  wyf  were  of  hir  trouthe  fals. 

The  sorwe  of  Dorigen  he  tolde  hiio.  als, 

How  loth  hir  was  to  ben  a  wykked  wyf, 

And  that  sclie  lever  had  han  lost  hir  lyf ; 

And  that  hir  trouthe  sche  swor  thurgh  innocence  j 

Sche  never  erst  hadde  herd  speke  of  apparenoe; 


THE  CANTERBURY   TALES.  517 

'  That  made  me  han  of  her  so  gret  pyte. 
And  right  as  frely  as  he  sente  hir  to  me, 
As  froly  sent  I  hir  to  him  agiiyn.' 
This  is  ul  and  soin,  ther  is  no  more  to  sayn.' 
The  philosophru  answerdo,  '  Leve  In-otlier, 
Everich  of  yow  dede  gentilly  to  other ; 
Thow  art  a  sqnycr,  and  he  is  knight. 
But  God  lbrl)L'de,  for  his  lilisful  niiglit, 
But  if  a  clerk  couth  e  doon  as  gentil  dode 
As  wel  as  eny  of  you,  it  is  no  drede. 
Sii'c,  I  relesse  the  thy  thousand  pound, 
As  thou  right  now  were  crope  out  of  the  groimd, 
Ne  never  er  now  ne  haddest  knowen  me. 
For,  sire,  I  wil  not  take  a  peny  of  the 
For  al  my  craft,  ne  nought  for  my  travayle;" 
Thou  hast  y-payed  wel  for  my  vitayle. 
It  is  y-nough,  and  far  wel,  liave  goi)d  day." 
And  took  his  hors,  and  fortli  he  gotli  his  way. 
Lordynges,  this  questioun  wolde  I  axe  now,' 
Which  was  the  moste  free,  as  tliinketh  yow? 
Now  telleth  me,  or  that  I  ferther  wende. 
I  can  no  more,  my  tale  is  at  an  ende. 


'  Harl.  MS.  reads  these  two  lines  thus : — 

'  Because  hir  housebond  sente  iiir  to  me. 
And  right  as  frely  sent  I  hir  to  him  ageyn.' 
'  The  Harl.  MS.  reads  al  mi/  travnile,  wliich  spoils  the  metre. 
•'  The  same  question  is  stated  in  the  conclusion  of  IJoccaccio's  tale, 
PhUoc.  lib.  V.     '  Dubitasi  oro  qual  di  co^toro  fusse  magpior  liberalita," 
&c.     The  Queen  determines  in  favour  of  the  husLund. —  1'.     Such  were 
the  questions  decided  in  the  '  Courts  of  Love." 


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from  the  French  by  K.  Wright,  jun. 

Lamartine's  History  of  the  Girond- 
ists.    Fortraitt.     Jn  3  vols. 


Bestoration  of  the  Monarchy, 

with  Index.     Portraitt      In  4  vols. 

Irench  Kevolution  of  1848, 


with  a  tine  frontisjpie/-' 

Lamb's  (Charles)  Elia  and  Eliana. 

Complete  Edition. 
Dramatic  Poets  of  the  Time 

of  Elizabeth ;  Inclndinn  hla  Selsctlona  from 

the  (iurrick  Plays. 

Lanzi'B  History  of  Painting.     Trans- 
lated by  RoscoE.     Portraitt     In  *  vols. 
Lappenberg's   Anglo-Saxon    Kings. 

2  vols. 

Lessing's  Dramatic  Works.  Com- 
plete, with  Memoir  by  Hklen  Zimmsrn. 
Portrait.    2  vols. 

Laokoon.  (By  Beasley)  Ham- 
burp  Dramatic  Notes,  llcpresentallon  of 
Death  (by  Miss  Zimmkrn),  Frontispiece. 

Locke's  Philosophical  Works,  con- 
taining an  Essay  on  the  Human  Under- 
standing, &c.,  with  Notes  aiid  Index  by 
J   A.  St.  Johm.     Portrait.     Iv  2  vols. 

-~ Life  and  Letters,  vntb  Ex- 

fTttcte  from  his  Ccmmon-Plwce  BooVs.  by 
Lord  Kt*o. 
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Machiayelli's  History  of  Florence, 

The  Prince,  and  other  Works      Portrait. 
Martineaa's,    Harriet,    History    of 

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1815-1846.     4  vols. 

Menzel's  History  of  Germany.  Por- 
traitt.   In  3  vols. 

Miohelet's  Life  of  Luther.  Translated 
by  WiixiAM  Hazi.itt. 

— — ~  Botsan  Bepublic.  Tranislaied 
by  William  Hazutt. 

