THE NUN’S PRIEST’S TALE…

THE NUN’S PRIEST’S TALE

THE PROLOGUE.

“Ho!” quoth the Knight, “good sir, no more of this; That ye have said is right enough, y-wis,* *of a surety And muche more; for little heaviness Is right enough to muche folk, I guess. I say for me, it is a great disease,* *source of distress, annoyance Where as men have been in great wealth and ease, To hearen of their sudden fall, alas! And the contrary is joy and great solas,* *delight, comfort As when a man hath been in poor estate, And climbeth up, and waxeth fortunate, And there abideth in prosperity; Such thing is gladsome, as it thinketh me, And of such thing were goodly for to tell.”

“Yea,” quoth our Hoste, “by Saint Paule’s bell. Ye say right sooth; this monk hath clapped* loud; *talked He spake how Fortune cover’d with a cloud I wot not what, and als’ of a tragedy Right now ye heard: and pardie no remedy It is for to bewaile, nor complain That that is done, and also it is pain, As ye have said, to hear of heaviness. Sir Monk, no more of this, so God you bless; Your tale annoyeth all this company; Such talking is not worth a butterfly, For therein is there no sport nor game; Therefore, Sir Monke, Dan Piers by your name, I pray you heart’ly, tell us somewhat else, For sickerly, n’ere* clinking of your bells, *were it not for the That on your bridle hang on every side, By heaven’s king, that for us alle died, I should ere this have fallen down for sleep, Although the slough had been never so deep; Then had your tale been all told in vain. For certainly, as these clerkes sayn, Where as a man may have no audience, Nought helpeth it to telle his sentence. And well I wot the substance is in me, If anything shall well reported be. Sir, say somewhat of hunting, <1> I you pray.”

“Nay,” quoth the Monk, “I have *no lust to play;* *no fondness for Now let another tell, as I have told.” jesting* Then spake our Host with rude speech and bold, And said unto the Nunne’s Priest anon, “Come near, thou Priest, come hither, thou Sir John, <2> Tell us such thing as may our heartes glade.* *gladden Be blithe, although thou ride upon a jade. What though thine horse be bothe foul and lean? If he will serve thee, reck thou not a bean; Look that thine heart be merry evermo’.”

“Yes, Host,” quoth he, “so may I ride or go, But* I be merry, y-wis I will be blamed.” *unless And right anon his tale he hath attamed* *commenced <3> And thus he said unto us every one, This sweete priest, this goodly man, Sir John.

Notes to the Prologue to the Nun’s Priest’s Tale

1. The request is justified by the description of Monk in the Prologue as “an out-rider, that loved venery.”

2. On this Tyrwhitt remarks; “I know not how it has happened, that in the principal modern languages, John, or its equivalent, is a name of contempt or at least of slight. So the Italians use ‘Gianni,’ from whence ‘Zani;’ the Spaniards ‘Juan,’ as ‘Bobo Juan,’ a foolish John; the French ‘Jean,’ with various additions; and in English, when we call a man ‘a John,’ we do not mean it as a title of honour.” The title of “Sir” was usually given by courtesy to priests.

3. Attamed: commenced, broached. Compare French, “entamer”, to cut the first piece off a joint; thence to begin.

THE TALE. <1>

A poor widow, *somedeal y-stept* in age, *somewhat advanced* Was whilom dwelling in a poor cottage, Beside a grove, standing in a dale. This widow, of which I telle you my tale, Since thilke day that she was last a wife, In patience led a full simple life, For little was *her chattel and her rent.* *her goods and her income* By husbandry* of such as God her sent, *thrifty management She found* herself, and eke her daughters two. *maintained Three large sowes had she, and no mo’; Three kine, and eke a sheep that highte Mall. Full sooty was her bow’r,* and eke her hall, *chamber In which she ate full many a slender meal. Of poignant sauce knew she never a deal.* *whit No dainty morsel passed through her throat; Her diet was *accordant to her cote.* *in keeping with her cottage* Repletion her made never sick; Attemper* diet was all her physic, *moderate And exercise, and *hearte’s suffisance.* *contentment of heart* The goute *let her nothing for to dance,* *did not prevent her Nor apoplexy shente* not her head. from dancing* *hurt No wine drank she, neither white nor red: Her board was served most with white and black, Milk and brown bread, in which she found no lack, Seind* bacon, and sometimes an egg or tway; *singed For she was as it were *a manner dey.* *kind of day labourer* <2> A yard she had, enclosed all about With stickes, and a drye ditch without, In which she had a cock, hight Chanticleer; In all the land of crowing *n’as his peer.* *was not his equal* His voice was merrier than the merry orgon,* *organ <3> On masse days that in the churches gon. Well sickerer* was his crowing in his lodge, *more punctual* Than is a clock, or an abbay horloge.* *clock <4> By nature he knew each ascension Of th’ equinoctial in thilke town; For when degrees fiftene were ascended, Then crew he, that it might not be amended. His comb was redder than the fine coral, Embattell’d <5> as it were a castle wall. His bill was black, and as the jet it shone; Like azure were his legges and his tone;* *toes His nailes whiter than the lily flow’r, And like the burnish’d gold was his colour, This gentle cock had in his governance Sev’n hennes, for to do all his pleasance, Which were his sisters and his paramours, And wondrous like to him as of colours. Of which the fairest-hued in the throat Was called Damoselle Partelote, Courteous she was, discreet, and debonair, And companiable,* and bare herself so fair, *sociable Since the day that she sev’n night was old, That truely she had the heart in hold Of Chanticleer, locked in every lith;* *limb He lov’d her so, that well was him therewith, But such a joy it was to hear them sing, When that the brighte sunne gan to spring, In sweet accord, *“My lefe is fare in land.”* <6> *my love is For, at that time, as I have understand, gone abroad* Beastes and birdes coulde speak and sing.

And so befell, that in a dawening, As Chanticleer among his wives all Sat on his perche, that was in the hall, And next him sat this faire Partelote, This Chanticleer gan groanen in his throat, As man that in his dream is dretched* sore, *oppressed And when that Partelote thus heard him roar, She was aghast,* and saide, “Hearte dear, *afraid What aileth you to groan in this mannere? Ye be a very sleeper, fy for shame!” And he answer’d and saide thus; “Madame, I pray you that ye take it not agrief;* *amiss, in umbrage By God, *me mette* I was in such mischief,** *I dreamed* **trouble Right now, that yet mine heart is sore affright’. Now God,” quoth he, “my sweven* read aright *dream, vision. And keep my body out of foul prisoun. *Me mette,* how that I roamed up and down *I dreamed* Within our yard, where as I saw a beast Was like an hound, and would have *made arrest* *siezed* Upon my body, and would have had me dead. His colour was betwixt yellow and red; And tipped was his tail, and both his ears, With black, unlike the remnant of his hairs. His snout was small, with glowing eyen tway; Yet of his look almost for fear I dey;* *died This caused me my groaning, doubteless.”

“Away,” <7> quoth she, “fy on you, hearteless!* *coward Alas!” quoth she, “for, by that God above! Now have ye lost my heart and all my love; I cannot love a coward, by my faith. For certes, what so any woman saith, We all desiren, if it mighte be, To have husbandes hardy, wise, and free, And secret,* and no niggard nor no fool, *discreet Nor him that is aghast* of every tool,** *afraid **rag, trifle Nor no avantour,* by that God above! *braggart How durste ye for shame say to your love That anything might make you afear’d? Have ye no manne’s heart, and have a beard? Alas! and can ye be aghast of swevenes?* *dreams Nothing but vanity, God wot, in sweven is, Swevens *engender of repletions,* *are caused by over-eating* And oft of fume,* and of complexions, *drunkenness When humours be too abundant in a wight. Certes this dream, which ye have mette tonight, Cometh of the great supefluity Of youre rede cholera,* pardie, *bile Which causeth folk to dreaden in their dreams Of arrows, and of fire with redde beams, Of redde beastes, that they will them bite, Of conteke,* and of whelpes great and lite;** *contention **little Right as the humour of melancholy Causeth full many a man in sleep to cry, For fear of bulles, or of beares blake, Or elles that black devils will them take, Of other humours could I tell also, That worke many a man in sleep much woe; That I will pass as lightly as I can. Lo, Cato, which that was so wise a man, Said he not thus, *‘Ne do no force of* dreams,’<8> *attach no weight to* Now, Sir,” quoth she, “when we fly from these beams, For Godde’s love, as take some laxatife; On peril of my soul, and of my life, I counsel you the best, I will not lie, That both of choler, and melancholy, Ye purge you; and, for ye shall not tarry, Though in this town is no apothecary, I shall myself two herbes teache you, That shall be for your health, and for your prow;* *profit And in our yard the herbes shall I find, The which have of their property by kind* *nature To purge you beneath, and eke above. Sire, forget not this for Godde’s love; Ye be full choleric of complexion; Ware that the sun, in his ascension, You finde not replete of humours hot; And if it do, I dare well lay a groat, That ye shall have a fever tertiane, Or else an ague, that may be your bane, A day or two ye shall have digestives Of wormes, ere ye take your laxatives, Of laurel, centaury, <9> and fumeterere, <10> Or else of elder-berry, that groweth there, Of catapuce, <11> or of the gaitre-berries, <12> Or herb ivy growing in our yard, that merry is: Pick them right as they grow, and eat them in, Be merry, husband, for your father’s kin; Dreade no dream; I can say you no more.”

“Madame,” quoth he, “grand mercy of your lore, But natheless, as touching *Dan Catoun,* *Cato That hath of wisdom such a great renown, Though that he bade no dreames for to dread, By God, men may in olde bookes read Of many a man more of authority Than ever Cato was, so may I the,* *thrive That all the reverse say of his sentence,* *opinion And have well founden by experience That dreames be significations As well of joy, as tribulations That folk enduren in this life present. There needeth make of this no argument; The very preve* sheweth it indeed. *trial, experience One of the greatest authors that men read <13> Saith thus, that whilom two fellowes went On pilgrimage in a full good intent; And happen’d so, they came into a town Where there was such a congregatioun Of people, and eke so *strait of herbergage,* *without lodging* That they found not as much as one cottage In which they bothe might y-lodged be: Wherefore they musten of necessity, As for that night, departe company; And each of them went to his hostelry,* *inn And took his lodging as it woulde fall. The one of them was lodged in a stall, Far in a yard, with oxen of the plough; That other man was lodged well enow, As was his aventure, or his fortune, That us governeth all, as in commune. And so befell, that, long ere it were day, This man mette* in his bed, there: as he lay, *dreamed How that his fellow gan upon him call, And said, ‘Alas! for in an ox’s stall This night shall I be murder’d, where I lie Now help me, deare brother, or I die; In alle haste come to me,’ he said. This man out of his sleep for fear abraid;* *started But when that he was wak’d out of his sleep, He turned him, and *took of this no keep;* *paid this no attention* He thought his dream was but a vanity. Thus twies* in his sleeping dreamed he, *twice And at the thirde time yet his fellaw again Came, as he thought, and said, ‘I am now slaw;* *slain Behold my bloody woundes, deep and wide. Arise up early, in the morning, tide, And at the west gate of the town,’ quoth he, ‘A carte full of dung there shalt: thou see, In which my body is hid privily. Do thilke cart arroste* boldely. *stop My gold caused my murder, sooth to sayn.’ And told him every point how he was slain, With a full piteous face, and pale of hue.

“And, truste well, his dream he found full true; For on the morrow, as soon as it was day, To his fellowes inn he took his way; And when that he came to this ox’s stall, After his fellow he began to call. The hostelere answered him anon, And saide, ‘Sir, your fellow is y-gone, As soon as day he went out of the town.’ This man gan fallen in suspicioun, Rememb’ring on his dreames that he mette,* *dreamed And forth he went, no longer would he let,* *delay Unto the west gate of the town, and fand* *found A dung cart, as it went for to dung land, That was arrayed in the same wise As ye have heard the deade man devise;* *describe And with an hardy heart he gan to cry, ‘Vengeance and justice of this felony: My fellow murder’d in this same night And in this cart he lies, gaping upright. I cry out on the ministers,’ quoth he. ‘That shoulde keep and rule this city; Harow! alas! here lies my fellow slain.’ What should I more unto this tale sayn? The people out start, and cast the cart to ground And in the middle of the dung they found The deade man, that murder’d was all new. O blissful God! that art so good and true, Lo, how that thou bewray’st murder alway. Murder will out, that see we day by day. Murder is so wlatsom* and abominable *loathsome To God, that is so just and reasonable, That he will not suffer it heled* be; *concealed <14> Though it abide a year, or two, or three, Murder will out, this is my conclusioun, And right anon, the ministers of the town Have hent* the carter, and so sore him pined,** *seized **tortured And eke the hostelere so sore engined,* *racked That they beknew* their wickedness anon, *confessed And were hanged by the necke bone.

“Here may ye see that dreames be to dread. And certes in the same book I read, Right in the nexte chapter after this (I gabbe* not, so have I joy and bliss), *talk idly Two men that would, have passed over sea, For certain cause, into a far country, If that the wind not hadde been contrary, That made them in a city for to tarry, That stood full merry upon an haven side; But on a day, against the even-tide, The wind gan change, and blew right *as them lest.* *as they wished* Jolly and glad they wente to their rest, And caste* them full early for to sail. *resolved But to the one man fell a great marvail That one of them, in sleeping as he lay, He mette* a wondrous dream, against the day: *dreamed He thought a man stood by his bedde’s side, And him commanded that he should abide; And said him thus; ‘If thou to-morrow wend, Thou shalt be drown’d; my tale is at an end.’ He woke, and told his follow what he mette, And prayed him his voyage for to let;* *delay As for that day, he pray’d him to abide. His fellow, that lay by his bedde’s side, Gan for to laugh, and scorned him full fast. ‘No dream,’ quoth he,’may so my heart aghast,* *frighten That I will lette* for to do my things.* *delay I sette not a straw by thy dreamings, For swevens* be but vanities and japes.** *dreams **jokes,deceits Men dream all day of owles and of apes, And eke of many a maze* therewithal; *wild imagining Men dream of thing that never was, nor shall. But since I see, that thou wilt here abide, And thus forslothe* wilfully thy tide,** *idle away **time God wot, *it rueth me;* and have good day.’ *I am sorry for it* And thus he took his leave, and went his way. But, ere that he had half his course sail’d, I know not why, nor what mischance it ail’d, But casually* the ship’s bottom rent, *by accident And ship and man under the water went, In sight of other shippes there beside That with him sailed at the same tide.

