‘THE MINOR POEMS’ IN VOL. I. (continued 11)

1045 Your blisful suster, Lucina the shene, That of the see is chief goddesse and quene, Though Neptunus have deitee in the see, (320) Yet emperesse aboven him is she: Ye knowen wel, lord, that right as hir desyr 1050 Is to be quiked and lightned of your fyr, For which she folweth yow ful bisily, Right so the see desyreth naturelly To folwen hir, as she that is goddesse Bothe in the see and riveres more and lesse. 1055 Wherfore, lord Phebus, this is my requeste— Do this miracle, or do myn herte breste— That now, next at this opposicioun, (330) Which in the signe shal be of the Leoun, As preyeth hir so greet a flood to bringe, 1060 That fyve fadme at the leeste it overspringe The hyeste rokke in Armorik Briteyne; And lat this flood endure yeres tweyne; Than certes to my lady may I seye: “Holdeth your heste, the rokkes been aweye.”

1065 Lord Phebus, dooth this miracle for me; Preye hir she go no faster cours than ye; I seye, preyeth your suster that she go (340) No faster cours than ye thise yeres two. Than shal she been evene atte fulle alway, 1070 And spring-flood laste bothe night and day. And, but she vouche-sauf in swiche manere To graunte me my sovereyn lady dere, Prey hir to sinken every rok adoun In-to hir owene derke regioun 1075 Under the ground, ther Pluto dwelleth inne, Or never-mo shal I my lady winne. Thy temple in Delphos wol I barefoot seke; (350) Lord Phebus, see the teres on my cheke, And of my peyne have som compassioun.’ 1080 And with that word in swowne he fil adoun, And longe tyme he lay forth in a traunce.

His brother, which that knew of his penaunce, Up caughte him and to bedde he hath him broght. Dispeyred in this torment and this thoght 1085 Lete I this woful creature lye; Chese he, for me, whether he wol live or dye.

Arveragus, with hele and greet honour, (360) As he that was of chivalrye the flour, Is comen hoom, and othere worthy men. 1090 O blisful artow now, thou Dorigen, That hast thy lusty housbonde in thyne armes, The fresshe knight, the worthy man of armes, That loveth thee, as his owene hertes lyf. No-thing list him to been imaginatyf 1095 If any wight had spoke, whyl he was oute, To hire of love; he hadde of it no doute. He noght entendeth to no swich matere, (370) But daunceth, Iusteth, maketh hir good chere; And thus in Ioye and blisse I lete hem dwelle, 1100 And of the syke Aurelius wol I telle.

In langour and in torment furious Two yeer and more lay wrecche Aurelius, Er any foot he mighte on erthe goon; Ne confort in this tyme hadde he noon, 1105 Save of his brother, which that was a clerk; He knew of al this wo and al this werk. For to non other creature certeyn (380) Of this matere he dorste no word seyn. Under his brest he bar it more secree 1110 Than ever dide Pamphilus for Galathee. His brest was hool, with-oute for to sene, But in his herte ay was the arwe kene. And wel ye knowe that of a sursanure In surgerye is perilous the cure, 1115 But men mighte touche the arwe, or come therby. His brother weep and wayled prively, Til atte laste him fil in remembraunce, (390) That whyl he was at Orliens in Fraunce, As yonge clerkes, that been likerous 1120 To reden artes that been curious, Seken in every halke and every herne Particuler sciences for to lerne, He him remembred that, upon a day, At Orliens in studie a book he say 1125 Of magik natural, which his felawe, That was that tyme a bacheler of lawe, Al were he ther to lerne another craft, (400) Had prively upon his desk y-laft; Which book spak muchel of the operaciouns, 1130 Touchinge the eighte and twenty mansiouns That longen to the mone, and swich folye, As in our dayes is nat worth a flye; For holy chirches feith in our bileve Ne suffreth noon illusion us to greve. 1135 And whan this book was in his remembraunce, Anon for Ioye his herte gan to daunce, And to him-self he seyde prively: (410) ‘My brother shal be warisshed hastily; For I am siker that ther be sciences, 1140 By whiche men make diverse apparences Swiche as thise subtile tregetoures pleye. For ofte at festes have I wel herd seye, That tregetours, with-inne an halle large, Have maad come in a water and a barge, 1145 And in the halle rowen up and doun. Somtyme hath semed come a grim leoun; And somtyme floures springe as in a mede; (420) Somtyme a vyne, and grapes whyte and rede; Somtyme a castel, al of lym and stoon; 1150 And whan hem lyked, voyded it anoon. Thus semed it to every mannes sighte.

Now than conclude I thus, that if I mighte At Orliens som old felawe y-finde, That hadde this mones mansions in minde, 1155 Or other magik naturel above, He sholde wel make my brother han his love. For with an apparence a clerk may make (430) To mannes sighte, that alle the rokkes blake Of Britaigne weren y-voyded everichon, 1160 And shippes by the brinke comen and gon, And in swich forme endure a day or two; Than were my brother warisshed of his wo. Than moste she nedes holden hir biheste, Or elles he shal shame hir atte leste.’

1165 What sholde I make a lenger tale of this? Un-to his brotheres bed he comen is, And swich confort he yaf him for to gon (440) To Orliens, that he up stirte anon, And on his wey forthward thanne is he fare, 1170 In hope for to ben lissed of his care. Whan they were come almost to that citee, But-if it were a two furlong or three, A yong clerk rominge by him-self they mette, Which that in Latin thriftily hem grette, 1175 And after that he seyde a wonder thing: ‘I knowe,’ quod he, ‘the cause of your coming’; And er they ferther any fote wente, (450) He tolde hem al that was in hir entente. This Briton clerk him asked of felawes 1180 The whiche that he had knowe in olde dawes; And he answerde him that they dede were, For which he weep ful ofte many a tere. Doun of his hors Aurelius lighte anon, And forth with this magicien is he gon 1185 Hoom to his hous, and made hem wel at ese. Hem lakked no vitaille that mighte hem plese; So wel arrayed hous as ther was oon (460) Aurelius in his lyf saugh never noon.

He shewed him, er he wente to sopeer, 1190 Forestes, parkes ful of wilde deer; Ther saugh he hertes with hir homes hye, The gretteste that ever were seyn with yë. He saugh of hem an hondred slayn with houndes, And somme with arwes blede of bittre woundes. 1195 He saugh, whan voided were thise wilde deer, Thise fauconers upon a fair river, That with hir haukes han the heron slayn.

(470) Tho saugh he knightes Iusting in a playn; And after this, he dide him swich plesaunce, 1200 That he him shewed his lady on a daunce On which him-self he daunced, as him thoughte. And whan this maister, that this magik wroughte, Saugh it was tyme, he clapte his handes two, And farewel! al our revel was ago. 1205 And yet remoeved they never out of the hous, Whyl they saugh al this sighte merveillous, But in his studie, ther-as his bookes be, (480) They seten stille, and no wight but they three. To him this maister called his squyer, 1210 And seyde him thus: ‘is redy our soper? Almost an houre it is, I undertake, Sith I yow bad our soper for to make, Whan that thise worthy men wenten with me In-to my studie, ther-as my bookes be.’ 1215 ‘Sire,’ quod this squyer, ‘whan it lyketh yow, It is al redy, though ye wol right now.’ ‘Go we than soupe,’ quod he, ‘as for the beste; (490) This amorous folk som-tyme mote han reste.’

At-after soper fille they in tretee, 1220 What somme sholde this maistres guerdon be, To remoeven alle the rokkes of Britayne, And eek from Gerounde to the mouth of Sayne.

He made it straunge, and swoor, so god him save, Lasse than a thousand pound he wolde nat have, 1225 Ne gladly for that somme he wolde nat goon.

Aurelius, with blisful herte anoon, Answerde thus, ‘fy on a thousand pound! (500) This wyde world, which that men seye is round, I wolde it yeve, if I were lord of it. 1230 This bargayn is ful drive, for we ben knit. Ye shal be payed trewely, by my trouthe! But loketh now, for no necligence or slouthe, Ye tarie us heer no lenger than to-morwe.’ ‘Nay,’ quod this clerk, ‘have heer my feith to borwe.’ 1235 To bedde is goon Aurelius whan him leste, And wel ny al that night he hadde his reste; What for his labour and his hope of blisse, (510) His woful herte of penaunce hadde a lisse. Upon the morwe, whan that it was day, 1240 To Britaigne toke they the righte way, Aurelius, and this magicien bisyde, And been descended ther they wolde abyde; And this was, as the bokes me remembre, The colde frosty seson of Decembre.

1245 Phebus wex old, and hewed lyk latoun, That in his hote declinacioun Shoon as the burned gold with stremes brighte; (520) But now in Capricorn adoun he lighte, Wher-as he shoon ful pale, I dar wel seyn. 1250 The bittre frostes, with the sleet and reyn, Destroyed hath the grene in every yerd. Ianus sit by the fyr, with double berd, And drinketh of his bugle-horn the wyn. Biforn him stant braun of the tusked swyn, 1255 And “Nowel” cryeth every lusty man.

Aurelius, in al that ever he can, Doth to his maister chere and reverence, (530) And preyeth him to doon his diligence To bringen him out of his peynes smerte, 1260 Or with a swerd that he wolde slitte his herte.