French  Eevolution,  with  In- 
dex.    Pror.tispters 

Mignet's    French   Bovolutioa  from 

178f*  JO  1814.    Portrait. 
Miltou'a  Fro36   Works,  with  Indez. 

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proved Ed.,  complete.  XUuttrated.  3 volt. 

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lated by  C.  H  Wall.  In  3  vols.  Portrait. 

Montesquieu's  Spirit  of  the  Laws. 
A    new   Edition   revised  and   corrected. 

2  vols.     Portrait. 

Neander's  Church  History.  Trans- 
lated •  with  General  Index.    In  10  vols. 

—^—  Life  of  Christ.     Translated. 

—  First  Planting  of  Christi- 
anity, and  Anti^ostikua.  Transliitr.«d.  Id 
1  vols. 

History  of  Christian  Dogmas. 

Translated.     In  3  vola. 

Christian  Life  in  the  Early 

»ud  Middle  Ages,  inclndicg  hin  '  Light  in 
Dark  Places.'    Translated. 

Ockley's  History   of  the  Saraeens* 

Revised  and  completed.     Portrait. 

Percy's  Beliquee  of  Ancient  English 

Poetry.  Reprinted  from  the  Original  fiH- 
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2voU. 

Philip  de  Commines,  Memoirs    of 

containing  the  Histories  of  Louis  XI.  and 
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Edited  by  W.  J.  Linton.    Portrait. 

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VUlUtlJJ. 


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Eoaaia,  History  of,  bj  Waltsb  K. 
Kuj.r.    Portraitt.    In  2  TOl*. 

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Intr1(fae,  and  the  Qhoet-8eer. 

VoL  6.  P':>em».  Translated  by  Bdoas 
BowBnJo,  C.B. 

Vol.  6.  PhiloDophical  Letters  and  fa- 
ther leal  Ksdays. 

Correspondence  with  Goethe, 

transUt'-d  bj'  L.  IKika  Sciimitz.     2  vol^. 

Schlegel'i  Philosophy  of  Life   and 

of  XjODf^m*.  tranulated  by  A.  J.  W.  Mob- 

RISON. 

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cient and  Modem.  Now  first  completrly 
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— —  Philosophy  of  History. 
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Schlegcl's      Dramatic      Literature. 

1  raii.-.liit'  I.     /'Tirai' 

Modem  History. 

£sthetie  and  Miacellaneous 

Wurca. 

Sheridan's    Draxnatie    Works     and 

Life.     I'l-rtrait. 

Sismondi's  Literature  of  the  South 
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SeutiniPiita  i  with  bis  bjfuiy  on  thu  Vlrat 
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the  Psalms.     Arum«rou<  lUustratiom. 
Pearson  on  the  Creed,     i^ew  Edition. 

With  Analysis  and  Notes. 
Philo  JndSBUS,   Works   of ;    the   con- 
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C.  I).  Yonjte     In  4  vols. 
Socrates'  Ecclesiastical  History,  in 

continuation  of  Eusebina.    With  the  Notes 

of  Valealna. 
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n'um  A.D.  3:^4-440  :  >ind  the  Ecclesiastical 

History  o;'  PhiloHwrKiiui. 

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.tcal    Htstorien    Tajo  a.d.  332   to  A.I).  427 
and  fnim  ^.'>   <iai  tr-  A.n.  544. 

Wieseler's  Chronological  Synopsis  of 
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Bede'i    Ecoleiiasticai  Rittory,    and 

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tlio  Rev.  a  Kox. 

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btild,  Suwnlf.  Ilenjamii!  ofTodflit,  Mko- 
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Florence  of  Worcester's  Chronicle, 

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NAEU    lIourKK,  B.A. 

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Eenry  of  Huntingdon's  History  of 
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Henry  II.;  A<ib  the  AcUof  KligStepboti. 
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KlLKT. 


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tupiect  by  'Yuikthank. 

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Dia.  and  tie  I'eniniitila  of  Sinai. 

Hallet's  Northern  Antiquities.     l>« 

BI*hop  PkbcT.     With  an  Abstracv  o*  'hi 
KyrWuKla  So«t»,  by  Sir  Waliks  Sc/rf. 

Kdlt-Sd  by  J.  A.  hLAUKWXLh. 

Marco   Polo's  Travels.     The  Trans- 
lation or  Marsden.     Kdltod  by  Troma* 
Wk'oht. 
Matthew  Paris's  Chronicle.  In  .«  vola. 
KiK.M   ^:.',-TioN  :    Itoger  ol  Wendi-vet'l 
flowers  o(  tjigikh  HUtory,  froia  the 
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TnnaUied  by  Dr.  Uilxs.    Id  3  voU. 
Sbooitd  Sictio.v  :    From  1338  to   1373. 
With  Index  to  the  sctlre  Work,     li 
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Matthew  of  Westminster's  Flowert 
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Ordericus  Vitalis'  Ecclesiastical  His- 
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lu  4  vols. 

