‘THE MINOR POEMS’ IN VOL. I. (continued 4)

God liste to shewe his wonderful miracle (380) In hir, for we sholde seen his mighty werkes; Crist, which that is to every harm triacle, 480 By certein menes ofte, as knowen clerkes, Doth thing for certein ende that ful derk is To mannes wit, that for our ignorance Ne conne not knowe his prudent purveyance. Now, sith she was not at the feste y-slawe, 485 Who kepte hir fro the drenching in the see? Who kepte Ionas in the fisshes mawe Til he was spouted up at Ninivee? (390) Wel may men knowe it was no wight but he That kepte peple Ebraik fro hir drenchinge, 490 With drye feet thurgh-out the see passinge.

Who bad the foure spirits of tempest, That power han tanoyen land and see, ‘Bothe north and south, and also west and est, Anoyeth neither see, ne land, ne tree?’ 495 Sothly, the comaundour of that was he, That fro the tempest ay this womman kepte As wel whan [that] she wook as whan she slepte.

(400) Wher mighte this womman mete and drinke have? Three yeer and more how lasteth hir vitaille? 500 Who fedde the Egipcien Marie in the cave, Or in desert? no wight but Crist, sans faille. Fyve thousand folk it was as gret mervaille With loves fyve and fisshes two to fede. God sente his foison at hir grete nede. 505 She dryveth forth in-to our occean Thurgh-out our wilde see, til, atte laste, Under an hold that nempnen I ne can, (410) Fer in Northumberlond the wawe hir caste, And in the sond hir ship stiked so faste, 510 That thennes wolde it noght of al a tyde, The wille of Crist was that she shulde abyde. The constable of the castel doun is fare To seen this wrak, and al the ship he soghte, And fond this wery womman ful of care; 515 He fond also the tresor that she broghte. In hir langage mercy she bisoghte The lyf out of hir body for to twinne, (420) Hir to delivere of wo that she was inne. A maner Latin corrupt was hir speche, 520 But algates ther-by was she understonde; The constable, whan him list no lenger seche, This woful womman broghte he to the londe; She kneleth doun, and thanketh goddes sonde. But what she was, she wolde no man seye, 525 For foul ne fair, thogh that she shulde deye. She seyde, she was so mased in the see That she forgat hir minde, by hir trouthe; (430) The constable hath of hir so greet pitee, And eek his wyf, that they wepen for routhe, 530 She was so diligent, with-outen slouthe, To serve and plesen everich in that place, That alle hir loven that loken on hir face.

This constable and dame Hermengild his wyf Were payens, and that contree every-where; 535 But Hermengild lovede hir right as hir lyf, And Custance hath so longe soiourned there, In orisons, with many a bitter tere, (440) Til Iesu hath converted thurgh his grace Dame Hermengild, constablesse of that place.

540 In al that lond no cristen durste route, Alle cristen folk ben fled fro that contree Thurgh payens, that conquereden al aboute The plages of the North, by land and see; To Walis fled the cristianitee 545 Of olde Britons, dwellinge in this yle; Ther was hir refut for the mene whyle. But yet nere cristen Britons so exyled (450) That ther nere somme that in hir privetee Honoured Crist, and hethen folk bigyled; 550 And ny the castel swiche ther dwelten three. That oon of hem was blind, and mighte nat see But it were with thilke yën of his minde, With whiche men seen, after that they ben blinde.

Bright was the sonne as in that someres day, 555 For which the constable and his wyf also And Custance han y-take the righte way Toward the see, a furlong wey or two, (460) To pleyen and to romen to and fro; And in hir walk this blinde man they mette 560 Croked and old, with yën faste y-shette.

‘In name of Crist,’ cryde this blinde Britoun, ‘Dame Hermengild, yif me my sighte agayn.’ This lady wex affrayed of the soun, Lest that hir housbond, shortly for to sayn, 565 Wolde hir for Iesu Cristes love han slayn, Til Custance made hir bold, and bad hir werche The wil of Crist, as doghter of his chirche. (470) The constable wex abasshed of that sight, And seyde, ‘what amounteth al this fare?’ 570 Custance answerde, ‘sire, it is Cristes might, That helpeth folk out of the feendes snare.’ And so ferforth she gan our lay declare, That she the constable, er that it were eve, Converted, and on Crist made him bileve.

575 This constable was no-thing lord of this place Of which I speke, ther he Custance fond, But kepte it strongly, many wintres space, (480) Under Alla, king of al Northumberlond, That was ful wys, and worthy of his hond 580 Agayn the Scottes, as men may wel here, But turne I wol agayn to my matere. Sathan, that ever us waiteth to bigyle, Saugh of Custance al hir perfeccioun, And caste anon how he mighte quyte hir whyle, 585 And made a yong knight, that dwelte in that toun Love hir so hote, of foul affeccioun, That verraily him thoughte he shulde spille (490) But he of hir mighte ones have his wille. He woweth hir, but it availleth noght, 590 She wolde do no sinne, by no weye; And, for despyt, he compassed in his thoght To maken hir on shamful deth to deye. He wayteth whan the constable was aweye, And prively, up-on a night, he crepte 595 In Hermengildes chambre whyl she slepte. Wery, for-waked in her orisouns, Slepeth Custance, and Hermengild also. (500) This knight, thurgh Sathanas temptaciouns, Al softely is to the bed y-go, 600 And kitte the throte of Hermengild a-two, And leyde the blody knyf by dame Custance, And wente his wey, ther god yeve him meschance!

Sone after comth this constable hoom agayn, And eek Alla, that king was of that lond, 605 And saugh his wyf despitously y-slayn, For which ful ofte he weep and wrong his hond, And in the bed the blody knyf he fond (510) By dame Custance; allas! what mighte she seye? For verray wo hir wit was al aweye.

610 To king Alla was told al this meschance, And eek the tyme, and where, and in what wyse That in a ship was founden dame Custance, As heer-biforn that ye han herd devyse. The kinges herte of pitee gan agryse, 615 Whan he saugh so benigne a creature Falle in disese and in misaventure. For as the lomb toward his deeth is broght, (520) So stant this innocent bifore the king; This false knight that hath this tresoun wroght 620 Berth hir on hond that she hath doon this thing. But nathelees, ther was greet moorning Among the peple, and seyn, ‘they can not gesse That she hath doon so greet a wikkednesse.

For they han seyn hir ever so vertuous, 625 And loving Hermengild right as her lyf.’ Of this bar witnesse everich in that hous Save he that Hermengild slow with his knyf. (530) This gentil king hath caught a gret motyf Of this witnesse, and thoghte he wolde enquere 630 Depper in this, a trouthe for to lere.

