THE SQUIRE’S TALE…

THE SQUIRE’S TALE

THE PROLOGUE.

“HEY! Godde’s mercy!” said our Hoste tho,* *then “Now such a wife I pray God keep me fro’. Lo, suche sleightes and subtilities In women be; for aye as busy as bees Are they us silly men for to deceive, And from the soothe* will they ever weive,** *truth **swerve, depart As this Merchante’s tale it proveth well. But natheless, as true as any steel, I have a wife, though that she poore be; But of her tongue a labbing* shrew is she; *chattering And yet* she hath a heap of vices mo’. *moreover Thereof *no force;* let all such thinges go. *no matter* But wit* ye what? in counsel** be it said, *know **secret, confidence Me rueth sore I am unto her tied; For, an’* I shoulde reckon every vice *if Which that she hath, y-wis* I were too nice;** *certainly **foolish And cause why, it should reported be And told her by some of this company (By whom, it needeth not for to declare, Since women connen utter such chaffare <1>), And eke my wit sufficeth not thereto To tellen all; wherefore my tale is do.* *done Squier, come near, if it your wille be, And say somewhat of love, for certes ye *Conne thereon* as much as any man.” *know about it* “Nay, Sir,” quoth he; “but such thing as I can, With hearty will, — for I will not rebel Against your lust,* — a tale will I tell. *pleasure Have me excused if I speak amiss; My will is good; and lo, my tale is this.”

Notes to the Prologue to the Squire’s Tale

1. Women connen utter such chaffare: women are adepts at giving circulation to such wares. The Host evidently means that his wife would be sure to hear of his confessions from some female member of the company.

THE TALE.<1>

*Pars Prima.* *First part*

At Sarra, in the land of Tartary, There dwelt a king that warrayed* Russie, <2> *made war on Through which there died many a doughty man; This noble king was called Cambuscan,<3> Which in his time was of so great renown, That there was nowhere in no regioun So excellent a lord in alle thing: Him lacked nought that longeth to a king, As of the sect of which that he was born. He kept his law to which he was y-sworn, And thereto* he was hardy, wise, and rich, *moreover, besides And piteous and just, always y-lich;* *alike, even-tempered True of his word, benign and honourable; *Of his corage as any centre stable;* *firm, immovable of spirit* Young, fresh, and strong, in armes desirous As any bachelor of all his house. A fair person he was, and fortunate, And kept alway so well his royal estate, That there was nowhere such another man. This noble king, this Tartar Cambuscan, Hadde two sons by Elfeta his wife, Of which the eldest highte Algarsife, The other was y-called Camballo. A daughter had this worthy king also, That youngest was, and highte Canace: But for to telle you all her beauty, It lies not in my tongue, nor my conning;* *skill I dare not undertake so high a thing: Mine English eke is insufficient, It muste be a rhetor* excellent, *orator *That couth his colours longing for that art,* * see <4>* If he should her describen any part; I am none such, I must speak as I can.

And so befell, that when this Cambuscan Had twenty winters borne his diadem, As he was wont from year to year, I deem, He let *the feast of his nativity* *his birthday party* *Do crye,* throughout Sarra his city, *be proclaimed* The last Idus of March, after the year. Phoebus the sun full jolly was and clear, For he was nigh his exaltation In Marte’s face, and in his mansion <5> In Aries, the choleric hot sign: Full lusty* was the weather and benign; *pleasant For which the fowls against the sunne sheen,* *bright What for the season and the younge green, Full loude sange their affections: Them seemed to have got protections Against the sword of winter keen and cold. This Cambuscan, of which I have you told, In royal vesture, sat upon his dais, With diadem, full high in his palace; And held his feast so solemn and so rich, That in this worlde was there none it lich.* *like Of which if I should tell all the array, Then would it occupy a summer’s day; And eke it needeth not for to devise* *describe At every course the order of service. I will not tellen of their strange sewes,* *dishes <6> Nor of their swannes, nor their heronsews.* *young herons <7> Eke in that land, as telle knightes old, There is some meat that is full dainty hold, That in this land men *reck of* it full small: *care for* There is no man that may reporten all. I will not tarry you, for it is prime, And for it is no fruit, but loss of time; Unto my purpose* I will have recourse. *story <8> And so befell that, after the third course, While that this king sat thus in his nobley,* *noble array Hearing his ministreles their thinges play Before him at his board deliciously, In at the halle door all suddenly There came a knight upon a steed of brass, And in his hand a broad mirror of glass; Upon his thumb he had of gold a ring, And by his side a naked sword hanging: And up he rode unto the highe board. In all the hall was there not spoke a word, For marvel of this knight; him to behold Full busily they waited,* young and old. *watched

This strange knight, that came thus suddenly, All armed, save his head, full richely, Saluted king, and queen, and lordes all, By order as they satten in the hall, With so high reverence and observance, As well in speech as in his countenance, That Gawain <9> with his olde courtesy, Though he were come again out of Faerie, Him *coulde not amende with a word.* *could not better him And after this, before the highe board, by one word* He with a manly voice said his message, After the form used in his language, Withoute vice* of syllable or letter. *fault And, for his tale shoulde seem the better, Accordant to his worde’s was his cheer,* *demeanour As teacheth art of speech them that it lear.* *learn Albeit that I cannot sound his style, Nor cannot climb over so high a stile, Yet say I this, as to *commune intent,* *general sense or meaning* *Thus much amounteth* all that ever he meant, *this is the sum of* If it so be that I have it in mind. He said; “The king of Araby and Ind, My liege lord, on this solemne day Saluteth you as he best can and may, And sendeth you, in honour of your feast, By me, that am all ready at your hest,* *command This steed of brass, that easily and well Can in the space of one day naturel (This is to say, in four-and-twenty hours), Whereso you list, in drought or else in show’rs, Beare your body into every place To which your hearte willeth for to pace,* *pass, go Withoute wem* of you, through foul or fair. *hurt, injury Or if you list to fly as high in air As doth an eagle, when him list to soar, This same steed shall bear you evermore Withoute harm, till ye be where *you lest* *it pleases you* (Though that ye sleepen on his back, or rest), And turn again, with writhing* of a pin. *twisting He that it wrought, he coude* many a gin;** *knew **contrivance <10> He waited* in any a constellation, *observed Ere he had done this operation, And knew full many a seal <11> and many a bond This mirror eke, that I have in mine hond, Hath such a might, that men may in it see When there shall fall any adversity Unto your realm, or to yourself also, And openly who is your friend or foe. And over all this, if any lady bright Hath set her heart on any manner wight, If he be false, she shall his treason see, His newe love, and all his subtlety, So openly that there shall nothing hide. Wherefore, against this lusty summer-tide, This mirror, and this ring that ye may see, He hath sent to my lady Canace, Your excellente daughter that is here. The virtue of this ring, if ye will hear, Is this, that if her list it for to wear Upon her thumb, or in her purse it bear, There is no fowl that flyeth under heaven, That she shall not well understand his steven,* *speech, sound And know his meaning openly and plain, And answer him in his language again: And every grass that groweth upon root She shall eke know, to whom it will do boot,* *remedy All be his woundes ne’er so deep and wide. This naked sword, that hangeth by my side, Such virtue hath, that what man that it smite, Throughout his armour it will carve and bite, Were it as thick as is a branched oak: And what man is y-wounded with the stroke Shall ne’er be whole, till that you list, of grace, To stroke him with the flat in thilke* place *the same Where he is hurt; this is as much to sayn, Ye muste with the flatte sword again Stroke him upon the wound, and it will close. This is the very sooth, withoute glose;* *deceit It faileth not, while it is in your hold.”

And when this knight had thus his tale told, He rode out of the hall, and down he light. His steede, which that shone as sunne bright, Stood in the court as still as any stone. The knight is to his chamber led anon, And is unarmed, and to meat y-set.* *seated These presents be full richely y-fet,* — *fetched This is to say, the sword and the mirrour, — And borne anon into the highe tow’r, With certain officers ordain’d therefor; And unto Canace the ring is bore Solemnely, where she sat at the table; But sickerly, withouten any fable, The horse of brass, that may not be remued.* *removed <12> It stood as it were to the ground y-glued; There may no man out of the place it drive For no engine of windlass or polive; * *pulley And cause why, for they *can not the craft;* *know not the cunning And therefore in the place they have it laft, of the mechanism* Till that the knight hath taught them the mannere To voide* him, as ye shall after hear. *remove

Great was the press, that swarmed to and fro To gauren* on this horse that stoode so: *gaze For it so high was, and so broad and long, So well proportioned for to be strong, Right as it were a steed of Lombardy; Therewith so horsely, and so quick of eye, As it a gentle Poileis <13> courser were: For certes, from his tail unto his ear Nature nor art ne could him not amend In no degree, as all the people wend.* *weened, thought But evermore their moste wonder was How that it coulde go, and was of brass; It was of Faerie, as the people seem’d. Diverse folk diversely they deem’d; As many heads, as many wittes been. They murmured, as doth a swarm of been,* *bees And made skills* after their fantasies, *reasons Rehearsing of the olde poetries, And said that it was like the Pegasee,* *Pegasus The horse that hadde winges for to flee;* *fly Or else it was the Greeke’s horse Sinon,<14> That broughte Troye to destruction, As men may in the olde gestes* read. *tales of adventures Mine heart,” quoth one, “is evermore in dread; I trow some men of armes be therein, That shape* them this city for to win: *design, prepare It were right good that all such thing were know.” Another rowned* to his fellow low, *whispered And said, “He lies; for it is rather like An apparence made by some magic, As jugglers playen at these feastes great.” Of sundry doubts they jangle thus and treat. As lewed* people deeme commonly *ignorant Of thinges that be made more subtilly Than they can in their lewdness comprehend; They *deeme gladly to the badder end.* *are ready to think And some of them wonder’d on the mirrour, the worst* That borne was up into the master* tow’r, *chief <15> How men might in it suche thinges see. Another answer’d and said, it might well be Naturally by compositions Of angles, and of sly reflections; And saide that in Rome was such a one. They speak of Alhazen and Vitellon,<16> And Aristotle, that wrote in their lives Of quainte* mirrors, and of prospectives, *curious As knowe they that have their bookes heard. And other folk have wonder’d on the swerd,* *sword That woulde pierce throughout every thing; And fell in speech of Telephus the king, And of Achilles for his quainte spear, <17> For he could with it bothe heal and dere,* *wound Right in such wise as men may with the swerd Of which right now ye have yourselves heard. They spake of sundry hard’ning of metal, And spake of medicines therewithal, And how, and when, it shoulde harden’d be, Which is unknowen algate* unto me. *however Then spake they of Canacee’s ring, And saiden all, that such a wondrous thing Of craft of rings heard they never none, Save that he, Moses, and King Solomon, Hadden *a name of conning* in such art. *a reputation for Thus said the people, and drew them apart. knowledge* Put natheless some saide that it was Wonder to maken of fern ashes glass, And yet is glass nought like ashes of fern; *But for* they have y-knowen it so ferne** *because **before <18> Therefore ceaseth their jangling and their wonder. As sore wonder some on cause of thunder, On ebb and flood, on gossamer and mist, And on all things, till that the cause is wist.* *known Thus jangle they, and deemen and devise, Till that the king gan from his board arise.

Phoebus had left the angle meridional, And yet ascending was the beast royal, The gentle Lion, with his Aldrian, <19> When that this Tartar king, this Cambuscan, Rose from the board, there as he sat full high Before him went the loude minstrelsy, Till he came to his chamber of parements,<20> There as they sounded diverse instruments, That it was like a heaven for to hear. Now danced lusty Venus’ children dear: For in the Fish* their lady sat full *Pisces And looked on them with a friendly eye. <21> This noble king is set upon his throne; This strange knight is fetched to him full sone,* *soon And on the dance he goes with Canace. Here is the revel and the jollity, That is not able a dull man to devise:* *describe He must have knowen love and his service, And been a feastly* man, as fresh as May, *merry, gay That shoulde you devise such array. Who coulde telle you the form of dances So uncouth,* and so freshe countenances** *unfamliar **gestures Such subtle lookings and dissimulances, For dread of jealous men’s apperceivings? No man but Launcelot,<22> and he is dead. Therefore I pass o’er all this lustihead* *pleasantness I say no more, but in this jolliness I leave them, till to supper men them dress. The steward bids the spices for to hie* *haste And eke the wine, in all this melody; The ushers and the squiers be y-gone, The spices and the wine is come anon; They eat and drink, and when this hath an end, Unto the temple, as reason was, they wend; The service done, they suppen all by day What needeth you rehearse their array? Each man wot well, that at a kinge’s feast Is plenty, to the most*, and to the least, *highest And dainties more than be in my knowing.

At after supper went this noble king To see the horse of brass, with all a rout Of lordes and of ladies him about. Such wond’ring was there on this horse of brass, That, since the great siege of Troye was, There as men wonder’d on a horse also, Ne’er was there such a wond’ring as was tho.* *there But finally the king asked the knight The virtue of this courser, and the might, And prayed him to tell his governance.* *mode of managing him The horse anon began to trip and dance, When that the knight laid hand upon his rein, And saide, “Sir, there is no more to sayn, But when you list to riden anywhere, Ye muste trill* a pin, stands in his ear, *turn <23> Which I shall telle you betwixt us two; Ye muste name him to what place also, Or to what country that you list to ride. And when ye come where you list abide, Bid him descend, and trill another pin (For therein lies th’ effect of all the gin*), *contrivance <10> And he will down descend and do your will, And in that place he will abide still; Though all the world had the contrary swore, He shall not thence be throwen nor be bore. Or, if you list to bid him thennes gon, Trill this pin, and he will vanish anon Out of the sight of every manner wight, And come again, be it by day or night, When that you list to clepe* him again *call In such a guise, as I shall to you sayn Betwixte you and me, and that full soon. Ride <24> when you list, there is no more to do’n.’ Informed when the king was of the knight, And had conceived in his wit aright The manner and the form of all this thing, Full glad and blithe, this noble doughty king Repaired to his revel as beforn. The bridle is into the tower borne, And kept among his jewels lefe* and dear; *cherished The horse vanish’d, I n’ot* in what mannere, *know not Out of their sight; ye get no more of me: But thus I leave in lust and jollity This Cambuscan his lordes feastying,* *entertaining <25> Until well nigh the day began to spring.