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Great  Translated  from  the  Qermao.  To 
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Glossary. 
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Edlt4:d  by  H.  T.  Kilkt.     In  3  Tola. 

Six  Old  English  Chronicles,  vii.  :» 

A^^er'fl  Life  of  Alfred,  ani  thp  Chronicles 
of  Elholwerd,  Glldas,  Nennlne,  Geoffrey 
of  Monmouth,  and  Richard  of  Ciren- 
cester. 
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of  Lie  Kinxs  of  buxland.    Tranalatel  by 

bHAIirB. 

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SoaiidiD«vii\ii  TaU'S  and  Traditions.  KdlteO 
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I'KACHEr.     laf  Word  tCj^yramnot 


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lliih  Vqrsr.     Bv  W.  S.  iUjbS      Ttotivt  Ant 
lirnpraairtji      In  3  vols. 

Bechitein's  Cage  and  Chamber  Birds. 

luciuJlu*    ^»^•nl'^    Warlileri       KnlarKe"' 
edition      Sutn^nrut  pUUu. 

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Craik's  (G.  L.)  Pursuit  of  Knowledge 

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Cruikshank's  Three  Courses  and  a 

DcBsen.  A  Series  of  Tale*,  with,  50  hu- 
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Didron's  History  of  Christian  Art 

In  the  Middle  Ages.  From  the  French. 
Upwards  of  1  Rf>  outline  Engravings. 

Dyer  (T.  H.)  The  History  of  Pompeii ; 

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Grimm'e  Gammer  Grethel ;  or,  Ger- 

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Atlion's  (Jalcnilar  of  Nature.  Vptoardt  o/ 
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of  English  and  Foreign  Lite.   Twenty  beau- 
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Natural   History    of   Gema 

or  Decorative  Stones.    Finely  Illustrated. 

et. 
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Lindsay's  (Lord)  Letters  on  2g7Pt, 

Edom,  and  the  Holy  Land.    New  Edition, 
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'ngs,  and  2  Mapt 
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^onagea  of  Grant  Eriuin,  with  Meuiolrs. 
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lUiOngfellow's        Poetical       Works. 

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tratioTis,  after  Designs  by  O.  Siamjield , 
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,. Mission;   or,   ScenoH  in  Af- 

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BOHli'8  VAUIOOB  LIBHAIilEB. 


Max-well's  Victoriai  of  Wellington 

aiiJ  thr  Bril'sb  Aruiloo.  .s'ir<J  A>npau4rn/j. 

Michael  Ajifffllo  and  Baphael,  their 

Llvf>  *nj  Wort,  By  Dli-i-a  uij  (jUA- 
I  itKMiiiR  DB  QiiKCT.  WitK  13  Rnfframngt 
on  iiteti. 

MiUar'i  Hiatory  of  tha  Anglo-Sax- 
otij.  Written  Ui  k  popaliir  style,  on  tbe 
basis  of  jbaron  InrueT.  I'ortrait  of 
Al/r'd.  Map  of  Saatm  Hrxtain,  vtd  12 
tUiboraic  Kngrav.ngt  en  S:eei. 

Milton'a   Poetical   Worka.      Witn  a 

,       Memoir  by  Jamkb  Muhtooucbt,  Todd's 

■  Verbal  Intl.-x  to  ali  the  Pocnu,  and  Ez- 

plttiialory  Notes.      With  130  SngravinQt 

fry  Thornpton  and  oUiert,  from  Drennngi 

t-il  fT.  Harvey,    a  vols. 

Vol.  1.  Purarttac  Loet,   complete,  wlU. 

Memoir,  Notes,  und  Index. 
VoL  2.    Paradise  l-lcgalne/l,   and  otii«» 
Popma,  wiUl  Verbal  Index  to  all  ttir 
Poems. 

Madia's  British   Birds.     KeviMHl    i>j 

W.  C.  Ij.  M.vbtim  Fifty-'.Xi.-c  tHgurtl  one 

'.  Platet  qf  Eggt  In  3  vols. 

;  01 ,  with  Iha  platsM  ootoured. 

It.  6<L  jwr  vol. 

Naval  and  Military  Heroes  of  Great 
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Kroord  of  Britlsb  Valonr  and  Conqaest 
liy  Sea  and  Ijond,  on  every  -Jay  in  the 
y"*r,  from  •.hi  time  of  William  tbe 
IVjuqaerur  to  the  Battle  of  Inkermanc. 
Sy  M^Jor  JoKBs,  K.M.,  and  Lleatenant 
.'.  H.  Nicolas,  R.M.  ''^oeniy-fofv  Par. 
rraiti.  »$. 