Allas! Custance! thou hast no champioun, Ne fighte canstow nought, so weylawey! But he, that starf for our redempcioun And bond Sathan (and yit lyth ther he lay) 635 So be thy stronge champioun this day! For, but-if Crist open miracle kythe, Withouten gilt thou shalt be slayn as swythe. (540) She sette her doun on knees, and thus she sayde, ‘Immortal god, that savedest Susanne 640 Fro false blame, and thou, merciful mayde, Mary I mene, doghter to Seint Anne, Bifore whos child aungeles singe Osanne, If I be giltlees of this felonye, My socour be, for elles I shal dye!’

645 Have ye nat seyn som tyme a pale face, Among a prees, of him that hath be lad Toward his deeth, wher-as him gat no grace, (550) And swich a colour in his face hath had, Men mighte knowe his face, that was bistad, 650 Amonges alle the faces in that route: So stant Custance, and loketh hir aboute.

O quenes, livinge in prosperitee, Duchesses, and ye ladies everichone, Haveth som routhe on hir adversitee; 655 An emperoures doghter stant allone; She hath no wight to whom to make hir mone. O blood royal, that stondest in this drede, (560) Fer ben thy freendes at thy grete nede!

This Alla king hath swich compassioun, 660 As gentil herte is fulfild of pitee, That from his yën ran the water doun. ‘Now hastily do fecche a book,’ quod he, ‘And if this knight wol sweren how that she This womman slow, yet wole we us avyse 665 Whom that we wole that shal ben our Iustyse.’ A Briton book, writen with Evangyles, Was fet, and on this book he swoor anoon (570) She gilty was, and in the mene whyles A hand him smoot upon the nekke-boon, 670 That doun he fil atones as a stoon, And bothe his yën broste out of his face In sight of every body in that place. A vois was herd in general audience, And seyde, ‘thou hast desclaundred giltelees 675 The doghter of holy chirche in hey presence; Thus hastou doon, and yet holde I my pees.’ Of this mervaille agast was al the prees; (580) As mased folk they stoden everichone, For drede of wreche, save Custance allone. 680 Greet was the drede and eek the repentance Of hem that hadden wrong suspeccioun Upon this sely innocent Custance; And, for this miracle, in conclusioun, And by Custances mediacioun, 685 The king, and many another in that place, Converted was, thanked be Cristes grace! This false knight was slayn for his untrouthe (590) By Iugement of Alla hastifly; And yet Custance hadde of his deeth gret routhe. 690 And after this Iesus, of his mercy, Made Alla wedden ful solempnely This holy mayden, that is so bright and shene, And thus hath Crist y-maad Custance a quene. But who was woful, if I shal nat lye, 695 Of this wedding but Donegild, and na mo, The kinges moder, ful of tirannye? Hir thoughte hir cursed herte brast a-two; (600) She wolde noght hir sone had do so; Hir thoughte a despit, that he sholde take 700 So strange a creature un-to his make. Me list nat of the chaf nor of the stree Maken so long a tale, as of the corn. What sholde I tellen of the royaltee At mariage, or which cours gooth biforn, 705 Who bloweth in a trompe or in an horn? The fruit of every tale is for to seye; They ete, and drinke, and daunce, and singe, and pleye.

(610) They goon to bedde, as it was skile and right; For, thogh that wyves been ful holy thinges, 710 They moste take in pacience at night Swich maner necessaries as been plesinges To folk that han y-wedded hem with ringes, And leye a lyte hir holinesse asyde As for the tyme; it may no bet bityde. 715 On hir he gat a knave-child anoon, And to a bishop and his constable eke He took his wyf to kepe, whan he is goon (620) To Scotland-ward, his fo-men for to seke; Now faire Custance, that is so humble and meke, 720 So longe is goon with childe, til that stille She halt hir chambre, abyding Cristes wille. The tyme is come, a knave-child she ber; Mauricius at the font-stoon they him calle; This Constable dooth forth come a messager, 725 And wroot un-to his king, that cleped was Alle, How that this blisful tyding is bifalle, And othere tydings speedful for to seye; (630) He takth the lettre, and forth he gooth his weye.

This messager, to doon his avantage, 730 Un-to the kinges moder rydeth swythe, And salueth hir ful faire in his langage, ‘Madame,’ quod he, ‘ye may be glad and blythe, And thanke god an hundred thousand sythe; My lady quene hath child, with-outen doute, 735 To Ioye and blisse of al this regne aboute.

Lo, heer the lettres seled of this thing, That I mot bere with al the haste I may; (640) If ye wol aught un-to your sone the king, I am your servant, bothe night and day.’ 740 Donegild answerde, ‘as now at this tyme, nay; But heer al night I wol thou take thy reste, Tomorwe wol I seye thee what me leste.’

This messager drank sadly ale and wyn, And stolen were his lettres prively 745 Out of his box, whyl he sleep as a swyn; And countrefeted was ful subtilly Another lettre, wroght ful sinfully, (650) Un-to the king direct of this matere Fro his constable, as ye shul after here. 750 The lettre spak, ‘the queen delivered was Of so horrible a feendly creature, That in the castel noon so hardy was That any whyle dorste ther endure. The moder was an elf, by aventure 755 Y-come, by charmes or by sorcerye, And every wight hateth hir companye.’

Wo was this king whan he this lettre had seyn, (660) But to no wighte he tolde his sorwes sore, But of his owene honde he wroot ageyn, 760 ‘Welcome the sonde of Crist for evermore To me, that am now lerned in his lore; Lord, welcome be thy lust and thy plesaunce, My lust I putte al in thyn ordinaunce! Kepeth this child, al be it foul or fair, 765 And eek my wyf, un-to myn hoom-cominge; Crist, whan him list, may sende me an heir More agreable than this to my lykinge.’ (670) This lettre he seleth, prively wepinge, Which to the messager was take sone, 770 And forth he gooth; ther is na more to done. O messager, fulfild of dronkenesse, Strong is thy breeth, thy limes faltren ay, And thou biwreyest alle secreenesse. Thy mind is lorn, thou Ianglest as a Iay, 775 Thy face is turned in a newe array! Ther dronkenesse regneth in any route, Ther is no conseil hid, with-outen doute. (680) O Donegild, I ne have noon English digne Un-to thy malice and thy tirannye! 780 And therfor to the feend I thee resigne, Let him endyten of thy traitorye! Fy, mannish, fy! o nay, by god, I lye, Fy, feendly spirit, for I dar wel telle, Though thou heer walke, thy spirit is in helle! 785 This messager comth fro the king agayn, And at the kinges modres court he lighte, And she was of this messager ful fayn, (690) And plesed him in al that ever she mighte. He drank, and wel his girdel underpighte. 790 He slepeth, and he snoreth in his gyse Al night, un-til the sonne gan aryse.