“And therefore, faire Partelote so dear, By such examples olde may’st thou lear,* *learn That no man shoulde be too reckeless Of dreames, for I say thee doubteless, That many a dream full sore is for to dread. Lo, in the life of Saint Kenelm <15> I read, That was Kenulphus’ son, the noble king Of Mercenrike, <16> how Kenelm mette a thing. A little ere he was murder’d on a day, His murder in his vision he say.* *saw His norice* him expounded every deal** *nurse **part His sweven, and bade him to keep* him well *guard For treason; but he was but seven years old, And therefore *little tale hath he told* *he attached little Of any dream, so holy was his heart. significance to* By God, I hadde lever than my shirt That ye had read his legend, as have I. Dame Partelote, I say you truely, Macrobius, that wrote the vision In Afric’ of the worthy Scipion, <17> Affirmeth dreames, and saith that they be ‘Warnings of thinges that men after see. And furthermore, I pray you looke well In the Old Testament, of Daniel, If he held dreames any vanity. Read eke of Joseph, and there shall ye see Whether dreams be sometimes (I say not all) Warnings of thinges that shall after fall. Look of Egypt the king, Dan Pharaoh, His baker and his buteler also, Whether they felte none effect* in dreams. *significance Whoso will seek the acts of sundry remes* *realms May read of dreames many a wondrous thing. Lo Croesus, which that was of Lydia king, Mette he not that he sat upon a tree, Which signified he shoulde hanged be? <18> Lo here, Andromache, Hectore’s wife, <19> That day that Hector shoulde lose his life, She dreamed on the same night beforn, How that the life of Hector should be lorn,* *lost If thilke day he went into battaile; She warned him, but it might not avail; He wente forth to fighte natheless, And was y-slain anon of Achilles. But thilke tale is all too long to tell; And eke it is nigh day, I may not dwell. Shortly I say, as for conclusion, That I shall have of this avision Adversity; and I say furthermore, That I ne *tell of laxatives no store,* *hold laxatives For they be venomous, I wot it well; of no value* I them defy,* I love them never a del.** *distrust **whit

“But let us speak of mirth, and stint* all this; *cease Madame Partelote, so have I bliss, Of one thing God hath sent me large* grace; liberal For when I see the beauty of your face, Ye be so scarlet-hued about your eyen, I maketh all my dreade for to dien, For, all so sicker* as In principio,<20> *certain Mulier est hominis confusio.<21> Madam, the sentence* of of this Latin is, *meaning Woman is manne’s joy and manne’s bliss. For when I feel at night your softe side, — Albeit that I may not on you ride, For that our perch is made so narrow, Alas! I am so full of joy and of solas,* *delight That I defy both sweven and eke dream.” And with that word he flew down from the beam, For it was day, and eke his hennes all; And with a chuck he gan them for to call, For he had found a corn, lay in the yard. Royal he was, he was no more afear’d; He feather’d Partelote twenty time, And as oft trode her, ere that it was prime. He looked as it were a grim lion, And on his toes he roamed up and down; He deigned not to set his feet to ground; He chucked, when he had a corn y-found, And to him ranne then his wives all. Thus royal, as a prince is in his hall, Leave I this Chanticleer in his pasture; And after will I tell his aventure.

When that the month in which the world began, That highte March, when God first maked man, Was complete, and y-passed were also, Since March ended, thirty days and two, Befell that Chanticleer in all his pride, His seven wives walking him beside, Cast up his eyen to the brighte sun, That in the sign of Taurus had y-run Twenty degrees and one, and somewhat more; He knew by kind,* and by none other lore,** *nature **learning That it was prime, and crew with blissful steven.* *voice “The sun,” he said, “is clomben up in heaven Twenty degrees and one, and more y-wis.* *assuredly Madame Partelote, my worlde’s bliss, Hearken these blissful birdes how they sing, And see the freshe flowers how they spring; Full is mine heart of revel and solace.” But suddenly him fell a sorrowful case;* *casualty For ever the latter end of joy is woe: God wot that worldly joy is soon y-go: And, if a rhetor* coulde fair indite, *orator He in a chronicle might it safely write, As for *a sov’reign notability* *a thing supremely notable* Now every wise man, let him hearken me; This story is all as true, I undertake, As is the book of Launcelot du Lake, That women hold in full great reverence. Now will I turn again to my sentence.

A col-fox, <22> full of sly iniquity, That in the grove had wonned* yeares three, *dwelt By high imagination forecast, The same night thorough the hedges brast* *burst Into the yard, where Chanticleer the fair Was wont, and eke his wives, to repair; And in a bed of wortes* still he lay, *cabbages Till it was passed undern <23> of the day, Waiting his time on Chanticleer to fall: As gladly do these homicides all, That in awaite lie to murder men. O false murd’rer! Rouking* in thy den! *crouching, lurking O new Iscariot, new Ganilion! <24> O false dissimuler, O Greek Sinon,<25> That broughtest Troy all utterly to sorrow! O Chanticleer! accursed be the morrow That thou into thy yard flew from the beams;* *rafters Thou wert full well y-warned by thy dreams That thilke day was perilous to thee. But what that God forewot* must needes be, *foreknows After th’ opinion of certain clerkes. Witness on him that any perfect clerk is, That in school is great altercation In this matter, and great disputation, And hath been of an hundred thousand men. But I ne cannot *boult it to the bren,* *examine it thoroughly <26>* As can the holy doctor Augustine, Or Boece, or the bishop Bradwardine,<27> Whether that Godde’s worthy foreweeting* *foreknowledge *Straineth me needly* for to do a thing *forces me* (Needly call I simple necessity), Or elles if free choice be granted me To do that same thing, or do it not, Though God forewot* it ere that it was wrought; *knew in advance Or if *his weeting straineth never a deal,* *his knowing constrains But by necessity conditionel. not at all* I will not have to do of such mattere; My tale is of a cock, as ye may hear, That took his counsel of his wife, with sorrow, To walken in the yard upon the morrow That he had mette the dream, as I you told. Womane’s counsels be full often cold;* *mischievous, unwise Womane’s counsel brought us first to woe, And made Adam from Paradise to go, There as he was full merry and well at case. But, for I n’ot* to whom I might displease *know not If I counsel of women woulde blame, Pass over, for I said it in my game.* *jest Read authors, where they treat of such mattere And what they say of women ye may hear. These be the cocke’s wordes, and not mine; I can no harm of no woman divine.* *conjecture, imagine Fair in the sand, to bathe* her merrily, *bask Lies Partelote, and all her sisters by, Against the sun, and Chanticleer so free Sang merrier than the mermaid in the sea; For Physiologus saith sickerly,* *certainly How that they singe well and merrily. <28> And so befell that, as he cast his eye Among the wortes,* on a butterfly, *cabbages He was ware of this fox that lay full low. Nothing *ne list him thenne* for to crow, *he had no inclination* But cried anon “Cock! cock!” and up he start, As man that was affrayed in his heart. For naturally a beast desireth flee From his contrary,* if be may it see, *enemy Though he *ne’er erst* had soon it with his eye *never before* This Chanticleer, when he gan him espy, He would have fled, but that the fox anon Said, “Gentle Sir, alas! why will ye gon? Be ye afraid of me that am your friend? Now, certes, I were worse than any fiend, If I to you would harm or villainy. I am not come your counsel to espy. But truely the cause of my coming Was only for to hearken how ye sing; For truely ye have as merry a steven,* *voice As any angel hath that is in heaven; Therewith ye have of music more feeling, Than had Boece, or any that can sing. My lord your father (God his soule bless) And eke your mother of her gentleness, Have in mnine house been, to my great ease:* *satisfaction And certes, Sir, full fain would I you please. But, for men speak of singing, I will say, So may I brooke* well mine eyen tway, *enjoy, possess, or use Save you, I hearde never man so sing As did your father in the morrowning. Certes it was of heart all that he sung. And, for to make his voice the more strong, He would *so pain him,* that with both his eyen *make such an exertion* He muste wink, so loud he woulde cryen, And standen on his tiptoes therewithal, And stretche forth his necke long and small. And eke he was of such discretion, That there was no man, in no region, That him in song or wisdom mighte pass. I have well read in Dan Burnel the Ass, <29> Among his verse, how that there was a cock That, for* a prieste’s son gave him a knock *because Upon his leg, while he was young and nice,* *foolish He made him for to lose his benefice. But certain there is no comparison Betwixt the wisdom and discretion Of youre father, and his subtilty. Now singe, Sir, for sainte charity, Let see, can ye your father counterfeit?”

This Chanticleer his wings began to beat, As man that could not his treason espy, So was he ravish’d with his flattery. Alas! ye lordes, many a false flattour* *flatterer <30> Is in your court, and many a losengeour, * *deceiver <31> That please you well more, by my faith, Than he that soothfastness* unto you saith. *truth Read in Ecclesiast’ of flattery; Beware, ye lordes, of their treachery. This Chanticleer stood high upon his toes, Stretching his neck, and held his eyen close, And gan to crowe loude for the nonce And Dan Russel <32> the fox start up at once, And *by the gorge hente* Chanticleer, *seized by the throat* And on his back toward the wood him bare. For yet was there no man that him pursu’d. O destiny, that may’st not be eschew’d!* *escaped Alas, that Chanticleer flew from the beams! Alas, his wife raughte* nought of dreams! *regarded And on a Friday fell all this mischance. O Venus, that art goddess of pleasance, Since that thy servant was this Chanticleer And in thy service did all his powere, More for delight, than the world to multiply, Why wilt thou suffer him on thy day to die? O Gaufrid, deare master sovereign, <33> That, when thy worthy king Richard was slain With shot, complainedest his death so sore, Why n’had I now thy sentence and thy lore, The Friday for to chiden, as did ye? (For on a Friday, soothly, slain was he), Then would I shew you how that I could plain* *lament For Chanticleere’s dread, and for his pain.

Certes such cry nor lamentation Was ne’er of ladies made, when Ilion Was won, and Pyrrhus with his straighte sword, When he had hent* king Priam by the beard, *seized And slain him (as saith us Eneidos*),<34> *The Aeneid As maden all the hennes in the close,* *yard When they had seen of Chanticleer the sight. But sov’reignly* Dame Partelote shright,** *above all others Full louder than did Hasdrubale’s wife, **shrieked When that her husband hadde lost his life, And that the Romans had y-burnt Carthage; She was so full of torment and of rage, That wilfully into the fire she start, And burnt herselfe with a steadfast heart. O woeful hennes! right so cried ye, As, when that Nero burned the city Of Rome, cried the senatores’ wives, For that their husbands losten all their lives; Withoute guilt this Nero hath them slain. Now will I turn unto my tale again;

The sely* widow, and her daughters two, *simple, honest Hearde these hennes cry and make woe, And at the doors out started they anon, And saw the fox toward the wood is gone, And bare upon his back the cock away: They cried, “Out! harow! and well-away! Aha! the fox!” and after him they ran, And eke with staves many another man Ran Coll our dog, and Talbot, and Garland; And Malkin, with her distaff in her hand Ran cow and calf, and eke the very hogges So fear’d they were for barking of the dogges, And shouting of the men and women eke. They ranne so, them thought their hearts would break. They yelled as the fiendes do in hell; The duckes cried as men would them quell;* *kill, destroy The geese for feare flewen o’er the trees, Out of the hive came the swarm of bees, So hideous was the noise, ben’dicite! Certes he, Jacke Straw,<35> and his meinie,* *followers Ne made never shoutes half so shrill When that they woulden any Fleming kill, As thilke day was made upon the fox. Of brass they broughte beames* and of box, *trumpets <36> Of horn and bone, in which they blew and pooped,* **tooted And therewithal they shrieked and they hooped; It seemed as the heaven shoulde fall

Now, goode men, I pray you hearken all; Lo, how Fortune turneth suddenly The hope and pride eke of her enemy. This cock, that lay upon the fox’s back, In all his dread unto the fox he spake, And saide, “Sir, if that I were as ye, Yet would I say (as wisly* God help me), *surely ‘Turn ye again, ye proude churles all; A very pestilence upon you fall. Now am I come unto the woode’s side, Maugre your head, the cock shall here abide; I will him eat, in faith, and that anon.’” The fox answer’d, “In faith it shall be done:” And, as he spake the word, all suddenly The cock brake from his mouth deliverly,* *nimbly And high upon a tree he flew anon. And when the fox saw that the cock was gone, “Alas!” quoth he, “O Chanticleer, alas! I have,” quoth he, “y-done to you trespass,* *offence Inasmuch as I maked you afear’d, When I you hent,* and brought out of your yard; *took But, Sir, I did it in no wick’ intent; Come down, and I shall tell you what I meant. I shall say sooth to you, God help me so.” “Nay then,” quoth he, “I shrew* us both the two, *curse And first I shrew myself, both blood and bones, If thou beguile me oftener than once. Thou shalt no more through thy flattery Do* me to sing and winke with mine eye; *cause For he that winketh when he shoulde see, All wilfully, God let him never the.”* *thrive “Nay,” quoth the fox; “but God give him mischance That is so indiscreet of governance, That jangleth* when that he should hold his peace.” *chatters

Lo, what it is for to be reckeless And negligent, and trust on flattery. But ye that holde this tale a folly, As of a fox, or of a cock or hen, Take the morality thereof, good men. For Saint Paul saith, That all that written is, *To our doctrine it written is y-wis.* <37> *is surely written for Take the fruit, and let the chaff be still. our instruction*

Now goode God, if that it be thy will, As saith my Lord, <38> so make us all good men; And bring us all to thy high bliss. Amen.

Notes to the Nun’s Priest’s Tale

1. The Tale of the Nun’s Priest is founded on the fifth chapter of an old French metrical “Romance of Renard;” the same story forming one of the fables of Marie, the translator of the Breton Lays. (See note 2 to the Prologue to the Franklin’s Tale.) Although Dryden was in error when he ascribed the Tale to Chaucer’s own invention, still the materials on which he had to operate were out of cornparison more trivial than the result.

2. Tyrwhitt quotes two statutes of Edward III, in which “deys” are included among the servants employed in agricultural pursuits; the name seems to have originally meant a servant who gave his labour by the day, but afterwards to have been appropriated exclusively to one who superintended or worked in a dairy.

3. Orgon: here licentiously used for the plural, “organs” or “orgons,” corresponding to the plural verb “gon” in the next line.

4. Horloge: French, “clock.”

5. Embattell’d: indented on the upper edge like the battlements of a castle.

6. My lefe is fare in land: This seems to have been the refrain of some old song, and its precise meaning is uncertain. It corresponds in cadence with the morning salutation of the cock; and may be taken as a greeting to the sun, which is beloved of Chanticleer, and has just come upon the earth — or in the sense of a more local boast, as vaunting the fairness of his favourite hen above all others in the country round.

Transcriber’s note: Later commentators explain “fare in land” as “gone abroad” and have identified the song:

My lefe is fare in lond Alas! Why is she so? And I am so sore bound I may not come her to. She hath my heart in hold Where ever she ride or go With true love a thousand-fold.

(Printed in The Athenaeum, 1896, Vol II, p. 566).

7. “Avoi!” is the word here rendered “away!” It was frequently used in the French fabliaux, and the Italians employ the word “via!” in the same sense.

8. “Ne do no force of dreams:” “Somnia ne cares;” — Cato “De Moribus,” 1 ii, dist. 32

9. Centaury: the herb so called because by its virtue the centaur Chiron was healed when the poisoned arrow of Hercules had accidentally wounded his foot.

10. Fumetere: the herb “fumitory.”

11. Catapuce: spurge; a plant of purgative qualities. To its name in the text correspond the Italian “catapuzza,” and French “catapuce” — words the origin of which is connected with the effects of the plant.

12. Gaitre-berries: dog-wood berries.

13. One of the greatest authors that men read: Cicero, who in his book “De Divinatione” tells this and the following story, though in contrary order and with many differences.