MieoUni's    History  of  the  Jesolta : 

their  Ortgln.  I*rugreee,  Doclrtnea.  and  Oe 
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JartCT,  Snrgia,  Ac^  uamea.  F*re  In  <^)uuu, 
ind  Popt  Uangikntili 

Petrarch's  Sonnets,  and  other  Poems. 
Tr&aBlated  Into  Kugllsb  Vorae.  By  varlonc 
hands.  With  a  Ufe  of  the  Poet,  by 
Trom A8  Cahi'skll.    With  \%  Sngravinci 

Pickering's  History  of  the  Baces  o' 
Man,  with  ao  Aoaiytlcol  Synopsis  of  tbe 
Natoral  Hlntory  of  Mmi.  By  in.  Hxll. 
'Uuttrattd  by  numerout  t'ortraiti. 

jor,tPitM  tkt  plateMonioui  ed  7$.6d, 
*,*  An  excellt-ni  Kdltlou  of  a  wor*  or. 
finally   pablUhed   at   31.  3«.    by   tb6 
Amorlf-an  '*ov»>mment. 

Pictorial  Eandhook  of  Modem  Geo- 
graphy, on  ■  Popular  Plai..    3j  txl     lUtu- 
t>aM  tfytiO  JlyMP^attt%^'^  and  6i  ifapj    «j. 
-  ,  or,    \ottH   thf   map*  ooioured. 
It.  eo. 

Pipe's  Poetical    Works.     K<l;fe<l   by 

ICoxRBT    CAaxuTiKiuj.        ^u'nmut    An- 
grtvingt.    3  vula. 


Pope's    Homer's  Iliad.   With  Intro 

auLlloO  iu,J  .Note*  by  J.  S.  WAfnoK.  At. a. 
lUuMtraUd  by  t)u  enlire  Ser-ui  nf  Haa- 
•Ji.'i  iMtignt.  beaiM'.fiUl]/  t»nTOM«l  ^ 
Mntrt  (rn  Uir.  fuil  fvo.  tiif). 

Homer's    Odyssey,    Hymas, 

^c  by  ut^ier  traiuUiors    laclndltgc  Lliap- 
QAii.  and  Inlruducilim  and  .Note*  by  J.  8. 
Watson,  .^t.A.    >7<ix<fuiTi*«  I'ttigns  beau 
tiftUiy  enffmned  by  Uotet. 


Life,      fnciudini;  niany  of  his 

L«tlon.     Hy  KtiBucr  CaascTRna.     New 

KdlUoarvvUrd  and  aiilarKed.  /UuitraSoR-.. 

Th»  }i:cct^\nf/  b  MJu.  mane  a  oonpleU 

Ofij  eUgant  edition  of  Pi'pe't  PoMieai 

Works  and  TrtntUitiont  for  2Bt 

Pottery  and  Porcelain,  and  other  Ob- 

Jucta  of  Venn  (a  liolUe  to  tha  Knowledge 
of).   To  which  Is  addMl  an  Kn^aved  List 
of  Marks   and  Mouograma.      By  Hzmbt 
U.  UoRH.     .Vum«rout  hncravinft. 
— — — ;   OT,  coimtreU.      10m.  H'' 

Front's  (Father;  Beliqiics.  Revised 
Kdition.  Twenty-vne  simUcd  J-.tcMmjt 
by  .ilacUse.     Cs. 

Becreations  is  Shooting.  by 
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■iarocy.  and  9  Kn^frc-ino*  on  SU^  akie/iy 
lifter  A.  rooper,  H.A. 

Bedding  s  History  and  Descrlpuons 

of  WiDOB.  Aiici.^nt  a/iii  Moiurn.  TVxncy 
baiul\fxti  K'c>od/-iU*. 

Bennies   Insect   Architootnre.    a««> 

KdUion.  Revised  by  the  Kav.  J.  (i. 
W<K>D,  M-a. 

Bcuiiuon  Cmsoe.     With  IliuRtmuons 

by  lsTt/rii,VKD  and  IIabvit.  7\ueiBc  beauti- 
ful Sytgramnoi  on  Ateel.  and  It  on  »'o»<t. 

;  or,  without  the  St'-iU  ilUistrti. 

(tons,  3t.  6d. 

Borne  in  tha  Nineteenth  Ceninry. 
New  Edition  Revised  bv  the  Aatbor. 
iUustraUd  by  34  Ste/l  iCni/ramngi , 
3  vols. 

Sharpe's  History  of  Egypt.  (Vom  the 
hjirlii-st  Timiit  till  the  Ctiiiquest  by  the 
Arabs,  A.D.  640.  By  Samukl  Shabpk. 
With  3  Mnpe  snd  npnards  of  400  Illus- 
trative WwKlcuta.  Siath  and  Cheaper 
Kdltlon.     3  vobt. 