*Pars Secunda.* *Second Part*

The norice* of digestion, the sleep, *nurse Gan on them wink, and bade them take keep,* *heed That muche mirth and labour will have rest. And with a gaping* mouth he all them kest,** *yawning **kissed And said, that it was time to lie down, For blood was in his dominatioun: <26> “Cherish the blood, nature’s friend,” quoth he. They thanked him gaping, by two and three; And every wight gan draw him to his rest; As sleep them bade, they took it for the best. Their dreames shall not now be told for me; Full are their heades of fumosity,<27> That caused dreams *of which there is no charge:* *of no significance* They slepte; till that, it was *prime large,* *late morning* The moste part, but* it was Canace; *except She was full measurable,* as women be: *moderate For of her father had she ta’en her leave To go to rest, soon after it was eve; Her liste not appalled* for to be; *to look pale Nor on the morrow *unfeastly for to see;* *to look sad, depressed* And slept her firste sleep; and then awoke. For such a joy she in her hearte took Both of her quainte a ring and her mirrour,. That twenty times she changed her colour; And in her sleep, right for th’ impression Of her mirror, she had a vision. Wherefore, ere that the sunne gan up glide, She call’d upon her mistress’* her beside, *governesses And saide, that her liste for to rise.

These olde women, that be gladly wise As are her mistresses answer’d anon, And said; “Madame, whither will ye gon Thus early? for the folk be all in rest.” “I will,” quoth she, “arise; for me lest No longer for to sleep, and walk about.” Her mistresses call’d women a great rout, And up they rose, well a ten or twelve; Up rose freshe Canace herselve, As ruddy and bright as is the yonnge sun That in the Ram is four degrees y-run; No higher was he, when she ready was; And forth she walked easily a pace, Array’d after the lusty* season swoot,** *pleasant **sweet Lightely for to play, and walk on foot, Nought but with five or six of her meinie; And in a trench* forth in the park went she. *sunken path The vapour, which up from the earthe glode,* *glided Made the sun to seem ruddy and broad: But, natheless, it was so fair a sight That it made all their heartes for to light,* *be lightened, glad What for the season and the morrowning, And for the fowles that she hearde sing. For right anon she wiste* what they meant *knew Right by their song, and knew all their intent. The knotte,* why that every tale is told, *nucleus, chief matter If it be tarried* till the list* be cold *delayed **inclination Of them that have it hearken’d *after yore,* *for a long time* The savour passeth ever longer more; For fulsomness of the prolixity: And by that same reason thinketh me. I shoulde unto the knotte condescend, And maken of her walking soon an end.

Amid a tree fordry*, as white as chalk, *thoroughly dried up There sat a falcon o’er her head full high, That with a piteous voice so gan to cry; That all the wood resounded of her cry, And beat she had herself so piteously With both her winges, till the redde blood Ran endelong* the tree, there as she stood *from top to bottom And ever-in-one* alway she cried and shright;** *incessantly **shrieked And with her beak herselfe she so pight,* *wounded That there is no tiger, nor cruel beast, That dwelleth either in wood or in forest; But would have wept, if that he weepe could, For sorrow of her; she shriek’d alway so loud. For there was never yet no man alive, If that he could a falcon well descrive;* *describe That heard of such another of fairness As well of plumage, as of gentleness; Of shape, of all that mighte reckon’d be. A falcon peregrine seemed she, Of fremde* land; and ever as she stood *foreign <28> She swooned now and now for lack of blood; Till well-nigh is she fallen from the tree.

This faire kinge’s daughter Canace, That on her finger bare the quainte ring, Through which she understood well every thing That any fowl may in his leden* sayn, **language <29> And could him answer in his leden again; Hath understoode what this falcon said, And well-nigh for the ruth* almost she died;. *pity And to the tree she went, full hastily, And on this falcon looked piteously; And held her lap abroad; for well she wist The falcon muste falle from the twist* *twig, bough When that she swooned next, for lack of blood. A longe while to waite her she stood; Till at the last she apake in this mannere Unto the hawk, as ye shall after hear: “What is the cause, if it be for to tell, That ye be in this furial* pain of hell?” *raging, furious Quoth Canace unto this hawk above; “Is this for sorrow of of death; or loss of love? For; as I trow,* these be the causes two; *believe That cause most a gentle hearte woe: Of other harm it needeth not to speak. For ye yourself upon yourself awreak;* *inflict Which proveth well, that either ire or dread* *fear Must be occasion of your cruel deed, Since that I see none other wight you chase: For love of God, as *do yourselfe grace;* *have mercy on Or what may be your help? for, west nor east, yourself* I never saw ere now no bird nor beast That fared with himself so piteously Ye slay me with your sorrow verily; I have of you so great compassioun. For Godde’s love come from the tree adown And, as I am a kinge’s daughter true, If that I verily the causes knew Of your disease,* if it lay in my might, *distress I would amend it, ere that it were night, So wisly help me the great God of kind.** *surely **nature And herbes shall I right enoughe find, To heale with your hurtes hastily.” Then shriek’d this falcon yet more piteously Than ever she did, and fell to ground anon, And lay aswoon, as dead as lies a stone, Till Canace had in her lap her take, Unto that time she gan of swoon awake: And, after that she out of swoon abraid,* *awoke Right in her hawke’s leden thus she said:

“That pity runneth soon in gentle heart (Feeling his simil’tude in paines smart), Is proved every day, as men may see, As well *by work as by authority;* *by experience as by doctrine* For gentle hearte kitheth* gentleness. *sheweth I see well, that ye have on my distress Compassion, my faire Canace, Of very womanly benignity That nature in your princples hath set. But for no hope for to fare the bet,* *better But for t’ obey unto your hearte free, And for to make others aware by me, As by the whelp chastis’d* is the lion, *instructed, corrected Right for that cause and that conclusion, While that I have a leisure and a space, Mine harm I will confessen ere I pace.”* *depart And ever while the one her sorrow told, The other wept, *as she to water wo’ld,* *as if she would dissolve Till that the falcon bade her to be still, into water* And with a sigh right thus she said *her till:* *to her* “Where I was bred (alas that ilke* day!) *same And foster’d in a rock of marble gray So tenderly, that nothing ailed me, I wiste* not what was adversity, *knew Till I could flee* full high under the sky. *fly Then dwell’d a tercelet <30> me faste by, That seem’d a well of alle gentleness; *All were he* full of treason and falseness, *although he was* It was so wrapped *under humble cheer,* *under an aspect And under hue of truth, in such mannere, of humility* Under pleasance, and under busy pain, That no wight weened that he coulde feign, So deep in grain he dyed his colours. Right as a serpent hides him under flow’rs, Till he may see his time for to bite, Right so this god of love’s hypocrite Did so his ceremonies and obeisances, And kept in semblance all his observances, That *sounden unto* gentleness of love. *are consonant to* As on a tomb is all the fair above, And under is the corpse, which that ye wet, Such was this hypocrite, both cold and hot; And in this wise he served his intent, That, save the fiend, none wiste what he meant: Till he so long had weeped and complain’d, And many a year his service to me feign’d, Till that mine heart, too piteous and too nice,* *foolish, simple All innocent of his crowned malice, *Forfeared of his death,* as thoughte me, *greatly afraid lest Upon his oathes and his surety he should die* Granted him love, on this conditioun, That evermore mine honour and renown Were saved, bothe *privy and apert;* *privately and in public* This is to say, that, after his desert, I gave him all my heart and all my thought (God wot, and he, that *other wayes nought*), *in no other way* And took his heart in change of mine for aye. But sooth is said, gone since many a day, A true wight and a thiefe *think not one.* *do not think alike* And when he saw the thing so far y-gone, That I had granted him fully my love, In such a wise as I have said above, And given him my true heart as free As he swore that he gave his heart to me, Anon this tiger, full of doubleness, Fell on his knees with so great humbleness, With so high reverence, as by his cheer,* *mien So like a gentle lover in mannere, So ravish’d, as it seemed, for the joy, That never Jason, nor Paris of Troy, — Jason? certes, nor ever other man, Since Lamech <31> was, that alderfirst* began *first of all To love two, as write folk beforn, Nor ever since the firste man was born, Coulde no man, by twenty thousand Counterfeit the sophimes* of his art; *sophistries, beguilements Where doubleness of feigning should approach, Nor worthy were t’unbuckle his galoche,* *shoe <32> Nor could so thank a wight, as he did me. His manner was a heaven for to see To any woman, were she ne’er so wise; So painted he and kempt,* *at point devise,* *combed, studied As well his wordes as his countenance. *with perfect precision* And I so lov’d him for his obeisance, And for the truth I deemed in his heart, That, if so were that any thing him smart,* *pained All were it ne’er so lite,* and I it wist, *little Methought I felt death at my hearte twist. And shortly, so farforth this thing is went,* *gone That my will was his wille’s instrument; That is to say, my will obey’d his will In alle thing, as far as reason fill,* *fell; allowed Keeping the boundes of my worship ever; And never had I thing *so lefe, or lever,* *so dear, or dearer* As him, God wot, nor never shall no mo’.

“This lasted longer than a year or two, That I supposed of him naught but good. But finally, thus at the last it stood, That fortune woulde that he muste twin* *depart, separate Out of that place which that I was in. Whe’er* me was woe, it is no question; *whether I cannot make of it description. For one thing dare I telle boldely, I know what is the pain of death thereby; Such harm I felt, for he might not byleve.* *stay <33> So on a day of me he took his leave, So sorrowful eke, that I ween’d verily, That he had felt as muche harm as I, When that I heard him speak, and saw his hue. But natheless, I thought he was so true, And eke that he repaire should again Within a little while, sooth to sayn, And reason would eke that he muste go For his honour, as often happ’neth so, That I made virtue of necessity, And took it well, since that it muste be. As I best might, I hid from him my sorrow, And took him by the hand, Saint John to borrow,* *witness, pledge And said him thus; ‘Lo, I am youres all; Be such as I have been to you, and shall.’ What he answer’d, it needs not to rehearse; Who can say bet* than he, who can do worse? *better When he had all well said, then had he done. Therefore behoveth him a full long spoon, That shall eat with a fiend; thus heard I say. So at the last he muste forth his way, And forth he flew, till he came where him lest. When it came him to purpose for to rest, I trow that he had thilke text in mind, That alle thing repairing to his kind Gladdeth himself; <34> thus say men, as I guess; *Men love of [proper] kind newfangleness,* *see note <35>* As birdes do, that men in cages feed. For though thou night and day take of them heed, And strew their cage fair and soft as silk, And give them sugar, honey, bread, and milk, Yet, *right anon as that his door is up,* *immediately on his He with his feet will spurne down his cup, door being opened* And to the wood he will, and wormes eat; So newefangle be they of their meat, And love novelties, of proper kind; No gentleness of bloode may them bind. So far’d this tercelet, alas the day! Though he were gentle born, and fresh, and gay, And goodly for to see, and humble, and free, He saw upon a time a kite flee,* *fly And suddenly he loved this kite so, That all his love is clean from me y-go: And hath his trothe falsed in this wise. Thus hath the kite my love in her service, And I am lorn* withoute remedy.” *lost, undone

And with that word this falcon gan to cry, And swooned eft* in Canacee’s barme** *again **lap Great was the sorrow, for that hawke’s harm, That Canace and all her women made; They wist not how they might the falcon glade.* *gladden But Canace home bare her in her lap, And softely in plasters gan her wrap, There as she with her beak had hurt herselve. Now cannot Canace but herbes delve Out of the ground, and make salves new Of herbes precious and fine of hue, To heale with this hawk; from day to night She did her business, and all her might. And by her bedde’s head she made a mew,* *bird cage And cover’d it with velouettes* blue,<36> *velvets In sign of truth that is in woman seen; And all without the mew is painted green, In which were painted all these false fowls, As be these tidifes,* tercelets, and owls; *titmice And pies, on them for to cry and chide, Right for despite were painted them beside.

Thus leave I Canace her hawk keeping. I will no more as now speak of her ring, Till it come eft* to purpose for to sayn *again How that this falcon got her love again Repentant, as the story telleth us, By mediation of Camballus, The kinge’s son of which that I you told. But henceforth I will my process hold To speak of aventures, and of battailes, That yet was never heard so great marvailles. First I will telle you of Cambuscan, That in his time many a city wan; And after will I speak of Algarsife, How he won Theodora to his wife, For whom full oft in great peril he was, *N’had he* been holpen by the horse of brass. *had he not* And after will I speak of Camballo, <37> That fought in listes with the brethren two For Canace, ere that he might her win; And where I left I will again begin. . . . . <38>

Notes to the Squire’s Tale

1. The Squire’s Tale has not been found under any other form among the literary remains of the Middle Ages; and it is unknown from what original it was derived, if from any. The Tale is unfinished, not because the conclusion has been lost, but because the author left it so.

2. The Russians and Tartars waged constant hostilities between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries.

3. In the best manuscripts the name is “Cambynskan,” and thus, no doubt, it should strictly be read. But it is a most pardonable offence against literal accuracy to use the word which Milton has made classical, in “Il Penseroso,” speaking of

“him that left half-told The story of Cambuscan bold, Of Camball, and of Algarsife, And who had Canace to wife, That owned the virtuous Ring and Glass, And of the wondrous Horse of Brass, On which the Tartar King did ride”

Surely the admiration of Milton might well seem to the spirit of Chaucer to condone a much greater transgression on his domain than this verbal change — which to both eye and ear is an unquestionable improvement on the uncouth original.

4. Couth his colours longing for that art: well skilled in using the colours — the word-painting — belonging to his art.

5. Aries was the mansion of Mars — to whom “his” applies. Leo was the mansion of the Sun.

6. Sewes: Dishes, or soups. The precise force of the word is uncertain; but it may be connected with “seethe,” to boil, and it seems to describe a dish in which the flesh was served up amid a kind of broth or gravy. The “sewer,” taster or assayer of the viands served at great tables, probably derived his name from the verb to “say” or “assay;” though Tyrwhitt would connect the two words, by taking both from the French, “asseoir,” to place — making the arrangement of the table the leading duty of the “sewer,” rather than the testing of the food.

7. Heronsews: young herons; French, “heronneaux.”

8. Purpose: story, discourse; French, “propos.”

9. Gawain was celebrated in mediaeval romance as the most courteous among King Arthur’s knights.

10. Gin: contrivance; trick; snare. Compare Italian, “inganno,” deception; and our own “engine.”

11. Mr Wright remarks that “the making and arrangement of seals was one of the important operations of mediaeval magic.”

12. Remued: removed; French, “remuer,” to stir.

13. Polies: Apulian. The horses of Apulia — in old French “Poille,” in Italian “Puglia” — were held in high value.

14. The Greeke’s horse Sinon: the wooden horse of the Greek Sinon, introduced into Troy by the stratagem of its maker.

15. Master tower: chief tower; as, in the Knight’s Tale, the principal street is called the “master street.” See note 86 to the Knight’s Tale.

16. Alhazen and Vitellon: two writers on optics — the first supposed to have lived about 1100, the other about 1270. Tyrwhitt says that their works were printed at Basle in 1572, under the title “Alhazeni et Vitellonis Opticae.”

17. Telephus, a son of Hercules, reigned over Mysia when the Greeks came to besiege Troy, and he sought to prevent their landing. But, by the art of Dionysus, he was made to stumble over a vine, and Achilles wounded him with his spear. The oracle informed Telephus that the hurt could be healed only by him, or by the weapon, that inflicted it; and the king, seeking the Grecian camp, was healed by Achilles with the rust of the charmed spear.