14. Haled or hylled; from Anglo-Saxon “helan” hid, concealed

15. Kenelm succeeded his father as king of the Saxon realm of Mercia in 811, at the age of seven years; but he was slain by his ambitious aunt Quendrada. The place of his burial was miraculously discovered, and he was subsequently elevated to the rank of a saint and martyr. His life is in the English “Golden Legend.”

16. Mercenrike: the kingdom of Mercia; Anglo-Saxon, Myrcnarice. Compare the second member of the compound in the German, “Frankreich,” France; “Oesterreich,” Austria.

17. Cicero (“De Republica,” lib. vi.) wrote the Dream of Scipio, in which the Younger relates the appearance of the Elder Africanus, and the counsels and exhortations which the shade addressed to the sleeper. Macrobius wrote an elaborate “Commentary on the Dream of Scipio,” — a philosophical treatise much studied and relished during the Middle Ages.

18. See the Monk’s Tale for this story.

19. Andromache’s dream will not be found in Homer; It is related in the book of the fictitious Dares Phrygius, the most popular authority during the Middle Ages for the history of the Trojan War.

20. In principio: In the beginning; the first words of Genesis and of the Gospel of John.

21. Mulier est hominis confusio: This line is taken from the same fabulous conference between the Emperor Adrian and the philosopher Secundus, whence Chaucer derived some of the arguments in praise of poverty employed in the Wife of Bath’s Tale proper. See note 14 to the Wife of Bath’s tale. The passage transferred to the text is the commencement of a description of woman. “Quid est mulier? hominis confusio,” &c. (“What is Woman? A union with man”, &c.)

22. Col-fox: a blackish fox, so called because of its likeness to coal, according to Skinner; though more probably the prefix has a reproachful meaning, and is in some way connected with the word “cold” as, some forty lines below, it is applied to the prejudicial counsel of women, and as frequently it is used to describe “sighs” and other tokens of grief, and “cares” or “anxieties.”

23. Undern: In this case, the meaning of “evening” or “afternoon” can hardly be applied to the word, which must be taken to signify some early hour of the forenoon. See also note 4 to the Wife of Bath’s tale and note 5 to the Clerk’s Tale.

24. Ganilion: a traitor. See note 9 to the Shipman’s Tale and note 28 to the Monk’s Tale.

25. Greek Sinon: The inventor of the Trojan Horse. See note 14 to the Squire’s Tale

26. Boult it from the bren: Examine the matter thoroughly; a metaphor taken from the sifting of meal, to divide the fine flour from the bran.

27. Thomas Bradwardine, Archbishop of Canterbury in the thirteenth century, who wrote a book, “De Causa Dei,” in controversy with Pelagius; and also numerous other treatises, among them some on predestination.

28. In a popular mediaveal Latin treatise by one Theobaldus, entitled “Physiologus de Naturis XII. Animalium” (“A description of the nature of twelve animals”), sirens or mermaids are described as skilled in song, and drawing unwary mariners to destruction by the sweetness of their voices.

29. “Nigellus Wireker,” says Urry’s Glossary, “a monk and precentor of Canterbury, wrote a Latin poem intituled ‘Speculum Speculorum,’ (‘The mirror of mirrors’) dedicated to William Longchamp, Bishop of Ely, and Lord Chancellor; wherein, under the fable of an Ass (which he calls ‘Burnellus’) that desired a longer tail, is represented the folly of such as are not content with their own condition. There is introduced a tale of a cock, who having his leg broke by a priest’s son (called Gundulfus) watched an opportunity to be revenged; which at last presented itself on this occasion: A day was appointed for Gundulfus’s being admitted into holy orders at a place remote from his father’s habitation; he therefore orders the servants to call him at first cock-crowing, which the cock overhearing did not crow at all that morning. So Gundulfus overslept himself, and was thereby disappointed of his ordination, the office being quite finished before he came to the place.” Wireker’s satire was among the most celebrated and popular Latin poems of the Middle Ages. The Ass was probably as Tyrwhitt suggests, called “Burnel” or “Brunel,” from his brown colour; as, a little below, a reddish fox is called “Russel.”

30. Flattour: flatterer; French, “flatteur.”

31. Losengeour: deceiver, cozener; the word had analogues in the French “losengier,” and the Spanish “lisongero.” It is probably connected with “leasing,” falsehood; which has been derived from Anglo-Saxon “hlisan,” to celebrate — as if it meant the spreading of a false renown

32. Dan Russel: Master Russet; a name given to the fox, from his reddish colour.

33. Geoffrey de Vinsauf was the author of a well-known mediaeval treatise on composition in various poetical styles of which he gave examples. Chaucer’s irony is therefore directed against some grandiose and affected lines on the death of Richard I., intended to illustrate the pathetic style, in which Friday is addressed as “O Veneris lachrymosa dies” (“O tearful day of Venus”).

34. “Priamum altaria ad ipsa trementem Traxit, et in multo lapsantem sanguine nati Implicuitque comam laeva, dextraque coruscum Extulit, ac lateri capulo tenus abdidit ensem. Haec finis Priami fatorum.” (“He dragged Priam trembling to his own altar, slipping on the blood of his child; He took his hair in his left hand, and with the right drew the flashing sword, and hid it to the hilt [in his body]. Thus an end was made of Priam”) — Virgil, Aeneid. ii. 550.

35. Jack Straw: The leader of a Kentish rising, in the reign of Richard II, in 1381, by which the Flemish merchants in London were great sufferers.

36. Beams: trumpets; Anglo-Saxon, “bema.”

37. “All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness: that the man of God may be perfect, throughly furnished unto all good works.” — 2 Tim. iii. 16.

THE EPILOGUE <1>

“Sir Nunne’s Priest,” our hoste said anon, “Y-blessed be thy breech, and every stone; This was a merry tale of Chanticleer. But by my truth, if thou wert seculere,* *a layman Thou wouldest be a treadefowl* aright; *cock For if thou have courage as thou hast might, Thee were need of hennes, as I ween, Yea more than seven times seventeen. See, whate brawnes* hath this gentle priest, *muscles, sinews So great a neck, and such a large breast He looketh as a sperhawk with his eyen Him needeth not his colour for to dyen With Brazil, nor with grain of Portugale. But, Sir, faire fall you for your tale’.” And, after that, he with full merry cheer Said to another, as ye shall hear.

Notes to the Epilogue to the Nun’s Priest’s Tale

1. The sixteen lines appended to the Tale of the Nun’s Priest seem, as Tyrwhitt observes, to commence the prologue to the succeeding Tale — but the difficulty is to determine which that Tale should be. In earlier editions, the lines formed the opening of the prologue to the Manciple’s Tale; but most of the manuscripts acknowledge themselves defective in this part, and give the Nun’s Tale after that of the Nun’s Priest. In the Harleian manuscript, followed by Mr Wright, the second Nun’s Tale, and the Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale, are placed after the Franklin’s tale; and the sixteen lines above are not found — the Manciple’s prologue coming immediately after the “Amen” of the Nun’s Priest. In two manuscripts, the last line of the sixteen runs thus: “Said unto the Nun as ye shall hear;” and six lines more evidently forged, are given to introduce the Nun’s Tale. All this confusion and doubt only strengthen the certainty, and deepen the regret, that “The Canterbury Tales” were left at Chaucer’s, death not merely very imperfect as a whole, but destitute of many finishing touches that would have made them complete so far as the conception had actually been carried into performance.

THE SECOND NUN’S TALE

The minister and norice* unto vices, *nurse Which that men call in English idleness, The porter at the gate is of delices;* *delights T’eschew, and by her contrar’ her oppress, — That is to say, by lawful business,* — *occupation, activity Well oughte we to *do our all intent* *apply ourselves* Lest that the fiend through idleness us hent.* *seize

For he, that with his thousand cordes sly Continually us waiteth to beclap,* *entangle, bind When he may man in idleness espy, He can so lightly catch him in his trap, Till that a man be hent* right by the lappe,** *seize **hem He is not ware the fiend hath him in hand; Well ought we work, and idleness withstand.

And though men dreaded never for to die, Yet see men well by reason, doubteless, That idleness is root of sluggardy, Of which there cometh never good increase; And see that sloth them holdeth in a leas,* *leash <2> Only to sleep, and for to eat and drink, And to devouren all that others swink.* *labour

And, for to put us from such idleness, That cause is of so great confusion, I have here done my faithful business, After the Legend, in translation Right of thy glorious life and passion, — Thou with thy garland wrought of rose and lily, Thee mean I, maid and martyr, Saint Cecilie.

And thou, thou art the flow’r of virgins all, Of whom that Bernard list so well to write, <3> To thee at my beginning first I call; Thou comfort of us wretches, do me indite Thy maiden’s death, that won through her merite Th’ eternal life, and o’er the fiend victory, As man may after readen in her story.

Thou maid and mother, daughter of thy Son, Thou well of mercy, sinful soules’ cure, In whom that God of bounte chose to won;* *dwell Thou humble and high o’er every creature, Thou nobilest, *so far forth our nature,* *as far as our nature admits* That no disdain the Maker had of kind,* *nature His Son in blood and flesh to clothe and wind.* *wrap

Within the cloister of thy blissful sides Took manne’s shape th’ eternal love and peace, That of *the trine compass* Lord and guide is *the trinity* Whom earth, and sea, and heav’n, *out of release,* *unceasingly *Aye hery;* and thou, Virgin wemmeless,* *forever praise* *immaculate Bare of thy body, and dweltest maiden pure, The Creator of every creature.

Assembled is in thee magnificence <4> With mercy, goodness, and with such pity, That thou, that art the sun of excellence, Not only helpest them that pray to thee, But oftentime, of thy benignity, Full freely, ere that men thine help beseech, Thou go’st before, and art their lives’ leech.* *healer, saviour.

Now help, thou meek and blissful faire maid, Me, flemed* wretch, in this desert of gall; *banished, outcast Think on the woman Cananee that said That whelpes eat some of the crumbes all That from their Lorde’s table be y-fall;<5> And though that I, unworthy son of Eve,<6> Be sinful, yet accepte my believe.* *faith

And, for that faith is dead withoute werkes, For to worke give me wit and space, That I be *quit from thennes that most derk is;* *freed from the most O thou, that art so fair and full of grace, dark place (Hell)* Be thou mine advocate in that high place, Where as withouten end is sung Osanne, Thou Christe’s mother, daughter dear of Anne.

And of thy light my soul in prison light, That troubled is by the contagion Of my body, and also by the weight Of earthly lust and false affection; O hav’n of refuge, O salvation Of them that be in sorrow and distress, Now help, for to my work I will me dress.

Yet pray I you, that reade what I write, <6> Forgive me that I do no diligence This ilke* story subtilly t’ indite. *same For both have I the wordes and sentence Of him that at the sainte’s reverence The story wrote, and follow her legend; And pray you that you will my work amend.

First will I you the name of Saint Cecilie Expound, as men may in her story see. It is to say in English, Heaven’s lily,<7> For pure chasteness of virginity; Or, for she whiteness had of honesty,* *purity And green of conscience, and of good fame The sweete savour, Lilie was her name.

Or Cecilie is to say, the way of blind;<7> For she example was by good teaching; Or else Cecilie, as I written find, Is joined by a manner conjoining Of heaven and Lia, <7> and herein figuring The heaven is set for thought of holiness, And Lia for her lasting business.

Cecilie may eke be said in this mannere, Wanting of blindness, for her greate light Of sapience, and for her thewes* clear. *qualities Or elles, lo, this maiden’s name bright Of heaven and Leos <7> comes, for which by right Men might her well the heaven of people call, Example of good and wise workes all;

For Leos people in English is to say; And right as men may in the heaven see The sun and moon, and starres every way, Right so men ghostly,* in this maiden free, *spiritually Sawen of faith the magnanimity, And eke the clearness whole of sapience, And sundry workes bright of excellence.

And right so as these philosophers write, That heav’n is swift and round, and eke burning, Right so was faire Cecilie the white Full swift and busy in every good working, And round and whole in good persevering, <8> And burning ever in charity full bright; Now have I you declared *what she hight.* *why she had her name*

This maiden bright Cecile, as her life saith, Was come of Romans, and of noble kind, And from her cradle foster’d in the faith Of Christ, and bare his Gospel in her mind: She never ceased, as I written find, Of her prayere, and God to love and dread, Beseeching him to keep her maidenhead.

And when this maiden should unto a man Y-wedded be, that was full young of age, Which that y-called was Valerian, And come was the day of marriage, She, full devout and humble in her corage,* *heart Under her robe of gold, that sat full fair, Had next her flesh y-clad her in an hair.* *garment of hair-cloth

And while the organs made melody, To God alone thus in her heart sang she; “O Lord, my soul and eke my body gie* *guide Unwemmed,* lest that I confounded be.” *unblemished And, for his love that died upon the tree, Every second or third day she fast’, Aye bidding* in her orisons full fast. *praying

The night came, and to bedde must she gon With her husband, as it is the mannere; And privily she said to him anon; “O sweet and well-beloved spouse dear, There is a counsel,* an’** ye will it hear, *secret **if Which that right fain I would unto you say, So that ye swear ye will it not bewray.”* *betray

Valerian gan fast unto her swear That for no case nor thing that mighte be, He never should to none bewrayen her; And then at erst* thus to him saide she; *for the first time “I have an angel which that loveth me, That with great love, whether I wake or sleep, Is ready aye my body for to keep;

“And if that he may feelen, *out of dread,* *without doubt* That ye me touch or love in villainy, He right anon will slay you with the deed, And in your youthe thus ye shoulde die. And if that ye in cleane love me gie,”* *guide He will you love as me, for your cleanness, And shew to you his joy and his brightness.”

Valerian, corrected as God wo’ld, Answer’d again, “If I shall truste thee, Let me that angel see, and him behold; And if that it a very angel be, Then will I do as thou hast prayed me; And if thou love another man, forsooth Right with this sword then will I slay you both.”

Cecile answer’d anon right in this wise; “If that you list, the angel shall ye see, So that ye trow* Of Christ, and you baptise; *know Go forth to Via Appia,” quoth she, That from this towne stands but miles three, And to the poore folkes that there dwell Say them right thus, as that I shall you tell,

“Tell them, that I, Cecile, you to them sent To shewe you the good Urban the old, For secret needes,* and for good intent; *business And when that ye Saint Urban have behold, Tell him the wordes which I to you told And when that he hath purged you from sin, Then shall ye see that angel ere ye twin* *depart

Valerian is to the place gone; And, right as he was taught by her learning He found this holy old Urban anon Among the saintes’ burials louting;* *lying concealed <9> And he anon, withoute tarrying, Did his message, and when that he it told, Urban for joy his handes gan uphold.

The teares from his eyen let he fall; “Almighty Lord, O Jesus Christ,” Quoth he, “Sower of chaste counsel, herd* of us all; *shepherd The fruit of thilke* seed of chastity *that That thou hast sown in Cecile, take to thee Lo, like a busy bee, withoute guile, Thee serveth aye thine owen thrall* Cicile, *servant

“For thilke spouse, that she took *but now,* *lately* Full like a fierce lion, she sendeth here, As meek as e’er was any lamb to owe.” And with that word anon there gan appear An old man, clad in white clothes clear, That had a book with letters of gold in hand, And gan before Valerian to stand.