Sonthey'i   Life   of  Nelson.        With 

Addltlnnal    Nciten.      JUuttruted   leitA  64 

Stai'ling's     Miss     Noble   Deeds    of 

Wiimeo  ;  or,  f.XA-nplcs  of  Kfltnale  Cr)nr»((c, 
-nriiiuile,  and  V'lr'ne.  itmrtrtn  JUuiira- 
tximt 

Stuart  and  Bevett's  Antiqaities  cf 

AlheiLi.  aud  itnt^t  Monuuitinta  of  (ire«ce. 
rUuit^aUd  in  71  SUal  fUU:  and  itM> 
merxfut  WondcuU. 

2S 


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Tasso's  Jerusalem  Delivered.  Trans- 
lated Into  English  Spenserian  Verse,  witli 
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Sight  Engravingt  on  Steel,  ftnd  34  on 
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Walker's  Manly  Exercises.  Ck)n- 
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Walton's  Complete  Angler.  Edited 
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Wellington,  Life  of.  From  the  ma- 
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Westropp's  Handbook  of  Archaeology 

New  Edition,  revised.  Numerous  Jllus- 
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White's    Natural    Hiatory  of    Sel- 

borne.  With  Notes  by  Sir  Wujjam  Jab- 
DINS  and  Edwaeii  Jbssic,  Esq.  tUuttratid 
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CLASSICAL  LIBRARY. 

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Verse  by  A.  S\van\vick. 

.     Liiierally      Translated      into 

English  ProEe  by  am  Oxonian.    Zt.  Qd. 

,  Appendix  to.  Containing 
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moTU  Edition  of  jSschylea.  By  (iBOBOS 
BuBGKS,  M.A.     Zs.  ed. 

Ammianus  Marcellinus.  History  of 
Kome  from  Ccnstantlns  to  Valena.  Tran;  - 
l«t«dbyC.D.yoNOE.B.A.  Dble. voI..7«.  6d. 

Antoninus.     The  Thoughts  of  the 

Emperor  Marcus  Anrelius.    Translated  by 
Qbo.  Lomq.  M.A.    3«.  6<L 

ApuleioB,  the  Golden  Ass ;  Death  of 

Socrates ;  Florida ;  and  Diticimree  on  Magic. 
To  which  Ui  added  •  Metrlra!  Version  ot 
Cupid  auid  Psyche ;  And  Mn.  Tlghu'ii 
Psvnhe.  FYontisTni'xe. 
Aristophanee'  Comediea.  Literally 
Translated,  with  Notes  and  Extracts  from 
Frere'B  and  other  Metrical  Versions,  by 

W.  J.  UlOEIB.     2  voU. 
VoL  1.   Achamlana,    Knights,    01oad«, 

Wasps,  Peace,  and  Birds. 
Vol.  2.   Lyslstrata,  Thesmophoriazusw, 
Frogs,  Eccleslttzuste.  and  Plums. 

Aristatle's  Ethics.  Litwi-ally  Trans- 
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Professor  of  Klne's  CoUeRe. 

Politics    and     Economics. 

Trauslated  by  E.  Walfobd,  M.A. 

Metaphysics.  Literally  Trans- 
lated, with  Notes,  Analysis,  Ezamlnatloc 
Qaestlous,  and  Index,  by  the  Rev.  Joh> 
H.  M'Mahom,  M.A.,  and  (iuld  Medallist  In 
Metaphysics,  T.C.O. 
26 


Aristotle's  History  of  Animals.  In  Ten 

Books.   Translated,  with  Notes  and  Index, 
by  RioHABD  Cbbssweix,  ma. 

Organon;  or,  Logical  Trea- 


tises. With  Notes,  &c.  By  0.  F.  Owkh,M.A. 
2  vols.,  3s.  6d.  each. 

Rhetoric  and  Poetics.    Lite- 


rally Translated,  with  Examination  Qnes- 
Uons  and  Notes,  by  an  Oxonian. 

Athenaeas.  The  Deipnosophists ;  or, 
the  Banquet  of  tha  Learned.  Tranalatod 
by  C.  D.  YoNQK,  BJL    3  vols. 

Caesar.  Complete,  with  the  Alejau- 
drlan,  African,  and  Spanish  Wars.  Lite- 
rally Translated,  with  Notes. 

Catullus,  TibulluBj  and  the  Vigil  of 

Venua.  A  Uteral  Ptose  Translation.  To 
which  are  added  Metrical  Versions  by 
Lam:b.  Osasioeb,  and  otherc.  Vrontit- 
piece. 

Cicero's  Orations.  Literally  Trans- 
lated by  C.  I).  YoHuK,  B.A.    In  4  vols. 