Eft were his lettres stolen everichon And countrefeted lettres in this wyse; ‘The king comandeth his constable anon, 795 Up peyne of hanging, and on heigh Iuÿse, That he ne sholde suffren in no wyse Custance in-with his regne for tabyde (700) Thre dayes and a quarter of a tyde;

But in the same ship as he hir fond, 800 Hir and hir yonge sone, and al hir gere, He sholde putte, and croude hir fro the lond, And charge hir that she never eft come there.’ O my Custance, wel may thy goost have fere And sleping in thy dreem been in penance, 805 When Donegild caste al this ordinance! This messager on morwe, whan he wook, Un-to the castel halt the nexte wey, (710) And to the constable he the lettre took; And whan that he this pitous lettre sey, 810 Ful ofte he seyde ‘allas!’ and ‘weylawey!’ ‘Lord Crist,’ quod he, ‘how may this world endure? So ful of sinne is many a creature! O mighty god, if that it be thy wille, Sith thou art rightful Iuge, how may it be 815 That thou wolt suffren innocents to spille, And wikked folk regne in prosperitee? O good Custance, allas! so wo is me (720) That I mot be thy tormentour, or deye On shames deeth; ther is noon other weye!’

820 Wepen bothe yonge and olde in al that place, Whan that the king this cursed lettre sente, And Custance, with a deedly pale face, The ferthe day toward hir ship she wente. But natheles she taketh in good entente 825 The wille of Crist, and, kneling on the stronde, She seyde, ‘lord! ay wel-com be thy sonde!

He that me kepte fro the false blame (730) Whyl I was on the londe amonges yow, He can me kepe from harme and eek fro shame 830 In salte see, al-thogh I se nat how. As strong as ever he was, he is yet now. In him triste I, and in his moder dere, That is to me my seyl and eek my stere.’ Hir litel child lay weping in hir arm, 835 And kneling, pitously to him she seyde, ‘Pees, litel sone, I wol do thee non harm.’ With that hir kerchef of hir heed she breyde, (740) And over his litel yën she it leyde; And in hir arm she lulleth it ful faste, 840 And in-to heven hir yën up she caste.

‘Moder,’ quod she, ‘and mayde bright, Marye, Sooth is that thurgh wommannes eggement Mankind was lorn and damned ay to dye, For which thy child was on a croys y-rent; 845 Thy blisful yën sawe al his torment; Than is ther no comparisoun bitwene Thy wo and any wo man may sustene. (750) Thou sawe thy child y-slayn bifor thyn yën, And yet now liveth my litel child, parfay! 850 Now, lady bright, to whom alle woful cryën, Thou glorie of wommanhede, thou faire may, Thou haven of refut, brighte sterre of day, Rewe on my child, that of thy gentillesse Rewest on every rewful in distresse!

855 O litel child, allas! what is thy gilt, That never wroughtest sinne as yet, pardee, Why wil thyn harde fader han thee spilt? (760) O mercy, dere Constable!’ quod she; ‘As lat my litel child dwelle heer with thee; 860 And if thou darst not saven him, for blame, So kis him ones in his fadres name!’

Ther-with she loketh bakward to the londe, And seyde, ‘far-wel, housbond routhelees!’ And up she rist, and walketh doun the stronde 865 Toward the ship; hir folweth al the prees, And ever she preyeth hir child to holde his pees; And taketh hir leve, and with an holy entente (770) She blesseth hir; and in-to ship she wente.

Vitailled was the ship, it is no drede, 870 Habundantly for hir, ful longe space, And other necessaries that sholde nede She hadde y-nogh, heried be goddes grace! For wind and weder almighty god purchace, And bringe hir hoom! I can no bettre seye; 875 But in the see she dryveth forth hir weye. Explicit secunda pars. Sequitur pars tercia. Alla the king comth hoom, sone after this, Unto his castel of the which I tolde, (780) And axeth wher his wyf and his child is. The constable gan aboute his herte colde, 880 And pleynly al the maner he him tolde As ye han herd, I can telle it no bettre, And sheweth the king his seel and [eek] his lettre,

And seyde, ‘lord, as ye comaunded me Up peyne of deeth, so have I doon, certein.’ 885 This messager tormented was til he Moste biknowe and tellen, plat and plein, Fro night to night, in what place he had leyn. (790) And thus, by wit and subtil enqueringe, Ymagined was by whom this harm gan springe. 890 The hand was knowe that the lettre wroot, And al the venim of this cursed dede, But in what wyse, certeinly I noot. Theffect is this, that Alla, out of drede, His moder slow, that men may pleinly rede, 895 For that she traitour was to hir ligeaunce. Thus endeth olde Donegild with meschaunce. The sorwe that this Alla, night and day, (800) Maketh for his wyf and for his child also, Ther is no tonge that it telle may. 900 But now wol I un-to Custance go, That fleteth in the see, in peyne and wo, Fyve yeer and more, as lyked Cristes sonde, Er that hir ship approched un-to londe.

Under an hethen castel, atte laste, 905 Of which the name in my text noght I finde, Custance and eek hir child the see up-caste. Almighty god, that saveth al mankinde, (810) Have on Custance and on hir child som minde, That fallen is in hethen land eft-sone, 910 In point to spille, as I shal telle yow sone.

Doun from the castel comth ther many a wight To gauren on this ship and on Custance. But shortly, from the castel, on a night, The lordes styward—god yeve him meschaunce!— 915 A theef, that had reneyed our creaunce, Com in-to ship allone, and seyde he sholde Hir lemman be, wher-so she wolde or nolde.

(820) Wo was this wrecched womman tho bigon, Hir child cryde, and she cryde pitously; 920 But blisful Marie heelp hir right anon; For with hir strugling wel and mightily The theef fil over bord al sodeinly, And in the see he dreynte for vengeance; And thus hath Crist unwemmed kept Custance.

Auctor. O foule lust of luxurie! lo, thyn ende! 925 Nat only that thou feyntest mannes minde, But verraily thou wolt his body shende; (830) Thende of thy werk or of thy lustes blinde Is compleyning, how many-oon may men finde 930 That noght for werk som-tyme, but for thentente To doon this sinne, ben outher sleyn or shente! How may this wayke womman han this strengthe Hir to defende agayn this renegat? O Golias, unmesurable of lengthe, 935 How mighte David make thee so mat, So yong and of armure so desolat? How dorste he loke up-on thy dredful face? (840) Wel may men seen, it nas but goddes grace!