Valerian, as dead, fell down for dread, When he him saw; and he up hent* him tho,** *took **there And on his book right thus he gan to read; “One Lord, one faith, one God withoute mo’, One Christendom, one Father of all also, Aboven all, and over all everywhere.” These wordes all with gold y-written were.

When this was read, then said this olde man, “Believ’st thou this or no? say yea or nay.” “I believe all this,” quoth Valerian, “For soother* thing than this, I dare well say, *truer Under the Heaven no wight thinke may.” Then vanish’d the old man, he wist not where And Pope Urban him christened right there.

Valerian went home, and found Cecilie Within his chamber with an angel stand; This angel had of roses and of lily Corones* two, the which he bare in hand, *crowns And first to Cecile, as I understand, He gave the one, and after gan he take The other to Valerian her make.* *mate, husband

“With body clean, and with unwemmed* thought, *unspotted, blameless Keep aye well these corones two,” quoth he; “From Paradise to you I have them brought, Nor ever more shall they rotten be, Nor lose their sweet savour, truste me, Nor ever wight shall see them with his eye, But he be chaste, and hate villainy.

“And thou, Valerian, for thou so soon Assented hast to good counsel, also Say what thee list,* and thou shalt have thy boon.”** *wish **desire “I have a brother,” quoth Valerian tho,* *then “That in this world I love no man so; I pray you that my brother may have grace To know the truth, as I do in this place.”

The angel said, “God liketh thy request, And bothe, with the palm of martyrdom, Ye shalle come unto this blissful rest.” And, with that word, Tiburce his brother came. And when that he the savour undernome* *perceived Which that the roses and the lilies cast, Within his heart he gan to wonder fast;

And said; “I wonder, this time of the year, Whence that sweete savour cometh so Of rose and lilies, that I smelle here; For though I had them in mine handes two, The savour might in me no deeper go; The sweete smell, that in my heart I find, Hath changed me all in another kind.”

Valerian said, “Two crownes here have we, Snow-white and rose-red, that shine clear, Which that thine eyen have no might to see; And, as thou smellest them through my prayere, So shalt thou see them, leve* brother dear, *beloved If it so be thou wilt withoute sloth Believe aright, and know the very troth. “

Tiburce answered, “Say’st thou this to me In soothness, or in dreame hear I this?” “In dreames,” quoth Valorian, “have we be Unto this time, brother mine, y-wis But now *at erst* in truth our dwelling is.” *for the first time* How know’st thou this,” quoth Tiburce; “in what wise?” Quoth Valerian, “That shall I thee devise* *describe

“The angel of God hath me the truth y-taught, Which thou shalt see, if that thou wilt reny* *renounce The idols, and be clean, and elles nought.” [And of the miracle of these crownes tway Saint Ambrose in his preface list to say; Solemnely this noble doctor dear Commendeth it, and saith in this mannere

“The palm of martyrdom for to receive, Saint Cecilie, full filled of God’s gift, The world and eke her chamber gan to weive;* *forsake Witness Tiburce’s and Cecilie’s shrift,* *confession To which God of his bounty woulde shift Corones two, of flowers well smelling, And made his angel them the crownes bring.

“The maid hath brought these men to bliss above; The world hath wist what it is worth, certain, Devotion of chastity to love.”] <10> Then showed him Cecilie all open and plain, That idols all are but a thing in vain, For they be dumb, and thereto* they be deave;** *therefore **deaf And charged him his idols for to leave.

“Whoso that troweth* not this, a beast he is,” *believeth Quoth this Tiburce, “if that I shall not lie.” And she gan kiss his breast when she heard this, And was full glad he could the truth espy: “This day I take thee for mine ally.”* *chosen friend Saide this blissful faire maiden dear; And after that she said as ye may hear.

“Lo, right so as the love of Christ,” quoth she, “Made me thy brother’s wife, right in that wise Anon for mine ally here take I thee, Since that thou wilt thine idoles despise. Go with thy brother now and thee baptise, And make thee clean, so that thou may’st behold The angel’s face, of which thy brother told.”

Tiburce answer’d, and saide, “Brother dear, First tell me whither I shall, and to what man?” “To whom?” quoth he, “come forth with goode cheer, I will thee lead unto the Pope Urban.” “To Urban? brother mine Valerian,” Quoth then Tiburce; “wilt thou me thither lead? Me thinketh that it were a wondrous deed.

“Meanest thou not that Urban,” quoth he tho,* *then “That is so often damned to be dead, And wons* in halkes** always to and fro, *dwells **corners And dare not ones putte forth his head? Men should him brennen* in a fire so red, *burn If he were found, or if men might him spy: And us also, to bear him company.

“And while we seeke that Divinity That is y-hid in heaven privily, Algate* burnt in this world should we be.” *nevertheless To whom Cecilie answer’d boldely; “Men mighte dreade well and skilfully* *reasonably This life to lose, mine owen deare brother, If this were living only, and none other.

“But there is better life in other place, That never shall be loste, dread thee nought; Which Godde’s Son us tolde through his grace That Father’s Son which alle thinges wrought; And all that wrought is with a skilful* thought, *reasonable The Ghost,* that from the Father gan proceed, *Holy Spirit Hath souled* them, withouten any drede.** *endowed them with a soul **doubt By word and by miracle, high God’s Son, When he was in this world, declared here. That there is other life where men may won.”* *dwell To whom answer’d Tiburce, “O sister dear, Saidest thou not right now in this mannere, There was but one God, Lord in soothfastness,* *truth And now of three how may’st thou bear witness?”

“That shall I tell,” quoth she, “ere that I go. Right as a man hath sapiences* three, *mental faculties Memory, engine,* and intellect also, *wit <11> So in one being of divinity Three persones there maye right well be.” Then gan she him full busily to preach Of Christe’s coming, and his paines teach,

And many pointes of his passion; How Godde’s Son in this world was withhold* *employed To do mankinde plein* remission, *full That was y-bound in sin and cares cold.* *wretched <12> All this thing she unto Tiburce told, And after that Tiburce, in good intent, With Valerian to Pope Urban he went.

That thanked God, and with glad heart and light He christen’d him, and made him in that place Perfect in his learning, and Godde’s knight. And after this Tiburce got such grace, That every day he saw in time and space Th’ angel of God, and every manner boon* *request, favour That be God asked, it was sped* full anon. *granted, successful

It were full hard by order for to sayn How many wonders Jesus for them wrought, But at the last, to telle short and plain, The sergeants of the town of Rome them sought, And them before Almach the Prefect brought, Which them apposed,* and knew all their intent, *questioned And to th’image of Jupiter them sent.

And said, “Whoso will not do sacrifice, Swap* off his head, this is my sentence here.” *strike Anon these martyrs, *that I you devise,* *of whom I tell you* One Maximus, that was an officere Of the prefect’s, and his corniculere <13> Them hent,* and when he forth the saintes lad,** *seized **led Himself he wept for pity that he had.

When Maximus had heard the saintes lore,* *doctrine, teaching He got him of the tormentores* leave, *torturers And led them to his house withoute more; And with their preaching, ere that it were eve, They gonnen* from the tormentors to reave,** *began **wrest, root out And from Maxim’, and from his folk each one, The false faith, to trow* in God alone. *believe

Cecilia came, when it was waxen night, With priestes, that them christen’d *all in fere;* *in a company* And afterward, when day was waxen light, Cecile them said with a full steadfast cheer,* *mien “Now, Christe’s owen knightes lefe* and dear, *beloved Cast all away the workes of darkness, And arme you in armour of brightness.

Ye have forsooth y-done a great battaile, Your course is done, your faith have ye conserved; <14> O to the crown of life that may not fail; The rightful Judge, which that ye have served Shall give it you, as ye have it deserved.” And when this thing was said, as I devise,* relate Men led them forth to do the sacrifice.

But when they were unto the place brought To telle shortly the conclusion, They would incense nor sacrifice right nought But on their knees they sette them adown, With humble heart and sad* devotion, *steadfast And loste both their heades in the place; Their soules wente to the King of grace.

This Maximus, that saw this thing betide, With piteous teares told it anon right, That he their soules saw to heaven glide With angels, full of clearness and of light Andt with his word converted many a wight. For which Almachius *did him to-beat* *see note <15>* With whip of lead, till he his life gan lete.* *quit

Cecile him took, and buried him anon By Tiburce and Valerian softely, Within their burying-place, under the stone. And after this Almachius hastily Bade his ministers fetchen openly Cecile, so that she might in his presence Do sacrifice, and Jupiter incense.* *burn incense to

But they, converted at her wise lore,* *teaching Wepte full sore, and gave full credence Unto her word, and cried more and more; “Christ, Godde’s Son, withoute difference, Is very God, this is all our sentence,* *opinion That hath so good a servant him to serve Thus with one voice we trowe,* though we sterve.** *believe **die

Almachius, that heard of this doing, Bade fetch Cecilie, that he might her see; And alderfirst,* lo, this was his asking; *first of all “What manner woman arte thou?” quoth he, “I am a gentle woman born,” quoth she. “I aske thee,” quoth he,”though it thee grieve, Of thy religion and of thy believe.”

“Ye have begun your question foolishly,” Quoth she, “that wouldest two answers conclude In one demand? ye aske lewedly.”* *ignorantly Almach answer’d to that similitude, “Of whence comes thine answering so rude?” “Of whence?” quoth she, when that she was freined,* *asked “Of conscience, and of good faith unfeigned.”

Almachius saide; “Takest thou no heed Of my power?” and she him answer’d this; “Your might,” quoth she, “full little is to dread; For every mortal manne’s power is But like a bladder full of wind, y-wis;* *certainly For with a needle’s point, when it is blow’, May all the boast of it be laid full low.”

“Full wrongfully begunnest thou,” quoth he, “And yet in wrong is thy perseverance. Know’st thou not how our mighty princes free Have thus commanded and made ordinance, That every Christian wight shall have penance,* *punishment But if that he his Christendom withsay,* *deny And go all quit, if he will it renay?”* *renounce

“Your princes erren, as your nobley* doth,” *nobility Quoth then Cecile, “and with a *wood sentence* *mad judgment* Ye make us guilty, and it is not sooth:* *true For ye that knowe well our innocence, Forasmuch as we do aye reverence To Christ, and for we bear a Christian name, Ye put on us a crime and eke a blame.

“But we that knowe thilke name so For virtuous, we may it not withsay.” Almach answered, “Choose one of these two, Do sacrifice, or Christendom renay, That thou may’st now escape by that way.” At which the holy blissful faire maid Gan for to laugh, and to the judge said;

“O judge, *confused in thy nicety,* *confounded in thy folly* Wouldest thou that I reny innocence? To make me a wicked wight,” quoth she, “Lo, he dissimuleth* here in audience; *dissembles He stareth and woodeth* in his advertence.”** *grows furious **thought To whom Almachius said, “Unsely* wretch, *unhappy Knowest thou not how far my might may stretch?

“Have not our mighty princes to me given Yea bothe power and eke authority To make folk to dien or to liven? Why speakest thou so proudly then to me?” “I speake not but steadfastly,” quoth she, Not proudly, for I say, as for my side, We hate deadly* thilke vice of pride. *mortally

“And, if thou dreade not a sooth* to hear, *truth Then will I shew all openly by right, That thou hast made a full great leasing* here. *falsehood Thou say’st thy princes have thee given might Both for to slay and for to quick* a wight, — *give life to Thou that may’st not but only life bereave; Thou hast none other power nor no leave.

“But thou may’st say, thy princes have thee maked Minister of death; for if thou speak of mo’, Thou liest; for thy power is full naked.” “Do away thy boldness,” said Almachius tho,* *then “And sacrifice to our gods, ere thou go. I recke not what wrong that thou me proffer, For I can suffer it as a philosopher.

“But those wronges may I not endure, That thou speak’st of our goddes here,” quoth he. Cecile answer’d, “O nice* creature, *foolish Thou saidest no word, since thou spake to me, That I knew not therewith thy nicety,* *folly And that thou wert in *every manner wise* *every sort of way* A lewed* officer, a vain justice. *ignorant

“There lacketh nothing to thine outward eyen That thou art blind; for thing that we see all That it is stone, that men may well espyen, That ilke* stone a god thou wilt it call. *very, selfsame I rede* thee let thine hand upon it fall, *advise And taste* it well, and stone thou shalt it find; *examine, test Since that thou see’st not with thine eyen blind.

“It is a shame that the people shall So scorne thee, and laugh at thy folly; For commonly men *wot it well over all,* *know it everywhere* That mighty God is in his heaven high; And these images, well may’st thou espy, To thee nor to themselves may not profite, For in effect they be not worth a mite.”

These wordes and such others saide she, And he wax’d wroth, and bade men should her lead Home to her house; “And in her house,” quoth he, “Burn her right in a bath, with flames red.” And as he bade, right so was done the deed; For in a bath they gan her faste shetten,* *shut, confine And night and day great fire they under betten.* *kindled, applied

The longe night, and eke a day also, For all the fire, and eke the bathe’s heat, She sat all cold, and felt of it no woe, It made her not one droppe for to sweat; But in that bath her life she must lete.* *leave For he, Almachius, with full wick’ intent, To slay her in the bath his sonde* sent. *message, order

Three strokes in the neck he smote her tho,* *there The tormentor,* but for no manner chance *executioner He might not smite her faire neck in two: And, for there was that time an ordinance That no man should do man such penance,* *severity, torture The fourthe stroke to smite, soft or sore, This tormentor he durste do no more;

But half dead, with her necke carven* there *gashed He let her lie, and on his way is went. The Christian folk, which that about her were, With sheetes have the blood full fair y-hent; *taken up Three dayes lived she in this torment, And never ceased them the faith to teach, That she had foster’d them, she gan to preach.

And them she gave her mebles* and her thing, *goods And to the Pope Urban betook* them tho;** *commended **then And said, “I aske this of heaven’s king, To have respite three dayes and no mo’, To recommend to you, ere that I go, These soules, lo; and that *I might do wirch* *cause to be made* Here of mine house perpetually a church.”

Saint Urban, with his deacons, privily The body fetch’d, and buried it by night Among his other saintes honestly; Her house the church of Saint Cecilie hight;* *is called Saint Urban hallow’d it, as he well might; In which unto this day, in noble wise, Men do to Christ and to his saint service.

Notes to the Nun’s Priest’s Tale

1. This Tale was originally composed by Chaucer as a separate work, and as such it is mentioned in the “Legend of Good Women” under the title of “The Life of Saint Cecile”. Tyrwhitt quotes the line in which the author calls himself an “unworthy son of Eve,” and that in which he says, “Yet pray I you, that reade what I write”, as internal evidence that the insertion of the poem in the Canterbury Tales was the result of an afterthought; while the whole tenor of the introduction confirms the belief that Chaucer composed it as a writer or translator — not, dramatically, as a speaker. The story is almost literally translated from the Life of St Cecilia in the “Legenda Aurea.”

2. Leas: leash, snare; the same as “las,” oftener used by Chaucer.

3. The nativity and assumption of the Virgin Mary formed the themes of some of St Bernard’s most eloquent sermons.

4. Compare with this stanza the fourth stanza of the Prioress’s Tale, the substance of which is the same.

5. “But he answered and said, it is not meet to take the children’s bread, and cast it to dogs. And she said, Truth, Lord: yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their master’s table.” — Matthew xv. 26, 27.