18. Ferne: before; a corruption of “forne,” from Anglo-Saxon, “foran.”

19. Aldrian: or Aldebaran; a star in the neck of the constellation Leo.

20. Chamber of parements: Presence-chamber, or chamber of state, full of splendid furniture and ornaments. The same expression is used in French and Italian.

21. In Pisces, Venus was said to be at her exaltation or greatest power. A planet, according to the old astrologers, was in “exaltation” when in the sign of the Zodiac in which it exerted its strongest influence; the opposite sign, in which it was weakest, was called its “dejection.”

22. Launcelot: Arthur’s famous knight, so accomplished and courtly, that he was held the very pink of chivalry.

23. Trill: turn; akin to “thirl”, “drill.”

24. Ride: another reading is “bide,” alight or remain.

25. Feastying: entertaining; French, “festoyer,” to feast.

26. The old physicians held that blood dominated in the human body late at night and in the early morning. Galen says that the domination lasts for seven hours.

27. Fumosity: fumes of wine rising from the stomach to the head.

28. Fremde: foreign, strange; German, “fremd” in the northern dialects, “frem,” or “fremmed,” is used in the same sense.

29. Leden: Language, dialect; from Anglo-Saxon, “leden” or “laeden,” a corruption from “Latin.”

30. Tercelet: the “tassel,” or male of any species of hawk; so called, according to Cotgrave, because he is one third (“tiers”) smaller than the female.

31. “And Lamech took unto him two wives: the name of the one Adah, and the name of the other Zillah” (Gen. iv. 19).

32. Galoche: shoe; it seems to have been used in France, of a “sabot,” or wooden shoe. The reader cannot fail to recall the same illustration in John i. 27, where the Baptist says of Christ: “He it is, who coming after me is preferred before me; whose shoe’s latchet I am not worthy to unloose.”

33. Byleve; stay; another form is “bleve;” from Anglo-Saxon, “belitan,” to remain. Compare German, “bleiben.”

34. This sentiment, as well as the illustration of the bird which follows, is taken from the third book of Boethius, “De Consolatione Philosophiae,” metrum 2. It has thus been rendered in Chaucer’s translation: “All things seek aye to their proper course, and all things rejoice on their returning again to their nature.”

35. Men love of proper kind newfangleness: Men, by their own — their very — nature, are fond of novelty, and prone to inconstancy.

36. Blue was the colour of truth, as green was that of inconstancy. In John Stowe’s additions to Chaucer’s works, printed in 1561, there is “A balade whiche Chaucer made against women inconstaunt,” of which the refrain is, “In stead of blue, thus may ye wear all green.”

37. Unless we suppose this to be a namesake of the Camballo who was Canace’s brother — which is not at all probable — we must agree with Tyrwhitt that there is a mistake here; which no doubt Chaucer would have rectified, if the tale had not been “left half-told,” One manuscript reads “Caballo;” and though not much authority need be given to a difference that may be due to mere omission of the mark of contraction over the “a,” there is enough in the text to show that another person than the king’s younger son is intended. The Squire promises to tell the adventures that befell each member of Cambuscan’s family; and in thorough consistency with this plan, and with the canons of chivalric story, would be “the marriage of Canace to some knight who was first obliged to fight for her with her two brethren; a method of courtship,” adds Tyrwhitt, “very consonant to the spirit of ancient chivalry.”

38. (Trancriber’s note) In some manuscripts the following two lines, being the beginning of the third part, are found: -

Apollo whirleth up his chair so high, Till that Mercurius’ house, the sly…

THE FRANKLIN’S TALE

THE PROLOGUE. <1>

“IN faith, Squier, thou hast thee well acquit, And gentilly; I praise well thy wit,” Quoth the Franklin; “considering thy youthe So feelingly thou speak’st, Sir, I aloue* thee, *allow, approve *As to my doom,* there is none that is here *so far as my judgment Of eloquence that shall be thy peer, goes* If that thou live; God give thee goode chance, And in virtue send thee continuance, For of thy speaking I have great dainty.* *value, esteem I have a son, and, by the Trinity; *It were me lever* than twenty pound worth land, *I would rather* Though it right now were fallen in my hand, He were a man of such discretion As that ye be: fy on possession, *But if* a man be virtuous withal. *unless I have my sone snibbed* and yet shall, *rebuked; “snubbed.” For he to virtue *listeth not t’intend,* *does not wish to But for to play at dice, and to dispend, apply himself* And lose all that he hath, is his usage; And he had lever talke with a page, Than to commune with any gentle wight, There he might learen gentilless aright.”

Straw for your gentillesse!” quoth our Host. “What? Frankelin, pardie, Sir, well thou wost* *knowest That each of you must tellen at the least A tale or two, or breake his behest.”* *promise “That know I well, Sir,” quoth the Frankelin; “I pray you have me not in disdain, Though I to this man speak a word or two.” “Tell on thy tale, withoute wordes mo’.” “Gladly, Sir Host,” quoth he, “I will obey Unto your will; now hearken what I say; I will you not contrary* in no wise, *disobey As far as that my wittes may suffice. I pray to God that it may please you, Then wot I well that it is good enow.

“These olde gentle Bretons, in their days, Of divers aventures made lays,<2> Rhymeden in their firste Breton tongue; Which layes with their instruments they sung, Or elles reade them for their pleasance; And one of them have I in remembrance, Which I shall say with good will as I can. But, Sirs, because I am a borel* man, *rude, unlearned At my beginning first I you beseech Have me excused of my rude speech. I learned never rhetoric, certain; Thing that I speak, it must be bare and plain. I slept never on the mount of Parnasso, Nor learned Marcus Tullius Cicero. Coloures know I none, withoute dread,* *doubt But such colours as growen in the mead, Or elles such as men dye with or paint; Colours of rhetoric be to me quaint;* *strange My spirit feeleth not of such mattere. But, if you list, my tale shall ye hear.”

Notes to the Prologue to the Franklin’s Tale

1. In the older editions, the verses here given as the prologue were prefixed to the Merchant’s Tale, and put into his mouth. Tyrwhitt was abundantly justified, by the internal evidence afforded by the lines themselves, in transferring them to their present place.

2. The “Breton Lays” were an important and curious element in the literature of the Middle Ages; they were originally composed in the Armorican language, and the chief collection of them extant was translated into French verse by a poetess calling herself “Marie,” about the middle of the thirteenth century. But though this collection was the most famous, and had doubtless been read by Chaucer, there were other British or Breton lays, and from one of those the Franklin’s Tale is taken. Boccaccio has dealt with the same story in the “Decameron” and the “Philocopo,” altering the circumstances to suit the removal of its scene to a southern clime.

THE TALE.

In Armoric’, that called is Bretagne, There was a knight, that lov’d and *did his pain* *devoted himself, To serve a lady in his beste wise; strove* And many a labour, many a great emprise,* *enterprise He for his lady wrought, ere she were won: For she was one the fairest under sun, And eke thereto come of so high kindred, That *well unnethes durst this knight for dread,* *see note <1>* Tell her his woe, his pain, and his distress But, at the last, she for his worthiness, And namely* for his meek obeisance, *especially Hath such a pity caught of his penance,* *suffering, distress That privily she fell of his accord To take him for her husband and her lord (Of such lordship as men have o’er their wives); And, for to lead the more in bliss their lives, Of his free will he swore her as a knight, That never in all his life he day nor night Should take upon himself no mastery Against her will, nor kithe* her jealousy, *show But her obey, and follow her will in all, As any lover to his lady shall; Save that the name of sovereignety That would he have, for shame of his degree. She thanked him, and with full great humbless She saide; “Sir, since of your gentleness Ye proffer me to have so large a reign, *Ne woulde God never betwixt us twain, As in my guilt, were either war or strife:* *see note <2>* Sir, I will be your humble true wife, Have here my troth, till that my hearte brest.”* *burst Thus be they both in quiet and in rest.

For one thing, Sires, safely dare I say, That friends ever each other must obey, If they will longe hold in company. Love will not be constrain’d by mastery. When mast’ry comes, the god of love anon Beateth <3> his wings, and, farewell, he is gone. Love is a thing as any spirit free. Women *of kind* desire liberty, *by nature* And not to be constrained as a thrall,* *slave And so do men, if soothly I say shall. Look who that is most patient in love, He *is at his advantage all above.* *enjoys the highest Patience is a high virtue certain, advantages of all* For it vanquisheth, as these clerkes sayn, Thinges that rigour never should attain. For every word men may not chide or plain. Learne to suffer, or, so may I go,* *prosper Ye shall it learn whether ye will or no. For in this world certain no wight there is, That he not doth or saith sometimes amiss. Ire, or sickness, or constellation,* *the influence of Wine, woe, or changing of complexion, the planets* Causeth full oft to do amiss or speaken: On every wrong a man may not be wreaken.* *revenged After* the time must be temperance *according to To every wight that *can of* governance. *is capable of* And therefore hath this worthy wise knight (To live in ease) sufferance her behight;* *promised And she to him full wisly* gan to swear *surely That never should there be default in her. Here may men see a humble wife accord; Thus hath she ta’en her servant and her lord, Servant in love, and lord in marriage. Then was he both in lordship and servage? Servage? nay, but in lordship all above, Since he had both his lady and his love: His lady certes, and his wife also, The which that law of love accordeth to. And when he was in this prosperrity, Home with his wife he went to his country, Not far from Penmark,<4> where his dwelling was, And there he liv’d in bliss and in solace.* *delight Who coulde tell, but* he had wedded be, *unless The joy, the ease, and the prosperity, That is betwixt a husband and his wife? A year and more lasted this blissful life, Till that this knight, of whom I spake thus, That of Cairrud <5> was call’d Arviragus, Shope* him to go and dwell a year or twain *prepared, arranged In Engleland, that call’d was eke Britain, To seek in armes worship and honour (For all his lust* he set in such labour); *pleasure And dwelled there two years; the book saith thus.

Now will I stint* of this Arviragus, *cease speaking And speak I will of Dorigen his wife, That lov’d her husband as her hearte’s life. For his absence weepeth she and siketh,* *sigheth As do these noble wives when them liketh; She mourneth, waketh, waileth, fasteth, plaineth; Desire of his presence her so distraineth, That all this wide world she set at nought. Her friendes, which that knew her heavy thought, Comforte her in all that ever they may; They preache her, they tell her night and day, That causeless she slays herself, alas! And every comfort possible in this case They do to her, with all their business,* *assiduity And all to make her leave her heaviness. By process, as ye knowen every one, Men may so longe graven in a stone, Till some figure therein imprinted be: So long have they comforted her, till she Received hath, by hope and by reason, Th’ imprinting of their consolation, Through which her greate sorrow gan assuage; She may not always duren in such rage. And eke Arviragus, in all this care, Hath sent his letters home of his welfare, And that he will come hastily again, Or elles had this sorrow her hearty-slain. Her friendes saw her sorrow gin to slake,* *slacken, diminish And prayed her on knees for Godde’s sake To come and roamen in their company, Away to drive her darke fantasy; And finally she granted that request, For well she saw that it was for the best.

Now stood her castle faste by the sea, And often with her friendes walked she, Her to disport upon the bank on high, There as many a ship and barge sigh,* *saw Sailing their courses, where them list to go. But then was that a parcel* of her woe, *part For to herself full oft, “Alas!” said she, Is there no ship, of so many as I see, Will bringe home my lord? then were my heart All warish’d* of this bitter paine’s smart.” *cured <6> Another time would she sit and think, And cast her eyen downward from the brink; But when she saw the grisly rockes blake,* *black For very fear so would her hearte quake, That on her feet she might her not sustene* *sustain Then would she sit adown upon the green, And piteously *into the sea behold,* *look out on the sea* And say right thus, with *careful sikes* cold: *painful sighs* “Eternal God! that through thy purveyance Leadest this world by certain governance, *In idle,* as men say, ye nothing make; *idly, in vain* But, Lord, these grisly fiendly rockes blake, That seem rather a foul confusion Of work, than any fair creation Of such a perfect wise God and stable, Why have ye wrought this work unreasonable? For by this work, north, south, or west, or east, There is not foster’d man, nor bird, nor beast: It doth no good, to my wit, but *annoyeth.* *works mischief* <7> See ye not, Lord, how mankind it destroyeth? A hundred thousand bodies of mankind Have rockes slain, *all be they not in mind;* *though they are Which mankind is so fair part of thy work, forgotten* Thou madest it like to thine owen mark.* *image Then seemed it ye had a great cherte* *love, affection Toward mankind; but how then may it be That ye such meanes make it to destroy? Which meanes do no good, but ever annoy. I wot well, clerkes will say as them lest,* *please By arguments, that all is for the best, Although I can the causes not y-know; But thilke* God that made the wind to blow, *that As keep my lord, this is my conclusion: To clerks leave I all disputation: But would to God that all these rockes blake Were sunken into helle for his sake These rockes slay mine hearte for the fear.” Thus would she say, with many a piteous tear.

Her friendes saw that it was no disport To roame by the sea, but discomfort, And shope* them for to playe somewhere else. *arranged They leade her by rivers and by wells, And eke in other places delectables; They dancen, and they play at chess and tables.* *backgammon So on a day, right in the morning-tide, Unto a garden that was there beside, In which that they had made their ordinance* *provision, arrangement Of victual, and of other purveyance, They go and play them all the longe day: And this was on the sixth morrow of May, Which May had painted with his softe showers This garden full of leaves and of flowers: And craft of manne’s hand so curiously Arrayed had this garden truely, That never was there garden of such price,* *value, praise *But if* it were the very Paradise. *unless* Th’odour of flowers, and the freshe sight, Would have maked any hearte light That e’er was born, *but if* too great sickness *unless* Or too great sorrow held it in distress; So full it was of beauty and pleasance. And after dinner they began to dance And sing also, save Dorigen alone Who made alway her complaint and her moan, For she saw not him on the dance go That was her husband, and her love also; But natheless she must a time abide And with good hope let her sorrow slide.