Who yaf Iudith corage or hardinesse 940 To sleen him, Olofernus, in his tente, And to deliveren out of wrecchednesse The peple of god? I seye, for this entente, That, right as god spirit of vigour sente To hem, and saved hem out of meschance, 945 So sente he might and vigour to Custance.

Forth goth hir ship thurgh-out the narwe mouth Of Iubaltar and Septe, dryving ay, (850) Som-tyme West, som-tyme North and South, And som-tyme Est, ful many a wery day, 950 Til Cristes moder (blessed be she ay!) Hath shapen, thurgh hir endelees goodnesse, To make an ende of al hir hevinesse.

Now lat us stinte of Custance but a throwe, And speke we of the Romain Emperour, 955 That out of Surrie hath by lettres knowe The slaughtre of cristen folk, and dishonour Don to his doghter by a fals traitour, (860) I mene the cursed wikked sowdanesse, That at the feste leet sleen both more and lesse. 960 For which this emperour hath sent anoon His senatour, with royal ordinance, And othere lordes, got wot, many oon, On Surriens to taken heigh vengeance. They brennen, sleen, and bringe hem to meschance 965 Ful many a day; but shortly, this is thende, Homward to Rome they shapen hem to wende. This senatour repaireth with victorie (870) To Rome-ward, sayling ful royally, And mette the ship dryving, as seith the storie, 970 In which Custance sit ful pitously. No-thing ne knew he what she was, ne why She was in swich array; ne she nil seye Of hir estaat, althogh she sholde deye.

He bringeth hir to Rome, and to his wyf 975 He yaf hir, and hir yonge sone also; And with the senatour she ladde her lyf. Thus can our lady bringen out of wo (880) Woful Custance, and many another mo. And longe tyme dwelled she in that place, 980 In holy werkes ever, as was hir grace. The senatoures wyf hir aunte was, But for al that she knew hir never the more; I wol no lenger tarien in this cas, But to king Alla, which I spak of yore, 985 That for his wyf wepeth and syketh sore, I wol retourne, and lete I wol Custance Under the senatoures governance.

(890) King Alla, which that hadde his moder slayn, Upon a day fil in swich repentance, 990 That, if I shortly tellen shal and plain, To Rome he comth, to receyven his penance; And putte him in the popes ordinance In heigh and low, and Iesu Crist bisoghte Foryeve his wikked werkes that he wroghte. 995 The fame anon thurgh Rome toun is born, How Alla king shal come in pilgrimage, By herbergeours that wenten him biforn; (900) For which the senatour, as was usage, Rood him ageyn, and many of his linage, 1000 As wel to shewen his heighe magnificence As to don any king a reverence.

Greet chere dooth this noble senatour To king Alla, and he to him also; Everich of hem doth other greet honour; 1005 And so bifel that, in a day or two, This senatour is to king Alla go To feste, and shortly, if I shal nat lye, (910) Custances sone wente in his companye. Som men wolde seyn, at requeste of Custance, 1010 This senatour hath lad this child to feste; I may nat tellen every circumstance, Be as be may, ther was he at the leste. But soth is this, that, at his modres heste, Biforn Alla, during the metes space, 1015 The child stood, loking in the kinges face. This Alla king hath of this child greet wonder, And to the senatour he seyde anon, (920) ‘Whos is that faire child that stondeth yonder?’ ‘I noot,’ quod he, ‘by god, and by seint Iohn! 1020 A moder he hath, but fader hath he non That I of woot’—but shortly, in a stounde, He tolde Alla how that this child was founde. ‘But god wot,’ quod this senatour also, ‘So vertuous a livere in my lyf, 1025 Ne saugh I never as she, ne herde of mo Of worldly wommen, mayden, nor of wyf; I dar wel seyn hir hadde lever a knyf (930) Thurgh-out her breste, than been a womman wikke; Ther is no man coude bringe hir to that prikke.’

1030 Now was this child as lyk un-to Custance As possible is a creature to be. This Alla hath the face in remembrance Of dame Custance, and ther-on mused he If that the childes moder were aught she 1035 That was his wyf, and prively he sighte, And spedde him fro the table that he mighte. ‘Parfay,’ thoghte he, ‘fantome is in myn heed! (940) I oghte deme, of skilful Iugement, That in the salte see my wyf is deed.’ 1040 And afterward he made his argument— ‘What woot I, if that Crist have hider y-sent My wyf by see, as wel as he hir sente To my contree fro thennes that she wente?’

And, after noon, hoom with the senatour 1045 Goth Alla, for to seen this wonder chaunce. This senatour dooth Alla greet honour, And hastifly he sente after Custaunce. (950) But trusteth weel, hir liste nat to daunce Whan that she wiste wherefor was that sonde. 1050 Unnethe up-on hir feet she mighte stonde.

When Alla saugh his wyf, faire he hir grette, And weep, that it was routhe for to see. For at the firste look he on hir sette He knew wel verraily that it was she. 1055 And she for sorwe as domb stant as a tree; So was hir herte shet in hir distresse Whan she remembred his unkindenesse. (960) Twyës she swowned in his owne sighte; He weep, and him excuseth pitously:— 1060 ‘Now god,’ quod he, ‘and alle his halwes brighte So wisly on my soule as have mercy, That of your harm as giltelees am I As is Maurice my sone so lyk your face; Elles the feend me fecche out of this place!’

1065 Long was the sobbing and the bitter peyne Er that hir woful hertes mighte cesse; Greet was the pitee for to here hem pleyne, (970) Thurgh whiche pleintes gan hir wo encresse. I prey yow al my labour to relesse; 1070 I may nat telle hir wo un-til tomorwe, I am so wery for to speke of sorwe. But fynally, when that the sooth is wist That Alla giltelees was of hir wo, I trowe an hundred tymes been they kist, 1075 And swich a blisse is ther bitwix hem two That, save the Ioye that lasteth evermo, Ther is non lyk, that any creature (980) Hath seyn or shal, whyl that the world may dure.

Tho preyde she hir housbond mekely, 1080 In relief of hir longe pitous pyne, That he wold preye hir fader specially That, of his magestee, he wolde enclyne To vouche-sauf som day with him to dyne; She preyde him eek, he sholde by no weye 1085 Un-to hir fader no word of hir seye.