This subtil clerk swich routhe had of this man, That night and day he spedde him that he can, To wayte a tyme of his conclusioun; This is to seye, to make illusioun, 1265 By swich an apparence or Iogelrye, I ne can no termes of astrologye, That she and every wight sholde wene and seye, (540) That of Britaigne the rokkes were aweye, Or elles they were sonken under grounde. 1270 So atte laste he hath his tyme y-founde To maken his Iapes and his wrecchednesse Of swich a superstitious cursednesse. His tables Toletanes forth he broght, Ful wel corrected, ne ther lakked noght, 1275 Neither his collect ne his expans yeres, Ne his rotes ne his othere geres, As been his centres and his arguments, (550) And his proporcionels convenients For his equacions in every thing. 1280 And, by his eighte spere in his wirking, He knew ful wel how fer Alnath was shove Fro the heed of thilke fixe Aries above That in the ninthe speere considered is; Ful subtilly he calculed al this.

1285 Whan he had founde his firste mansioun, He knew the remenant by proporcioun; And knew the arysing of his mone weel, (560) And in whos face, and terme, and every-deel; And knew ful weel the mones mansioun 1290 Acordaunt to his operacioun, And knew also his othere observaunces For swiche illusiouns and swiche meschaunces As hethen folk used in thilke dayes; For which no lenger maked he delayes, 1295 But thurgh his magik, for a wyke or tweye, It semed that alle the rokkes were aweye.

Aurelius, which that yet despeired is (570) Wher he shal han his love or fare amis, Awaiteth night and day on this miracle; 1300 And whan he knew that ther was noon obstacle, That voided were thise rokkes everichon, Doun to his maistres feet he fil anon, And seyde, ‘I woful wrecche, Aurelius, Thanke yow, lord, and lady myn Venus, 1305 That me han holpen fro my cares colde:’ And to the temple his wey forth hath he holde, Wher-as he knew he sholde his lady see. (580) And whan he saugh his tyme, anon-right he, With dredful herte and with ful humble chere, 1310 Salewed hath his sovereyn lady dere:

‘My righte lady,’ quod this woful man, ‘Whom I most drede and love as I best can, And lothest were of al this world displese, Nere it that I for yow have swich disese, 1315 That I moste dyen heer at your foot anon, Noght wolde I telle how me is wo bigon; But certes outher moste I dye or pleyne; (590) Ye slee me giltelees for verray peyne. But of my deeth, thogh that ye have no routhe, 1320 Avyseth yow, er that ye breke your trouthe. Repenteth yow, for thilke god above, Er ye me sleen by-cause that I yow love. For, madame, wel ye woot what ye han hight; Nat that I chalange any thing of right 1325 Of yow my sovereyn lady, but your grace; But in a gardin yond, at swich a place, Ye woot right wel what ye bihighten me; (600) And in myn hand your trouthe plighten ye To love me best, god woot, ye seyde so, 1330 Al be that I unworthy be therto. Madame, I speke it for the honour of yow, More than to save myn hertes lyf right now; I have do so as ye comanded me; And if ye vouche-sauf, ye may go see. 1335 Doth as yow list, have your biheste in minde, For quik or deed, right ther ye shul me finde; In yow lyth al, to do me live or deye;— (610) But wel I woot the rokkes been aweye!’

He taketh his leve, and she astonied stood, 1340 In al hir face nas a drope of blood; She wende never han come in swich a trappe: ‘Allas!’ quod she, ‘that ever this sholde happe! For wende I never, by possibilitee, That swich a monstre or merveille mighte be! 1345 It is agayns the proces of nature’: And hoom she gooth a sorweful creature. For verray fere unnethe may she go, (620) She wepeth, wailleth, al a day or two, And swowneth, that it routhe was to see; 1350 But why it was, to no wight tolde she; For out of toune was goon Arveragus. But to hir-self she spak, and seyde thus, With face pale and with ful sorweful chere, In hir compleynt, as ye shul after here:

1355 ‘Allas,’ quod she, ‘on thee, Fortune, I pleyne, That unwar wrapped hast me in thy cheyne; For which, tescape, woot I no socour (630) Save only deeth or elles dishonour; Oon of thise two bihoveth me to chese. 1360 But nathelees, yet have I lever to lese My lyf than of my body have a shame, Or knowe my-selven fals, or lese my name, And with my deth I may be quit, y-wis. Hath ther nat many a noble wyf, er this, 1365 And many a mayde y-slayn hir-self, allas! Rather than with hir body doon trespas?

Yis, certes, lo, thise stories beren witnesse; (640) Whan thretty tyraunts, ful of cursednesse, Had slayn Phidoun in Athenes, atte feste, 1370 They comanded his doghtres for tareste, And bringen hem biforn hem in despyt Al naked, to fulfille hir foul delyt, And in hir fadres blood they made hem daunce Upon the pavement, god yeve hem mischaunce! 1375 For which thise woful maydens, ful of drede, Rather than they wolde lese hir maydenhede, They prively ben stirt in-to a welle, (650) And dreynte hem-selven, as the bokes telle.

They of Messene lete enquere and seke 1380 Of Lacedomie fifty maydens eke, On whiche they wolden doon hir lecherye; But was ther noon of al that companye That she nas slayn, and with a good entente Chees rather for to dye than assente 1385 To been oppressed of hir maydenhede. Why sholde I thanne to dye been in drede?

Lo, eek, the tiraunt Aristoclides (660) That loved a mayden, heet Stimphalides, Whan that hir fader slayn was on a night, 1390 Un-to Dianes temple goth she right, And hente the image in hir handes two, Fro which image wolde she never go. No wight ne mighte hir handes of it arace, Til she was slayn right in the selve place. 1395 Now sith that maydens hadden swich despyt To been defouled with mannes foul delyt, Wel oghte a wyf rather hir-selven slee (670) Than be defouled, as it thinketh me.

What shal I seyn of Hasdrubales wyf, 1400 That at Cartage birafte hir-self hir lyf? For whan she saugh that Romayns wan the toun, She took hir children alle, and skipte adoun In-to the fyr, and chees rather to dye Than any Romayn dide hir vileinye. 1405 Hath nat Lucresse y-slayn hir-self, allas! At Rome, whanne she oppressed was Of Tarquin, for hir thoughte it was a shame (680) To liven whan she hadde lost hir name?

The sevene maydens of Milesie also 1410 Han slayn hem-self, for verray drede and wo, Rather than folk of Gaule hem sholde oppresse. Mo than a thousand stories, as I gesse, Coude I now telle as touchinge this matere.

Whan Habradate was slayn, his wyf so dere 1415 Hirselven slow, and leet hir blood to glyde In Habradates woundes depe and wyde, And seyde, “my body, at the leeste way, (690) Ther shal no wight defoulen, if I may.”

What sholde I mo ensamples heer-of sayn, 1420 Sith that so manye han hem-selven slayn Wel rather than they wolde defouled be? I wol conclude, that it is bet for me To sleen my-self, than been defouled thus. I wol be trewe un-to Arveragus, 1425 Or rather sleen my-self in som manere, As dide Demociones doghter dere, By-cause that she wolde nat defouled be. (700) O Cedasus! it is ful greet pitee, To reden how thy doghtren deyde, allas! 1430 That slowe hem-selven for swich maner cas.

As greet a pitee was it, or wel more, The Theban mayden, that for Nichanore Hir-selven slow, right for swich maner wo. Another Theban mayden dide right so; 1435 For oon of Macedoine hadde hir oppressed, She with hir deeth hir maydenhede redressed.

What shal I seye of Nicerates wyf, (710) That for swich cas birafte hir-self hir lyf?

How trewe eek was to Alcebiades 1440 His love, that rather for to dyen chees Than for to suffre his body unburied be! Lo which a wyf was Alceste,’ quod she.

‘What seith Omer of gode Penalopee? Al Grece knoweth of hir chastitee.

1445 Pardee, of Laodomya is writen thus, That whan at Troye was slayn Protheselaus, No lenger wolde she live after his day.

(720) The same of noble Porcia telle I may; With-oute Brutus coude she nat live, 1450 To whom she hadde al hool hir herte yive.

The parfit wyfhod of Arthemesye Honoured is thurgh al the Barbarye,

O Teuta, queen! thy wyfly chastitee To alle wyves may a mirour be. [T. om. The same thing I seye of Bilia, [T. om. Of Rodogone, and eek Valeria.’

Thus pleyned Dorigene a day or tweye, (730) Purposinge ever that she wolde deye.

But nathelees, upon the thridde night, 1460 Hom cam Arveragus, this worthy knight, And asked hir, why that she weep so sore? And she gan wepen ever lenger the more. ‘Allas!’ quod she, ‘that ever was I born! Thus have I seyd,’ quod she, ‘thus have I sworn’— 1465 And told him al as ye han herd bifore; It nedeth nat reherce it yow na-more.

This housbond with glad chere, in freendly wyse, (740) Answerde and seyde as I shal yow devyse: ‘Is ther oght elles, Dorigen, but this?’