Upon this dance, amonge other men, Danced a squier before Dorigen That fresher was, and jollier of array *As to my doom,* than is the month of May. *in my judgment* He sang and danced, passing any man, That is or was since that the world began; Therewith he was, if men should him descrive, One of the *beste faring* men alive, *most accomplished* Young, strong, and virtuous, and rich, and wise, And well beloved, and holden in great price.* *esteem, value And, shortly if the sooth I telle shall, *Unweeting of* this Dorigen at all, *unknown to* This lusty squier, servant to Venus, Which that y-called was Aurelius, Had lov’d her best of any creature Two year and more, as was his aventure;* *fortune But never durst he tell her his grievance; Withoute cup he drank all his penance. He was despaired, nothing durst he say, Save in his songes somewhat would he wray* *betray His woe, as in a general complaining; He said, he lov’d, and was belov’d nothing. Of suche matter made he many lays, Songes, complaintes, roundels, virelays <8> How that he durste not his sorrow tell, But languished, as doth a Fury in hell; And die he must, he said, as did Echo For Narcissus, that durst not tell her woe. In other manner than ye hear me say, He durste not to her his woe bewray, Save that paraventure sometimes at dances, Where younge folke keep their observances, It may well be he looked on her face In such a wise, as man that asketh grace, But nothing wiste she of his intent. Nath’less it happen’d, ere they thennes* went, *thence (from the Because that he was her neighebour, garden)* And was a man of worship and honour, And she had knowen him *of time yore,* *for a long time* They fell in speech, and forth aye more and more Unto his purpose drew Aurelius; And when he saw his time, he saide thus: Madam,” quoth he, “by God that this world made, So that I wist it might your hearte glade,* *gladden I would, that day that your Arviragus Went over sea, that I, Aurelius, Had gone where I should never come again; For well I wot my service is in vain. My guerdon* is but bursting of mine heart. *reward Madame, rue upon my paine’s smart, For with a word ye may me slay or save. Here at your feet God would that I were grave. I have now no leisure more to say: Have mercy, sweet, or you will *do me dey.”* *cause me to die*

She gan to look upon Aurelius; “Is this your will,” quoth she, “and say ye thus? Ne’er erst,”* quoth she, “I wiste what ye meant: *before But now, Aurelius, I know your intent. By thilke* God that gave me soul and life, *that Never shall I be an untrue wife In word nor work, as far as I have wit; I will be his to whom that I am knit; Take this for final answer as of me.” But after that *in play* thus saide she. *playfully, in jest* “Aurelius,” quoth she, “by high God above, Yet will I grante you to be your love (Since I you see so piteously complain); Looke, what day that endelong* Bretagne *from end to end of Ye remove all the rockes, stone by stone, That they not lette* ship nor boat to gon, *prevent I say, when ye have made this coast so clean Of rockes, that there is no stone seen, Then will I love you best of any man; Have here my troth, in all that ever I can; For well I wot that it shall ne’er betide. Let such folly out of your hearte glide. What dainty* should a man have in his life *value, pleasure For to go love another manne’s wife, That hath her body when that ever him liketh?” Aurelius full often sore siketh;* *sigheth Is there none other grace in you?” quoth he, “No, by that Lord,” quoth she, “that maked me. Woe was Aurelius when that he this heard, And with a sorrowful heart he thus answer’d. “Madame, quoth he, “this were an impossible. Then must I die of sudden death horrible.” And with that word he turned him anon.

Then came her other friends many a one, And in the alleys roamed up and down, And nothing wist of this conclusion, But suddenly began to revel new, Till that the brighte sun had lost his hue, For th’ horizon had reft the sun his light (This is as much to say as it was night); And home they go in mirth and in solace; Save only wretch’d Aurelius, alas He to his house is gone with sorrowful heart. He said, he may not from his death astart.* *escape Him seemed, that he felt his hearte cold. Up to the heav’n his handes gan he hold, And on his knees bare he set him down. And in his raving said his orisoun.* *prayer For very woe out of his wit he braid;* *wandered He wist not what he spake, but thus he said; With piteous heart his plaint hath he begun Unto the gods, and first unto the Sun. He said; “Apollo God and governour Of every plante, herbe, tree, and flower, That giv’st, after thy declination, To each of them his time and his season, As thine herberow* changeth low and high; *dwelling, situation Lord Phoebus: cast thy merciable eye On wretched Aurelius, which that am but lorn.* *undone Lo, lord, my lady hath my death y-sworn, Withoute guilt, but* thy benignity *unless Upon my deadly heart have some pity. For well I wot, Lord Phoebus, if you lest,* *please Ye may me helpe, save my lady, best. Now vouchsafe, that I may you devise* *tell, explain How that I may be holp,* and in what wise. *helped Your blissful sister, Lucina the sheen, <9> That of the sea is chief goddess and queen, — Though Neptunus have deity in the sea, Yet emperess above him is she; — Ye know well, lord, that, right as her desire Is to be quick’d* and lighted of your fire, *quickened For which she followeth you full busily, Right so the sea desireth naturally To follow her, as she that is goddess Both in the sea and rivers more and less. Wherefore, Lord Phoebus, this is my request, Do this miracle, or *do mine hearte brest;* *cause my heart That flow, next at this opposition, to burst* Which in the sign shall be of the Lion, As praye her so great a flood to bring, That five fathom at least it overspring The highest rock in Armoric Bretagne, And let this flood endure yeares twain: Then certes to my lady may I say, “Holde your hest,” the rockes be away. Lord Phoebus, this miracle do for me, Pray her she go no faster course than ye; I say this, pray your sister that she go No faster course than ye these yeares two: Then shall she be even at full alway, And spring-flood laste bothe night and day. And *but she* vouchesafe in such mannere *if she do not* To grante me my sov’reign lady dear, Pray her to sink every rock adown Into her owen darke regioun Under the ground, where Pluto dwelleth in Or nevermore shall I my lady win. Thy temple in Delphos will I barefoot seek. Lord Phoebus! see the teares on my cheek And on my pain have some compassioun.” And with that word in sorrow he fell down, And longe time he lay forth in a trance. His brother, which that knew of his penance,* *distress Up caught him, and to bed he hath him brought, Despaired in this torment and this thought Let I this woeful creature lie; Choose he for me whe’er* he will live or die. *whether

Arviragus with health and great honour (As he that was of chivalry the flow’r) Is come home, and other worthy men. Oh, blissful art thou now, thou Dorigen! Thou hast thy lusty husband in thine arms, The freshe knight, the worthy man of arms, That loveth thee as his own hearte’s life: *Nothing list him to be imaginatif* *he cared not to fancy* If any wight had spoke, while he was out, To her of love; he had of that no doubt;* *fear, suspicion He not intended* to no such mattere, *occupied himself with But danced, jousted, and made merry cheer. And thus in joy and bliss I let them dwell, And of the sick Aurelius will I tell In languor and in torment furious Two year and more lay wretch’d Aurelius, Ere any foot on earth he mighte gon; Nor comfort in this time had he none, Save of his brother, which that was a clerk.* *scholar He knew of all this woe and all this work; For to none other creature certain Of this matter he durst no worde sayn; Under his breast he bare it more secree Than e’er did Pamphilus for Galatee.<10> His breast was whole withoute for to seen, But in his heart aye was the arrow keen, And well ye know that of a sursanure <11> In surgery is perilous the cure, But* men might touch the arrow or come thereby. *except His brother wept and wailed privily, Till at the last him fell in remembrance, That while he was at Orleans <12> in France, — As younge clerkes, that be likerous* — *eager To readen artes that be curious, Seeken in every *halk and every hern* *nook and corner* <13> Particular sciences for to learn,— He him remember’d, that upon a day At Orleans in study a book he say* *saw Of magic natural, which his fellaw, That was that time a bachelor of law All* were he there to learn another craft, *though Had privily upon his desk y-laft; Which book spake much of operations Touching the eight and-twenty mansions That longe to the Moon, and such folly As in our dayes is not worth a fly; For holy church’s faith, in our believe,* *belief, creed Us suff’reth none illusion to grieve. And when this book was in his remembrance Anon for joy his heart began to dance, And to himself he saide privily; “My brother shall be warish’d* hastily *cured For I am sicker* that there be sciences, *certain By which men make divers apparences, Such as these subtle tregetoures play. *tricksters <14> For oft at feaste’s have I well heard say, That tregetours, within a halle large, Have made come in a water and a barge, And in the halle rowen up and down. Sometimes hath seemed come a grim lioun, And sometimes flowers spring as in a mead; Sometimes a vine, and grapes white and red; Sometimes a castle all of lime and stone; And, when them liked, voided* it anon: *vanished Thus seemed it to every manne’s sight. Now then conclude I thus; if that I might At Orleans some olde fellow find, That hath these Moone’s mansions in mind, Or other magic natural above. He should well make my brother have his love. For with an appearance a clerk* may make, *learned man To manne’s sight, that all the rockes blake Of Bretagne were voided* every one, *removed And shippes by the brinke come and gon, And in such form endure a day or two; Then were my brother warish’d* of his woe, *cured Then must she needes *holde her behest,* *keep her promise* Or elles he shall shame her at the least.” Why should I make a longer tale of this? Unto his brother’s bed he comen is, And such comfort he gave him, for to gon To Orleans, that he upstart anon, And on his way forth-ward then is he fare,* *gone In hope for to be lissed* of his care. *eased of <15>

When they were come almost to that city, *But if it were* a two furlong or three, *all but* A young clerk roaming by himself they met, Which that in Latin *thriftily them gret.* *greeted them And after that he said a wondrous thing; civilly* I know,” quoth he, “the cause of your coming;” Aud ere they farther any foote went, He told them all that was in their intent. The Breton clerk him asked of fellaws The which he hadde known in olde daws,* *days And he answer’d him that they deade were, For which he wept full often many a tear. Down off his horse Aurelius light anon, And forth with this magician is be gone Home to his house, and made him well at ease; Them lacked no vitail* that might them please. *victuals, food So well-array’d a house as there was one, Aurelius in his life saw never none. He shewed him, ere they went to suppere, Forestes, parkes, full of wilde deer. There saw he hartes with their hornes high, The greatest that were ever seen with eye. He saw of them an hundred slain with hounds, And some with arrows bleed of bitter wounds. He saw, when voided* were the wilde deer, *passed away These falconers upon a fair rivere, That with their hawkes have the heron slain. Then saw he knightes jousting in a plain. And after this he did him such pleasance, That he him shew’d his lady on a dance, In which himselfe danced, as him thought. And when this master, that this magic wrought, Saw it was time, he clapp’d his handes two, And farewell, all the revel is y-go.* *gone, removed And yet remov’d they never out of the house, While they saw all the sightes marvellous; But in his study, where his bookes be, They satte still, and no wight but they three. To him this master called his squier,

And said him thus, “May we go to supper? Almost an hour it is, I undertake, Since I you bade our supper for to make, When that these worthy men wente with me Into my study, where my bookes be.” “Sir,” quoth this squier, “when it liketh you. It is all ready, though ye will right now.” “Go we then sup,” quoth he, “as for the best; These amorous folk some time must have rest.” At after supper fell they in treaty What summe should this master’s guerdon* be, *reward To remove all the rockes of Bretagne, And eke from Gironde <16> to the mouth of Seine. He made it strange,* and swore, so God him save, *a matter of Less than a thousand pound he would not have, difficulty* *Nor gladly for that sum he would not gon.* *see note <17>* Aurelius with blissful heart anon Answered thus; “Fie on a thousand pound! This wide world, which that men say is round, I would it give, if I were lord of it. This bargain is full-driv’n, for we be knit;* *agreed Ye shall be payed truly by my troth. But looke, for no negligence or sloth, Ye tarry us here no longer than to-morrow.” “Nay,” quoth the clerk, *“have here my faith to borrow.”* *I pledge my To bed is gone Aurelius when him lest, faith on it* And well-nigh all that night he had his rest, What for his labour, and his hope of bliss, His woeful heart *of penance had a liss.* *had a respite from suffering* Upon the morrow, when that it was day, Unto Bretagne they took the righte way, Aurelius and this magician beside, And be descended where they would abide: And this was, as the bookes me remember, The colde frosty season of December. Phoebus wax’d old, and hued like latoun,* *brass That in his hote declinatioun Shone as the burned gold, with streames* bright; *beams But now in Capricorn adown he light, Where as he shone full pale, I dare well sayn. The bitter frostes, with the sleet and rain, Destroyed have the green in every yard. *courtyard, garden Janus sits by the fire with double beard, And drinketh of his bugle horn the wine: Before him stands the brawn of tusked swine And “nowel”* crieth every lusty man *Noel <18> Aurelius, in all that ev’r he can, Did to his master cheer and reverence, And prayed him to do his diligence To bringe him out of his paines smart, Or with a sword that he would slit his heart. This subtle clerk such ruth* had on this man, *pity That night and day he sped him, that he can, To wait a time of his conclusion; This is to say, to make illusion, By such an appearance of jugglery (I know no termes of astrology), That she and every wight should ween and say, That of Bretagne the rockes were away, Or else they were sunken under ground. So at the last he hath a time found To make his japes* and his wretchedness *tricks Of such a *superstitious cursedness.* *detestable villainy* His tables Toletanes <19> forth he brought, Full well corrected, that there lacked nought, Neither his collect, nor his expanse years, Neither his rootes, nor his other gears, As be his centres, and his arguments, And his proportional convenients For his equations in everything. And by his eighte spheres in his working, He knew full well how far Alnath <20> was shove From the head of that fix’d Aries above, That in the ninthe sphere consider’d is. Full subtilly he calcul’d all this. When he had found his firste mansion, He knew the remnant by proportion; And knew the rising of his moone well, And in whose face, and term, and every deal; And knew full well the moone’s mansion Accordant to his operation; And knew also his other observances, For such illusions and such meschances,* *wicked devices As heathen folk used in thilke days. For which no longer made he delays; But through his magic, for a day or tway, <21> It seemed all the rockes were away.