Vol.  i.  Containfi  the  Uiatloni  aealntt 
VerreB,  *.c.     Portrait. 

VoL  3.  Catlllno,  Archia*.  Agrarian 
Law,  Kablrlua,  Murena,  Sylla,  &c. 

Vol.  3.  Orations  for  his  House,  Planclu*. 
Sextlng,  Coallaa.  Milo,  LIgnrios,  Ac 

VoL  4.  Miscellaneous  Orations,  and 
Rhetorical  Works,  with  (ieueiMl  In- 
dex to  the  ionr  volnraeii. 

on  the  Nature  of  the  Gods, 

Divination,  !''iite,  Ijuwd,  a  iiepnbllc,  Ac. 
rranslated  b?  C.  l).  YoNOX,  B.A.,  and 
K.  Hakham. 


BOHirS  VAHUWB  LlBBARlKb. 


Cioeros  &.cadeinlc»,  De  Finiba*,  and 
llutcaliD  iJufBtloin.  By  C.  I).  Yo:.oi, 
B  A  vVllh  Sketch  of  tie  Greek  PWlo- 
eupher 

Offlc«a,  Old  Ago,  FriendBhip, 

6clplo'(   Dream.  Paruiozc*.  Ac     Lat«r«Uy 
'>»;iii<»t~'-).  I'v  K.  KnMonna.    "*$.  fU'. 

on  Oratory  and  Oratora.    By 

r.  b.  Watbun.  m.a. 

Demoatiiunet'  Orations.     I'rauslatea, 
with  NotOb,  by  C  iUJH)   KJOraiAI.     U)  S 
volaruea. 
Vcl.  1.  The  OlyriUilBC,  PhUlpulo,  Bsd 

other  Pabtio  Ormiloni.    3<-  6a 
Vol.  X  Od  the  Cr^wn  luid  oo  the  Ka- 

baiuty. 
Vol.  3.  A«&lnat  LtfjnUi«a,  aUdlaa,  An- 

drotrloD,  and  Arlittocrst^e. 
VoL  i.  Private  miil  otoer  UratJoQ* 
Vol.  B.  MigcdlUiieous  Uralloiut. 

Dictionary  of  Latin  Quota tioas.    lz>- 

dadlnij  Proverlje,  Mmlnia,  &lult(wa,  Lnw 
Terms,  and  Phrueee ;  and  a  Collection  o 
above  6oO  Greek  Qaotatloca.  Wit  h  all  thi 
qoantltloa  marked,  &  KD^llsh  TranalaUona. 

,  with  Index  Verbonua.      6i. 

Index  Vcrbonim  only.     U. 

Dio^eues  Laartioa.  Lives  and  Op.n- 
lona  of  the  Andor.t  Phlloeopbers.  Tnuui 
■atfld,  with  Notea,  by  C  D.  Tonaa. 

Epictetus.      DiM;ourse.s,  with  Kiichei- 
ridion  and    FragniPiils.     Translated  with 
Notes,  bytjioiBOK  Lono,  M.A. 
Koripides.  Liter<iily  Translated.  2  Tola. 
VoL  1.  Hecnba,  Orestei,  .Medea,  Hlppo- 
lytua,  Aioeitllfi,   B«ocha>,  UeracUds. 
Ipbtpenla  In  Aoilde,  and  Iphlgeola  Ir 
TanrU. 
Vol.  3.  Hcrcnlea  Knrena,  Troadee,  loo 
Andromache,      Sappllanta,      Helen, 
Klectra.  Cyclopa,  Hlieaua. 

0reek  Anthology.  Literally  Traiu 
lated.  With  Metric^  VunUunji  by  varlonk 
Authort. 

Bomancoi    of     Heliodorna. 

bonKn^  and  AchiDe*  Taual. 
Herodotoa.         A     New    and     Literal 
Tran-sUtlon,  by   Hpnay   CAJtr.  M_l.,  of 

WorcooliT  College,  Oxford. 

Hesiod,  Callimachaa,  and  Theognl* 
Literally  Tnuialated,  wl..h  Notea,  by  J. 
Banks,  M.A 

Homer'i  Iliad.     Literally  Tr»wiiat<xi 

Odyssey,  Hymna,  tn.      Lit^ 

rally  Tranalated. 

Horaea.  Lit«rall;  Trauslated,  hy 
Smakt.   Carefully  revUed  by  ao  Oxonia.n. 

lastin,  Cornelias  Nepoa,  and  Eatro- 

plos.      Literally   Translated,    with    Nui''« 
aod  Index,  by  J.  S.  WAnoR.  M.a. 