1470 ‘Nay, nay,’ quod she, ‘god help me so, as wis; This is to muche, and it were goddes wille.’ ‘Ye, wyf,’ quod he, ‘lat slepen that is stille; It may be wel, paraventure, yet to-day. Ye shul your trouthe holden, by my fay! 1475 For god so wisly have mercy on me, I hadde wel lever y-stiked for to be, For verray love which that I to yow have, (750) But-if ye sholde your trouthe kepe and save. Trouthe is the hyeste thing that man may kepe’:— 1480 But with that word he brast anon to wepe, And seyde, ‘I yow forbede, up peyne of deeth, That never, whyl thee lasteth lyf ne breeth, To no wight tel thou of this aventure. As I may best, I wol my wo endure, 1485 Ne make no contenance of hevinesse, That folk of yow may demen harm or gesse.’

And forth he cleped a squyer and a mayde: (760) ‘Goth forth anon with Dorigen,’ he sayde, ‘And bringeth hir to swich a place anon.’ 1490 They take hir leve, and on hir wey they gon; But they ne wiste why she thider wente. (764) He nolde no wight tellen his entente. [T. om. Paraventure an heep of yow, y-wis, [T. om. Wol holden him a lewed man in this, [T. om. That he wol putte his wyf in Iupartye; [T. om. Herkneth the tale, er ye up-on hir crye. [T. om. She may have bettre fortune than yow semeth; [T. om. And whan that ye han herd the tale, demeth.

(771) This squyer, which that highte Aurelius, 1500 On Dorigen that was so amorous, Of aventure happed hir to mete Amidde the toun, right in the quikkest strete, As she was boun to goon the wey forth-right Toward the gardin ther-as she had hight. 1505 And he was to the gardinward also; For wel he spyed, whan she wolde go Out of hir hous to any maner place. (780) But thus they mette, of aventure or grace; And he saleweth hir with glad entente, And asked of hir whiderward she wente?

And she answerde, half as she were mad, ‘Un-to the gardin, as myn housbond bad, My trouthe for to holde, allas! allas!’ Aurelius gan wondren on this cas, 1515 And in his herte had greet compassioun Of hir and of hir lamentacioun, And of Arveragus, the worthy knight, (790) That bad hir holden al that she had hight, So looth him was his wyf sholde breke hir trouthe; 1520 And in his herte he caughte of this greet routhe, Consideringe the beste on every syde, That fro his lust yet were him lever abyde Than doon so heigh a cherlish wrecchednesse Agayns franchyse and alle gentillesse; 1525 For which in fewe wordes seyde he thus:

‘Madame, seyth to your lord Arveragus, (800) That sith I see his grete gentillesse To yow, and eek I see wel your distresse, That him were lever han shame (and that were routhe) 1530 Than ye to me sholde breke thus your trouthe, I have wel lever ever to suffre wo Than I departe the love bitwix yow two. I yow relesse, madame, in-to your hond Quit every surement and every bond, 1535 That ye han maad to me as heer-biforn, Sith thilke tyme which that ye were born. My trouthe I plighte, I shal yow never repreve (810) Of no biheste, and here I take my leve, As of the treweste and the beste wyf 1540 That ever yet I knew in al my lyf. But every wyf be-war of hir biheste, On Dorigene remembreth atte leste. Thus can a squyer doon a gentil dede, As well as can a knight, with-outen drede.’

1545 She thonketh him up-on hir knees al bare, And hoom un-to hir housbond is she fare, And tolde him al as ye han herd me sayd; (820) And be ye siker, he was so weel apayd, That it were inpossible me to wryte; 1550 What sholde I lenger of this cas endyte? Arveragus and Dorigene his wyf In sovereyn blisse leden forth hir lyf. Never eft ne was ther angre hem bitwene; He cherisseth hir as though she were a quene; 1555 And she was to him trewe for evermore. Of thise two folk ye gete of me na-more.

Aurelius, that his cost hath al forlorn, (830) Curseth the tyme that ever he was born: ‘Allas,’ quod he, ‘allas! that I bihighte 1560 Of pured gold a thousand pound of wighte Un-to this philosophre! how shal I do? I see na-more but that I am fordo. Myn heritage moot I nedes selle, And been a begger; heer may I nat dwelle, 1565 And shamen al my kinrede in this place, But I of him may gete bettre grace. But nathelees, I wol of him assaye, (840) At certeyn dayes, yeer by yeer, to paye, And thanke him of his grete curteisye; 1570 My trouthe wol I kepe, I wol nat lye.’ With herte soor he gooth un-to his cofre, And broghte gold un-to this philosophre, The value of fyve hundred pound, I gesse, And him bisecheth, of his gentillesse, 1575 To graunte him dayes of the remenaunt, And seyde, ‘maister, I dar wel make avaunt, I failled never of my trouthe as yit; (850) For sikerly my dette shal be quit Towardes yow, how-ever that I fare 1580 To goon a-begged in my kirtle bare. But wolde ye vouche-sauf, up-on seurtee, Two yeer or three for to respyten me, Than were I wel; for elles moot I selle Myn heritage; ther is na-more to telle.’

1585 This philosophre sobrely answerde, And seyde thus, whan he thise wordes herde: ‘Have I nat holden covenant un-to thee?’ (860) ‘Yes, certes, wel and trewely,’ quod he. ‘Hastow nat had thy lady as thee lyketh?’ 1590 ‘No, no,’ quod he, and sorwefully he syketh. ‘What was the cause? tel me if thou can.’ Aurelius his tale anon bigan, And tolde him al, as ye han herd bifore; It nedeth nat to yow reherce it more. 1595 He seide, ‘Arveragus, of gentillesse, Had lever dye in sorwe and in distresse Than that his wyf were of hir trouthe fals.’ (870) The sorwe of Dorigen he tolde him als, How looth hir was to been a wikked wyf, 1600 And that she lever had lost that day hir lyf, And that hir trouthe she swoor, thurgh innocence: ‘She never erst herde speke of apparence; That made me han of hir so greet pitee. And right as frely as he sente hir me, 1605 As frely sente I hir to him ageyn. This al and som, ther is na-more to seyn.’

This philosophre answerde, ‘leve brother, (880) Everich of yow dide gentilly til other. Thou art a squyer, and he is a knight; 1610 But god forbede, for his blisful might, But-if a clerk coude doon a gentil dede As wel as any of yow, it is no drede! Sire, I relesse thee thy thousand pound, As thou right now were cropen out of the ground, 1615 Ne never er now ne haddest knowen me. For sire, I wol nat take a peny of thee For al my craft, ne noght for my travaille. (890) Thou hast y-payed wel for my vitaille; It is y-nogh, and farewel, have good day:’ 1620 And took his hors, and forth he gooth his way.

1621 Lordinges, this question wolde I aske now, Which was the moste free, as thinketh yow? Now telleth me, er that ye ferther wende. (896) I can na-more, my tale is at an ende. Here is ended the Frankeleyns Tale.

The Prologe of the Seconde Nonnes Tale. The ministre and the norice un-to vyces, Which that men clepe in English ydelnesse, That porter of the gate is of delyces, To eschue, and by hir contrarie hir oppresse, 5 That is to seyn, by leveful bisinesse, Wel oghten we to doon al our entente, Lest that the feend thurgh ydelnesse us hente.

For he, that with his thousand cordes slye Continuelly us waiteth to biclappe, 10 Whan he may man in ydelnesse espye, He can so lightly cacche him in his trappe, Til that a man be hent right by the lappe, He nis nat war the feend hath him in honde; Wel oughte us werche, and ydelnes withstonde. 15 And though men dradden never for to dye, Yet seen men wel by reson doutelees, That ydelnesse is roten slogardye, Of which ther never comth no good encrees; And seen, that slouthe hir holdeth in a lees 20 Only to slepe, and for to ete and drinke, And to devouren al that othere swinke.

And for to putte us fro swich ydelnesse, That cause is of so greet confusioun, I have heer doon my feithful bisinesse, 25 After the legende, in translacioun Right of thy glorious lyf and passioun, Thou with thy gerland wroght of rose and lilie; Thee mene I, mayde and martir, seint Cecilie!

Inuocacio ad Mariam. And thou that flour of virgines art alle, 30 Of whom that Bernard list so wel to wryte, To thee at my biginning first I calle; Thou comfort of us wrecches, do me endyte Thy maydens deeth, that wan thurgh hir meryte The eternal lyf, and of the feend victorie, 35 As man may after reden in hir storie.

Thou mayde and mooder, doghter of thy sone, Thou welle of mercy, sinful soules cure, In whom that god, for bountee, chees to wone, Thou humble, and heigh over every creature, 40 Thou nobledest so ferforth our nature, That no desdeyn the maker hadde of kinde, His sone in blode and flesh to clothe and winde. Withinne the cloistre blisful of thy sydes Took mannes shap the eternal love and pees, 45 That of the tryne compas lord and gyde is, Whom erthe and see and heven, out of relees, Ay herien; and thou, virgin wemmelees, Bar of thy body, and dweltest mayden pure, The creatour of every creature.

50 Assembled is in thee magnificence With mercy, goodnesse, and with swich pitee That thou, that art the sonne of excellence, Nat only helpest hem that preyen thee, But ofte tyme, of thy benignitee, 55 Ful frely, er that men thyn help biseche, Thou goost biforn, and art hir lyves leche.