Aurelius, which yet despaired is Whe’er* he shall have his love, or fare amiss, *whether Awaited night and day on this miracle: And when he knew that there was none obstacle, That voided* were these rockes every one, *removed Down at his master’s feet he fell anon, And said; “I, woeful wretch’d Aurelius, Thank you, my Lord, and lady mine Venus, That me have holpen from my cares cold.” And to the temple his way forth hath he hold, Where as he knew he should his lady see. And when he saw his time, anon right he With dreadful* heart and with full humble cheer** *fearful **mien Saluteth hath his sovereign lady dear. “My rightful Lady,” quoth this woeful man, “Whom I most dread, and love as I best can, And lothest were of all this world displease, Were’t not that I for you have such disease,* *distress, affliction That I must die here at your foot anon, Nought would I tell how me is woebegone. But certes either must I die or plain;* *bewail Ye slay me guilteless for very pain. But of my death though that ye have no ruth, Advise you, ere that ye break your truth: Repente you, for thilke God above, Ere ye me slay because that I you love. For, Madame, well ye wot what ye have hight;* *promised Not that I challenge anything of right Of you, my sovereign lady, but of grace: But in a garden yond’, in such a place, Ye wot right well what ye behighte* me, *promised And in mine hand your trothe plighted ye, To love me best; God wot ye saide so, Albeit that I unworthy am thereto; Madame, I speak it for th’ honour of you, More than to save my hearte’s life right now; I have done so as ye commanded me, And if ye vouchesafe, ye may go see. Do as you list, have your behest in mind, For, quick or dead, right there ye shall me find; In you hes all to *do me live or dey;* *cause me to But well I wot the rockes be away.” live or die*

He took his leave, and she astonish’d stood; In all her face was not one drop of blood: She never ween’d t’have come in such a trap. “Alas!” quoth she, “that ever this should hap! For ween’d I ne’er, by possibility, That such a monster or marvail might be; It is against the process of nature.” And home she went a sorrowful creature; For very fear unnethes* may she go. *scarcely She weeped, wailed, all a day or two, And swooned, that it ruthe was to see: But why it was, to no wight tolde she, For out of town was gone Arviragus. But to herself she spake, and saide thus, With face pale, and full sorrowful cheer, In her complaint, as ye shall after hear. “Alas!” quoth she, “on thee, Fortune, I plain,* *complain That unware hast me wrapped in thy chain, From which to scape, wot I no succour, Save only death, or elles dishonour; One of these two behoveth me to choose. But natheless, yet had I lever* lose *sooner, rather My life, than of my body have shame, Or know myselfe false, or lose my name; And with my death *I may be quit y-wis.* *I may certainly purchase Hath there not many a noble wife, ere this, my exemption* And many a maiden, slain herself, alas! Rather than with her body do trespass? Yes, certes; lo, these stories bear witness. <22> When thirty tyrants full of cursedness* *wickedness Had slain Phidon in Athens at the feast, They commanded his daughters to arrest, And bringe them before them, in despite, All naked, to fulfil their foul delight; And in their father’s blood they made them dance Upon the pavement, — God give them mischance. For which these woeful maidens, full of dread, Rather than they would lose their maidenhead, They privily *be start* into a well, *suddenly leaped And drowned themselves, as the bookes tell. They of Messene let inquire and seek Of Lacedaemon fifty maidens eke, On which they woulde do their lechery: But there was none of all that company That was not slain, and with a glad intent Chose rather for to die, than to assent To be oppressed* of her maidenhead. *forcibly bereft Why should I then to dien be in dread? Lo, eke the tyrant Aristoclides, That lov’d a maiden hight Stimphalides, When that her father slain was on a night, Unto Diana’s temple went she right, And hent* the image in her handes two, *caught, clasped From which image she woulde never go; No wight her handes might off it arace,* *pluck away by force Till she was slain right in the selfe* place. *same Now since that maidens hadde such despite To be defouled with man’s foul delight, Well ought a wife rather herself to sle,* *slay Than be defouled, as it thinketh me. What shall I say of Hasdrubale’s wife, That at Carthage bereft herself of life? For, when she saw the Romans win the town, She took her children all, and skipt adown Into the fire, and rather chose to die, Than any Roman did her villainy. Hath not Lucretia slain herself, alas! At Rome, when that she oppressed* was *ravished Of Tarquin? for her thought it was a shame To live, when she hadde lost her name. The seven maidens of Milesie also Have slain themselves for very dread and woe, Rather than folk of Gaul them should oppress. More than a thousand stories, as I guess, Could I now tell as touching this mattere. When Abradate was slain, his wife so dear <23> Herselfe slew, and let her blood to glide In Abradate’s woundes, deep and wide, And said, ‘My body at the leaste way There shall no wight defoul, if that I may.’ Why should I more examples hereof sayn? Since that so many have themselves slain, Well rather than they would defouled be, I will conclude that it is bet* for me *better To slay myself, than be defouled thus. I will be true unto Arviragus, Or elles slay myself in some mannere, As did Demotione’s daughter dear, Because she woulde not defouled be. O Sedasus, it is full great pity To reade how thy daughters died, alas! That slew themselves *for suche manner cas.* *in circumstances of As great a pity was it, or well more, the same kind* The Theban maiden, that for Nicanor Herselfe slew, right for such manner woe. Another Theban maiden did right so; For one of Macedon had her oppress’d, She with her death her maidenhead redress’d.* *vindicated What shall I say of Niceratus’ wife, That for such case bereft herself her life? How true was eke to Alcibiades His love, that for to dien rather chese,* *chose Than for to suffer his body unburied be? Lo, what a wife was Alceste?” quoth she. “What saith Homer of good Penelope? All Greece knoweth of her chastity. Pardie, of Laedamia is written thus, That when at Troy was slain Protesilaus, <24> No longer would she live after his day. The same of noble Porcia tell I may; Withoute Brutus coulde she not live, To whom she did all whole her hearte give. <25> The perfect wifehood of Artemisie <26> Honoured is throughout all Barbarie. O Teuta <27> queen, thy wifely chastity To alle wives may a mirror be.” <28>

Thus plained Dorigen a day or tway, Purposing ever that she woulde dey;* *die But natheless upon the thirde night Home came Arviragus, the worthy knight, And asked her why that she wept so sore. And she gan weepen ever longer more. “Alas,” quoth she, “that ever I was born! Thus have I said,” quoth she; “thus have I sworn. “ And told him all, as ye have heard before: It needeth not rehearse it you no more. This husband with glad cheer,* in friendly wise, *demeanour Answer’d and said, as I shall you devise.* *relate “Is there aught elles, Dorigen, but this?” “Nay, nay,” quoth she, “God help me so, *as wis* *assuredly* This is too much, an* it were Godde’s will.” *if “Yea, wife,” quoth he, “let sleepe what is still, It may be well par’venture yet to-day. Ye shall your trothe holde, by my fay. For, God so wisly* have mercy on me, *certainly *I had well lever sticked for to be,* *I had rather be slain* For very love which I to you have, But if ye should your trothe keep and save. Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.” But with that word he burst anon to weep, And said; “I you forbid, on pain of death, That never, while you lasteth life or breath, To no wight tell ye this misaventure; As I may best, I will my woe endure, Nor make no countenance of heaviness, That folk of you may deeme harm, or guess.” And forth he call’d a squier and a maid. “Go forth anon with Dorigen,” he said, “And bringe her to such a place anon.” They take their leave, and on their way they gon: But they not wiste why she thither went; He would to no wight telle his intent.

This squier, which that hight Aurelius, On Dorigen that was so amorous, Of aventure happen’d her to meet Amid the town, right in the quickest* street, *nearest As she was bound* to go the way forthright *prepared, going <29> Toward the garden, there as she had hight.* *promised And he was to the garden-ward also; For well he spied when she woulde go Out of her house, to any manner place; But thus they met, of aventure or grace, And he saluted her with glad intent, And asked of her whitherward she went. And she answered, half as she were mad, “Unto the garden, as my husband bade, My trothe for to hold, alas! alas!” Aurelius gan to wonder on this case, And in his heart had great compassion Of her, and of her lamentation, And of Arviragus, the worthy knight, That bade her hold all that she hadde hight; So loth him was his wife should break her truth* *troth, pledged word And in his heart he caught of it great ruth,* *pity Considering the best on every side, *That from his lust yet were him lever abide,* *see note <30>* Than do so high a churlish wretchedness* *wickedness Against franchise,* and alle gentleness; *generosity For which in fewe words he saide thus; “Madame, say to your lord Arviragus, That since I see the greate gentleness Of him, and eke I see well your distress, That him were lever* have shame (and that were ruth)** *rather **pity Than ye to me should breake thus your truth, I had well lever aye* to suffer woe, *forever Than to depart* the love betwixt you two. *sunder, split up I you release, Madame, into your hond, Quit ev’ry surement* and ev’ry bond, *surety That ye have made to me as herebeforn, Since thilke time that ye were born. Have here my truth, I shall you ne’er repreve* *reproach *Of no behest;* and here I take my leave, *of no (breach of) As of the truest and the beste wife promise* That ever yet I knew in all my life. But every wife beware of her behest; On Dorigen remember at the least. Thus can a squier do a gentle deed, As well as can a knight, withoute drede.”* *doubt

She thanked him upon her knees bare, And home unto her husband is she fare,* *gone And told him all, as ye have hearde said; And, truste me, he was so *well apaid,* *satisfied* That it were impossible me to write. Why should I longer of this case indite? Arviragus and Dorigen his wife In sov’reign blisse ledde forth their life; Ne’er after was there anger them between; He cherish’d her as though she were a queen, And she was to him true for evermore; Of these two folk ye get of me no more.

Aurelius, that his cost had *all forlorn,* *utterly lost* Cursed the time that ever he was born. “Alas!” quoth he, “alas that I behight* *promised Of pured* gold a thousand pound of weight *refined To this philosopher! how shall I do? I see no more, but that I am fordo.* *ruined, undone Mine heritage must I needes sell, And be a beggar; here I will not dwell, And shamen all my kindred in this place, But* I of him may gette better grace. *unless But natheless I will of him assay At certain dayes year by year to pay, And thank him of his greate courtesy. My trothe will I keep, I will not he.” With hearte sore he went unto his coffer, And broughte gold unto this philosopher, The value of five hundred pound, I guess, And him beseeched, of his gentleness, To grant him *dayes of* the remenant; *time to pay up* And said; “Master, I dare well make avaunt, I failed never of my truth as yet. For sickerly my debte shall be quit Towardes you how so that e’er I fare To go a-begging in my kirtle bare: But would ye vouchesafe, upon surety, Two year, or three, for to respite me, Then were I well, for elles must I sell Mine heritage; there is no more to tell.”

This philosopher soberly* answer’d, *gravely And saide thus, when he these wordes heard; “Have I not holden covenant to thee?” “Yes, certes, well and truely,” quoth he. “Hast thou not had thy lady as thee liked?” “No, no,” quoth he, and sorrowfully siked.* *sighed “What was the cause? tell me if thou can.” Aurelius his tale anon began, And told him all as ye have heard before, It needeth not to you rehearse it more. He said, “Arviragus of gentleness Had lever* die in sorrow and distress, *rather Than that his wife were of her trothe false.” The sorrow of Dorigen he told him als’,* *also How loth her was to be a wicked wife, And that she lever had lost that day her life; And that her troth she swore through innocence; She ne’er erst* had heard speak of apparence** *before **see note <31> That made me have of her so great pity, And right as freely as he sent her to me, As freely sent I her to him again: This is all and some, there is no more to sayn.”

The philosopher answer’d; “Leve* brother, *dear Evereach of you did gently to the other; Thou art a squier, and he is a knight, But God forbidde, for his blissful might, But if a clerk could do a gentle deed As well as any of you, it is no drede* *doubt Sir, I release thee thy thousand pound, As thou right now were crept out of the ground, Nor ever ere now haddest knowen me. For, Sir, I will not take a penny of thee For all my craft, nor naught for my travail;* *labour, pains Thou hast y-payed well for my vitaille; It is enough; and farewell, have good day.” And took his horse, and forth he went his way. Lordings, this question would I aske now, Which was the moste free,* as thinketh you? *generous <32> Now telle me, ere that ye farther wend. I can* no more, my tale is at an end. *know, can tell

Notes to The Franklin’s Tale

1. Well unnethes durst this knight for dread: This knight hardly dared, for fear (that she would not entertain his suit.)

2. “Ne woulde God never betwixt us twain, As in my guilt, were either war or strife” Would to God there may never be war or strife between us, through my fault.

3. Perhaps the true reading is “beteth” — prepares, makes ready, his wings for flight.

4. Penmark: On the west coast of Brittany, between Brest and L’Orient. The name is composed of two British words, “pen,” mountain, and “mark,” region; it therefore means the mountainous country

5. Cairrud: “The red city;” it is not known where it was situated.

6. Warished: cured; French, “guerir,” to heal, or recover from sickness.

7. Annoyeth: works mischief; from Latin, “nocco,” I hurt.

8. Virelays: ballads; the “virelai” was an ancient French poem of two rhymes.

9. Lucina the sheen: Diana the bright. See note 54 to the Knight’s Tale.

10. In a Latin poem, very popular in Chaucer’s time, Pamphilus relates his amour with Galatea, setting out with the idea adopted by our poet in the lines that follow.

11. Sursanure: A wound healed on the surface, but festering beneath.

12. Orleans: Where there was a celebrated and very famous university, afterwards eclipsed by that of Paris. It was founded by Philip le Bel in 1312.

13. Every halk and every hern: Every nook and corner, Anglo- Saxon, “healc,” a nook; “hyrn,” a corner.

14. Tregetoures: tricksters, jugglers. The word is probably derived — in “treget,” deceit or imposture — from the French “trebuchet,” a military machine; since it is evident that much and elaborate machinery must have been employed to produce the effects afterwards described. Another derivation is from the Low Latin, “tricator,” a deceiver.

15. Lissed of: eased of; released from; another form of “less” or “lessen.”

16. Gironde: The river, formed by the union of the Dordogne and Garonne, on which Bourdeaux stands.

17. Nor gladly for that sum he would not gon: And even for that sum he would not willingly go to work.

18. “Noel,” the French for Christmas — derived from “natalis,” and signifying that on that day Christ was born — came to be used as a festive cry by the people on solemn occasions.

19. Tables Toletanes: Toledan tables; the astronomical tables composed by order Of Alphonso II, King of Castile, about 1250 and so called because they were adapted to the city of Toledo.

20. “Alnath,” Says Mr Wright, was “the first star in the horns of Aries, whence the first mansion of the moon is named.”

21. Another and better reading is “a week or two.”

22. These stories are all taken from the book of St Jerome “Contra Jovinianum,” from which the Wife of Bath drew so many of her ancient instances. See note 1 to the prologue to the Wife of Bath’s Tale.

23. Panthea. Abradatas, King of Susa, was an ally of the Assyrians against Cyrus; and his wife was taken at the conquest of the Assyrian camp. Struck by the honourable treatment she received at the captors hands, Abradatas joined Cyrus, and fell in battle against his former alhes. His wife, inconsolable at his loss, slew herself immediately.

24. Protesilaus was the husband of Laedamia. She begged the gods, after his death, that but three hours’ converse with him might be allowed her; the request was granted; and when her dead husband, at the expiry of the time, returned to the world of shades, she bore him company.

25. The daughter of Cato of Utica, Porcia married Marcus Brutus, the friend and the assassin of Julius Caesar; when her husband died by his own hand after the battle of Philippi, she committed suicide, it is said, by swallowing live coals — all other means having been removed by her friends.

26. Artemisia, Queen of Caria, who built to her husband Mausolus, the splendid monument which was accounted among the wonders of the world; and who mingled her husband’s ashes with her daily drink. “Barbarie” is used in the Greek sense, to designate the non-Hellenic peoples of Asia.

27. Teuta: Queen of Illyria, who, after her husband’s death, made war on and was conquered by the Romans, B.C 228.

28. At this point, in some manuscripts, occur thefollowing two lines: — “The same thing I say of Bilia, Of Rhodegone and of Valeria.”

29. Bound: prepared; going. To “boun” or “bown” is a good old word, whence comes our word “bound,” in the sense of “on the way.”

30. That from his lust yet were him lever abide: He would rather do without his pleasure.

31. Such apparence: such an ocular deception, or apparition — more properly, disappearance — as the removal of the rocks.

32. The same question is stated a the end of Boccaccio’s version of the story in the “Philocopo,” where the queen determines in favour of Aviragus. The question is evidently one of those which it was the fashion to propose for debate in the mediaeval “courts of love.”