6. See note 1.

7. These are Latin puns: Heaven’s lily - “Coeli lilium”; The way of blind - “Caeci via”; Heaven and Lia - from “Coeli”, heaven, and “Ligo,” to bind; Heaven and Leos - from Coeli and “Laos,” (Ionian Greek) or “Leos” (Attic Greek), the people. Such punning derivations of proper names were very much in favour in the Middle Ages. The explanations of St Cecilia’s name are literally taken from the prologue to the Latin legend.

8. This passage suggests Horace’s description of the wise man, who, among other things, is “in se ipse totus, teres, atque rotundus.” (“complete in himself, polished and rounded”) — Satires, 2, vii. 80.

9. Louting: lingering, or lying concealed; the Latin original has “Inter sepulchra martyrum latiantem” (“hiding among the tombs of martyrs”)

10. The fourteen lines within brackets are supposed to have been originally an interpolation in the Latin legend, from which they are literally translated. They awkwardly interrupt the flow of the narration.

11. Engine: wit; the devising or constructive faculty; Latin, “ingenium.”

12. Cold: wretched, distressful; see note 22 to the Nun’s Priest’s Tale.

13. Corniculere: The secretary or registrar who was charged with publishing the acts, decrees and orders of the prefect.

14. “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness” — 2 Tim. iv. 7, 8.

15. Did him to-beat: Caused him to be cruelly or fatally beaten; the force of the “to” is intensive.

THE CANON’S YEOMAN’S TALE

THE PROLOGUE.

WHEN ended was the life of Saint Cecile, Ere we had ridden fully five mile, <2> At Boughton-under-Blee us gan o’ertake A man, that clothed was in clothes black, And underneath he wore a white surplice. His hackenay,* which was all pomely-gris,** *nag **dapple-gray So sweated, that it wonder was to see; It seem’d as he had pricked* miles three. *spurred The horse eke that his yeoman rode upon So sweated, that unnethes* might he gon.** *hardly **go About the peytrel <3> stood the foam full high; He was of foam, as *flecked as a pie.* *spotted like a magpie* A maile twyfold <4> on his crupper lay; It seemed that he carried little array; All light for summer rode this worthy man. And in my heart to wonder I began What that he was, till that I understood How that his cloak was sewed to his hood; For which, when I had long advised* me, *considered I deemed him some Canon for to be. His hat hung at his back down by a lace,* *cord For he had ridden more than trot or pace; He hadde pricked like as he were wood.* *mad A clote-leaf* he had laid under his hood, * burdock-leaf For sweat, and for to keep his head from heat. But it was joye for to see him sweat; His forehead dropped as a stillatory* *still Were full of plantain or of paritory.* *wallflower And when that he was come, he gan to cry, “God save,” quoth he, “this jolly company. Fast have I pricked,” quoth he, “for your sake, Because that I would you overtake, To riden in this merry company.” His Yeoman was eke full of courtesy, And saide, “Sirs, now in the morning tide Out of your hostelry I saw you ride, And warned here my lord and sovereign, Which that to ride with you is full fain, For his disport; he loveth dalliance.” “Friend, for thy warning God give thee good chance,”* *fortune Said oure Host; “certain it woulde seem Thy lord were wise, and so I may well deem; He is full jocund also, dare I lay; Can he aught tell a merry tale or tway, With which he gladden may this company?” “Who, Sir? my lord? Yea, Sir, withoute lie, He can* of mirth and eke of jollity *knows *Not but* enough; also, Sir, truste me, *not less than* An* ye him knew all so well as do I, *if Ye would wonder how well and craftily He coulde work, and that in sundry wise. He hath take on him many a great emprise,* *task, undertaking Which were full hard for any that is here To bring about, but* they of him it lear.** *unless **learn As homely as he rides amonges you, If ye him knew, it would be for your prow:* *advantage Ye woulde not forego his acquaintance For muche good, I dare lay in balance All that I have in my possession. He is a man of high discretion. I warn you well, he is a passing* man.” *surpassing, extraordinary Well,” quoth our Host, “I pray thee tell me than, Is he a clerk,* or no? Tell what he is.” *scholar, priest “Nay, he is greater than a clerk, y-wis,”* *certainly Saide this Yeoman; “and, in wordes few, Host, of his craft somewhat I will you shew, I say, my lord can* such a subtlety *knows (But all his craft ye may not weet* of me, *learn And somewhat help I yet to his working), That all the ground on which we be riding Till that we come to Canterbury town, He could all cleane turnen up so down, And pave it all of silver and of gold.” And when this Yeoman had this tale told Unto our Host, he said; “Ben’dicite! This thing is wonder marvellous to me, Since that thy lord is of so high prudence, Because of which men should him reverence, That of his worship* recketh he so lite;** *honour **little His *overest slop* it is not worth a mite *upper garment* As in effect to him, so may I go; It is all baudy* and to-tore also. *slovenly Why is thy lord so sluttish, I thee pray, And is of power better clothes to bey,* *buy If that his deed accordeth with thy speech? Telle me that, and that I thee beseech.”

“Why?” quoth this Yeoman, “whereto ask ye me? God help me so, for he shall never the* *thrive (But I will not avowe* that I say, *admit And therefore keep it secret, I you pray); He is too wise, in faith, as I believe. Thing that is overdone, it will not preve* *stand the test Aright, as clerkes say; it is a vice; Wherefore in that I hold him *lewd and nice.”* *ignorant and foolish* For when a man hath over great a wit, Full oft him happens to misusen it; So doth my lord, and that me grieveth sore. God it amend; I can say now no more.”

“Thereof *no force,* good Yeoman, “quoth our Host; *no matter* “Since of the conning* of thy lord, thou know’st, *knowledge Tell how he doth, I pray thee heartily, Since that be is so crafty and so sly.* *wise Where dwelle ye, if it to telle be?” “In the suburbes of a town,” quoth he, “Lurking in hernes* and in lanes blind, *corners Where as these robbers and these thieves by kind* *nature Holde their privy fearful residence, As they that dare not show their presence, So fare we, if I shall say the soothe.”* *truth “Yet,” quoth our Hoste, “let me talke to thee; Why art thou so discolour’d of thy face?” “Peter!” quoth he, “God give it harde grace, I am so us’d the hote fire to blow, That it hath changed my colour, I trow; I am not wont in no mirror to pry, But swinke* sore, and learn to multiply. <5> *labour We blunder* ever, and poren** in the fire, *toil **peer And, for all that, we fail of our desire For ever we lack our conclusion To muche folk we do illusion, And borrow gold, be it a pound or two, Or ten or twelve, or many summes mo’, And make them weenen,* at the leaste way, *fancy That of a pounde we can make tway. Yet is it false; and aye we have good hope It for to do, and after it we grope:* *search, strive But that science is so far us beforn, That we may not, although we had it sworn, It overtake, it slides away so fast; It will us make beggars at the last.” While this Yeoman was thus in his talking, This Canon drew him near, and heard all thing Which this Yeoman spake, for suspicion Of menne’s speech ever had this Canon: For Cato saith, that he that guilty is, <6> Deemeth all things be spoken of him y-wis;* *surely Because of that he gan so nigh to draw To his Yeoman, that he heard all his saw; And thus he said unto his Yeoman tho* *then “Hold thou thy peace,and speak no wordes mo’: For if thou do, thou shalt *it dear abie.* *pay dearly for it* Thou slanderest me here in this company And eke discoverest that thou shouldest hide.” “Yea,” quoth our Host, “tell on, whatso betide; Of all his threatening reck not a mite.” “In faith,” quoth he, “no more do I but lite.”* *little And when this Canon saw it would not be But his Yeoman would tell his privity,* *secrets He fled away for very sorrow and shame.

“Ah!” quoth the Yeoman, “here shall rise a game;* *some diversion All that I can anon I will you tell, Since he is gone; the foule fiend him quell!* *destroy For ne’er hereafter will I with him meet, For penny nor for pound, I you behete.* *promise He that me broughte first unto that game, Ere that he die, sorrow have he and shame. For it is earnest* to me, by my faith; *a serious matter That feel I well, what so any man saith; And yet for all my smart, and all my grief, For all my sorrow, labour, and mischief,* *trouble I coulde never leave it in no wise. Now would to God my witte might suffice To tellen all that longeth to that art! But natheless yet will I telle part; Since that my lord is gone, I will not spare; Such thing as that I know, I will declare.”

Notes to the Prologue to the Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale

1. “The introduction,” says Tyrwhitt, “of the Canon’s Yeoman to tell a Tale at a time when so many of the original characters remain to be called upon, appears a little extraordinary. It should seem that some sudden resentment had determined Chaucer to interrupt the regular course of his work, in order to insert a satire against the alchemists. That their pretended science was much cultivated about this time, and produced its usual evils, may fairly be inferred from the Act, which was passed soon after, 5 H. IV. c. iv., to make it felony ‘to multiply gold or silver, or to use the art of multiplication.’” Tyrwhitt finds in the prologue some colour for the hypothesis that this Tale was intended by Chaucer to begin the return journey from Canterbury; but against this must be set the fact that the Yeoman himself expressly speaks of the distance to Canterbury yet to be ridden.

2. Fully five mile: From some place which the loss of the Second Nun’s Prologue does not enable us to identify.

3. Peytrel: the breast-plate of a horse’s harness; French, “poitrail.”

4. A maile twyfold: a double valise; a wallet hanging across the crupper on either side of the horse.

5. Multiply: transmute metals, in the attempt to multiply gold and silver by alchemy.

6. “Conscius ipse sibi de se putat omnia dici” (“The conspirator believes that everything spoken refers to himself”) — “De Moribus,” I. i. dist. 17.

THE TALE. <1>

With this Canon I dwelt have seven year, And of his science am I ne’er the near* *nearer All that I had I have lost thereby, And, God wot, so have many more than I. Where I was wont to be right fresh and gay Of clothing, and of other good array Now may I wear an hose upon mine head; And where my colour was both fresh and red, Now is it wan, and of a leaden hue (Whoso it useth, sore shall he it rue); And of my swink* yet bleared is mine eye; *labour Lo what advantage is to multiply! That sliding* science hath me made so bare, *slippery, deceptive That I have no good,* where that ever I fare; *property And yet I am indebted so thereby Of gold, that I have borrow’d truely, That, while I live, I shall it quite* never; *repay Let every man beware by me for ever. What manner man that casteth* him thereto, *betaketh If he continue, I hold *his thrift y-do;* *prosperity at an end* So help me God, thereby shall he not win, But empty his purse, and make his wittes thin. And when he, through his madness and folly, Hath lost his owen good through jupartie,* *hazard <2> Then he exciteth other men thereto, To lose their good as he himself hath do’. For unto shrewes* joy it is and ease *wicked folk To have their fellows in pain and disease.* *trouble Thus was I ones learned of a clerk; Of that no charge;* I will speak of our work. *matter

When we be there as we shall exercise Our elvish* craft, we seeme wonder wise, *fantastic, wicked Our termes be so *clergial and quaint.* *learned and strange I blow the fire till that mine hearte faint. Why should I tellen each proportion Of thinges, whiche that we work upon, As on five or six ounces, may well be, Of silver, or some other quantity? And busy me to telle you the names, As orpiment, burnt bones, iron squames,* *scales <3> That into powder grounden be full small? And in an earthen pot how put is all, And, salt y-put in, and also peppere, Before these powders that I speak of here, And well y-cover’d with a lamp of glass? And of much other thing which that there was? And of the pots and glasses engluting,* *sealing up That of the air might passen out no thing? And of the easy* fire, and smart** also, *slow **quick Which that was made? and of the care and woe That we had in our matters subliming, And in amalgaming, and calcining Of quicksilver, called mercury crude? For all our sleightes we can not conclude. Our orpiment, and sublim’d mercury, Our ground litharge* eke on the porphyry, *white lead Of each of these of ounces a certain,* *certain proportion Not helpeth us, our labour is in vain. Nor neither our spirits’ ascensioun, Nor our matters that lie all fix’d adown, May in our working nothing us avail; For lost is all our labour and travail, And all the cost, a twenty devil way, Is lost also, which we upon it lay.

There is also full many another thing That is unto our craft appertaining, Though I by order them not rehearse can, Because that I am a lewed* man; *unlearned Yet will I tell them as they come to mind, Although I cannot set them in their kind, As sal-armoniac, verdigris, borace; And sundry vessels made of earth and glass; <4> Our urinales, and our descensories, Phials, and croslets, and sublimatories, Cucurbites, and alembikes eke, And other suche, *dear enough a leek,* *worth less than a leek* It needeth not for to rehearse them all. Waters rubifying, and bulles’ gall, Arsenic, sal-armoniac, and brimstone, And herbes could I tell eke many a one, As egremoine,* valerian, and lunary,** *agrimony **moon-wort And other such, if that me list to tarry; Our lampes burning bothe night and day, To bring about our craft if that we may; Our furnace eke of calcination, And of waters albification, Unslaked lime, chalk, and *glair of an ey,* *egg-white Powders diverse, ashes, dung, piss, and clay, Seared pokettes,<5> saltpetre, and vitriol; And divers fires made of wood and coal; Sal-tartar, alkali, salt preparate, And combust matters, and coagulate; Clay made with horse and manne’s hair, and oil Of tartar, alum, glass, barm, wort, argoil,* *potter’s clay<6> Rosalgar,* and other matters imbibing; *flowers of antimony And eke of our matters encorporing,* *incorporating And of our silver citrination, <7> Our cementing, and fermentation, Our ingots,* tests, and many thinges mo’. *moulds <8> I will you tell, as was me taught also, The foure spirits, and the bodies seven, By order, as oft I heard my lord them neven.* *name The first spirit Quicksilver called is; The second Orpiment; the third, y-wis, Sal-Armoniac, and the fourth Brimstone. The bodies sev’n eke, lo them here anon. Sol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe* *name <9> Mars iron, Mercury quicksilver we clepe;* *call Saturnus lead, and Jupiter is tin, And Venus copper, by my father’s kin.

This cursed craft whoso will exercise, He shall no good have that him may suffice; For all the good he spendeth thereabout, He lose shall, thereof have I no doubt. Whoso that list to utter* his folly, *display Let him come forth and learn to multiply: And every man that hath aught in his coffer, Let him appear, and wax a philosopher; Ascaunce* that craft is so light to lear.** *as if **learn Nay, nay, God wot, all be he monk or frere, Priest or canon, or any other wight; Though he sit at his book both day and night; In learning of this *elvish nice* lore, * fantastic, foolish All is in vain; and pardie muche more, Is to learn a lew’d* man this subtlety; *ignorant Fie! speak not thereof, for it will not be. And *conne he letterure,* or conne he none, *if he knows learning* As in effect, he shall it find all one; For bothe two, by my salvation, Concluden in multiplication* *transmutation by alchemy Alike well, when they have all y-do; This is to say, they faile bothe two. Yet forgot I to make rehearsale Of waters corrosive, and of limaile,* *metal filings And of bodies’ mollification, And also of their induration, Oiles, ablutions, metal fusible, To tellen all, would passen any Bible That owhere* is; wherefore, as for the best, *anywhere Of all these names now will I me rest; For, as I trow, I have you told enough To raise a fiend, all look he ne’er so rough.