Now help, thou meke and blisful fayre mayde, Me, flemed wrecche, in this desert of galle; Think on the womman Cananee, that sayde 60 That whelpes eten somme of the crommes alle That from hir lordes table been y-falle; And though that I, unworthy sone of Eve, Be sinful, yet accepte my bileve. And, for that feith is deed with-outen werkes, 65 So for to werken yif me wit and space, That I be quit fro thennes that most derk is! O thou, that art so fayr and ful of grace, Be myn advocat in that heighe place Ther-as withouten ende is songe ‘Osanne,’ 70 Thou Cristes mooder, doghter dere of Anne! And of thy light my soule in prison lighte, That troubled is by the contagioun Of my body, and also by the wighte Of erthly luste and fals affeccioun; 75 O haven of refut, o salvacioun Of hem that been in sorwe and in distresse, Now help, for to my werk I wol me dresse. Yet preye I yow that reden that I wryte, Foryeve me, that I do no diligence 80 This ilke storie subtilly to endyte; For both have I the wordes and sentence Of him that at the seintes reverence The storie wroot, and folwe hir legende, And prey yow, that ye wol my werk amende.

Interpretado nominis Cecilie, quam ponit frater Iacobus Ianuensis in Legenda Aurea. 85 First wolde I yow the name of seint Cecilie Expoune, as men may in hir storie see, It is to seye in English ‘hevenes lilie,’ For pure chastnesse of virginitee; Or, for she whytnesse hadde of honestee, 90 And grene of conscience, and of good fame The sole savour, ‘lilie’ was hir name.

Or Cecile is to seye ‘the wey to blinde,’ For she ensample was by good techinge; Or elles Cecile, as I writen finde, 95 Is ioyned, by a maner conioininge Of ‘hevene’ and ‘Lia’; and heer, in figuringe, The ‘heven’ is set for thoght of holinesse, And ‘Lia’ for hir lasting bisinesse.

Cecile may eek be seyd in this manere, 100 ‘Wanting of blindnesse,’ for hir grete light Of sapience, and for hir thewes clere; Or elles, lo! this maydens name bright Of ‘hevene’ and ‘leos’ comth, for which by right Men mighte hir wel ‘the heven of peple’ calle, 105 Ensample of gode and wyse werkes alle. For ‘leos’ ‘peple’ in English is to seye, And right as men may in the hevene see The sonne and mone and sterres every weye, Right so men gostly, in this mayden free, 110 Seyen of feith the magnanimitee, And eek the cleernesse hool of sapience, And sondry werkes, brighte of excellence.

And right so as thise philosophres wryte That heven is swift and round and eek brenninge, 115 Right so was fayre Cecilie the whyte Ful swift and bisy ever in good werkinge, And round and hool in good perseveringe, And brenning ever in charitee ful brighte; Now have I yow declared what she highte. Explicit. Here biginneth the Seconde Nonnes Tale, of the lyf of Seinte Cecile. 120 This mayden bright Cecilie, as hir lyf seith, Was comen of Romayns, and of noble kinde, And from hir cradel up fostred in the feith Of Crist, and bar his gospel in hir minde; She never cessed, as I writen finde, 125 Of hir preyere, and god to love and drede, Biseking him to kepe hir maydenhede. And when this mayden sholde unto a man Y-wedded be, that was ful yong of age, Which that y-cleped was Valerian, 130 And day was comen of hir mariage, She, ful devout and humble in hir corage, Under hir robe of gold, that sat ful fayre, Had next hir flesh y-clad hir in an heyre. And whyl the organs maden melodye, 135 To god alone in herte thus sang she; ‘O lord, my soule and eek my body gye Unwemmed, lest that I confounded be:’ And, for his love that deyde upon a tree, Every seconde or thridde day she faste, 140 Ay biddinge in hir orisons ful faste.

The night cam, and to bedde moste she gon With hir housbonde, as ofte is the manere, And prively to him she seyde anon, ‘O swete and wel biloved spouse dere, 145 Ther is a conseil, and ye wolde it here, Which that right fain I wolde unto yow seye, So that ye swere ye shul me nat biwreye.’

Valerian gan faste unto hir swere, That for no cas, ne thing that mighte be, 150 He sholde never-mo biwreyen here; And thanne at erst to him thus seyde she, ‘I have an angel which that loveth me, That with greet love, wher-so I wake or slepe, Is redy ay my body for to kepe.

155 And if that he may felen, out of drede, That ye me touche or love in vileinye, He right anon wol slee yow with the dede, And in your yowthe thus ye shulden dye; And if that ye in clene love me gye, 160 He wol yow loven as me, for your clennesse, And shewen yow his Ioye and his brightnesse.’ Valerian, corrected as god wolde, Answerde agayn, ‘if I shal trusten thee, Lat me that angel se, and him biholde; 165 And if that it a verray angel be, Than wol I doon as thou hast preyed me; And if thou love another man, for sothe Right with this swerd than wol I slee yow bothe.’

Cecile answerde anon right in this wyse, 170 ‘If that yow list, the angel shul ye see, So that ye trowe on Crist and yow baptyse. Goth forth to Via Apia,’ quod she, ‘That fro this toun ne stant but myles three, And, to the povre folkes that ther dwelle, 175 Sey hem right thus, as that I shal yow telle.

Telle hem that I, Cecile, yow to hem sente, To shewen yow the gode Urban the olde, For secree nedes and for good entente. And whan that ye seint Urban han biholde, 180 Telle him the wordes whiche I to yow tolde; And whan that he hath purged yow fro sinne, Thanne shul ye see that angel, er ye twinne.’

Valerian is to the place y-gon, And right as him was taught by his lerninge, 185 He fond this holy olde Urban anon Among the seintes buriels lotinge. And he anon, with-outen taryinge, Dide his message; and whan that he it tolde, Urban for Ioye his hondes gan up holde. 190 The teres from his yën leet he falle— ‘Almighty lord, o Iesu Crist,’ quod he, ‘Sower of chast conseil, herde of us alle, The fruit of thilke seed of chastitee That thou hast sowe in Cecile, tak to thee! 195 Lo, lyk a bisy bee, with-outen gyle, Thee serveth ay thyn owene thral Cecile!

For thilke spouse, that she took but now Ful lyk a fiers leoun, she sendeth here, As meke as ever was any lamb, to yow!’ 200 And with that worde, anon ther gan appere An old man, clad in whyte clothes clere, That hadde a book with lettre of golde in honde, And gan biforn Valerian to stonde.

Valerian as deed fil doun for drede 205 Whan he him saugh, and he up hente him tho, And on his book right thus he gan to rede— ‘Oo Lord, oo feith, oo god with-outen mo, Oo Cristendom, and fader of alle also, Aboven alle and over al everywhere’— 210 Thise wordes al with gold y-writen were.

Whan this was rad, than seyde this olde man, ‘Levestow this thing or no? sey ye or nay.’ ‘I leve al this thing,’ quod Valerian, ‘For sother thing than this, I dar wel say, 215 Under the hevene no wight thinke may.’ Tho vanisshed the olde man, he niste where, And pope Urban him cristened right there.

Valerian goth hoom, and fint Cecilie With-inne his chambre with an angel stonde; 220 This angel hadde of roses and of lilie Corones two, the which he bar in honde; And first to Cecile, as I understonde, He yaf that oon, and after gan he take That other to Valerian, hir make. 225 ‘With body clene and with unwemmed thoght Kepeth ay wel thise corones,’ quod he; ‘Fro Paradys to yow have I hem broght, Ne never-mo ne shal they roten be, Ne lese her sote savour, trusteth me; 230 Ne never wight shal seen hem with his yë, But he be chaast and hate vileinyë.

And thou, Valerian, for thou so sone Assentedest to good conseil also, Sey what thee list, and thou shalt han thy bone.’ 235 ‘I have a brother,’ quod Valerian tho, ‘That in this world I love no man so. I pray yow that my brother may han grace To knowe the trouthe, as I do in this place.’ The angel seyde, ‘god lyketh thy requeste, 240 And bothe, with the palm of martirdom, Ye shullen come unto his blisful feste.’ And with that word Tiburce his brother com. And whan that he the savour undernom Which that the roses and the lilies caste, 245 With-inne his herte he gan to wondre faste, And seyde, ‘I wondre, this tyme of the yeer, Whennes that sote savour cometh so Of rose and lilies that I smelle heer. For though I hadde hem in myn hondes two, 250 The savour mighte in me no depper go. The sote smel that in myn herte I finde Hath chaunged me al in another kinde.’

Valerian seyde, ‘two corones han we, Snow-whyte and rose-reed, that shynen clere, 255 Whiche that thyn yën han no might to see; And as thou smellest hem thurgh my preyere, So shaltow seen hem, leve brother dere, If it so be thou wolt, withouten slouthe, Bileve aright and knowen verray trouthe.’ 260 Tiburce answerde, ‘seistow this to me In soothnesse, or in dreem I herkne this?’ ‘In dremes,’ quod Valerian, ‘han we be Unto this tyme, brother myn, y-wis. But now at erst in trouthe our dwelling is.’ 265 ‘How woostow this,’ quod Tiburce, ‘in what wyse?’ Quod Valerian, ‘that shal I thee devyse. The angel of god hath me the trouthe y-taught Which thou shalt seen, if that thou wolt reneye The ydoles and be clene, and elles naught.’— 270 And of the miracle of thise corones tweye Seint Ambrose in his preface list to seye; Solempnely this noble doctour dere Commendeth it, and seith in this manere:

The palm of martirdom for to receyve, 275 Seinte Cecile, fulfild of goddes yifte, The world and eek hir chambre gan she weyve; Witnes Tyburces and Valerians shrifte, To whiche god of his bountee wolde shifte Corones two of floures wel smellinge, 280 And made his angel hem the corones bringe:

The mayde hath broght thise men to blisse above; The world hath wist what it is worth, certeyn, Devocioun of chastitee to love.— Tho shewede him Cecile al open and pleyn 285 That alle ydoles nis but a thing in veyn; For they been dombe, and therto they been deve, And charged him his ydoles for to leve.