Som men wold seyn, how that the child Maurice Doth this message un-to this emperour; (990) But, as I gesse, Alla was nat so nyce To him, that was of so sovereyn honour 1090 As he that is of cristen folk the flour, Sente any child, but it is bet to deme He wente him-self, and so it may wel seme. This emperour hath graunted gentilly To come to diner, as he him bisoghte; 1095 And wel rede I, he loked bisily Up-on this child, and on his doghter thoghte. Alla goth to his in, and, as him oghte, (1000) Arrayed for this feste in every wyse As ferforth as his conning may suffyse. 1100 The morwe cam, and Alla gan him dresse, And eek his wyf, this emperour to mete; And forth they ryde in Ioye and in gladnesse. And whan she saugh hir fader in the strete, She lighte doun, and falleth him to fete. 1105 ‘Fader,’ quod she, ‘your yonge child Custance Is now ful clene out of your remembrance. I am your doghter Custance,’ quod she, (1010) ‘That whylom ye han sent un-to Surrye. It am I, fader, that in the salte see 1110 Was put allone and dampned for to dye. Now, gode fader, mercy I yow crye, Send me namore un-to non hethenesse, But thonketh my lord heer of his kindenesse.’

Who can the pitous Ioye tellen al 1115 Bitwix hem three, sin they ben thus y-mette? But of my tale make an ende I shal; The day goth faste, I wol no lenger lette. (1020) This glade folk to diner they hem sette; In Ioye and blisse at mete I lete hem dwelle 1120 A thousand fold wel more than I can telle. This child Maurice was sithen emperour Maad by the pope, and lived cristenly. To Cristes chirche he dide greet honour; But I lete al his storie passen by, 1125 Of Custance is my tale specially. In olde Romayn gestes may men finde Maurices lyf; I bere it noght in minde.

(1030) This king Alla, whan he his tyme sey, With his Custance, his holy wyf so swete, 1130 To Engelond been they come the righte wey, Wher-as they live in Ioye and in quiete. But litel whyl it lasteth, I yow hete, Ioye of this world, for tyme wol nat abyde; Fro day to night it changeth as the tyde. 1135 Who lived ever in swich delyt o day That him ne moeved outher conscience, Or ire, or talent, or som kin affray, (1040) Envye, or pryde, or passion, or offence? I ne seye but for this ende this sentence, 1140 That litel whyl in Ioye or in plesance Lasteth the blisse of Alla with Custance.

For deeth, that taketh of heigh and low his rente, When passed was a yeer, even as I gesse, Out of this world this king Alla he hente, 1145 For whom Custance hath ful gret hevinesse. Now lat us preyen god his soule blesse! And dame Custance; fynally to seye, (1050) Towards the toun of Rome gooth hir weye.

To Rome is come this holy creature, 1150 And fyndeth ther hir frendes hole and sounde: Now is she scaped al hir aventure; And whan that she hir fader hath y-founde, Doun on hir kneës falleth she to grounde; Weping for tendrenesse in herte blythe, 1155 She herieth god an hundred thousand sythe.

In vertu and in holy almes-dede They liven alle, and never a-sonder wende; (1060) Til deeth departed hem, this lyf they lede. And fareth now weel, my tale is at an ende. 1160 Now Iesu Crist, that of his might may sende Ioye after wo, governe us in his grace, And kepe us alle that ben in this place! Amen.

‘Now freendes,’ seide our Hoost so dere, ‘How lyketh you by Iohn the Pardonere? For he hath unbokeled wel the male; He hath us told right a thrifty tale As touching of misgovernaunce— I preye to God, yeve him good chaunce!— As ye han herd of thise riotoures three. Now, gentil Mariner, hertely I preye thee, Telle us a good tale, and that right anon.’ ‘It shall be doon, by god and by seint Iohn,’ Seyde this Mariner, ‘as wel as ever I can,’ And right anon his tale he bigan.

Here biginneth the Shipmannes Prolog. Our hoste up-on his stiropes stood anon, And seyde, ‘good men, herkneth everich on; 1165 This was a thrifty tale for the nones! Sir parish prest,’ quod he, ‘for goddes bones, Tel us a tale, as was thy forward yore. I see wel that ye lerned men in lore Can moche good, by goddes dignitee!’

1170 The Persone him answerde, ‘benedicite! What eyleth the man, so sinfully to swere?’ (10) Our hoste answerde, ‘O Iankin, be ye there? I smelle a loller in the wind,’ quod he. ‘How! good men,’ quod our hoste, ‘herkneth me; 1175 Abydeth, for goddes digne passioun, For we shal han a predicacioun; This loller heer wil prechen us som-what.’

‘Nay, by my fader soule! that shal be nat,’ Seyde the Shipman; ‘heer he shal nat preche, 1180 He shal no gospel glosen heer ne teche. We leve alle in the grete god,’ quod he, (20) ‘He wolde sowen som difficultee, Or springen cokkel in our clene corn; And therfor, hoste, I warne thee biforn, 1185 My Ioly body shal a tale telle, And I shal clinken yow so mery a belle, That I shal waken al this companye; But it shal nat ben of philosophye, (27) Ne physices, ne termes queinte of lawe; 1190 Ther is but litel Latin in my mawe.’ Here endeth the Shipman his Prolog.

Here biginneth the Shipmannes Tale. A marchant whylom dwelled at Seint Denys, That riche was, for which men helde him wys; A wyf he hadde of excellent beautee, And compaignable and revelous was she, 1195 Which is a thing that causeth more dispence Than worth is al the chere and reverence That men hem doon at festes and at daunces; Swiche salutaciouns and contenaunces Passen as dooth a shadwe up-on the wal. 1200 But wo is him that payen moot for al; (11) The sely housbond, algate he mot paye; He moot us clothe, and he moot us arraye, Al for his owene worship richely, In which array we daunce Iolily. 1205 And if that he noght may, par-aventure, Or elles, list no swich dispence endure, But thinketh it is wasted and y-lost, Than moot another payen for our cost, Or lene us gold, and that is perilous.

1210 This noble Marchant heeld a worthy hous, (21) For which he hadde alday so greet repair For his largesse, and for his wyf was fair, That wonder is; but herkneth to my tale. Amonges alle his gestes, grete and smale, 1215 Ther was a monk, a fair man and a bold, I trowe of thritty winter he was old, That ever in oon was drawing to that place. This yonge monk, that was so fair of face, Aqueinted was so with the gode man, 1220 Sith that hir firste knoweliche bigan, (31) That in his hous as famulier was he As it possible is any freend to be.