THE DOCTOR’S TALE

THE PROLOGUE. <1>

[“YEA, let that passe,” quoth our Host, “as now. Sir Doctor of Physik, I praye you, Tell us a tale of some honest mattere.” “It shall be done, if that ye will it hear,” Said this Doctor; and his tale gan anon. “Now, good men,” quoth he, “hearken everyone.”]

Notes to the Prologue to the Doctor’s Tale

1. The authenticity of the prologue is questionable. It is found in one manuscript only; other manuscripts give other prologues, more plainly not Chaucer’s than this; and some manuscripts have merely a colophon to the effect that “Here endeth the Franklin’s Tale and beginneth the Physician’s Tale without a prologue.” The Tale itself is the well-known story of Virginia, with several departures from the text of Livy. Chaucer probably followed the “Romance of the Rose” and Gower’s “Confessio Amantis,” in both of which the story is found.

THE TALE.

There was, as telleth Titus Livius, <1> A knight, that called was Virginius, Full filled of honour and worthiness, And strong of friendes, and of great richess. This knight one daughter hadde by his wife; No children had he more in all his life. Fair was this maid in excellent beauty Aboven ev’ry wight that man may see: For nature had with sov’reign diligence Y-formed her in so great excellence, As though she woulde say, “Lo, I, Nature, Thus can I form and paint a creature, When that me list; who can me counterfeit? Pygmalion? not though he aye forge and beat, Or grave or painte: for I dare well sayn, Apelles, Zeuxis, shoulde work in vain, Either to grave, or paint, or forge, or beat, If they presumed me to counterfeit. For he that is the former principal, Hath made me his vicar-general To form and painten earthly creatures Right as me list, and all thing in my cure* is, *care Under the moone, that may wane and wax. And for my work right nothing will I ax* *ask My lord and I be full of one accord. I made her to the worship* of my lord; So do I all mine other creatures, What colour that they have, or what figures.” Thus seemeth me that Nature woulde say.

This maiden was of age twelve year and tway,* *two In which that Nature hadde such delight. For right as she can paint a lily white, And red a rose, right with such painture She painted had this noble creature, Ere she was born, upon her limbes free, Where as by right such colours shoulde be: And Phoebus dyed had her tresses great, Like to the streames* of his burned heat. *beams, rays And if that excellent was her beauty, A thousand-fold more virtuous was she. In her there lacked no condition, That is to praise, as by discretion. As well in ghost* as body chaste was she: *mind, spirit For which she flower’d in virginity, With all humility and abstinence, With alle temperance and patience, With measure* eke of bearing and array. *moderation Discreet she was in answering alway, Though she were wise as Pallas, dare I sayn; Her faconde* eke full womanly and plain, *speech <2> No counterfeited termes hadde she To seeme wise; but after her degree She spake, and all her worde’s more and less Sounding in virtue and in gentleness. Shamefast she was in maiden’s shamefastness, Constant in heart, and ever *in business* *diligent, eager* To drive her out of idle sluggardy: Bacchus had of her mouth right no mast’ry. For wine and slothe <3> do Venus increase, As men in fire will casten oil and grease. And of her owen virtue, unconstrain’d, She had herself full often sick y-feign’d, For that she woulde flee the company, Where likely was to treaten of folly, As is at feasts, at revels, and at dances, That be occasions of dalliances. Such thinges make children for to be Too soone ripe and bold, as men may see, Which is full perilous, and hath been yore;* *of old For all too soone may she learne lore Of boldeness, when that she is a wife.

And ye mistresses,* in your olde life *governesses, duennas That lordes’ daughters have in governance, Take not of my wordes displeasance Thinke that ye be set in governings Of lordes’ daughters only for two things; Either for ye have kept your honesty, Or else for ye have fallen in frailty And knowe well enough the olde dance, And have forsaken fully such meschance* *wickedness <4> For evermore; therefore, for Christe’s sake, To teach them virtue look that ye not slake.* *be slack, fail A thief of venison, that hath forlaft* *forsaken, left His lik’rousness,* and all his olde craft, *gluttony Can keep a forest best of any man; Now keep them well, for if ye will ye can. Look well, that ye unto no vice assent, Lest ye be damned for your wick’* intent, *wicked, evil For whoso doth, a traitor is certain; And take keep* of that I shall you sayn; *heed Of alle treason, sov’reign pestilence Is when a wight betrayeth innocence. Ye fathers, and ye mothers eke also, Though ye have children, be it one or mo’, Yours is the charge of all their surveyance,* *supervision While that they be under your governance. Beware, that by example of your living, Or by your negligence in chastising, That they not perish for I dare well say, If that they do, ye shall it dear abeye.* *pay for, suffer for Under a shepherd soft and negligent The wolf hath many a sheep and lamb to-rent. Suffice this example now as here, For I must turn again to my mattere.

This maid, of which I tell my tale express, She kept herself, her needed no mistress; For in her living maidens mighte read, As in a book, ev’ry good word and deed That longeth to a maiden virtuous; She was so prudent and so bounteous. For which the fame out sprang on every side Both of her beauty and her bounte* wide: *goodness That through the land they praised her each one That loved virtue, save envy alone, That sorry is of other manne’s weal, And glad is of his sorrow and unheal* — *misfortune The Doctor maketh this descriptioun. — <5> This maiden on a day went in the town Toward a temple, with her mother dear, As is of younge maidens the mannere. Now was there then a justice in that town, That governor was of that regioun: And so befell, this judge his eyen cast Upon this maid, avising* her full fast, *observing As she came forth by where this judge stood; Anon his hearte changed and his mood, So was he caught with beauty of this maid And to himself full privily he said, “This maiden shall be mine *for any man.”* *despite what any Anon the fiend into his hearte ran, man may do* And taught him suddenly, that he by sleight This maiden to his purpose winne might. For certes, by no force, nor by no meed,* *bribe, reward Him thought he was not able for to speed; For she was strong of friendes, and eke she Confirmed was in such sov’reign bounte, That well he wist he might her never win, As for to make her with her body sin. For which, with great deliberatioun, He sent after a clerk <6> was in the town, The which he knew for subtle and for bold. This judge unto this clerk his tale told In secret wise, and made him to assure He shoulde tell it to no creature, And if he did, he shoulde lose his head. And when assented was this cursed rede,* *counsel, plot Glad was the judge, and made him greate cheer, And gave him giftes precious and dear. When shapen* was all their conspiracy *arranged From point to point, how that his lechery Performed shoulde be full subtilly, As ye shall hear it after openly, Home went this clerk, that highte Claudius. This false judge, that highte Appius, — (So was his name, for it is no fable, But knowen for a storial* thing notable; *historical, authentic The sentence* of it sooth** is out of doubt); — *account **true This false judge went now fast about To hasten his delight all that he may. And so befell, soon after on a day, This false judge, as telleth us the story, As he was wont, sat in his consistory, And gave his doomes* upon sundry case’; *judgments This false clerk came forth *a full great pace,* *in haste And saide; Lord, if that it be your will, As do me right upon this piteous bill,* *petition In which I plain upon Virginius. And if that he will say it is not thus, I will it prove, and finde good witness, That sooth is what my bille will express.” The judge answer’d, “Of this, in his absence, I may not give definitive sentence. Let do* him call, and I will gladly hear; *cause Thou shalt have alle right, and no wrong here.” Virginius came to weet* the judge’s will, *know, learn And right anon was read this cursed bill; The sentence of it was as ye shall hear “To you, my lord, Sir Appius so clear, Sheweth your poore servant Claudius, How that a knight called Virginius, Against the law, against all equity, Holdeth, express against the will of me, My servant, which that is my thrall* by right, *slave Which from my house was stolen on a night, While that she was full young; I will it preve* *prove By witness, lord, so that it you *not grieve;* *be not displeasing* She is his daughter not, what so he say. Wherefore to you, my lord the judge, I pray, Yield me my thrall, if that it be your will.” Lo, this was all the sentence of the bill. Virginius gan upon the clerk behold; But hastily, ere he his tale told, And would have proved it, as should a knight, And eke by witnessing of many a wight, That all was false that said his adversary, This cursed judge would no longer tarry, Nor hear a word more of Virginius, But gave his judgement, and saide thus: “I deem* anon this clerk his servant have; *pronounce, determine Thou shalt no longer in thy house her save. Go, bring her forth, and put her in our ward The clerk shall have his thrall: thus I award.”

And when this worthy knight, Virginius, Through sentence of this justice Appius, Muste by force his deare daughter give Unto the judge, in lechery to live, He went him home, and sat him in his hall, And let anon his deare daughter call; And with a face dead as ashes cold Upon her humble face he gan behold, With father’s pity sticking* through his heart, *piercing All* would he from his purpose not convert.** *although **turn aside “Daughter,” quoth he, “Virginia by name, There be two wayes, either death or shame, That thou must suffer, — alas that I was bore!* *born For never thou deservedest wherefore To dien with a sword or with a knife, O deare daughter, ender of my life, Whom I have foster’d up with such pleasance That thou were ne’er out of my remembrance; O daughter, which that art my laste woe, And in this life my laste joy also, O gem of chastity, in patience Take thou thy death, for this is my sentence: For love and not for hate thou must be dead; My piteous hand must smiten off thine head. Alas, that ever Appius thee say!* *saw Thus hath he falsely judged thee to-day.” And told her all the case, as ye before Have heard; it needeth not to tell it more.

“O mercy, deare father,” quoth the maid. And with that word she both her armes laid About his neck, as she was wont to do, (The teares burst out of her eyen two), And said, “O goode father, shall I die? Is there no grace? is there no remedy?” “No, certes, deare daughter mine,” quoth he. “Then give me leisure, father mine, quoth she, “My death for to complain* a little space *bewail For, pardie, Jephthah gave his daughter grace For to complain, ere he her slew, alas! <7> And, God it wot, nothing was her trespass,* *offence But for she ran her father first to see, To welcome him with great solemnity.” And with that word she fell a-swoon anon; And after, when her swooning was y-gone, She rose up, and unto her father said: “Blessed be God, that I shall die a maid. Give me my death, ere that I have shame; Do with your child your will, in Godde’s name.” And with that word she prayed him full oft That with his sword he woulde smite her soft; And with that word, a-swoon again she fell. Her father, with full sorrowful heart and fell,* *stern, cruel Her head off smote, and by the top it hent,* *took And to the judge he went it to present, As he sat yet in doom* in consistory. *judgment

And when the judge it saw, as saith the story, He bade to take him, and to hang him fast. But right anon a thousand people *in thrast* *rushed in* To save the knight, for ruth and for pity For knowen was the false iniquity. The people anon had suspect* in this thing, *suspicion By manner of the clerke’s challenging, That it was by th’assent of Appius; They wiste well that he was lecherous. For which unto this Appius they gon, And cast him in a prison right anon, Where as he slew himself: and Claudius, That servant was unto this Appius, Was doomed for to hang upon a tree; But that Virginius, of his pity, So prayed for him, that he was exil’d; And elles certes had he been beguil’d;* *see note <8> The remenant were hanged, more and less, That were consenting to this cursedness.* *villainy Here men may see how sin hath his merite:* *deserts Beware, for no man knows how God will smite In no degree, nor in which manner wise The worm of conscience may agrise* frighten, horrify Of wicked life, though it so privy be, That no man knows thereof, save God and he; For be he lewed* man or elles lear’d,** *ignorant **learned He knows not how soon he shall be afear’d; Therefore I rede* you this counsel take, *advise Forsake sin, ere sinne you forsake.

Notes to the Doctor’s Tale

1. Livy, Book iii. cap. 44, et seqq.

2. Faconde: utterance, speech; from Latin, “facundia,” eloquence.

3. Slothe: other readings are “thought” and “youth.”

4. Meschance: wickedness; French, “mechancete.”

5. This line seems to be a kind of aside thrown in by Chaucer himself.

6. The various readings of this word are “churl,” or “cherl,” in the best manuscripts; “client” in the common editions, and “clerk” supported by two important manuscripts. “Client” would perhaps be the best reading, if it were not awkward for the metre; but between “churl” and “clerk” there can be little doubt that Mr Wright chose wisely when he preferred the second.

7. Judges xi. 37, 38. “And she said unto her father, Let . . . me alone two months, that I may go up and down upon the mountains, and bewail my virginity, I and my fellows. And he said, go.”

8. Beguiled: “cast into gaol,” according to Urry’s explanation; though we should probably understand that, if Claudius had not been sent out of the country, his death would have been secretly contrived through private detestation.

THE PARDONER’S TALE

THE PROLOGUE.

OUR Hoste gan to swear as he were wood; “Harow!” quoth he, “by nailes and by blood, <1> This was a cursed thief, a false justice. As shameful death as hearte can devise Come to these judges and their advoca’s.* *advocates, counsellors Algate* this sely** maid is slain, alas! *nevertheless **innocent Alas! too deare bought she her beauty. Wherefore I say, that all day man may see That giftes of fortune and of nature Be cause of death to many a creature. Her beauty was her death, I dare well sayn; Alas! so piteously as she was slain. [Of bothe giftes, that I speak of now Men have full often more harm than prow,*] *profit But truely, mine owen master dear, This was a piteous tale for to hear; But natheless, pass over; ’tis *no force.* *no matter* I pray to God to save thy gentle corse,* *body And eke thine urinals, and thy jordans, Thine Hippocras, and eke thy Galliens, <2> And every boist* full of thy lectuary, *box <3> God bless them, and our lady Sainte Mary. So may I the’,* thou art a proper man, *thrive And like a prelate, by Saint Ronian; Said I not well? Can I not speak *in term?* *in set form* But well I wot thou dost* mine heart to erme,** *makest **grieve<4> That I have almost caught a cardiacle:* *heartache <5> By corpus Domini <6>, but* I have triacle,** *unless **a remedy Or else a draught of moist and corny <7> ale, Or but* I hear anon a merry tale, *unless Mine heart is brost* for pity of this maid. *burst, broken Thou *bel ami,* thou Pardoner,” he said, *good friend* “Tell us some mirth of japes* right anon.” *jokes “It shall be done,” quoth he, “by Saint Ronion. But first,” quoth he, “here at this ale-stake* *ale-house sign <8> I will both drink, and biten on a cake.” But right anon the gentles gan to cry, “Nay, let him tell us of no ribaldry. Tell us some moral thing, that we may lear* *learn Some wit,* and thenne will we gladly hear.” *wisdom, sense “I grant y-wis,”* quoth he; “but I must think *surely Upon some honest thing while that I drink.”

Notes to the Prologue to the Pardoner’s Tale

1. The nails and blood of Christ, by which it was then a fashion to swear.

2. Mediaeval medical writers; see note 36 to the Prologue to the Tales.

3. Boist: box; French “boite,” old form “boiste.”

4. Erme: grieve; from Anglo-Saxon, “earme,” wretched.

5. Cardiacle: heartache; from Greek, “kardialgia.”

6. Corpus Domini: God’s body.

7. Corny ale: New and strong, nappy. As to “moist,” see note 39 to the Prologue to the Tales.

8. (Transcriber’s Note)In this scene the pilgrims are refreshing themselves at tables in front of an inn. The pardoner is drunk, which explains his boastful and revealing confession of his deceits.