‘Who so that troweth nat this, a beste he is,’ Quod tho Tiburce, ‘if that I shal nat lye.’ 290 And she gan kisse his brest, that herde this, And was ful glad he coude trouthe espye. ‘This day I take thee for myn allye,’ Seyde this blisful fayre mayde dere; And after that she seyde as ye may here:

295 ‘Lo, right so as the love of Crist,’ quod she, ‘Made me thy brotheres wyf, right in that wyse Anon for myn allye heer take I thee, Sin that thou wolt thyn ydoles despyse. Go with thy brother now, and thee baptyse, 300 And make thee clene; so that thou mowe biholde The angels face of which thy brother tolde.’ Tiburce answerde and seyde, ‘brother dere, First tel me whider I shal, and to what man?’ ‘To whom?’ quod he, ‘com forth with right good chere, 305 I wol thee lede unto the pope Urban.’ ’Til Urban? brother myn Valerian,’ Quod tho Tiburce, ‘woltow me thider lede? Me thinketh that it were a wonder dede.

Ne menestow nat Urban,’ quod he tho, 310 ‘That is so ofte dampned to be deed, And woneth in halkes alwey to and fro, And dar nat ones putte forth his heed? Men sholde him brennen in a fyr so reed If he were founde, or that men mighte him spye; 315 And we also, to bere him companye— And whyl we seken thilke divinitee That is y-hid in hevene prively, Algate y-brend in this world shul we be!’ To whom Cecile answerde boldely, 320 ‘Men mighten dreden wel and skilfully This lyf to lese, myn owene dere brother, If this were livinge only and non other. But ther is better lyf in other place, That never shal be lost, ne drede thee noght, 325 Which goddes sone us tolde thurgh his grace; That fadres sone hath alle thinges wroght; And al that wroght is with a skilful thoght, The goost, that fro the fader gan precede, Hath sowled hem, withouten any drede.

330 By word and by miracle goddes sone, Whan he was in this world, declared here That ther was other lyf ther men may wone.’ To whom answerde Tiburce, ‘o suster dere, Ne seydestow right now in this manere, 335 Ther nis but o god, lord in soothfastnesse; And now of three how maystow bere witnesse?’ ‘That shal I telle,’ quod she, ‘er I go. Right as a man hath sapiences three, Memorie, engyn, and intellect also, 340 So, in o being of divinitee, Three persones may ther right wel be.’ Tho gan she him ful bisily to preche Of Cristes come and of his peynes teche,

And many pointes of his passioun; 345 How goddes sone in this world was withholde, To doon mankinde pleyn remissioun, That was y-bounde in sinne and cares colde: Al this thing she unto Tiburce tolde. And after this Tiburce, in good entente, 350 With Valerian to pope Urban he wente, That thanked god; and with glad herte and light He cristned him, and made him in that place Parfit in his lerninge, goddes knight. And after this Tiburce gat swich grace, 355 That every day he saugh, in tyme and space, The angel of god; and every maner bone That he god axed, it was sped ful sone.

It were ful hard by ordre for to seyn How many wondres Iesus for hem wroghte; 360 But atte laste, to tellen short and pleyn, The sergeants of the toun of Rome hem soghte, And hem biforn Almache the prefect broghte, Which hem apposed, and knew al hir entente, And to the image of Iupiter hem sente,

365 And seyde, ‘who so wol nat sacrifyse, Swap of his heed, this is my sentence here.’ Anon thise martirs that I yow devyse, Oon Maximus, that was an officere Of the prefectes and his corniculere, 370 Hem hente; and whan he forth the seintes ladde, Him-self he weep, for pitee that he hadde.

Whan Maximus had herd the seintes lore, He gat him of the tormentoures leve, And ladde hem to his hous withoute more; 375 And with hir preching, er that it were eve, They gonnen fro the tormentours to reve, And fro Maxime, and fro his folk echone The false feith, to trowe in god allone.

Cecilie cam, whan it was woxen night, 380 With preestes that hem cristned alle y-fere; And afterward, whan day was woxen light, Cecile hem seyde with a ful sobre chere, ‘Now, Cristes owene knightes leve and dere, Caste alle awey the werkes of derknesse, 385 And armeth yow in armure of brightnesse.

Ye han for sothe y-doon a greet bataille, Your cours is doon, your feith han ye conserved, Goth to the corone of lyf that may nat faille; The rightful Iuge, which that ye han served, 390 Shall yeve it yow, as ye han it deserved.’ And whan this thing was seyd as I devyse, Men ladde hem forth to doon the sacrifyse.

But whan they weren to the place broght, To tellen shortly the conclusioun, 395 They nolde encense ne sacrifice right noght, But on hir knees they setten hem adoun With humble herte and sad devocioun, And losten bothe hir hedes in the place. Hir soules wenten to the king of grace.

400 This Maximus, that saugh this thing bityde, With pitous teres tolde it anon-right, That he hir soules saugh to heven glyde With angels ful of cleernesse and of light, And with his word converted many a wight; 405 For which Almachius dide him so to-bete With whippe of leed, til he his lyf gan lete.

Cecile him took and buried him anoon By Tiburce and Valerian softely, Withinne hir burying-place, under the stoon. 410 And after this Almachius hastily Bad his ministres fecchen openly Cecile, so that she mighte in his presence Doon sacrifyce, and Iupiter encense. But they, converted at hir wyse lore, 415 Wepten ful sore, and yaven ful credence Unto hir word, and cryden more and more, ‘Crist, goddes sone withouten difference, Is verray god, this is al our sentence, That hath so good a servant him to serve; 420 This with o voys we trowen, thogh we sterve!’

Almachius, that herde of this doinge, Bad fecchen Cecile, that he might hir see, And alderfirst, lo! this was his axinge, ‘What maner womman artow?’ tho quod he. 425 ‘I am a gentil womman born,’ quod she. ‘I axe thee,’ quod he, ‘thogh it thee greve, Of thy religioun and of thy bileve.’

‘Ye han bigonne your question folily,’ Quod she, ‘that wolden two answeres conclude 430 In oo demande; ye axed lewedly.’ Almache answerde unto that similitude, ‘Of whennes comth thyn answering so rude?’ ‘Of whennes?’ quod she, whan that she was freyned, ‘Of conscience and of good feith unfeyned.’ 435 Almachius seyde, ‘ne takestow non hede Of my power?’ and she answerde him this— ‘Your might,’ quod she, ‘ful litel is to drede; For every mortal mannes power nis But lyk a bladdre, ful of wind, y-wis. 440 For with a nedles poynt, whan it is blowe, May al the boost of it be leyd ful lowe.’

‘Ful wrongfully bigonne thou,’ quod he, ‘And yet in wrong is thy perseveraunce; Wostow nat how our mighty princes free 445 Han thus comanded and maad ordinaunce, That every cristen wight shal han penaunce But-if that he his cristendom withseye, And goon al quit, if he wol it reneye?’ ‘Your princes erren, as your nobley dooth,’ 450 Quod tho Cecile, ‘and with a wood sentence Ye make us gilty, and it is nat sooth; For ye, that knowen wel our innocence, For as muche as we doon a reverence To Crist, and for we bere a cristen name, 455 Ye putte on us a cryme, and eek a blame.

But we that knowen thilke name so For vertuous, we may it nat withseye.’ Almache answerde, ‘chees oon of thise two, Do sacrifyce, or cristendom reneye, 460 That thou mowe now escapen by that weye.’ At which the holy blisful fayre mayde Gan for to laughe, and to the Iuge seyde, ‘O Iuge, confus in thy nycetee, Woltow that I reneye innocence, 465 To make me a wikked wight?’ quod she; ‘Lo! he dissimuleth here in audience, He stareth and woodeth in his advertence!’ To whom Almachius, ‘unsely wrecche, Ne woostow nat how far my might may strecche?

470 Han noght our mighty princes to me yeven, Ye, bothe power and auctoritee To maken folk to dyen or to liven? Why spekestow so proudly than to me?’ ‘I speke noght but stedfastly,’ quod she, 475 ‘Nat proudly, for I seye, as for my syde, We haten deedly thilke vyce of pryde.