Ah! nay, let be; the philosopher’s stone, Elixir call’d, we seeke fast each one; For had we him, then were we sicker* enow; *secure But unto God of heaven I make avow,* *confession For all our craft, when we have all y-do, And all our sleight, he will not come us to. He hath y-made us spende muche good, For sorrow of which almost we waxed wood,* *mad But that good hope creeped in our heart, Supposing ever, though we sore smart, To be relieved by him afterward. Such supposing and hope is sharp and hard. I warn you well it is to seeken ever. That future temps* hath made men dissever,** *time **part from In trust thereof, from all that ever they had, Yet of that art they cannot waxe sad,* *repentant For unto them it is a bitter sweet; So seemeth it; for had they but a sheet Which that they mighte wrap them in at night, And a bratt* to walk in by dayelight, *cloak<10> They would them sell, and spend it on this craft; They cannot stint,* until no thing be laft. *cease And evermore, wherever that they gon, Men may them knowe by smell of brimstone; For all the world they stinken as a goat; Their savour is so rammish and so hot, That though a man a mile from them be, The savour will infect him, truste me. Lo, thus by smelling and threadbare array, If that men list, this folk they knowe may. And if a man will ask them privily, Why they be clothed so unthriftily,* *shabbily They right anon will rownen* in his ear, *whisper And sayen, if that they espied were, Men would them slay, because of their science: Lo, thus these folk betrayen innocence!

Pass over this; I go my tale unto. Ere that the pot be on the fire y-do* *placed Of metals, with a certain quantity My lord them tempers,* and no man but he *adjusts the proportions (Now he is gone, I dare say boldely); For as men say, he can do craftily, Algate* I wot well he hath such a name, *although And yet full oft he runneth into blame; And know ye how? full oft it happ’neth so, The pot to-breaks, and farewell! all is go’.* *gone These metals be of so great violence, Our walles may not make them resistence, *But if* they were wrought of lime and stone; *unless* They pierce so, that through the wall they gon; And some of them sink down into the ground (Thus have we lost by times many a pound), And some are scatter’d all the floor about; Some leap into the roof withoute doubt. Though that the fiend not in our sight him show, I trowe that he be with us, that shrew;* *impious wretch In helle, where that he is lord and sire, Is there no more woe, rancour, nor ire. When that our pot is broke, as I have said, Every man chides, and holds him *evil apaid.* *dissatisfied* Some said it was *long on* the fire-making; *because of <11>* Some saide nay, it was on the blowing (Then was I fear’d, for that was mine office); “Straw!” quoth the third, “ye be *lewed and **nice, *ignorant **foolish It was not temper’d* as it ought to be.” *mixed in due proportions “Nay,” quoth the fourthe, “stint* and hearken me; *stop Because our fire was not y-made of beech, That is the cause, and other none, *so the’ch.* *so may I thrive* I cannot tell whereon it was along, But well I wot great strife is us among.” “What?” quoth my lord, “there is no more to do’n, Of these perils I will beware eftsoon.* *another time I am right sicker* that the pot was crazed.** *sure **cracked Be as be may, be ye no thing amazed.* *confounded As usage is, let sweep the floor as swithe;* *quickly Pluck up your heartes and be glad and blithe.”

The mullok* on a heap y-sweeped was, *rubbish And on the floor y-cast a canevas, And all this mullok in a sieve y-throw, And sifted, and y-picked many a throw.* *time “Pardie,” quoth one, “somewhat of our metal Yet is there here, though that we have not all. And though this thing *mishapped hath as now,* *has gone amiss Another time it may be well enow. at present* We muste *put our good in adventure; * *risk our property* A merchant, pardie, may not aye endure, Truste me well, in his prosperity: Sometimes his good is drenched* in the sea, *drowned, sunk And sometimes comes it safe unto the land.” “Peace,” quoth my lord; “the next time I will fand* *endeavour To bring our craft *all in another plight,* *to a different conclusion* And but I do, Sirs, let me have the wite;* *blame There was default in somewhat, well I wot.” Another said, the fire was over hot. But be it hot or cold, I dare say this, That we concluden evermore amiss; We fail alway of that which we would have; And in our madness evermore we rave. And when we be together every one, Every man seemeth a Solomon. But all thing, which that shineth as the gold, It is not gold, as I have heard it told; Nor every apple that is fair at eye, It is not good, what so men clap* or cry. *assert Right so, lo, fareth it amonges us. He that the wisest seemeth, by Jesus, Is most fool, when it cometh to the prefe;* *proof, test And he that seemeth truest, is a thief. That shall ye know, ere that I from you wend; By that I of my tale have made an end.

There was a canon of religioun Amonges us, would infect* all a town, *deceive Though it as great were as was Nineveh, Rome, Alisandre,* Troy, or other three. *Alexandria His sleightes* and his infinite falseness *cunning tricks There coulde no man writen, as I guess, Though that he mighte live a thousand year; In all this world of falseness n’is* his peer. *there is not For in his termes he will him so wind, And speak his wordes in so sly a kind, When he commune shall with any wight, That he will make him doat* anon aright, *become foolishly But it a fiende be, as himself is. fond of him* Full many a man hath he beguil’d ere this, And will, if that he may live any while; And yet men go and ride many a mile Him for to seek, and have his acquaintance, Not knowing of his false governance.* *deceitful conduct And if you list to give me audience, I will it telle here in your presence. But, worshipful canons religious, Ne deeme not that I slander your house, Although that my tale of a canon be. Of every order some shrew is, pardie; And God forbid that all a company Should rue a singular* manne’s folly. *individual To slander you is no thing mine intent; But to correct that is amiss I meant. This tale was not only told for you, But eke for other more; ye wot well how That amonges Christe’s apostles twelve There was no traitor but Judas himselve; Then why should all the remenant have blame, That guiltless were? By you I say the same. Save only this, if ye will hearken me, If any Judas in your convent be, Remove him betimes, I you rede,* *counsel If shame or loss may causen any dread. And be no thing displeased, I you pray; But in this case hearken what I say.

In London was a priest, an annualere, <12> That therein dwelled hadde many a year, Which was so pleasant and so serviceable Unto the wife, where as he was at table, That she would suffer him no thing to pay For board nor clothing, went he ne’er so gay; And spending silver had he right enow; Thereof no force;* will proceed as now, *no matter And telle forth my tale of the canon, That brought this prieste to confusion. This false canon came upon a day Unto the prieste’s chamber, where he lay, Beseeching him to lend him a certain Of gold, and he would quit it him again. “Lend me a mark,” quoth he, “but dayes three, And at my day I will it quite thee. And if it so be that thou find me false, Another day hang me up by the halse.”* *neck This priest him took a mark, and that as swithe,* *quickly And this canon him thanked often sithe,* *times And took his leave, and wente forth his way; And at the thirde day brought his money; And to the priest he took his gold again, Whereof this priest was wondrous glad and fain.* *pleased “Certes,” quoth he, *“nothing annoyeth me* *I am not unwiling* To lend a man a noble, or two, or three, Or what thing were in my possession, When he so true is of condition, That in no wise he breake will his day; To such a man I never can say nay.” “What,” quoth this canon, “should I be untrue? Nay, that were *thing y-fallen all of new!* *a new thing to happen* Truth is a thing that I will ever keep, Unto the day in which that I shall creep Into my grave; and elles God forbid; Believe this as sicker* as your creed. *sure God thank I, and in good time be it said, That there was never man yet *evil apaid* *displeased, dissatisfied* For gold nor silver that he to me lent, Nor ever falsehood in mine heart I meant. And Sir,” quoth he, “now of my privity, Since ye so goodly have been unto me, And kithed* to me so great gentleness, *shown Somewhat, to quite with your kindeness, I will you shew, and if you list to lear,* *learn I will you teache plainly the mannere How I can worken in philosophy. Take good heed, ye shall well see *at eye* *with your own eye* That I will do a mas’try ere I go.” “Yea,” quoth the priest; “yea, Sir, and will ye so? Mary! thereof I pray you heartily.” “At your commandement, Sir, truely,” Quoth the canon, “and elles God forbid.” Lo, how this thiefe could his service bede!* *offer

Full sooth it is that such proffer’d service Stinketh, as witnesse *these olde wise;* *those wise folk of old* And that full soon I will it verify In this canon, root of all treachery, That evermore delight had and gladness (Such fiendly thoughtes *in his heart impress*) *press into his heart* How Christe’s people he may to mischief bring. God keep us from his false dissimuling! What wiste this priest with whom that he dealt? Nor of his harm coming he nothing felt. O sely* priest, O sely innocent! *simple With covetise anon thou shalt be blent;* *blinded; beguiled O graceless, full blind is thy conceit! For nothing art thou ware of the deceit Which that this fox y-shapen* hath to thee; *contrived His wily wrenches* thou not mayest flee. *snares Wherefore, to go to the conclusioun That referreth to thy confusion, Unhappy man, anon I will me hie* *hasten To telle thine unwit* and thy folly, *stupidity And eke the falseness of that other wretch, As farforth as that my conning* will stretch. *knowledge This canon was my lord, ye woulde ween;* *imagine Sir Host, in faith, and by the heaven’s queen, It was another canon, and not he, That can* an hundred fold more subtlety. *knows He hath betrayed folkes many a time; Of his falseness it doleth* me to rhyme. *paineth And ever, when I speak of his falsehead, For shame of him my cheekes waxe red; Algates* they beginne for to glow, *at least For redness have I none, right well I know, In my visage; for fumes diverse Of metals, which ye have me heard rehearse, Consumed have and wasted my redness. Now take heed of this canon’s cursedness.* *villainy

“Sir,” quoth he to the priest, “let your man gon For quicksilver, that we it had anon; And let him bringen ounces two or three; And when he comes, as faste shall ye see A wondrous thing, which ye saw ne’er ere this.” “Sir,” quoth the priest, “it shall be done, y-wis.”* *certainly He bade his servant fetche him this thing, And he all ready was at his bidding, And went him forth, and came anon again With this quicksilver, shortly for to sayn; And took these ounces three to the canoun; And he them laide well and fair adown, And bade the servant coales for to bring, That he anon might go to his working. The coales right anon weren y-fet,* *fetched And this canon y-took a crosselet* *crucible Out of his bosom, and shew’d to the priest. “This instrument,” quoth he, “which that thou seest, Take in thine hand, and put thyself therein Of this quicksilver an ounce, and here begin, In the name of Christ, to wax a philosopher. There be full few, which that I woulde proffer To shewe them thus much of my science; For here shall ye see by experience That this quicksilver I will mortify,<13> Right in your sight anon withoute lie, And make it as good silver, and as fine, As there is any in your purse, or mine, Or elleswhere; and make it malleable, And elles holde me false and unable Amonge folk for ever to appear. I have a powder here that cost me dear, Shall make all good, for it is cause of all My conning,* which that I you shewe shall. *knowledge Voide* your man, and let him be thereout; *send away And shut the doore, while we be about Our privity, that no man us espy, While that we work in this phiosophy.” All, as he bade, fulfilled was in deed. This ilke servant right anon out yede,* *went And his master y-shut the door anon, And to their labour speedily they gon.

This priest, at this cursed canon’s biddIng, Upon the fire anon he set this thing, And blew the fire, and busied him full fast. And this canon into the croslet cast A powder, I know not whereof it was Y-made, either of chalk, either of glass, Or somewhat elles, was not worth a fly, To blinden* with this priest; and bade him hie** *deceive **make haste The coales for to couchen* all above lay in order The croslet; “for, in token I thee love,” Quoth this canon, “thine owen handes two Shall work all thing that here shall be do’.” *“Grand mercy,”* quoth the priest, and was full glad, *great thanks* And couch’d the coales as the canon bade. And while he busy was, this fiendly wretch, This false canon (the foule fiend him fetch), Out of his bosom took a beechen coal, In which full subtifly was made a hole, And therein put was of silver limaile* *filings An ounce, and stopped was withoute fail The hole with wax, to keep the limaile in. And understande, that this false gin* *contrivance Was not made there, but it was made before; And other thinges I shall tell you more, Hereafterward, which that he with him brought; Ere he came there, him to beguile he thought, And so he did, ere that they *went atwin;* *separated* Till he had turned him, could he not blin.* *cease <14> It doleth* me, when that I of him speak; *paineth On his falsehood fain would I me awreak,* *revenge myself If I wist how, but he is here and there; He is so variant,* he abides nowhere. *changeable

But take heed, Sirs, now for Godde’s love. He took his coal, of which I spake above, And in his hand he bare it privily, And while the prieste couched busily The coales, as I tolde you ere this, This canon saide, “Friend, ye do amiss; This is not couched as it ought to be, But soon I shall amenden it,” quoth he. “Now let me meddle therewith but a while, For of you have I pity, by Saint Gile. Ye be right hot, I see well how ye sweat; Have here a cloth, and wipe away the wet.” And while that the prieste wip’d his face, This canon took his coal, — *with sorry grace,* — *evil fortune And layed it above on the midward attend him!* Of the croslet, and blew well afterward, Till that the coals beganne fast to brenn.* *burn “Now give us drinke,” quoth this canon then, “And swithe* all shall be well, I undertake. *quickly Sitte we down, and let us merry make.” And whenne that this canon’s beechen coal Was burnt, all the limaile out of the hole Into the crosselet anon fell down; And so it muste needes, by reasoun, Since it above so *even couched* was; *exactly laid* But thereof wist the priest no thing, alas! He deemed all the coals alike good, For of the sleight he nothing understood.