And for as muchel as this gode man And eek this monk, of which that I bigan, 1225 Were bothe two y-born in o village, The monk him claimeth as for cosinage; And he again, he seith nat ones nay, But was as glad ther-of as fowel of day; For to his herte it was a greet plesaunce. 1230 Thus been they knit with eterne alliaunce, (41) And ech of hem gan other for tassure Of bretherhede, whyl that hir lyf may dure.

Free was daun Iohn, and namely of dispence, As in that hous; and ful of diligence 1235 To doon plesaunce, and also greet costage. He noght forgat to yeve the leeste page In al that hous; but, after hir degree, He yaf the lord, and sitthe al his meynee, When that he cam, som maner honest thing; 1240 For which they were as glad of his coming (51) As fowel is fayn, whan that the sonne up-ryseth. Na more of this as now, for it suffyseth.

But so bifel, this marchant on a day Shoop him to make redy his array 1245 Toward the toun of Brugges for to fare, To byën ther a porcioun of ware; For which he hath to Paris sent anon A messager, and preyed hath daun Iohn That he sholde come to Seint Denys to pleye 1250 With him and with his wyf a day or tweye, (61) Er he to Brugges wente, in alle wyse. This noble monk, of which I yow devyse, Hath of his abbot, as him list, licence, By-cause he was a man of heigh prudence, 1255 And eek an officer, out for to ryde, To seen hir graunges and hir bernes wyde; And un-to Seint Denys he comth anon. Who was so welcome as my lord daun Iohn, Our dere cosin, ful of curteisye? 1260 With him broghte he a Iubbe of Malvesye, (71) And eek another, ful of fyn Vernage, And volatyl, as ay was his usage. And thus I lete hem ete and drinke and pleye, This marchant and this monk, a day or tweye.

1265 The thridde day, this marchant up aryseth, And on his nedes sadly him avyseth, And up in-to his countour-hous goth he To rekene with him-self, as wel may be, Of thilke yeer, how that it with him stood, 1270 And how that he despended hadde his good; (81) And if that he encressed were or noon. His bokes and his bagges many oon He leith biforn him on his counting-bord; Ful riche was his tresor and his hord, 1275 For which ful faste his countour-dore he shette; And eek he nolde that no man sholde him lette Of his accountes, for the mene tyme; And thus he sit til it was passed pryme.

Daun Iohn was risen in the morwe also, 1280 And in the gardin walketh to and fro, (91) And hath his thinges seyd ful curteisly. This gode wyf cam walking prively In-to the gardin, ther he walketh softe, And him saleweth, as she hath don ofte. 1285 A mayde child cam in hir companye, Which as hir list she may governe and gye, For yet under the yerde was the mayde. ‘O dere cosin myn, daun Iohn,’ she sayde, ‘What eyleth yow so rathe for to ryse?’ 1290 ‘Nece,’ quod he, ‘it oghte y-nough suffyse (101) Fyve houres for to slepe up-on a night, But it were for an old appalled wight, As been thise wedded men, that lye and dare As in a forme sit a wery hare, 1295 Were al for-straught with houndes grete and smale. But dere nece, why be ye so pale? I trowe certes that our gode man Hath yow laboured sith the night bigan, That yow were nede to resten hastily?’ 1300 And with that word he lough ful merily, (111) And of his owene thought he wex al reed.

This faire wyf gan for to shake hir heed, And seyde thus, ‘ye, god wot al,’ quod she; ‘Nay, cosin myn, it stant nat so with me. 1305 For, by that god that yaf me soule and lyf, In al the reme of France is ther no wyf That lasse lust hath to that sory pley. For I may singe “allas” and “weylawey, That I was born,” but to no wight,’ quod she, 1310 ‘Dar I nat telle how that it stant with me. (121) Wherfore I thinke out of this land to wende, Or elles of my-self to make an ende, So ful am I of drede and eek of care.’

This monk bigan up-on this wyf to stare, 1315 And seyde, ‘allas, my nece, god forbede That ye, for any sorwe or any drede, Fordo your-self; but telleth me your grief; Paraventure I may, in your meschief, Conseille or helpe, and therfore telleth me 1320 Al your anoy, for it shal been secree; (131) For on my porthors here I make an ooth, That never in my lyf, for lief ne looth, Ne shal I of no conseil yow biwreye.’

‘The same agayn to yow,’ quod she, ‘I seye; 1325 By god and by this porthors, I yow swere, Though men me wolde al in-to peces tere, Ne shal I never, for to goon to helle, Biwreye a word of thing that ye me telle, Nat for no cosinage ne alliance, 1330 But verraily, for love and affiance.’ (141) Thus been they sworn, and heer-upon they kiste, And ech of hem tolde other what hem liste.

‘Cosin,’ quod she, ‘if that I hadde a space, As I have noon, and namely in this place, 1335 Than wolde I telle a legende of my lyf, What I have suffred sith I was a wyf With myn housbonde, al be he your cosyn.’

‘Nay,’ quod this monk, ‘by god and seint Martyn, He is na more cosin un-to me 1340 Than is this leef that hangeth on the tree! (151) I clepe him so, by Seint Denys of Fraunce, To have the more cause of aqueintaunce Of yow, which I have loved specially Aboven alle wommen sikerly; 1345 This swere I yow on my professioun. Telleth your grief, lest that he come adoun, And hasteth yow, and gooth your wey anon.’

‘My dere love,’ quod she, ‘o my daun Iohn, Ful lief were me this conseil for to hyde, 1350 But out it moot, I may namore abyde. (161) Myn housbond is to me the worste man That ever was, sith that the world bigan. But sith I am a wyf, it sit nat me To tellen no wight of our privetee, 1355 Neither a bedde, ne in non other place; God shilde I sholde it tellen, for his grace! A wyf ne shal nat seyn of hir housbonde But al honour, as I can understonde; Save un-to yow thus muche I tellen shal; 1360 As help me god, he is noght worth at al (171) In no degree the value of a flye. But yet me greveth most his nigardye; And wel ye woot that wommen naturelly Desyren thinges sixe, as wel as I. 1365 They wolde that hir housbondes sholde be Hardy, and wyse, and riche, and ther-to free, And buxom to his wyf, and fresh a-bedde. But, by that ilke lord that for us bledde, For his honour, my-self for to arraye, 1370 A Sonday next, I moste nedes paye (181) An hundred frankes, or elles am I lorn. Yet were me lever that I were unborn Than me were doon a sclaundre or vileinye; And if myn housbond eek it mighte espye, 1375 I nere but lost, and therfore I yow preye Lene me this somme, or elles moot I deye. Daun Iohn, I seye, lene me thise hundred frankes; Pardee, I wol nat faille yow my thankes, If that yow list to doon that I yow praye. 1380 For at a certein day I wol yow paye, (191) And doon to yow what plesance and servyce That I may doon, right as yow list devyse. And but I do, god take on me vengeance As foul as ever had Geniloun of France!’