THE TALE <1>

Lordings (quoth he), in churche when I preach, I paine me to have an hautein* speech, *take pains **loud <2> And ring it out, as round as doth a bell, For I know all by rote that I tell. My theme is always one, and ever was; Radix malorum est cupiditas.<3> First I pronounce whence that I come, And then my bulles shew I all and some; Our liege lorde’s seal on my patent, That shew I first, *my body to warrent,* *for the protection That no man be so hardy, priest nor clerk, of my person* Me to disturb of Christe’s holy werk. And after that then tell I forth my tales. Bulles of popes, and of cardinales, Of patriarchs, and of bishops I shew, And in Latin I speak a wordes few, To savour with my predication, And for to stir men to devotion Then show I forth my longe crystal stones, Y-crammed fall of cloutes* and of bones; *rags, fragments Relics they be, as *weene they* each one. *as my listeners think* Then have I in latoun* a shoulder-bone *brass Which that was of a holy Jewe’s sheep. “Good men,” say I, “take of my wordes keep;* *heed If that this bone be wash’d in any well, If cow, or calf, or sheep, or oxe swell, That any worm hath eat, or worm y-stung, Take water of that well, and wash his tongue, And it is whole anon; and farthermore Of pockes, and of scab, and every sore Shall every sheep be whole, that of this well Drinketh a draught; take keep* of that I tell. *heed

“If that the goodman, that the beastes oweth,* *owneth Will every week, ere that the cock him croweth, Fasting, y-drinken of this well a draught, As thilke holy Jew our elders taught, His beastes and his store shall multiply. And, Sirs, also it healeth jealousy; For though a man be fall’n in jealous rage, Let make with this water his pottage, And never shall he more his wife mistrist,* *mistrust *Though he the sooth of her defaulte wist;* *though he truly All had she taken priestes two or three. <4> knew her sin* Here is a mittain* eke, that ye may see; *glove, mitten He that his hand will put in this mittain, He shall have multiplying of his grain, When he hath sowen, be it wheat or oats, So that he offer pence, or elles groats. And, men and women, one thing warn I you; If any wight be in this churche now That hath done sin horrible, so that he Dare not for shame of it y-shriven* be; *confessed Or any woman, be she young or old, That hath y-made her husband cokewold,* *cuckold Such folk shall have no power nor no grace To offer to my relics in this place. And whoso findeth him out of such blame, He will come up and offer in God’s name; And I assoil* him by the authority *absolve Which that by bull y-granted was to me.”

By this gaud* have I wonne year by year *jest, trick A hundred marks, since I was pardonere. I stande like a clerk in my pulpit, And when the lewed* people down is set, *ignorant I preache so as ye have heard before, And telle them a hundred japes* more. *jests, deceits Then pain I me to stretche forth my neck, And east and west upon the people I beck, As doth a dove, sitting on a bern;* *barn My handes and my tongue go so yern,* *briskly That it is joy to see my business. Of avarice and of such cursedness* *wickedness Is all my preaching, for to make them free To give their pence, and namely* unto me. *especially For mine intent is not but for to win, And nothing for correction of sin. I recke never, when that they be buried, Though that their soules go a blackburied.<5> For certes *many a predication *preaching is often inspired Cometh oft-time of evil intention;* by evil motives* Some for pleasance of folk, and flattery, To be advanced by hypocrisy; And some for vainglory, and some for hate. For, when I dare not otherwise debate, Then will I sting him with my tongue smart* *sharply In preaching, so that he shall not astart* *escape To be defamed falsely, if that he Hath trespass’d* to my brethren or to me. *offended For, though I telle not his proper name, Men shall well knowe that it is the same By signes, and by other circumstances. Thus *quite I* folk that do us displeasances: *I am revenged on* Thus spit I out my venom, under hue Of holiness, to seem holy and true. But, shortly mine intent I will devise, I preach of nothing but of covetise. Therefore my theme is yet, and ever was, — Radix malorum est cupiditas. <3> Thus can I preach against the same vice Which that I use, and that is avarice. But though myself be guilty in that sin, Yet can I maken other folk to twin* *depart From avarice, and sore them repent. But that is not my principal intent; I preache nothing but for covetise. Of this mattere it ought enough suffice. Then tell I them examples many a one, Of olde stories longe time gone; For lewed* people love tales old; *unlearned Such thinges can they well report and hold. What? trowe ye, that whiles I may preach And winne gold and silver for* I teach, *because That I will live in povert’ wilfully? Nay, nay, I thought it never truely. For I will preach and beg in sundry lands; I will not do no labour with mine hands, Nor make baskets for to live thereby, Because I will not beggen idlely. I will none of the apostles counterfeit;* *imitate (in poverty) I will have money, wool, and cheese, and wheat, All* were it given of the poorest page, *even if Or of the pooreste widow in a village: All should her children sterve* for famine. *die Nay, I will drink the liquor of the vine, And have a jolly wench in every town. But hearken, lordings, in conclusioun; Your liking is, that I shall tell a tale Now I have drunk a draught of corny ale, By God, I hope I shall you tell a thing That shall by reason be to your liking; For though myself be a full vicious man, A moral tale yet I you telle can, Which I am wont to preache, for to win. Now hold your peace, my tale I will begin.

In Flanders whilom was a company Of younge folkes, that haunted folly, As riot, hazard, stewes,* and taverns; *brothels Where as with lutes, harpes, and giterns,* *guitars They dance and play at dice both day and night, And eat also, and drink over their might; Through which they do the devil sacrifice Within the devil’s temple, in cursed wise, By superfluity abominable. Their oathes be so great and so damnable, That it is grisly* for to hear them swear. *dreadful <6> Our blissful Lorde’s body they to-tear;* *tore to pieces <7> Them thought the Jewes rent him not enough, And each of them at other’s sinne lough.* *laughed And right anon in come tombesteres <8> Fetis* and small, and younge fruitesteres.** *dainty **fruit-girls Singers with harpes, baudes,* waferers,** *revellers **cake-sellers Which be the very devil’s officers, To kindle and blow the fire of lechery, That is annexed unto gluttony. The Holy Writ take I to my witness, That luxury is in wine and drunkenness. <9> Lo, how that drunken Lot unkindely* *unnaturally Lay by his daughters two unwittingly, So drunk he was he knew not what he wrought. Herodes, who so well the stories sought, <10> When he of wine replete was at his feast, Right at his owen table gave his hest* *command To slay the Baptist John full guilteless. Seneca saith a good word, doubteless: He saith he can no difference find Betwixt a man that is out of his mind, And a man whiche that is drunkelew:* *a drunkard <11> But that woodness,* y-fallen in a shrew,* *madness **one evil-tempered Persevereth longer than drunkenness.

O gluttony, full of all cursedness; O cause first of our confusion, Original of our damnation, Till Christ had bought us with his blood again! Looke, how deare, shortly for to sayn, Abought* was first this cursed villainy: *atoned for Corrupt was all this world for gluttony. Adam our father, and his wife also, From Paradise, to labour and to woe, Were driven for that vice, it is no dread.* *doubt For while that Adam fasted, as I read, He was in Paradise; and when that he Ate of the fruit defended* of the tree, *forbidden <12> Anon he was cast out to woe and pain. O gluttony! well ought us on thee plain. Oh! wist a man how many maladies Follow of excess and of gluttonies, He woulde be the more measurable* *moderate Of his diete, sitting at his table. Alas! the shorte throat, the tender mouth, Maketh that east and west, and north and south, In earth, in air, in water, men do swink* *labour To get a glutton dainty meat and drink. Of this mattere, O Paul! well canst thou treat Meat unto womb,* and womb eke unto meat, *belly Shall God destroye both, as Paulus saith. <13> Alas! a foul thing is it, by my faith, To say this word, and fouler is the deed, When man so drinketh of the *white and red,* *i.e. wine* That of his throat he maketh his privy Through thilke cursed superfluity The apostle saith, <14> weeping full piteously, There walk many, of which you told have I, — I say it now weeping with piteous voice, — That they be enemies of Christe’s crois;* *cross Of which the end is death; womb* is their God. *belly O womb, O belly, stinking is thy cod,* *bag <15> Full fill’d of dung and of corruptioun; At either end of thee foul is the soun. How great labour and cost is thee to find!* *supply These cookes how they stamp, and strain, and grind, And turne substance into accident, To fulfill all thy likerous talent! Out of the harde bones knocke they The marrow, for they caste naught away That may go through the gullet soft and swoot* *sweet Of spicery and leaves, of bark and root, Shall be his sauce y-maked by delight, To make him have a newer appetite. But, certes, he that haunteth such delices Is dead while that he liveth in those vices.

A lecherous thing is wine, and drunkenness Is full of striving and of wretchedness. O drunken man! disfgur’d is thy face,<16> Sour is thy breath, foul art thou to embrace: And through thy drunken nose sowneth the soun’, As though thous saidest aye, Samsoun! Samsoun! And yet, God wot, Samson drank never wine. Thou fallest as it were a sticked swine; Thy tongue is lost, and all thine honest cure;* *care For drunkenness is very sepulture* *tomb Of manne’s wit and his discretion. In whom that drink hath domination, He can no counsel keep, it is no dread.* *doubt Now keep you from the white and from the red, And namely* from the white wine of Lepe,<17> *especially That is to sell in Fish Street <18> and in Cheap. This wine of Spaine creepeth subtilly — In other wines growing faste by, Of which there riseth such fumosity, That when a man hath drunken draughtes three, And weeneth that he be at home in Cheap, He is in Spain, right at the town of Lepe, Not at the Rochelle, nor at Bourdeaux town; And thenne will he say, Samsoun! Samsoun! But hearken, lordings, one word, I you pray, That all the sovreign actes, dare I say, Of victories in the Old Testament, Through very God that is omnipotent, Were done in abstinence and in prayere: Look in the Bible, and there ye may it lear.* *learn Look, Attila, the greate conqueror, Died in his sleep, <19> with shame and dishonour, Bleeding aye at his nose in drunkenness: A captain should aye live in soberness And o’er all this, advise* you right well *consider, bethink What was commanded unto Lemuel; <20> Not Samuel, but Lemuel, say I. Reade the Bible, and find it expressly Of wine giving to them that have justice. No more of this, for it may well suffice.

And, now that I have spoke of gluttony, Now will I you *defende hazardry.* *forbid gambling* Hazard is very mother of leasings,* *lies And of deceit, and cursed forswearings: Blasphem’ of Christ, manslaughter, and waste also Of chattel* and of time; and furthermo’ *property It is repreve,* and contrar’ of honour, *reproach For to be held a common hazardour. And ever the higher he is of estate, The more he is holden desolate.* *undone, worthless If that a prince use hazardry, In alle governance and policy He is, as by common opinion, Y-hold the less in reputation.

Chilon, that was a wise ambassador, Was sent to Corinth with full great honor From Lacedemon, <21> to make alliance; And when he came, it happen’d him, by chance, That all the greatest that were of that land, Y-playing atte hazard he them fand.* *found For which, as soon as that it mighte be, He stole him home again to his country And saide there, “I will not lose my name, Nor will I take on me so great diffame,* *reproach You to ally unto no hazardors.* *gamblers Sende some other wise ambassadors, For, by my troth, me were lever* die, *rather Than I should you to hazardors ally. For ye, that be so glorious in honours, Shall not ally you to no hazardours, As by my will, nor as by my treaty.” This wise philosopher thus said he. Look eke how to the King Demetrius The King of Parthes, as the book saith us, Sent him a pair of dice of gold in scorn, For he had used hazard therebeforn: For which he held his glory and renown At no value or reputatioun. Lordes may finden other manner play Honest enough to drive the day away.

Now will I speak of oathes false and great A word or two, as olde bookes treat. Great swearing is a thing abominable, And false swearing is more reprovable. The highe God forbade swearing at all; Witness on Matthew: <22> but in special Of swearing saith the holy Jeremie, <23> Thou thalt swear sooth thine oathes, and not lie: And swear in doom* and eke in righteousness; *judgement But idle swearing is a cursedness.* *wickedness Behold and see, there in the firste table Of highe Godde’s hestes* honourable, *commandments How that the second best of him is this, Take not my name in idle* or amiss. *in vain Lo, rather* he forbiddeth such swearing, *sooner Than homicide, or many a cursed thing; I say that as by order thus it standeth; This knoweth he that his hests* understandeth, *commandments How that the second hest of God is that. And farthermore, I will thee tell all plat,* *flatly, plainly That vengeance shall not parte from his house, That of his oathes is outrageous. “By Godde’s precious heart, and by his nails, <24> And by the blood of Christ, that is in Hailes, <25> Seven is my chance, and thine is cinque and trey: By Godde’s armes, if thou falsely play, This dagger shall throughout thine hearte go.” This fruit comes of the *bicched bones two,* *two cursed bones (dice)* Forswearing, ire, falseness, and homicide. Now, for the love of Christ that for us died, Leave your oathes, bothe great and smale. But, Sirs, now will I ell you forth my tale.