And if thou drede nat a sooth to here, Than wol I shewe al openly, by right, That thou hast maad a ful gret lesing here. 480 Thou seyst, thy princes han thee yeven might Bothe for to sleen and for to quiken a wight; Thou, that ne mayst but only lyf bireve, Thou hast non other power ne no leve! But thou mayst seyn, thy princes han thee maked 485 Ministre of deeth; for if thou speke of mo, Thou lyest, for thy power is ful naked.’ ‘Do wey thy boldnes,’ seyde Almachius tho, ‘And sacrifyce to our goddes, er thou go; I recche nat what wrong that thou me profre, 490 For I can suffre it as a philosophre;

But thilke wronges may I nat endure That thou spekest of our goddes here,’ quod he. Cecile answerede, ‘o nyce creature, Thou seydest no word sin thou spak to me 495 That I ne knew therwith thy nycetee; And that thou were, in every maner wyse, A lewed officer and a veyn Iustyse. Ther lakketh no-thing to thyn utter yën That thou nart blind, for thing that we seen alle 500 That it is stoon, that men may wel espyen, That ilke stoon a god thou wolt it calle. I rede thee, lat thyn hand upon it falle, And taste it wel, and stoon thou shalt it finde, Sin that thou seest nat with thyn yën blinde. 505 It is a shame that the peple shal So scorne thee, and laughe at thy folye; For comunly men woot it wel overal, That mighty god is in his hevenes hye, And thise images, wel thou mayst espye, 510 To thee ne to hem-self mowe nought profyte, For in effect they been nat worth a myte.’

Thise wordes and swiche othere seyde she, And he weex wroth, and bad men sholde hir lede Hom til hir hous, ‘and in hir hous,’ quod he, 515 ‘Brenne hir right in a bath of flambes rede.’ And as he bad, right so was doon in dede; For in a bath they gonne hir faste shetten, And night and day greet fyr they under betten.

The longe night and eek a day also, 520 For al the fyr and eek the bathes hete, She sat al cold, and felede no wo, It made hir nat a drope for to swete. But in that bath hir lyf she moste lete; For he, Almachius, with ful wikke entente 525 To sleen hir in the bath his sonde sente.

Three strokes in the nekke he smoot hir tho, The tormentour, but for no maner chaunce He mighte noght smyte al hir nekke a-two; And for ther was that tyme an ordinaunce, 530 That no man sholde doon man swich penaunce The ferthe strook to smyten, softe or sore, This tormentour ne dorste do na-more.

But half-deed, with hir nekke y-corven there, He lefte hir lye, and on his wey is went. 535 The cristen folk, which that aboute hir were, With shetes han the blood ful faire y-hent. Thre dayes lived she in this torment, And never cessed hem the feith to teche; That she hadde fostred, hem she gan to preche;

540 And hem she yaf hir moebles and hir thing, And to the pope Urban bitook hem tho, And seyde, ‘I axed this at hevene king, To han respyt three dayes and na-mo, To recomende to yow, er that I go, 545 Thise soules, lo! and that I mighte do werche Here of myn hous perpetuelly a cherche.’

Seint Urban, with his deknes, prively The body fette, and buried it by nighte Among his othere seintes honestly. 550 Hir hous the chirche of seint Cecilie highte; Seint Urban halwed it, as he wel mighte; In which, into this day, in noble wyse, Men doon to Crist and to his seint servyse. Here is ended the Seconde Nonnes Tale.

The prologe of the Chanons Yemannes Tale. Whan ended was the lyf of seint Cecyle, 555 Er we had riden fully fyve myle, At Boghton under Blee us gan atake A man, that clothed was in clothes blake, And undernethe he hadde a whyt surplys. His hakeney, that was al pomely grys, 560 So swatte, that it wonder was to see; It semed he had priked myles three. The hors eek that his yeman rood upon (10) So swatte, that unnethe mighte it gon. Aboute the peytrel stood the foom ful hye, 565 He was of fome al flekked as a pye. A male tweyfold on his croper lay, It semed that he caried lyte array. Al light for somer rood this worthy man, And in myn herte wondren I bigan 570 What that he was, til that I understood How that his cloke was sowed to his hood; For which, when I had longe avysed me, (20) I demed him som chanon for to be. His hat heng at his bak doun by a laas, 575 For he had riden more than trot or paas; He had ay priked lyk as he were wood. A clote-leef he hadde under his hood For swoot, and for to kepe his heed from hete. But it was Ioye for to seen him swete! 580 His forheed dropped as a stillatorie, Were ful of plantain and of paritorie. And whan that he was come, he gan to crye, (30) ‘God save,’ quod he, ‘this Ioly companye! Faste have I priked,’ quod he, ‘for your sake, 585 By-cause that I wolde yow atake, To ryden in this mery companye.’ His yeman eek was ful of curteisye, And seyde, ‘sires, now in the morwe-tyde Out of your hostelrye I saugh you ryde, 590 And warned heer my lord and my soverayn, Which that to ryden with yow is ful fayn, For his desport; he loveth daliaunce.’

‘Freend, for thy warning god yeve thee good chaunce,’ (41) Than seyde our host, ‘for certes, it wolde seme 595 Thy lord were wys, and so I may wel deme; He is ful Iocund also, dar I leye. Can he oght telle a mery tale or tweye, With which he glade may this companye?’

‘Who, sire? my lord? ye, ye, withouten lye, 600 He can of murthe, and eek of Iolitee Nat but ynough; also sir, trusteth me, And ye him knewe as wel as do I, (50) Ye wolde wondre how wel and craftily He coude werke, and that in sondry wyse. 605 He hath take on him many a greet empryse, Which were ful hard for any that is here To bringe aboute, but they of him it lere. As homely as he rit amonges yow, If ye him knewe, it wolde be for your prow; 610 Ye wolde nat forgoon his aqueyntaunce For mochel good, I dar leye in balaunce Al that I have in my possessioun. (60) He is a man of heigh discrecioun, I warne you wel, he is a passing man.’

615 ‘Wel,’ quod our host, ‘I pray thee, tel me than, Is he a clerk, or noon? tel what he is.’ ‘Nay, he is gretter than a clerk, y-wis,’ Seyde this yeman, ‘and in wordes fewe, Host, of his craft som-what I wol yow shewe. 620 I seye, my lord can swich subtilitee— (But al his craft ye may nat wite at me; And som-what helpe I yet to his werking)— (70) That al this ground on which we been ryding, Til that we come to Caunterbury toun, 625 He coude al clene turne it up-so-doun, And pave it al of silver and of gold.’

And whan this yeman hadde thus y-told Unto our host, he seyde, ‘benedicite! This thing is wonder merveillous to me, 630 Sin that thy lord is of so heigh prudence, By-cause of which men sholde him reverence, That of his worship rekketh he so lyte; (80) His oversloppe nis nat worth a myte, As in effect, to him, so mote I go! 635 It is al baudy and to-tore also. Why is thy lord so sluttish, I thee preye, And is of power better cloth to beye, If that his dede accorde with thy speche? Telle me that, and that I thee biseche.’

640 ‘Why?’ quod this yeman, ‘wherto axe ye me? God help me so, for he shal never thee! (But I wol nat avowe that I seye, (90) And therfor kepe it secree, I yow preye). He is to wys, in feith, as I bileve; 645 That that is overdoon, it wol nat preve Aright, as clerkes seyn, it is a vyce. Wherfor in that I holde him lewed and nyce. For whan a man hath over-greet a wit, Ful oft him happeth to misusen it; 650 So dooth my lord, and that me greveth sore. God it amende, I can sey yow na-more.’ ‘Ther-of no fors, good yeman,’ quod our host; (100) ‘Sin of the conning of thy lord thou wost, Tel how he dooth, I pray thee hertely, 655 Sin that he is so crafty and so sly. Wher dwellen ye, if it to telle be?’ ‘In the suburbes of a toun,’ quod he, ‘Lurkinge in hernes and in lanes blinde, Wher-as thise robbours and thise theves by kinde 660 Holden hir privee fereful residence, As they that dar nat shewen hir presence; So faren we, if I shal seye the sothe.’ (110) ‘Now,’ quod our host, ‘yit lat me talke to the; Why artow so discoloured of thy face?’

665 ‘Peter!’ quod he, ‘god yeve it harde grace, I am so used in the fyr to blowe, That it hath chaunged my colour, I trowe. I am nat wont in no mirour to prye, But swinke sore and lerne multiplye. 670 We blondren ever and pouren in the fyr, And for al that we fayle of our desyr, For ever we lakken our conclusioun. (120) To mochel folk we doon illusioun, And borwe gold, be it a pound or two, 675 Or ten, or twelve, or many sommes mo, And make hem wenen, at the leeste weye, That of a pound we coude make tweye! Yet is it fals, but ay we han good hope It for to doon, and after it we grope. 680 But that science is so fer us biforn, We mowen nat, al-though we hadde it sworn, It overtake, it slit awey so faste; (130) It wol us maken beggers atte laste.’

Whyl this yeman was thus in his talking, 685 This chanoun drough him neer, and herde al thing Which this yeman spak, for suspecioun Of mennes speche ever hadde this chanoun. For Catoun seith, that he that gilty is Demeth al thing be spoke of him, y-wis. 690 That was the cause he gan so ny him drawe To his yeman, to herknen al his sawe. And thus he seyde un-to his yeman tho, (140) ‘Hold thou thy pees, and spek no wordes mo, For if thou do, thou shalt it dere abye; 695 Thou sclaundrest me heer in this companye, And eek discoverest that thou sholdest hyde.’

‘Ye,’ quod our host, ‘telle on, what so bityde; Of al his threting rekke nat a myte!’