1385 This gentil monk answerde in this manere; ‘Now, trewely, myn owene lady dere, I have,’ quod he, ‘on yow so greet a routhe, That I yow swere and plighte yow my trouthe, That whan your housbond is to Flaundres fare, 1390 I wol delivere yow out of this care; (201) For I wol bringe yow an hundred frankes.’ And with that word he caughte hir by the flankes, And hir embraceth harde, and kiste hir ofte. ‘Goth now your wey,’ quod he, ‘al stille and softe, 1395 And lat us dyne as sone as that ye may; For by my chilindre it is pryme of day. Goth now, and beeth as trewe as I shal be.’

‘Now, elles god forbede, sire,’ quod she, And forth she gooth, as Iolif as a pye, 1400 And bad the cokes that they sholde hem hye, (211) So that men mighte dyne, and that anon. Up to hir housbonde is this wyf y-gon, And knokketh at his countour boldely. ‘Qui la?’ quod he. ‘Peter! it am I,’ 1405 Quod she, ‘what, sire, how longe wol ye faste? How longe tyme wol ye rekene and caste Your sommes, and your bokes, and your thinges? The devel have part of alle swiche rekeninges! Ye have y-nough, pardee, of goddes sonde; 1410 Come doun to-day, and lat your bagges stonde. (221) Ne be ye nat ashamed that daun Iohn Shal fasting al this day elenge goon? What! lat us here a messe, and go we dyne.’

‘Wyf,’ quod this man, ‘litel canstow devyne 1415 The curious bisinesse that we have. For of us chapmen, al-so god me save, And by that lord that cleped is Seint Yve, Scarsly amonges twelve ten shul thryve, Continuelly, lastinge un-to our age. 1420 We may wel make chere and good visage, (231) And dryve forth the world as it may be, And kepen our estaat in privetee, Til we be deed, or elles that we pleye A pilgrimage, or goon out of the weye. 1425 And therfor have I greet necessitee Up-on this queinte world tavyse me; For evermore we mote stonde in drede Of hap and fortune in our chapmanhede.

To Flaundres wol I go to-morwe at day, 1430 And come agayn, as sone as ever I may. (241) For which, my dere wyf, I thee biseke, As be to every wight buxom and meke, And for to kepe our good be curious, And honestly governe wel our hous. 1435 Thou hast y-nough, in every maner wyse, That to a thrifty houshold may suffyse. Thee lakketh noon array ne no vitaille, Of silver in thy purs shaltow nat faille.’ And with that word his countour-dore he shette, 1440 And doun he gooth, no lenger wolde he lette, (251) But hastily a messe was ther seyd, And spedily the tables were y-leyd, And to the diner faste they hem spedde; And richely this monk the chapman fedde.

1445 At-after diner daun Iohn sobrely This chapman took a-part, and prively He seyde him thus, ‘cosyn, it standeth so, That wel I see to Brugges wol ye go. God and seint Austin spede yow and gyde! 1450 I prey yow, cosin, wysly that ye ryde; (261) Governeth yow also of your diete Atemprely, and namely in this hete. Bitwix us two nedeth no strange fare; Fare-wel, cosyn; god shilde yow fro care. 1455 If any thing ther be by day or night, If it lye in my power and my might, That ye me wol comande in any wyse, It shal be doon, right as ye wol devyse.

O thing, er that ye goon, if it may be, 1460 I wolde prey yow; for to lene me (271) An hundred frankes, for a wyke or tweye, For certein beestes that I moste beye, To store with a place that is oures. God help me so, I wolde it were youres! 1465 I shal nat faille surely of my day, Nat for a thousand frankes, a myle-way. But lat this thing be secree, I yow preye, For yet to-night thise beestes moot I beye; And fare-now wel, myn owene cosin dere, 1470 Graunt mercy of your cost and of your chere.’

(281) This noble marchant gentilly anon Answerde, and seyde, ‘o cosin myn, daun Iohn, Now sikerly this is a smal requeste; My gold is youres, whan that it yow leste. 1475 And nat only my gold, but my chaffare; Take what yow list, god shilde that ye spare. But o thing is, ye knowe it wel y-nogh, Of chapmen, that hir moneye is hir plogh. We may creaunce whyl we have a name, 1480 But goldlees for to be, it is no game. (291) Paye it agayn whan it lyth in your ese; After my might ful fayn wolde I yow plese.’

Thise hundred frankes he fette forth anon, And prively he took hem to daun Iohn. 1485 No wight in al this world wiste of this lone, Savinge this marchant and daun Iohn allone. They drinke, and speke, and rome a whyle and pleye, Til that daun Iohn rydeth to his abbeye.

The morwe cam, and forth this marchant rydeth 1490 To Flaundres-ward; his prentis wel him gydeth, (301) Til he cam in-to Brugges merily. Now gooth this marchant faste and bisily Aboute his nede, and byeth and creaunceth. He neither pleyeth at the dees ne daunceth; 1495 But as a marchant, shortly for to telle, He let his lyf, and there I lete him dwelle.

The Sonday next this Marchant was agon, To Seint Denys y-comen is daun Iohn, With crowne and berd all fresh and newe y-shave. 1500 In al the hous ther nas so litel a knave, (311) Ne no wight elles, that he nas ful fayn, For that my lord daun Iohn was come agayn. And shortly to the point right for to gon, This faire wyf accorded with daun Iohn, 1505 That for thise hundred frankes he sholde al night Have hir in his armes bolt-upright; And this acord parfourned was in dede. In mirthe al night a bisy lyf they lede Til it was day, that daun Iohn wente his way, 1510 And bad the meynee ‘fare-wel, have good day!’ (321) For noon of hem, ne no wight in the toun, Hath of daun Iohn right no suspecioun. And forth he rydeth hoom to his abbeye, Or where him list; namore of him I seye.