And when this alchemister saw his time, “Rise up, Sir Priest,” quoth he, “and stand by me; And, for I wot well ingot* have ye none; *mould Go, walke forth, and bring me a chalk stone; For I will make it of the same shape That is an ingot, if I may have hap. Bring eke with you a bowl, or else a pan, Full of water, and ye shall well see than* *then How that our business shall *hap and preve* *succeed* And yet, for ye shall have no misbelieve* *mistrust Nor wrong conceit of me, in your absence, I wille not be out of your presence, But go with you, and come with you again.” The chamber-doore, shortly for to sayn, They opened and shut, and went their way, And forth with them they carried the key; And came again without any delay. Why should I tarry all the longe day? He took the chalk, and shap’d it in the wise Of an ingot, as I shall you devise;* *describe I say, he took out of his owen sleeve A teine* of silver (evil may he cheve!**) *little piece **prosper Which that ne was but a just ounce of weight. And take heed now of his cursed sleight; He shap’d his ingot, in length and in brede* *breadth Of this teine, withouten any drede,* *doubt So slily, that the priest it not espied; And in his sleeve again he gan it hide; And from the fire he took up his mattere, And in th’ ingot put it with merry cheer; And in the water-vessel he it cast, When that him list, and bade the priest as fast Look what there is; “Put in thine hand and grope; There shalt thou finde silver, as I hope.” What, devil of helle! should it elles be? Shaving of silver, silver is, pardie. He put his hand in, and took up a teine Of silver fine; and glad in every vein Was this priest, when he saw that it was so. “Godde’s blessing, and his mother’s also, And alle hallows,* have ye, Sir Canon!” *saints Saide this priest, “and I their malison* *curse But, an’* ye vouchesafe to teache me *if This noble craft and this subtility, I will be yours in all that ever I may.” Quoth the canon, “Yet will I make assay The second time, that ye may take heed, And be expert of this, and, in your need, Another day assay in mine absence This discipline, and this crafty science. Let take another ounce,” quoth he tho,* *then “Of quicksilver, withoute wordes mo’, And do therewith as ye have done ere this With that other, which that now silver is. “

The priest him busied, all that e’er he can, To do as this canon, this cursed man, Commanded him, and fast he blew the fire For to come to th’ effect of his desire. And this canon right in the meanewhile All ready was this priest eft* to beguile, *again and, for a countenance,* in his hande bare *stratagem An hollow sticke (take keep* and beware); *heed Of silver limaile put was, as before Was in his coal, and stopped with wax well For to keep in his limaile every deal.* *particle And while this priest was in his business, This canon with his sticke gan him dress* *apply To him anon, and his powder cast in, As he did erst (the devil out of his skin Him turn, I pray to God, for his falsehead, For he was ever false in thought and deed), And with his stick, above the crosselet, That was ordained* with that false get,** *provided **contrivance He stirr’d the coales, till relente gan The wax against the fire, as every man, But he a fool be, knows well it must need. And all that in the sticke was out yede,* *went And in the croslet hastily* it fell. *quickly Now, goode Sirs, what will ye bet* than well? *better When that this priest was thus beguil’d again, Supposing naught but truthe, sooth to sayn, He was so glad, that I can not express In no mannere his mirth and his gladness; And to the canon he proffer’d eftsoon* *forthwith; again Body and good. “Yea,” quoth the canon soon, “Though poor I be, crafty* thou shalt me find; *skilful I warn thee well, yet is there more behind. Is any copper here within?” said he. “Yea, Sir,” the prieste said, “I trow there be.” “Elles go buy us some, and that as swithe.* *swiftly Now, goode Sir, go forth thy way and hie* thee.” *hasten He went his way, and with the copper came, And this canon it in his handes name,* *took <15> And of that copper weighed out an ounce. Too simple is my tongue to pronounce, As minister of my wit, the doubleness Of this canon, root of all cursedness. He friendly seem’d to them that knew him not; But he was fiendly, both in work and thought. It wearieth me to tell of his falseness; And natheless yet will I it express, To that intent men may beware thereby, And for none other cause truely. He put this copper in the crosselet, And on the fire as swithe* he hath it set, *swiftly And cast in powder, and made the priest to blow, And in his working for to stoope low, As he did erst,* and all was but a jape;** *before **trick Right as him list the priest *he made his ape.* *befooled him* And afterward in the ingot he it cast, And in the pan he put it at the last Of water, and in he put his own hand; And in his sleeve, as ye beforehand Hearde me tell, he had a silver teine;* *small piece He silly took it out, this cursed heine* *wretch (Unweeting* this priest of his false craft), *unsuspecting And in the panne’s bottom he it laft* *left And in the water rumbleth to and fro, And wondrous privily took up also The copper teine (not knowing thilke priest), And hid it, and him hente* by the breast, *took And to him spake, and thus said in his game; “Stoop now adown; by God, ye be to blame; Helpe me now, as I did you whilere;* *before Put in your hand, and looke what is there.”

This priest took up this silver teine anon; And thenne said the canon, “Let us gon, With these three teines which that we have wrought, To some goldsmith, and *weet if they be aught:* *find out if they are For, by my faith, I would not for my hood worth anything* *But if* they were silver fine and good, *unless And that as swithe* well proved shall it be.” *quickly Unto the goldsmith with these teines three They went anon, and put them in assay* *proof To fire and hammer; might no man say nay, But that they weren as they ought to be. This sotted* priest, who gladder was than he? *stupid, besotted Was never bird gladder against the day; Nor nightingale in the season of May Was never none, that better list to sing; Nor lady lustier in carolling, Or for to speak of love and womanhead; Nor knight in arms to do a hardy deed, To standen in grace of his lady dear, Than had this priest this crafte for to lear; And to the canon thus he spake and said; “For love of God, that for us alle died, And as I may deserve it unto you, What shall this receipt coste? tell me now.” “By our Lady,” quoth this canon, “it is dear. I warn you well, that, save I and a frere, In Engleland there can no man it make.” *“No force,”* quoth he; “now, Sir, for Godde’s sake, *no matter What shall I pay? telle me, I you pray.” “Y-wis,”* quoth he, “it is full dear, I say. *certainly Sir, at one word, if that you list it have, Ye shall pay forty pound, so God me save; And n’ere* the friendship that ye did ere this *were it not for To me, ye shoulde paye more, y-wis.” This priest the sum of forty pound anon Of nobles fet,* and took them every one *fetched To this canon, for this ilke receipt. All his working was but fraud and deceit. “Sir Priest,” he said, “I keep* to have no los** *care **praise <16> Of my craft, for I would it were kept close; And as ye love me, keep it secre: For if men knewen all my subtlety, By God, they woulde have so great envy To me, because of my philosophy, I should be dead, there were no other way.” “God it forbid,” quoth the priest, “what ye say. Yet had I lever* spenden all the good *rather Which that I have (and elles were I wood*), *mad Than that ye shoulde fall in such mischief.” “For your good will, Sir, have ye right good prefe,”* *results of your Quoth the canon; “and farewell, grand mercy.” *experiments* He went his way, and never the priest him sey * *saw After that day; and when that this priest should Maken assay, at such time as he would, Of this receipt, farewell! it would not be. Lo, thus bejaped* and beguil’d was he; *tricked Thus made he his introduction To bringe folk to their destruction.

Consider, Sirs, how that in each estate Betwixte men and gold there is debate, So farforth that *unnethes is there none.* *scarcely is there any* This multiplying blint* so many a one, *blinds, deceive That in good faith I trowe that it be The cause greatest of such scarcity. These philosophers speak so mistily In this craft, that men cannot come thereby, For any wit that men have how-a-days. They may well chatter, as do these jays, And in their termes set their *lust and pain,* *pleasure and exertion* But to their purpose shall they ne’er attain. A man may lightly* learn, if he have aught, *easily To multiply, and bring his good to naught. Lo, such a lucre* is in this lusty** game; *profit **pleasant A manne’s mirth it will turn all to grame,* *sorrow <17> And empty also great and heavy purses, And make folke for to purchase curses Of them that have thereto their good y-lent. Oh, fy for shame! they that have been brent,* *burnt Alas! can they not flee the fire’s heat? Ye that it use, I rede* that ye it lete,** *advise **leave Lest ye lose all; for better than never is late; Never to thrive, were too long a date. Though ye prowl aye, ye shall it never find; Ye be as bold as is Bayard the blind, That blunders forth, and *peril casteth none;* *perceives no danger* He is as bold to run against a stone, As for to go beside it in the way: So fare ye that multiply, I say. If that your eyen cannot see aright, Look that your minde lacke not his sight. For though you look never so broad, and stare, Ye shall not win a mite on that chaffare,* *traffic, commerce But wasten all that ye may *rape and renn.* *get by hook or crook* Withdraw the fire, lest it too faste brenn;* *burn Meddle no more with that art, I mean; For if ye do, your thrift* is gone full clean. *prosperity And right as swithe* I will you telle here *quickly What philosophers say in this mattere.

Lo, thus saith Arnold of the newe town, <18> As his Rosary maketh mentioun, He saith right thus, withouten any lie; “There may no man mercury mortify,<13> But* it be with his brother’s knowledging.” *except Lo, how that he, which firste said this thing, Of philosophers father was, Hermes;<19> He saith, how that the dragon doubteless He dieth not, but if that he be slain With his brother. And this is for to sayn, By the dragon, Mercury, and none other, He understood, and Brimstone by his brother, That out of Sol and Luna were y-draw.* *drawn, derived “And therefore,” said he, “take heed to my saw. *saying Let no man busy him this art to seech,* *study, explore *But if* that he th’intention and speech *unless Of philosophers understande can; And if he do, he is a lewed* man. *ignorant, foolish For this science and this conning,”* quoth he, *knowledge “Is of the secret of secrets <20> pardie.” Also there was a disciple of Plato, That on a time said his master to, As his book, Senior, <21> will bear witness, And this was his demand in soothfastness: “Tell me the name of thilke* privy** stone.” *that **secret And Plato answer’d unto him anon; “Take the stone that Titanos men name.” “Which is that?” quoth he. “Magnesia is the same,” Saide Plato. “Yea, Sir, and is it thus? This is ignotum per ignotius. <22> What is Magnesia, good Sir, I pray?” “It is a water that is made, I say, Of th’ elementes foure,” quoth Plato. “Tell me the roote, good Sir,” quoth he tho,* *then “Of that water, if that it be your will.” “Nay, nay,” quoth Plato, “certain that I n’ill.* *will not The philosophers sworn were every one, That they should not discover it to none, Nor in no book it write in no mannere; For unto God it is so lefe* and dear, *precious That he will not that it discover’d be, But where it liketh to his deity Man for to inspire, and eke for to defend’* *protect Whom that he liketh; lo, this is the end.”

Then thus conclude I, since that God of heaven Will not that these philosophers neven* *name How that a man shall come unto this stone, I rede* as for the best to let it gon. *counsel For whoso maketh God his adversary, As for to work any thing in contrary Of his will, certes never shall he thrive, Though that he multiply term of his live. <23> And there a point;* for ended is my tale. *end God send ev’ry good man *boot of his bale.* *remedy for his sorrow*

Note to the Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale

1. The Tale of the Canon’s Yeoman, like those of the Wife of Bath and the Pardoner, is made up of two parts; a long general introduction, and the story proper. In the case of the Wife of Bath, the interruptions of other pilgrims, and the autobiographical nature of the discourse, recommend the separation of the prologue from the Tale proper; but in the other cases the introductory or merely connecting matter ceases wholly where the opening of “The Tale” has been marked in the text.

2. Jupartie: Jeopardy, hazard. In Froissart’s French, “a jeu partie” is used to signify a game or contest in which the chances were exactly equal for both sides.

3. Squames: Scales; Latin, “squamae.”

4. Descensories: vessels for distillation “per descensum;” they were placed under the fire, and the spirit to be extracted was thrown downwards. Croslets: crucibles; French, “creuset.”. Cucurbites: retorts; distilling-vessels; so called from their likeness in shape to a gourd — Latin, “cucurbita.” Alembikes:stills, limbecs.

5. Seared pokettes: the meaning of this phrase is obscure; but if we take the reading “cered poketts,” from the Harleian manuscript, we are led to the supposition that it signifies receptacles — bags or pokes — prepared with wax for some process. Latin, “cera,” wax.

6. Argoil: potter’s clay, used for luting or closing vessels in the laboratories of the alchemists; Latin, “argilla;” French, “argile.”

7. Citrination: turning to a citrine colour, or yellow, by chemical action; that was the colour which proved the philosopher’s stone.

8. Ingots: not, as in its modern meaning, the masses of metal shaped by pouring into moulds; but the moulds themslves into which the fused metal was poured. Compare Dutch, “ingieten,” part. “inghehoten,” to infuse; German, “eingiessen,” part. “eingegossen,” to pour in.

9. Threpe: name; from Anglo-Saxon, “threapian.”

10. Bratt: coarse cloak; Anglo-Saxon, “bratt.” The word is still used in Lincolnshire, and some parts of the north, to signify a coarse kind of apron.

11. Long on: in consequence of; the modern vulgar phrase “all along of,” or “all along on,” best conveys the force of the words in the text.

12. Annualere: a priest employed in singing “annuals” or anniversary masses for the dead, without any cure of souls; the office was such as, in the Prologue to the Tales, Chaucer praises the Parson for not seeking: Nor “ran unto London, unto Saint Poul’s, to seeke him a chantery for souls.”

13. Mortify: a chemical phrase, signifying the dissolution of quicksilver in acid.

14. Blin: cease; from Anglo-Saxon, “blinnan,” to desist.

15. Name: took; from Anglo-Saxon, “niman,” to take. Compare German, “nehmen,” “nahm.”

16. Los: praise, reputataion. See note 5 to Chaucer’s tale of Melibœus.

17. Grame: sorrow; Anglo-Saxon, “gram;” German, “Gram.”

18. Arnaldus Villanovanus, or Arnold de Villeneuve, was a distinguished French chemist and physician of the fourteenth century; his “Rosarium Philosophorum” was a favourite text-book with the alchemists of the generations that succeeded.

19. Hermes Trismegistus, counsellor of Osiris, King of Egypt, was credited with the invention of writing and hieroglyphics, the drawing up of the laws of the Egyptians, and the origination of many sciences and arts. The Alexandrian school ascribed to him the mystic learning which it amplified; and the scholars of the Middle Ages regarded with enthusiasm and reverence the works attributed to him — notably a treatise on the philosopher’s stone.

20. Secret of secrets: “Secreta Secretorum;” a treatise, very popular in the Middle Ages, supposed to contain the sum of Aristotle’s instructions to Alexander. Lydgate translated about half of the work, when his labour was interrupted by his death about 1460; and from the same treatise had been taken most of the seventh book of Gower’s “Confessio Amantis.”

21. Tyrwhitt says that this book was printed in the “Theatrum Chemicum,” under the title, “Senioris Zadith fi. Hamuelis tabula chymica” (“The chemical tables of Senior Zadith, son of Hamuel”); and the story here told of Plato and his disciple was there related of Solomon, but with some variations.

22. Ignotum per ignotius: To explain the unknown by the more unknown.

23. Though he multiply term of his live: Though he pursue the alchemist’s art all his days.

THE MANCIPLE’S TALE

THE PROLOGUE.

WEET* ye not where there stands a little town, *know Which that y-called is Bob-up-and-down, <1> Under the Blee, in Canterbury way? There gan our Hoste for to jape and play, And saide, “Sirs, what? Dun is in the mire.<2> Is there no man, for prayer nor for hire, That will awaken our fellow behind? A thief him might full* rob and bind *easily See how he nappeth, see, for cocke’s bones, As he would falle from his horse at ones. Is that a Cook of London, with mischance? <3> Do* him come forth, he knoweth his penance; *make For he shall tell a tale, by my fay,* *faith Although it be not worth a bottle hay.

Awake, thou Cook,” quoth he; “God give thee sorrow What aileth thee to sleepe *by the morrow?* *in the day time* Hast thou had fleas all night, or art drunk? Or had thou with some quean* all night y-swunk,** *whore **laboured So that thou mayest not hold up thine head?” The Cook, that was full pale and nothing red, Said to Host, “So God my soule bless, As there is fall’n on me such heaviness, I know not why, that me were lever* sleep, *rather Than the best gallon wine that is in Cheap.” “Well,” quoth the Manciple, “if it may do ease To thee, Sir Cook, and to no wight displease Which that here rideth in this company, And that our Host will of his courtesy, I will as now excuse thee of thy tale; For in good faith thy visage is full pale: Thine eyen daze,* soothly as me thinketh, *are dim And well I wot, thy breath full soure stinketh, That sheweth well thou art not well disposed; Of me certain thou shalt not be y-glosed.* *flattered See how he yawneth, lo, this drunken wight, As though he would us swallow anon right. Hold close thy mouth, man, by thy father’s kin; The devil of helle set his foot therein! Thy cursed breath infecte will us all: Fy! stinking swine, fy! foul may thee befall. Ah! take heed, Sirs, of this lusty man. Now, sweete Sir, will ye joust at the fan?<4> Thereto, me thinketh, ye be well y-shape. I trow that ye have drunken wine of ape,<5> And that is when men playe with a straw.”