‘In feith,’ quod he, ‘namore I do but lyte.’ 700 And whan this chanon saugh it wolde nat be, But his yeman wolde telle his privetee, He fledde awey for verray sorwe and shame. (150) ‘A!’ quod the yeman, ‘heer shal aryse game, Al that I can anon now wol I telle. 705 Sin he is goon, the foule feend him quelle! For never her-after wol I with him mete For peny ne for pound, I yow bihete! He that me broghte first unto that game, Er that he dye, sorwe have he and shame! 710 For it is ernest to me, by my feith; That fele I wel, what so any man seith. And yet, for al my smert and al my grief, (160) For al my sorwe, labour, and meschief, I coude never leve it in no wyse. 715 Now wolde god my wit mighte suffyse To tellen al that longeth to that art! But natheles yow wol I tellen part; Sin that my lord is gon, I wol nat spare; 719 Swich thing as that I knowe, I wol declare.— Here endeth the Prologe of the Chanouns Yemannes Tale.

Here biginneth the Chanouns Yeman his Tale. [Prima pars.] 720 With this chanoun I dwelt have seven yeer, And of his science am I never the neer. Al that I hadde, I have y-lost ther-by; (170) And god wot, so hath many mo than I. Ther I was wont to be right fresh and gay 725 Of clothing and of other good array, Now may I were an hose upon myn heed; And wher my colour was bothe fresh and reed, Now is it wan and of a leden hewe; Who-so it useth, sore shal he rewe. 730 And of my swink yet blered is myn yë, Lo! which avantage is to multiplye! That slyding science hath me maad so bare, (180) That I have no good, wher that ever I fare; And yet I am endetted so ther-by 735 Of gold that I have borwed, trewely, That whyl I live, I shal it quyte never. Lat every man be war by me for ever! What maner man that casteth him ther-to, If he continue, I holde his thrift y-do. 740 So helpe me god, ther-by shal he nat winne, But empte his purs, and make his wittes thinne. And whan he, thurgh his madnes and folye, (190) Hath lost his owene good thurgh Iupartye, Thanne he excyteth other folk ther-to, 745 To lese hir good as he him-self hath do. For unto shrewes Ioye it is and ese To have hir felawes in peyne and disese; Thus was I ones lerned of a clerk. Of that no charge, I wol speke of our werk.

750 Whan we been ther as we shul exercyse Our elvish craft, we semen wonder wyse, Our termes been so clergial and so queynte. (200) I blowe the fyr til that myn herte feynte. What sholde I tellen ech proporcioun 755 Of thinges whiche that we werche upon, As on fyve or sixe ounces, may wel be, Of silver or som other quantite, And bisie me to telle yow the names Of orpiment, brent bones, yren squames, 760 That into poudre grounden been ful smal? And in an erthen potte how put is al, And salt y-put in, and also papeer, (210) Biforn thise poudres that I speke of heer, And wel y-covered with a lampe of glas, 765 And mochel other thing which that ther was? And of the pot and glasses enluting, That of the eyre mighte passe out no-thing? And of the esy fyr and smart also, Which that was maad, and of the care and wo 770 That we hadde in our matires sublyming, And in amalgaming and calcening Of quik-silver, y-clept Mercurie crude? (220) For alle our sleightes we can nat conclude. Our orpiment and sublymed Mercurie, 775 Our grounden litarge eek on the porphurie, Of ech of thise of ounces a certeyn Nought helpeth us, our labour is in veyn. Ne eek our spirites ascencioun, Ne our materes that lyen al fixe adoun, 780 Mowe in our werking no-thing us avayle. For lost is al our labour and travayle, And al the cost, a twenty devel weye, (230) Is lost also, which we upon it leye.

Ther is also ful many another thing 785 That is unto our craft apertening; Though I by ordre hem nat reherce can, By-cause that I am a lewed man, Yet wol I telle hem as they come to minde, Though I ne can nat sette hem in hir kinde; 790 As bole armoniak, verdegrees, boras, And sondry vessels maad of erthe and glas, Our urinales and our descensories, (240) Violes, croslets, and sublymatories, Cucurbites, and alembykes eek, 795 And othere swiche, dere y-nough a leek. Nat nedeth it for to reherce hem alle, Watres rubifying and boles galle, Arsenik, sal armoniak, and brimstoon; And herbes coude I telle eek many oon, 800 As egremoine, valerian, and lunarie, And othere swiche, if that me liste tarie. Our lampes brenning bothe night and day, (250) To bringe aboute our craft, if that we may. Our fourneys eek of calcinacioun, 805 And of watres albificacioun, Unslekked lym, chalk, and gleyre of an ey, Poudres diverse, asshes, dong, pisse, and cley, Cered pokets, sal peter, vitriole; And divers fyres maad of wode and cole; 810 Sal tartre, alkaly, and sal preparat, And combust materes and coagulat, Cley maad with hors or mannes heer, and oile (260) Of tartre, alum, glas, berm, wort, and argoile, Resalgar, and our materes enbibing; 815 And eek of our materes encorporing, And of our silver citrinacioun, Our cementing and fermentacioun, Our ingottes, testes, and many mo.

I wol yow telle, as was me taught also, 820 The foure spirites and the bodies sevene, By ordre, as ofte I herde my lord hem nevene. The firste spirit quik-silver called is, (270) The second orpiment, the thridde, y-wis, Sal armoniak, and the ferthe brimstoon. 825 The bodies sevene eek, lo! hem heer anoon: Sol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe, Mars yren, Mercurie quik-silver we clepe, Saturnus leed, and Iupiter is tin, And Venus coper, by my fader kin!

830 This cursed craft who-so wol exercyse, He shal no good han that him may suffyse; For al the good he spendeth ther-aboute, (280) He lese shal, ther-of have I no doute. Who-so that listeth outen his folye, 835 Lat him come forth, and lerne multiplye; And every man that oght hath in his cofre, Lat him appere, and wexe a philosofre. Ascaunce that craft is so light to lere? Nay, nay, god woot, al be he monk or frere, 840 Preest or chanoun, or any other wight, Though he sitte at his book bothe day and night, In lernyng of this elvish nyce lore, (290) Al is in veyn, and parde, mochel more! To lerne a lewed man this subtiltee, 845 Fy! spek nat ther-of, for it wol nat be; Al conne he letterure, or conne he noon, As in effect, he shal finde it al oon. For bothe two, by my savacioun, Concluden, in multiplicacioun, 850 Y-lyke wel, whan they han al y-do; This is to seyn, they faylen bothe two.

Yet forgat I to maken rehersaille (300) Of watres corosif and of limaille, And of bodyes mollificacioun, 855 And also of hir induracioun, Oiles, ablucions, and metal fusible, To tellen al wolde passen any bible That o-wher is; wherfor, as for the beste, Of alle thise names now wol I me reste. 860 For, as I trowe, I have yow told y-nowe To reyse a feend, al loke he never so rowe.

A! nay! lat be; the philosophres stoon, (310) Elixir clept, we sechen faste echoon; For hadde we him, than were we siker y-now. 865 But, unto god of heven I make avow, For al our craft, whan we han al y-do, And al our sleighte, he wol nat come us to. He hath y-maad us spenden mochel good, For sorwe of which almost we wexen wood, 870 But that good hope crepeth in our herte, Supposinge ever, though we sore smerte, To be releved by him afterward; (320) Swich supposing and hope is sharp and hard; I warne yow wel, it is to seken ever; 875 That futur temps hath maad men to dissever, In trust ther-of, from al that ever they hadde. Yet of that art they can nat wexen sadde, For unto hem it is a bitter swete; So semeth it; for nadde they but a shete 880 Which that they mighte wrappe hem inne a-night, And a bak to walken inne by day-light, They wolde hem selle and spenden on this craft; (330) They can nat stinte til no-thing be laft. And evermore, wher that ever they goon, 885 Men may hem knowe by smel of brimstoon; For al the world, they stinken as a goot; Her savour is so rammish and so hoot, That, though a man from hem a myle be, The savour wol infecte him, trusteth me; 890 Lo, thus by smelling and threedbare array, If that men liste, this folk they knowe may. And if a man wol aske hem prively, (340) Why they been clothed so unthriftily, They right anon wol rownen in his ere, 895 And seyn, that if that they espyed were, Men wolde hem slee, by-cause of hir science; Lo, thus this folk bitrayen innocence!

Passe over this; I go my tale un-to. Er than the pot be on the fyr y-do, 900 Of metals with a certein quantite, My lord hem tempreth, and no man but he— Now he is goon, I dar seyn boldely— (350) For, as men seyn, he can don craftily; Algate I wool wel he hath swich a name, 905 And yet ful ofte he renneth in a blame; And wite ye how? ful ofte it happeth so, The pot to-breketh, and farewel! al is go! Thise metals been of so greet violence, Our walles mowe nat make hem resistence, 910 But if they weren wroght of lym and stoon; They percen so, and thurgh the wal they goon, And somme of hem sinken in-to the ground— (360) Thus han we lost by tymes many a pound— And somme are scatered al the floor aboute, 915 Somme lepe in-to the roof; with-outen doute, Though that the feend noght in our sighte him shewe, I trowe he with us be, that ilke shrewe! In helle wher that he is lord and sire, Nis ther more wo, ne more rancour ne ire. 920 Whan that our pot is broke, as I have sayd, Every man chit, and halt him yvel apayd.

Som seyde, it was long on the fyr-making, (370) Som seyde, nay! it was on the blowing; (Than was I fered, for that was myn office); 925 ‘Straw!’ quod the thridde, ‘ye been lewed and nyce, It was nat tempred as it oghte be.’ ‘Nay!’ quod the ferthe, ‘stint, and herkne me; By-cause our fyr ne was nat maad of beech, That is the cause, and other noon, so theech!’ 930 I can nat telle wher-on it was long, But wel I wot greet stryf is us among.