Juvenal,  Persius,  Solpicia,  and  La- 
dllna  Bt  U  Kva.vs.  M.A.  With  th» 
Metrical  Venlon  by  UlOord.    FrfmiiMyuct 

Livy.      A  new  aniJ  Litem]  Trannlatiou 
By  Ur.  .Spin  AM  Bad  othera.     In  4  vols. 
VoL  1.  Contains  Books  1— it. 
VoL  a    Book*  »— ab. 
VoL  3.  Book!  27—36. 
Vol.  4    Books  37  tu  the  cud ;  and  index, 

Lacan's  Fharsalia.  Transbted,  vritb 
Nulea,  by  U.  T.  Kiucx. 

Laeretins.  Lit«nilly  Translated,  with 
Notea,  bv  the  Kov.  J.  S.  Wat»o:i,  M.A 
And  the  Metrical  Version  by  J.  M.  Good. 

Martial's  Epi^ams,  complete.  Lite- 
rally Tnuulated.  ICach  accompaniwi  by 
ooe  or  more  Verse  Traniilailons  selected 
from  the  Works  of  KDKliah  Poets,  and 
other  aooroee.  With  a  copluus  Index. 
r>oable  volome  (660  pages).    }l-  ed. 

Orid'i  Works,  complete.  Litei^y 
Translated.    3  vols. 

VoL  1.  Kasti.  TrlBtta,  KpUtlea,  te. 

Vol.  3.  Metamurpboaes. 

VoL  3.  Heroldea,  Art  of  Love,  ftc. 

Pindar.  Lit^mlly  TranBlated.  by  Daw- 
vxi  W.  TuRMEn,  and  the  Metrical  Versloa 
by  ABBAaAM  Muobs. 

Plato's   Works.      Translated   by  the 
Hev.  H.  Cast  and  others.    In  6  vols. 
Vol.  1.  The  ApoluKy  of  Socrates,  Crlto, 

Plubdu,  GoFRids,  Protagoras,  Pbffidms, 

Thewtetos,  Kuthyphron.  Lysis. 
VoL  X  The  liepablic.  Timiens,  A  CrlUas. 
VoL  3.    Meuo.   tnthydemns,  Tb«   So* 

phist,  Statesman.    Cratylos,    Paime- 

nidos.  and  the  Banquet 
VoL   4.    PhUebns.  Charmldes,  Laches, 

The  Two  AJdblades,  and  Teii  other 

Dialogues. 
VoL  6.  The  Laws. 
VoL   6.    The   DoQbtfttl  Works.    With 

General  ladsx. 

Dialogues,   an    Analysis    and 

Index  to.  With  Kolercnc*4  to  the  Trans- 
lation In  Bohn'i  CUasJcal  Library.  By  Dr 
Uat. 

Plautus'i  Comedies.  Literally  Tran^- 
late-L  with  Notes,  by  H.  T.  Kuxr,  BJL 
In  a  Tola 

Pliny's  Natural  History.  Translated, 
with  Copious  Notes,  by  the  lale  Jom 
BosTPoot.  M.l>..  KJt-S..  and  H.  T.  Riixr. 
R.A      *n  s  vo'.s 

Pliny  the  Younger,  The  Letters  of. 

MKLMfrTiT.-  Trrtn.-lutliiii  r<'vl.-.ed.  liy  the 
Itev.  F.  C.  T.  DosANMDKT,  M.A. 

Propertiaa,  Petromus,  and  Johannea 

Secnndtis,  and  Ari.->tt'ii.u-tU!i  Llt<  rally 
Translated,  and  accompanied  by  Poetical 
Versions,  from  v«r'ouH  sources 

27 


A  CATALOOJJE  OF 


Qaintilian'i  Institates  of  Oratoiy. 

Literally  Translat^id,  with  Notes    fc:^  by    i 
J.  S.  Watsoh.  ALA.     In  2  vols. 

Sallnst,  Floms,  and  Velleias  Patei- 

cuIqb.  With  Copiuas  Noti;.g,  Biographical 
Notices,  and  Index,  by  J.  S.  Watson. 

Sophocles.  The  Oxford  Translation 
revised. 

Standard  Library  Atlan  of  Classical 

Geography.  7^jjenty-two  large  colowed 
Jfapt  according  to  the  lategt  authorititt. 
With  a  complete  Indei  (accea'aated), 
giving  thp  latitndo  and  longitoda  of  every 
place  named  In  the  Maps.  Inxp.  8vo.  It.  6d. 

Strabo'i  Geography.  Translated, 
with  CoplotM  Notes,  by  W.  Fajxxineb, 
M.A.,  and  H.  C.  Hamiltok,  Esq.  Wltb 
Index,  giving  the  Ancient  and  Modem 
Names.    In  3  vols.  ! 

Saetonios"    Lives    of    the   Twelve 

Csesars,  and  other  Works.  Tbomson't 
Translation,  revised,  with   Notes,   by  T. 