And with this speech the Cook waxed all wraw,* *wrathful And on the Manciple he gan nod fast For lack of speech; and down his horse him cast, Where as he lay, till that men him up took. This was a fair chevachie* of a cook: *cavalry expedition Alas! that he had held him by his ladle! And ere that he again were in the saddle There was great shoving bothe to and fro To lift him up, and muche care and woe, So unwieldy was this silly paled ghost. And to the Manciple then spake our Host: “Because that drink hath domination Upon this man, by my salvation I trow he lewedly* will tell his tale. *stupidly For were it wine, or old or moisty* ale, *new That he hath drunk, he speaketh in his nose, And sneezeth fast, and eke he hath the pose <6> He also hath to do more than enough To keep him on his capel* out of the slough; *horse And if he fall from off his capel eftsoon,* *again Then shall we alle have enough to do’n In lifting up his heavy drunken corse. Tell on thy tale, of him *make I no force.* *I take no account* But yet, Manciple, in faith thou art too nice* *foolish Thus openly to reprove him of his vice; Another day he will paraventure Reclaime thee, and bring thee to the lure; <7> I mean, he speake will of smalle things, As for to *pinchen at* thy reckonings, *pick flaws in* That were not honest, if it came to prefe.”* *test, proof Quoth the Manciple, “That were a great mischief; So might he lightly bring me in the snare. Yet had I lever* paye for the mare *rather Which he rides on, than he should with me strive. I will not wrathe him, so may I thrive) That that I spake, I said it in my bourde.* *jest And weet ye what? I have here in my gourd A draught of wine, yea, of a ripe grape, And right anon ye shall see a good jape.* *trick This Cook shall drink thereof, if that I may; On pain of my life he will not say nay.” And certainly, to tellen as it was, Of this vessel the cook drank fast (alas! What needed it? he drank enough beforn), And when he hadde *pouped in his horn,* *belched* To the Manciple he took the gourd again. And of that drink the Cook was wondrous fain, And thanked him in such wise as he could.

Then gan our Host to laughe wondrous loud, And said, “I see well it is necessary Where that we go good drink with us to carry; For that will turne rancour and disease* *trouble, annoyance T’accord and love, and many a wrong appease. O Bacchus, Bacchus, blessed be thy name, That so canst turnen earnest into game! Worship and thank be to thy deity. Of that mattere ye get no more of me. Tell on thy tale, Manciple, I thee pray.” “Well, Sir,” quoth he, “now hearken what I say.”

Notes to the Prologue to the Manciple’s Tale

1. Bob-up-and-down: Mr Wright supposes this to be the village of Harbledown, near Canterbury, which is situated on a hill, and near which there are many ups and downs in the road. Like Boughton, where the Canon and his Yeoman overtook the pilgrims, it stood on the skirts of the Kentish forest of Blean or Blee.

2. Dun is in the mire: a proverbial saying. “Dun” is a name for an ass, derived from his colour.

3. The mention of the Cook here, with no hint that he had already told a story, confirms the indication given by the imperfect condition of his Tale, that Chaucer intended to suppress the Tale altogether, and make him tell a story in some other place.

4. The quintain; called “fan” or “vane,” because it turned round like a weather-cock.

5. Referring to the classification of wine, according to its effects on a man, given in the old “Calendrier des Bergiers,” The man of choleric temperament has “wine of lion;” the sanguine, “wine of ape;” the phlegmatic, “wine of sheep;” the melancholic, “wine of sow.” There is a Rabbinical tradition that, when Noah was planting vines, Satan slaughtered beside them the four animals named; hence the effect of wine in making those who drink it display in turn the characteristics of all the four.

6. The pose: a defluxion or rheum which stops the nose and obstructs the voice.

7. Bring thee to his lure: A phrase in hawking — to recall a hawk to the fist; the meaning here is, that the Cook may one day bring the Manciple to account, or pay him off, for the rebuke of his drunkenness.

THE TALE. <1>

When Phoebus dwelled here in earth adown, As olde bookes make mentioun, He was the moste lusty* bacheler *pleasant Of all this world, and eke* the best archer. *also He slew Python the serpent, as he lay Sleeping against the sun upon a day; And many another noble worthy deed He with his bow wrought, as men maye read. Playen he could on every minstrelsy, And singe, that it was a melody To hearen of his cleare voice the soun’. Certes the king of Thebes, Amphioun, That with his singing walled the city, Could never singe half so well as he. Thereto he was the seemlieste man That is, or was since that the world began; What needeth it his features to descrive? For in this world is none so fair alive. He was therewith full fill’d of gentleness, Of honour, and of perfect worthiness.

This Phoebus, that was flower of bach’lery, As well in freedom* as in chivalry, *generosity For his disport, in sign eke of victory Of Python, so as telleth us the story, Was wont to bearen in his hand a bow. Now had this Phoebus in his house a crow, Which in a cage he foster’d many a day, And taught it speaken, as men teach a jay. White was this crow, as is a snow-white swan, And counterfeit the speech of every man He coulde, when he shoulde tell a tale. Therewith in all this world no nightingale Ne coulde by an hundred thousand deal* *part Singe so wondrous merrily and well. Now had this Phoebus in his house a wife; Which that he loved more than his life. And night and day did ever his diligence Her for to please, and do her reverence: Save only, if that I the sooth shall sayn, Jealous he was, and would have kept her fain. For him were loth y-japed* for to be; *tricked, deceived And so is every wight in such degree; But all for nought, for it availeth nought. A good wife, that is clean of work and thought, Should not be kept in none await* certain: *observation And truely the labour is in vain To keep a shrewe,* for it will not be. *ill-disposed woman This hold I for a very nicety,* *sheer folly To spille* labour for to keepe wives; *lose

Thus writen olde clerkes in their lives. But now to purpose, as I first began. This worthy Phoebus did all that he can To please her, weening, through such pleasance, And for his manhood and his governance, That no man should have put him from her grace; But, God it wot, there may no man embrace As to distrain* a thing, which that nature *succeed in constraining Hath naturally set in a creature. Take any bird, and put it in a cage, And do all thine intent, and thy corage,* *what thy heart prompts To foster it tenderly with meat and drink Of alle dainties that thou canst bethink, And keep it all so cleanly as thou may; Although the cage of gold be never so gay, Yet had this bird, by twenty thousand fold, Lever* in a forest, both wild and cold, *rather Go eate wormes, and such wretchedness. For ever this bird will do his business T’escape out of his cage when that he may: His liberty the bird desireth aye. <2> Let take a cat, and foster her with milk And tender flesh, and make her couch of silk, And let her see a mouse go by the wall, Anon she weiveth* milk, and flesh, and all, *forsaketh And every dainty that is in that house, Such appetite hath she to eat the mouse. Lo, here hath kind* her domination, *nature And appetite flemeth* discretion. *drives out A she-wolf hath also a villain’s kind The lewedeste wolf that she may find, Or least of reputation, will she take In time when *her lust* to have a make.* *she desires *mate All these examples speak I by* these men *with reference to That be untrue, and nothing by women. For men have ever a lik’rous appetite On lower things to perform their delight Than on their wives, be they never so fair, Never so true, nor so debonair.* *gentle, mild Flesh is so newefangled, *with mischance,* *ill luck to it* That we can in no thinge have pleasance That *souneth unto* virtue any while. *accords with

This Phoebus, which that thought upon no guile, Deceived was for all his jollity; For under him another hadde she, A man of little reputation, Nought worth to Phoebus in comparison. The more harm is; it happens often so, Of which there cometh muche harm and woe. And so befell, when Phoebus was absent, His wife anon hath for her leman* sent. *unlawful lover Her leman! certes that is a knavish speech. Forgive it me, and that I you beseech. The wise Plato saith, as ye may read, The word must needs accorde with the deed; If men shall telle properly a thing, The word must cousin be to the working. I am a boistous* man, right thus I say. *rough-spoken, downright There is no difference truely Betwixt a wife that is of high degree (If of her body dishonest she be), And any poore wench, other than this (If it so be they worke both amiss), But, for* the gentle is in estate above, *because She shall be call’d his lady and his love; And, for that other is a poor woman, She shall be call’d his wench and his leman: And God it wot, mine owen deare brother, Men lay the one as low as lies the other. Right so betwixt a *titleless tyrant* *usurper* And an outlaw, or else a thief errant, *wandering The same I say, there is no difference (To Alexander told was this sentence), But, for the tyrant is of greater might By force of meinie* for to slay downright, *followers And burn both house and home, and make all plain,* *level Lo, therefore is he call’d a capitain; And, for the outlaw hath but small meinie, And may not do so great an harm as he, Nor bring a country to so great mischief, Men calle him an outlaw or a thief. But, for I am a man not textuel, *learned in texts I will not tell of texts never a deal;* *whit I will go to my tale, as I began.

When Phoebus’ wife had sent for her leman, Anon they wroughten all their *lust volage.* *light or rash pleasure* This white crow, that hung aye in the cage, Beheld their work, and said never a word; And when that home was come Phoebus the lord, This crowe sung, “Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!” “What? bird,” quoth Phoebus, “what song sing’st thou now? Wert thou not wont so merrily to sing, That to my heart it was a rejoicing To hear thy voice? alas! what song is this?” “By God,” quoth he, “I singe not amiss. Phoebus,” quoth he, “for all thy worthiness, For all thy beauty, and all thy gentleness, For all thy song, and all thy minstrelsy, *For all thy waiting, bleared is thine eye* *despite all thy watching, With one of little reputation, thou art befooled* Not worth to thee, as in comparison, The mountance* of a gnat, so may I thrive; *value For on thy bed thy wife I saw him swive.” What will ye more? the crow anon him told, By sade* tokens, and by wordes bold, *grave, trustworthy How that his wife had done her lechery, To his great shame and his great villainy; And told him oft, he saw it with his eyen. This Phoebus gan awayward for to wrien;* *turn aside Him thought his woeful hearte burst in two. His bow he bent, and set therein a flo,* *arrow And in his ire he hath his wife slain; This is th’ effect, there is no more to sayn. For sorrow of which he brake his minstrelsy, Both harp and lute, gitern* and psaltery; *guitar And eke he brake his arrows and his bow; And after that thus spake he to the crow.

“Traitor,” quoth he, “with tongue of scorpion, Thou hast me brought to my confusion; Alas that I was wrought!* why n’ere** I dead? *made **was not O deare wife, O gem of lustihead,* *pleasantness That wert to me so sad,* and eke so true, *steadfast Now liest thou dead, with face pale of hue, Full guilteless, that durst I swear y-wis!* *certainly O rakel* hand, to do so foul amiss *rash, hasty O troubled wit, O ire reckeless, That unadvised smit’st the guilteless! O wantrust,* full of false suspicion! *distrust <3> Where was thy wit and thy discretion? O! every man beware of rakelness,* *rashness Nor trow* no thing withoute strong witness. *believe Smite not too soon, ere that ye weete* why, *know And *be advised* well and sickerly** *consider* *surely Ere ye *do any execution *take any action Upon your ire* for suspicion. upon your anger* Alas! a thousand folk hath rakel ire Foully fordone, and brought them in the mire. Alas! for sorrow I will myself slee* *slay And to the crow, “O false thief,” said he, “I will thee quite anon thy false tale. Thou sung whilom* like any nightingale, *once on a time Now shalt thou, false thief, thy song foregon,* *lose And eke thy white feathers every one, Nor ever in all thy life shalt thou speak; Thus shall men on a traitor be awreak. *revenged Thou and thine offspring ever shall be blake,* *black Nor ever sweete noise shall ye make, But ever cry against* tempest and rain, *before, in warning of In token that through thee my wife is slain.” And to the crow he start,* and that anon, *sprang And pull’d his white feathers every one, And made him black, and reft him all his song, And eke his speech, and out at door him flung Unto the devil, *which I him betake;* *to whom I commend him* And for this cause be all crowes blake. Lordings, by this ensample, I you pray, Beware, and take keep* what that ye say; *heed Nor telle never man in all your life How that another man hath dight his wife; He will you hate mortally certain. Dan Solomon, as wise clerkes sayn, Teacheth a man to keep his tongue well; But, as I said, I am not textuel. But natheless thus taughte me my dame; “My son, think on the crow, in Godde’s name. My son, keep well thy tongue, and keep thy friend; A wicked tongue is worse than is a fiend: My sone, from a fiend men may them bless.* *defend by crossing My son, God of his endeless goodness themselves Walled a tongue with teeth, and lippes eke, For* man should him advise,** what he speak. *because **consider My son, full often for too muche speech Hath many a man been spilt,* as clerkes teach; *destroyed But for a little speech advisedly Is no man shent,* to speak generally. *ruined My son, thy tongue shouldest thou restrain At alle time, *but when thou dost thy pain* *except when you do To speak of God in honour and prayere. your best effort* The firste virtue, son, if thou wilt lear,* *learn Is to restrain and keepe well thy tongue;<4> Thus learne children, when that they be young. My son, of muche speaking evil advis’d, Where lesse speaking had enough suffic’d, Cometh much harm; thus was me told and taught; In muche speeche sinne wanteth not. Wost* thou whereof a rakel** tongue serveth? *knowest **hasty Right as a sword forcutteth and forcarveth An arm in two, my deare son, right so A tongue cutteth friendship all in two. A jangler* is to God abominable. *prating man Read Solomon, so wise and honourable; Read David in his Psalms, and read Senec’. My son, speak not, but with thine head thou beck,* *beckon, nod Dissimule as thou wert deaf, if that thou hear A jangler speak of perilous mattere. The Fleming saith, and learn *if that thee lest,* **if it please thee* That little jangling causeth muche rest. My son, if thou no wicked word hast said, *Thee thar not dreade for to be bewray’d;* *thou hast no need to But he that hath missaid, I dare well sayn, fear to be betrayed* He may by no way call his word again. Thing that is said is said, and forth it go’th, <5> Though him repent, or be he ne’er so loth; He is his thrall,* to whom that he hath said *slave A tale, *of which he is now evil apaid.* *which he now regrets* My son, beware, and be no author new Of tidings, whether they be false or true; <6> Whereso thou come, amonges high or low, Keep well thy tongue, and think upon the crow.”

Notes to the Manciple’s Tale

1. “The fable of ‘The Crow,’ says Tyrwhitt, “which is the subject of the Manciple’s Tale, has been related by so many authors, from Ovid down to Gower, that it is impossible to say whom Chaucer principally followed. His skill in new dressing an old story was never, perhaps, more successfully exerted.”

2. See the parallel to this passage in the Squire’s Tale, and note 34 to that tale.

3. Wantrust: distrust — want of trust; so “wanhope,” despair - - want of hope.

4. This is quoted in the French “Romance of the Rose,” from Cato “De Moribus,” 1. i., dist. 3: “Virtutem primam esse puta compescere linguam.” (“The first virtue is to be able to control the tongue”)

5. “Semel emissum volat irrevocabile verbum.” (“A word once uttered flies away and cannot be called back”) — Horace, Epist. 1., 18, 71.

6. This caution is also from Cato “De Moribus,” 1. i., dist. 12: “Rumoris fuge ne incipias novus auctor haberi.” (“Do not pass on rumours or be the author of new ones”)