‘What!’ quod my lord, ‘ther is na-more to done, (380) Of thise perils I wol be war eft-sone; I am right siker that the pot was crased. 935 Be as be may, be ye no-thing amased; As usage is, lat swepe the floor as swythe, Plukke up your hertes, and beth gladde and blythe.’ The mullok on an hepe y-sweped was, And on the floor y-cast a canevas, 940 And al this mullok in a sive y-throwe, And sifted, and y-piked many a throwe.

‘Pardee,’ quod oon, ‘somwhat of our metal (390) Yet is ther heer, though that we han nat al. Al-though this thing mishapped have as now, 945 Another tyme it may be wel y-now, Us moste putte our good in aventure; A marchant, parde! may nat ay endure, Trusteth me wel, in his prosperitee; Somtyme his good is drenched in the see, 950 And somtym comth it sauf un-to the londe.’ ‘Pees!’ quod my lord, ‘the next tyme I wol fonde To bringe our craft al in another plyte; (400) And but I do, sirs, lat me han the wyte; Ther was defaute in som-what, wel I woot.’

955 Another seyde, the fyr was over hoot:— But, be it hoot or cold, I dar seye this, That we concluden evermore amis. We fayle of that which that we wolden have, And in our madnesse evermore we rave. 960 And whan we been togidres everichoon, Every man semeth a Salomon. But al thing which that shyneth as the gold (410) Nis nat gold, as that I have herd it told; Ne every appel that is fair at yë 965 Ne is nat good, what-so men clappe or crye. Right so, lo! fareth it amonges us; He that semeth the wysest, by Iesus! Is most fool, whan it cometh to the preef; And he that semeth trewest is a theef; 970 That shul ye knowe, er that I fro yow wende, By that I of my tale have maad an ende. Explicit prima pars. Et sequitur pars secunda.

Ther is a chanoun of religioun (420) Amonges us, wolde infecte al a toun, Though it as greet were as was Ninivee, 975 Rome, Alisaundre, Troye, and othere three. His sleightes and his infinit falsnesse Ther coude no man wryten, as I gesse, Thogh that he mighte liven a thousand yeer. In al this world of falshede nis his peer; 980 For in his termes so he wolde him winde, And speke his wordes in so sly a kinde, Whan he commune shal with any wight, (430) That he wol make him doten anon right, But it a feend be, as him-selven is. 985 Ful many a man hath he bigyled er this, And wol, if that he live may a whyle; And yet men ryde and goon ful many a myle Him for to seke and have his aqueyntaunce, Noght knowinge of his false governaunce. 990 And if yow list to yeve me audience, I wol it tellen heer in your presence.

But worshipful chanouns religious, (440) Ne demeth nat that I sclaundre your hous, Al-though my tale of a chanoun be. 995 Of every ordre som shrewe is, parde, And god forbede that al a companye Sholde rewe a singuler mannes folye. To sclaundre yow is no-thing myn entente, But to correcten that is mis I mente. 1000 This tale was nat only told for yow, But eek for othere mo; ye woot wel how That, among Cristes apostelles twelve, (450) Ther nas no traytour but Iudas him-selve. Than why sholde al the remenant have blame 1005 That giltlees were? by yow I seye the same. Save only this, if ye wol herkne me, If any Iudas in your covent be, Remeveth him bitymes, I yow rede, If shame or los may causen any drede. 1010 And beth no-thing displesed, I yow preye, But in this cas herkneth what I shal seye.

In London was a preest, an annueleer, (460) That therin dwelled hadde many a yeer, Which was so plesaunt and so servisable 1015 Unto the wyf, wher-as he was at table, That she wolde suffre him no-thing for to paye For bord ne clothing, wente he never so gaye; And spending-silver hadde he right y-now. Therof no fors; I wol precede as now, 1020 And telle forth my tale of the chanoun, That broghte this preest to confusioun.

This false chanoun cam up-on a day (470) Unto this preestes chambre, wher he lay, Biseching him to lene him a certeyn 1025 Of gold, and he wolde quyte it him ageyn. ‘Lene me a mark,’ quod he, ‘but dayes three, And at my day I wol it quyten thee. And if so be that thou me finde fals, Another day do hange me by the hals!’ 1030 This preest him took a mark, and that as swythe, And this chanoun him thanked ofte sythe, And took his leve, and wente forth his weye, (480) And at the thridde day broghte his moneye, And to the preest he took his gold agayn, 1035 Wherof this preest was wonder glad and fayn. ‘Certes,’ quod he, ‘no-thing anoyeth me To lene a man a noble, or two or three, Or what thing were in my possessioun, Whan he so trewe is of condicioun, 1040 That in no wyse he breke wol his day; To swich a man I can never seye nay.’ ‘What!’ quod this chanoun, ‘sholde I be untrewe? (490) Nay, that were thing y-fallen al of-newe. Trouthe is a thing that I wol ever kepe 1045 Un-to that day in which that I shal crepe In-to my grave, and elles god forbede; Bileveth this as siker as is your crede. God thanke I, and in good tyme be it sayd, That ther was never man yet yvel apayd 1050 For gold ne silver that he to me lente, Ne never falshede in myn herte I mente. And sir,’ quod he, ‘now of my privetee, (500) Sin ye so goodlich han been un-to me, And kythed to me so greet gentillesse, 1055 Somwhat to quyte with your kindenesse, I wol yow shewe, and, if yow list to lere, I wol yow teche pleynly the manere, How I can werken in philosophye. Taketh good heed, ye shul wel seen at yë, 1060 That I wol doon a maistrie er I go.’

‘Ye,’ quod the preest, ‘ye, sir, and wol ye so? Marie! ther-of I pray yow hertely!’

(510) ‘At your comandement, sir, trewely,’ Quod the chanoun, ‘and elles god forbede!’ 1065 Lo, how this theef coude his servyse bede! Ful sooth it is, that swich profred servyse Stinketh, as witnessen thise olde wyse; And that ful sone I wol it verifye In this chanoun, rote of al trecherye, 1070 That ever-more delyt hath and gladnesse— Swich feendly thoughtes in his herte impresse— How Cristes peple he may to meschief bringe; (520) God kepe us from his fals dissimulinge!

Noght wiste this preest with whom that he delte, 1075 Ne of his harm cominge he no-thing felte. O sely preest! o sely innocent! With coveityse anon thou shall be blent! O gracelees, ful blind is thy conceit, No-thing ne artow war of the deceit 1080 Which that this fox y-shapen hath to thee! His wyly wrenches thou ne mayst nat flee. Wherfor, to go to the conclusioun (530) That refereth to thy confusioun, Unhappy man! anon I wol me hye 1085 To tellen thyn unwit and thy folye, And eek the falsnesse of that other wrecche, As ferforth as that my conning may strecche.

This chanoun was my lord, ye wolden wene? Sir host, in feith, and by the hevenes quene, 1090 It was another chanoun, and nat he, That can an hundred fold more subtiltee! He hath bitrayed folkes many tyme; (540) Of his falshede it dulleth me to ryme. Ever whan that I speke of his falshede, 1095 For shame of him my chekes wexen rede; Algates, they biginnen for to glowe, For reednesse have I noon, right wel I knowe, In my visage; for fumes dyverse Of metals, which ye han herd me reherce, 1100 Consumed and wasted han my reednesse. Now tak heed of this chanouns cursednesse!

‘Sir,’ quod he to the preest, ‘lat your man gon (550) For quik-silver, that we it hadde anon; And lat him bringen ounces two or three; 1105 And whan he comth, as faste shul ye see A wonder thing, which ye saugh never er this.’

‘Sir,’ quod the preest, ‘it shall be doon, y-wis.’ He bad his servant fecchen him this thing, And he al redy was at his bidding, 1110 And wente him forth, and cam anon agayn With this quik-silver, soothly for to sayn, And took thise ounces three to the chanoun; (560) And he hem leyde fayre and wel adoun, And bad the servant coles for to bringe, 1115 That he anon mighte go to his werkinge.

The coles right anon weren y-fet, And this chanoun took out a crosselet Of his bosom, and shewed it the preest. ‘This instrument,’ quod he, ‘which that thou seest, 1120 Tak in thyn hand, and put thy-self ther-inne Of this quik-silver an ounce, and heer biginne, In the name of Crist, to wexe a philosofre. (570) Ther been ful fewe, whiche that I wolde profre To shewen hem thus muche of my science. 1125 For ye shul seen heer, by experience, That this quik-silver wol I mortifye Right in your sighte anon, withouten lye, And make it as good silver and as fyn As ther is any in your purs or myn, 1130 Or elleswher, and make it malliable; And elles, holdeth me fals and unable Amonges folk for ever to appere! (580) I have a poudre heer, that coste me dere, Shal make al good, for it is cause of al 1135 My conning, which that I yow shewen shal. Voydeth your man, and lat him be ther-oute, And shet the dore, whyls we been aboute Our privetee, that no man us espye Whyls that we werke in this philosophye.’ 1140 Al as he bad, fulfilled was in dede, This ilke servant anon-right out yede, And his maister shette the dore anon, (590) And to hir labour speedily they gon.