These riotoures three, of which I tell, Long *erst than* prime rang of any bell, *before Were set them in a tavern for to drink; And as they sat, they heard a belle clink Before a corpse, was carried to the grave. That one of them gan calle to his knave,* *servant “Go bet,” <26> quoth he, “and aske readily What corpse is this, that passeth here forth by; And look that thou report his name well.” “Sir,” quoth the boy, “it needeth never a deal;* *whit It was me told ere ye came here two hours; He was, pardie, an old fellow of yours, And suddenly he was y-slain to-night; Fordrunk* as he sat on his bench upright, *completely drunk There came a privy thief, men clepe Death, That in this country all the people slay’th, And with his spear he smote his heart in two, And went his way withoute wordes mo’. He hath a thousand slain this pestilence; And, master, ere you come in his presence, Me thinketh that it were full necessary For to beware of such an adversary; Be ready for to meet him evermore. Thus taughte me my dame; I say no more.” “By Sainte Mary,” said the tavernere, “The child saith sooth, for he hath slain this year, Hence ov’r a mile, within a great village, Both man and woman, child, and hind, and page; I trow his habitation be there; To be advised* great wisdom it were, *watchful, on one’s guard Ere* that he did a man a dishonour.” *lest

“Yea, Godde’s armes,” quoth this riotour, “Is it such peril with him for to meet? I shall him seek, by stile and eke by street. I make a vow, by Godde’s digne* bones.” *worthy Hearken, fellows, we three be alle ones:* *at one Let each of us hold up his hand to other, And each of us become the other’s brother, And we will slay this false traitor Death; He shall be slain, he that so many slay’th, By Godde’s dignity, ere it be night.” Together have these three their trothe plight To live and die each one of them for other As though he were his owen sworen brother. And up they start, all drunken, in this rage, And forth they go towardes that village Of which the taverner had spoke beforn, And many a grisly* oathe have they sworn, *dreadful And Christe’s blessed body they to-rent;* *tore to pieces <7> “Death shall be dead, if that we may him hent.”* *catch When they had gone not fully half a mile, Right as they would have trodden o’er a stile, An old man and a poore with them met. This olde man full meekely them gret,* *greeted And saide thus; “Now, lordes, God you see!”* *look on graciously The proudest of these riotoures three Answer’d again; “What? churl, with sorry grace, Why art thou all forwrapped* save thy face? *closely wrapt up Why livest thou so long in so great age?” This olde man gan look on his visage, And saide thus; “For that I cannot find A man, though that I walked unto Ind, Neither in city, nor in no village go, That woulde change his youthe for mine age; And therefore must I have mine age still As longe time as it is Godde’s will. And Death, alas! he will not have my life. Thus walk I like a resteless caitife,* *miserable wretch And on the ground, which is my mother’s gate, I knocke with my staff, early and late, And say to her, ‘Leve* mother, let me in. *dear Lo, how I wane, flesh, and blood, and skin; Alas! when shall my bones be at rest? Mother, with you I woulde change my chest, That in my chamber longe time hath be, Yea, for an hairy clout to *wrap in me.’* *wrap myself in* But yet to me she will not do that grace, For which fall pale and welked* is my face. *withered But, Sirs, to you it is no courtesy To speak unto an old man villainy, But* he trespass in word or else in deed. *except In Holy Writ ye may yourselves read; ‘Against* an old man, hoar upon his head, *to meet Ye should arise:’ therefore I you rede,* *advise Ne do unto an old man no harm now, No more than ye would a man did you In age, if that ye may so long abide. And God be with you, whether ye go or ride I must go thither as I have to go.”

“Nay, olde churl, by God thou shalt not so,” Saide this other hazardor anon; “Thou partest not so lightly, by Saint John. Thou spakest right now of that traitor Death, That in this country all our friendes slay’th; Have here my troth, as thou art his espy;* *spy Tell where he is, or thou shalt it abie,* *suffer for By God and by the holy sacrament; For soothly thou art one of his assent To slay us younge folk, thou false thief.” “Now, Sirs,” quoth he, “if it be you so lief* *desire To finde Death, turn up this crooked way, For in that grove I left him, by my fay, Under a tree, and there he will abide; Nor for your boast he will him nothing hide. See ye that oak? right there ye shall him find. God save you, that bought again mankind, And you amend!” Thus said this olde man; And evereach of these riotoures ran, Till they came to the tree, and there they found Of florins fine, of gold y-coined round, Well nigh a seven bushels, as them thought. No longer as then after Death they sought; But each of them so glad was of the sight, For that the florins were so fair and bright, That down they sat them by the precious hoard. The youngest of them spake the firste word: “Brethren,” quoth he, “*take keep* what I shall say; *heed* My wit is great, though that I bourde* and play *joke, frolic This treasure hath Fortune unto us given In mirth and jollity our life to liven; And lightly as it comes, so will we spend. Hey! Godde’s precious dignity! who wend* *weened, thought Today that we should have so fair a grace? But might this gold he carried from this place Home to my house, or elles unto yours (For well I wot that all this gold is ours), Then were we in high felicity. But truely by day it may not be; Men woulde say that we were thieves strong, And for our owen treasure do us hong.* *have us hanged This treasure muste carried be by night, As wisely and as slily as it might. Wherefore I rede,* that cut** among us all *advise **lots We draw, and let see where the cut will fall: And he that hath the cut, with hearte blithe Shall run unto the town, and that full swithe,* *quickly And bring us bread and wine full privily: And two of us shall keepe subtilly This treasure well: and if he will not tarry, When it is night, we will this treasure carry, By one assent, where as us thinketh best.” Then one of them the cut brought in his fist, And bade them draw, and look where it would fall; And it fell on the youngest of them all; And forth toward the town he went anon. And all so soon as that he was y-gone, The one of them spake thus unto the other; “Thou knowest well that thou art my sworn brother, *Thy profit* will I tell thee right anon. *what is for thine Thou knowest well that our fellow is gone, advantage* And here is gold, and that full great plenty, That shall departed* he among us three. *divided But natheless, if I could shape* it so *contrive That it departed were among us two, Had I not done a friende’s turn to thee?” Th’ other answer’d, “I n’ot* how that may be; *know not He knows well that the gold is with us tway. What shall we do? what shall we to him say?” “Shall it be counsel?”* said the firste shrew;** *secret **wretch “And I shall tell to thee in wordes few What we shall do, and bring it well about.” “I grante,” quoth the other, “out of doubt, That by my truth I will thee not bewray.”* *betray “Now,” quoth the first, “thou know’st well we be tway, And two of us shall stronger be than one. Look; when that he is set,* thou right anon *sat down Arise, as though thou wouldest with him play; And I shall rive* him through the sides tway, *stab While that thou strugglest with him as in game; And with thy dagger look thou do the same. And then shall all this gold departed* be, *divided My deare friend, betwixte thee and me: Then may we both our lustes* all fulfil, *pleasures And play at dice right at our owen will.” And thus accorded* be these shrewes** tway *agreed **wretches To slay the third, as ye have heard me say.

The youngest, which that wente to the town, Full oft in heart he rolled up and down The beauty of these florins new and bright. “O Lord!” quoth he, “if so were that I might Have all this treasure to myself alone, There is no man that lives under the throne Of God, that shoulde have so merry as I.” And at the last the fiend our enemy Put in his thought, that he should poison buy, With which he mighte slay his fellows twy.* *two For why, the fiend found him *in such living,* *leading such a That he had leave to sorrow him to bring. (bad) life* For this was utterly his full intent To slay them both, and never to repent. And forth he went, no longer would he tarry, Into the town to an apothecary, And prayed him that he him woulde sell Some poison, that he might *his rattes quell,* *kill his rats* And eke there was a polecat in his haw,* *farm-yard, hedge <27> That, as he said, his eapons had y-slaw:* *slain And fain he would him wreak,* if that he might, *revenge Of vermin that destroyed him by night. Th’apothecary answer’d, “Thou shalt have A thing, as wisly* God my soule save, *surely In all this world there is no creature That eat or drank hath of this confecture, Not but the mountance* of a corn of wheat, *amount That he shall not his life *anon forlete;* *immediately lay down* Yea, sterve* he shall, and that in lesse while *die Than thou wilt go *apace* nought but a mile: *quickly* This poison is so strong and violent.” This cursed man hath in his hand y-hent* *taken This poison in a box, and swift he ran Into the nexte street, unto a man, And borrow’d of him large bottles three; And in the two the poison poured he; The third he kepte clean for his own drink, For all the night he shope him* for to swink** *purposed **labour In carrying off the gold out of that place. And when this riotour, with sorry grace, Had fill’d with wine his greate bottles three,

To his fellows again repaired he. What needeth it thereof to sermon* more? *talk, discourse For, right as they had cast* his death before, *plotted Right so they have him slain, and that anon. And when that this was done, thus spake the one; “Now let us sit and drink, and make us merry, And afterward we will his body bury.” And with that word it happen’d him *par cas* *by chance To take the bottle where the poison was, And drank, and gave his fellow drink also, For which anon they sterved* both the two. *died But certes I suppose that Avicen Wrote never in no canon, nor no fen, <28> More wondrous signes of empoisoning, Than had these wretches two ere their ending. Thus ended be these homicides two, And eke the false empoisoner also.

O cursed sin, full of all cursedness! O trait’rous homicide! O wickedness! O glutt’ny, luxury, and hazardry! Thou blasphemer of Christ with villany,* *outrage, impiety And oathes great, of usage and of pride! Alas! mankinde, how may it betide, That to thy Creator, which that thee wrought, And with his precious hearte-blood thee bought, Thou art so false and so unkind,* alas! *unnatural Now, good men, God forgive you your trespass, And ware* you from the sin of avarice. *keep Mine holy pardon may you all warice,* *heal So that ye offer *nobles or sterlings,* *gold or silver coins* Or elles silver brooches, spoons, or rings. Bowe your head under this holy bull. Come up, ye wives, and offer of your will; Your names I enter in my roll anon; Into the bliss of heaven shall ye gon; I you assoil* by mine high powere, *absolve <29> You that will offer, as clean and eke as clear As ye were born. Lo, Sires, thus I preach; And Jesus Christ, that is our soules’ leech,* *healer So grante you his pardon to receive; For that is best, I will not deceive.

But, Sirs, one word forgot I in my tale; I have relics and pardon in my mail, As fair as any man in Engleland, Which were me given by the Pope’s hand. If any of you will of devotion Offer, and have mine absolution, Come forth anon, and kneele here adown And meekely receive my pardoun. Or elles take pardon, as ye wend,* *go All new and fresh at every towne’s end, So that ye offer, always new and new, Nobles or pence which that be good and true. ’Tis an honour to evereach* that is here, *each one That ye have a suffisant* pardonere *suitable T’assoile* you in country as ye ride, *absolve For aventures which that may betide. Paraventure there may fall one or two Down of his horse, and break his neck in two. Look, what a surety is it to you all, That I am in your fellowship y-fall, That may assoil* you bothe *more and lass,* *absolve When that the soul shall from the body pass. *great and small* I rede* that our Hoste shall begin, *advise For he is most enveloped in sin. Come forth, Sir Host, and offer first anon, And thou shalt kiss; the relics every one, Yea, for a groat; unbuckle anon thy purse.

“Nay, nay,” quoth he, “then have I Christe’s curse! Let be,” quoth he, “it shall not be, *so the’ch.* *so may I thrive* Thou wouldest make me kiss thine olde breech, And swear it were a relic of a saint, Though it were with thy *fundament depaint’.* *stained by your bottom* But, by the cross which that Saint Helen fand,* *found <30> I would I had thy coilons* in mine hand, *testicles Instead of relics, or of sanctuary. Let cut them off, I will thee help them carry; They shall be shrined in a hogge’s turd.” The Pardoner answered not one word; So wroth he was, no worde would he say.

“Now,” quoth our Host, “I will no longer play With thee, nor with none other angry man.” But right anon the worthy Knight began (When that he saw that all the people lough*), *laughed “No more of this, for it is right enough. Sir Pardoner, be merry and glad of cheer; And ye, Sir Host, that be to me so dear, I pray you that ye kiss the Pardoner; And, Pardoner, I pray thee draw thee ner,* *nearer And as we didde, let us laugh and play.” Anon they kiss’d, and rode forth their way.

Notes to the Pardoner’s Tale

1. The outline of this Tale is to be found in the “Cento Novelle Antiche,” but the original is now lost. As in the case of the Wife of Bath’s Tale, there is a long prologue, but in this case it has been treated as part of the Tale.

2. Hautein: loud, lofty; from French, “hautain.”

3. Radix malorum est cupiditas: “the love of money is the root of all evil” (1 Tim.vi. 10)

4.All had she taken priestes two or three: even if she had committed adultery with two or three priests.

5. Blackburied: The meaning of this is not very clear, but it is probably a periphrastic and picturesque way of indicating damnation.

6. Grisly: dreadful; fitted to “agrise” or horrify the listener.

7. Mr Wright says: “The common oaths in the Middle Ages were by the different parts of God’s body; and the popular preachers represented that profane swearers tore Christ’s body by their imprecations.” The idea was doubtless borrowed from the passage in Hebrews (vi. 6), where apostates are said to “crucify to themselves the Son of God afresh, and put Him to an open shame.”

8. Tombesteres: female dancers or tumblers; from Anglo- Saxon, “tumban,” to dance.

9. “Be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess.” Eph. v.18.

10. The reference is probably to the diligent inquiries Herod made at the time of Christ’s birth. See Matt. ii. 4-8

11. A drunkard. “Perhaps,” says Tyrwhitt, “Chaucer refers to Epist. LXXXIII., ‘Extende in plures dies illum ebrii habitum; nunquid de furore dubitabis? nunc quoque non est minor sed brevior.’” (“Prolong the drunkard’s condition to several days; will you doubt his madness? Even as it is, the madness is no less; merely shorter.”)

12. Defended: forbidden; French, “defendu.” St Jerome, in his book against Jovinian, says that so long as Adam fasted, he was in Paradise; he ate, and he was thrust out.

13. “Meats for the belly, and the belly for meats; but God shall destroy both it and them.” 1 Cor. vi. 13.

14. “For many walk, of whom I have told you often, and now tell you even weeping, that they are the enemies of the cross of Christ: Whose end is destruction, whose God is their belly, and whose glory is in their shame, who mind earthly things.” Phil. iii. 18, 19.

15. Cod: bag; Anglo-Saxon, “codde;” hence peas-cod, pin-cod (pin-cushion), &c.

16. Compare with the lines which follow, the picture of the drunken messenger in the Man of Law’s Tale.

17. Lepe: A town near Cadiz, whence a stronger wine than the Gascon vintages afforded was imported to England. French wine was often adulterated with the cheaper and stronger Spanish.

18. Another reading is “Fleet Street.”

19. Attila was suffocated in the night by a haemorrhage, brought on by a debauch, when he was preparing a new invasion of Italy, in 453.

20. “It is not for kings, O Lemuel, it is not for kings to drink wine, nor for princes strong drink; lest they drink, and forget the law, and pervert the judgment of any of the afflicted.” Prov. xxxi. 4, 5.

21. Most manuscripts, evidently in error, have “Stilbon” and “Calidone” for Chilon and Lacedaemon. Chilon was one of the seven sages of Greece, and flourished about B.C. 590. According to Diogenes Laertius, he died, under the pressure of age and joy, in the arms of his son, who had just been crowned victor at the Olympic games.

22. “Swear not at all;” Christ’s words in Matt. v. 34.

23. “And thou shalt swear, the lord liveth in truth, in judgement, and in righteousness.” Jeremiah iv. 2

24. The nails that fastened Christ on the cross, which were regarded with superstitious reverence.

25. Hailes: An abbey in Gloucestershire, where, under the designation of “the blood of Hailes,” a portion of Christ’s blood was preserved.

26. Go bet: a hunting phrase; apparently its force is, “go beat up the game.”

27. Haw; farm-yard, hedge Compare the French, “haie.”

28. Avicen, or Avicenna, was among the distinguished physicians of the Arabian school in the eleventh century, and very popular in the Middle Ages. His great work was called “Canon Medicinae,” and was divided into “fens,” “fennes,” or sections.

29. Assoil: absolve. compare the Scotch law-term “assoilzie,” to acquit.

30. Saint Helen, according to Sir John Mandeville, found the cross of Christ deep below ground, under a rock, where the Jews had hidden it; and she tested the genuineness of the sacred tree, by raising to life a dead man laid upon it.