FOBXSTEB. 


Tacitus.      Literally  Translated,    with 
Notes.    In  a  vols. 
Vol.  1.  The  Annals. 

Vol.  J.  The    History,  (iermsau^  Agri- 
oolB,  &c.    With  Index. 
Terence  and  Phsedrus.    By   E.   T. 

RlLKT.  B.A. 

Theocritus,     Bion,     Moschus,    and 
l>rtajas.    By  J.  Banks,  M.A.    With  the 
Metrical  Versions  of  Chapman. 
Thucydideb.      Literally  Translat-^  by 
^v.  U.  DA.LJI.     In  3  vols.     3*.  6d.  each. 
Virgil.    Literally  Translated  by  David  • 
sob   Vew  Rdltlnii.  carefully  revlaed  3«.  Od. 
Xenophon's  Works,     m  3  Vols. 

Vo\.  1.  The  Anabasis  and  MemorabtlU. 
Translated,  with  Notes,  by  J.  S.  Wat- 
30W,  M.A.  And  a  Geographical  Com- 
mentary,  by  W.  F.  Ainswobth,  F.S.A., 
F.a.G.S.,  fcc. 
7ol.  2.  Cyropssdla  sad  dollenlca.  By 
J.  S.  Watson.  M.A.,  and  the  Bw.  H. 
Dalk. 
^ol.  3  The  ailnof  Worm.  Bj  J.  8. 
Waisoh,  M.A. 


SCIENTIFIC  LIBRARY. 

57   Tols,  at  6;.  each,  lacefcvng  those  mwrirad  othxrvut. 


Agassiz  and    Gould's   Oomparative 

Physiology.     Enlarged  by  Dr.  Weight. 
Cpwarda  qf  «00  Sngravingt. 

Bacon's  Novum  Organum  and  Ad- 
vancement of  Learning.  Complete,  wltb 
Notes,  by  J.  Ukvkt,  M.A. 

Bailey's  Manual  of  Technical  Analy- 
ilB.  A  Gnlde  for  the  Testing  of  Natural 
and  Artificial  Substances.  By  B.  .3.  Paul. 
100  Wood  Sngravingi, 

BEIDGEWATES      TBEATISES.— 

Bell  on  the  Hand.  Its  Mecha- 
nism and  Vital  Endowments  as  evincing 
Depign.     Seventh  Edition  Revited. 

Kirby  or.  the  History,  Habita, 

»nd  Instincts  of  inima's.    Edited,  wltb 
Notes,   by  T.  Rymbb  JoNiaa.     NwintroM 
Engramngi.  mant- of  which  are  ndditionai. 
In  3  volt. 
-  Kidd  on  the  Adaptation  ei 

Bxterual  Natnre  to  the  Physical  Condition 
ot  Man.     3s.  6d. 

"Wheweirs  Astronomy    and 

General  Physics,    considered   with   refei- 
en-M  to  Natural  Theology,     it.  6d. 

Chalmers  on  the  Adaptation 

of  Kxtemal  Nature  to  the  Moral  and  in- 
tellectual Coustltation  uf  Man. 
28 


BPUXJEWATER  TREATISES— con f. 

■ Prout's  Treatise  on  Chemia- 

try.  Meteorology,  and  Digestion.  Edited 
by  Dr.  J.  W.  Qbipfith. 

Buckland's     €teology     and 

Mineralogy.      3  vols.    16t. 

'  Boget's  Animal  and  V^e- 

table  Physiology.  lUuttrated.  In  3  vols. 
St.  each. 

Carpenter's  (Dr.  W.  B.)  Zoology.    A 

Systematic  View  of  the  Structure,  Habits, 
Instincts,  and  Uses,  of  the  principal  Fami- 
lies of  the  Animal  Kingdom,  and  of  the 
chief  forms  of  Fossil  Remains.  Ravised 
by  W.  S.  Dallas,  rM..S.  Illustrated  witn 
many  hundred  Wood  Bngrarringt.  In 
2  vols.  6*.  each. 

-  Mechanical  Philosophy,  As- 


tronomy, auti  Horology.     A  Popular  E"- 
position.     I8i  lUuttrationt. 

Vegetable   Physiology  and 


S/st<fmatic  Botany.      4  complete   Inu-i.' 
dnctlon    to    tne    Knowledge   of     Plai.ti. 
ReWued,  under  arraugement   wltb     ibe 
Author,    by    K.    [.^ANucEarKB,    M.D.,    fcc. 
Several  hundred  flhittratutnt  on  Wood.  K(. 


■  Animal  Physiology.     In  paii 

re-wrlttcD   by    'hf   Aul.hoi.      Cp-  ora«  of 
SM  ou^/iicU  ihtutratumt.    6t. 


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