1515 This marchant, whan that ended was the faire, To Seint Denys he gan for to repaire, And with his wyf he maketh feste and chere, And telleth hir that chaffare is so dere, That nedes moste he make a chevisaunce. 1520 For he was bounde in a reconissaunce (331) To paye twenty thousand sheeld anon. For which this marchant is to Paris gon, To borwe of certein frendes that he hadde A certein frankes; and somme with him he ladde. 1525 And whan that he was come in-to the toun, For greet chertee and greet affeccioun, Un-to daun Iohn he gooth him first, to pleye; Nat for to axe or borwe of him moneye, But for to wite and seen of his welfare, 1530 And for to tellen him of his chaffare, (341) As freendes doon whan they ben met y-fere. Daun Iohn him maketh feste and mery chere; And he him tolde agayn ful specially, How he hadde wel y-boght and graciously, 1535 Thanked be god, al hool his marchandyse. Save that he moste, in alle maner wyse, Maken a chevisaunce, as for his beste, And thanne he sholde been in Ioye and reste.

Daun Iohn answerde, ‘certes, I am fayn 1540 That ye in hele ar comen hoom agayn. (351) And if that I were riche, as have I blisse, Of twenty thousand sheeld shold ye nat misse, For ye so kindely this other day Lente me gold; and as I can and may, 1545 I thanke yow, by god and by seint Iame! But nathelees I took un-to our dame, Your wyf at hoom, the same gold ageyn Upon your bench; she woot it wel, certeyn, By certein tokenes that I can hir telle. 1550 Now, by your leve, I may no lenger dwelle, (361) Our abbot wol out of this toun anon; And in his companye moot I gon. Grete wel our dame, myn owene nece swete, And fare-wel, dere cosin, til we mete!’

1555 This Marchant, which that was ful war and wys, Creaunced hath, and payd eek in Parys, To certeyn Lumbardes, redy in hir hond, The somme of gold, and gat of hem his bond; And hoom he gooth, mery as a papeiay. 1560 For wel he knew he stood in swich array, (371) That nedes moste he winne in that viage A thousand frankes above al his costage.

His wyf ful redy mette him atte gate, As she was wont of old usage algate, 1565 And al that night in mirthe they bisette; For he was riche and cleerly out of dette. Whan it was day, this marchant gan embrace His wyf al newe, and kiste hir on hir face, And up he gooth and maketh it ful tough. 1570 ‘Namore,’ quod she, ‘by god, ye have y-nough!’ (381) And wantounly agayn with him she pleyde; Til, atte laste, that this Marchant seyde, ‘By god,’ quod he, ‘I am a litel wrooth With yow, my wyf, al-thogh it be me looth. 1575 And woot ye why? by god, as that I gesse, That ye han maad a maner straungenesse Bitwixen me and my cosyn daun Iohn. Ye sholde han warned me, er I had gon, That he yow hadde an hundred frankes payed 1580 By redy tokene; and heeld him yvel apayed, (391) For that I to him spak of chevisaunce, Me semed so, as by his contenaunce. But nathelees, by god our hevene king, I thoghte nat to axe of him no-thing. 1585 I prey thee, wyf, ne do namore so; Tel me alwey, er that I fro thee go, If any dettour hath in myn absence Y-payëd thee; lest, thurgh thy necligence, I mighte him axe a thing that he hath payed.’

1590 This wyf was nat afered nor affrayed, (401) But boldely she seyde, and that anon: ‘Marie, I defye the false monk, daun Iohn! I kepe nat of hise tokenes never a deel; He took me certein gold, that woot I weel! 1595 What! yvel thedom on his monkes snoute! For, god it woot, I wende, withouten doute, That he had yeve it me bycause of yow, To doon ther-with myn honour and my prow, For cosinage, and eek for bele chere 1600 That he hath had ful ofte tymes here. (411) But sith I see I stonde in this disioint, I wol answere yow shortly, to the point. Ye han mo slakker dettours than am I! For I wol paye yow wel and redily 1605 Fro day to day; and, if so be I faille, I am your wyf; score it up-on my taille, And I shal paye, as sone as ever I may. For, by my trouthe, I have on myn array, And nat on wast, bistowed every deel. 1610 And for I have bistowed it so weel (421) For your honour, for goddes sake, I seye, As be nat wrooth, but lat us laughe and pleye. Ye shal my Ioly body have to wedde; By god, I wol nat paye yow but a-bedde. 1615 Forgive it me, myn owene spouse dere; Turne hiderward and maketh bettre chere.’

This marchant saugh ther was no remedye, And, for to chyde, it nere but greet folye, Sith that the thing may nat amended be. 1620 ‘Now, wyf,’ he seyde, ‘and I foryeve it thee; (431) But, by thy lyf, ne be namore so large; Keep bet our good, this yeve I thee in charge.’ Thus endeth now my tale, and god us sende Taling y-nough un-to our lyves ende. Amen. Here endeth the Shipmannes Tale.

Bihold the mery wordes of the Host to the Shipman and to the lady Prioresse. 1625 ‘Wel seyd, by corpus dominus,’ quod our hoste, ‘Now longe moot thou sayle by the coste, Sir gentil maister, gentil marineer! God yeve this monk a thousand last quad yeer! A ha! felawes! beth ware of swiche a Iape! 1630 The monk putte in the mannes hood an ape, And in his wyves eek, by seint Austin! Draweth no monkes more un-to your in.

But now passe over, and lat us seke aboute, (10) Who shal now telle first, of al this route, 1635 Another tale;’ and with that word he sayde, As curteisly as it had been a mayde, ‘My lady Prioresse, by your leve, So that I wiste I sholde yow nat greve, I wolde demen that ye tellen sholde 1640 A tale next, if so were that ye wolde. Now wol ye vouche-sauf, my lady dere?’ (18) ‘Gladly,’ quod she, and seyde as ye shal here. Explicit.

The Prologe of the Prioresses Tale. Domine, dominus noster. O Lord our lord, thy name how merveillous Is in this large worlde y-sprad—quod she:— 1645 For noght only thy laude precious Parfourned is by men of dignitee, But by the mouth of children thy bountee Parfourned is, for on the brest soukinge Som tyme shewen they thyn heryinge.

1650 Wherfor in laude, as I best can or may, Of thee, and of the whyte lily flour (10) Which that thee bar, and is a mayde alway, To telle a storie I wol do my labour; Not that I may encresen hir honour; 1655 For she hir-self is honour, and the rote Of bountee, next hir sone, and soules bote.—

O moder mayde! o mayde moder free! O bush unbrent, brenninge in Moyses sighte, That ravisedest doun fro the deitee, 1660 Thurgh thyn humblesse, the goost that in thalighte, Of whos vertu, whan he thyn herte lighte, (20) Conceived was the fadres sapience, Help me to telle it in thy reverence!

Lady! thy bountee, thy magnificence, 1665 Thy vertu, and thy grete humilitee Ther may no tonge expresse in no science; For som-tyme, lady, er men praye to thee, Thou goost biforn of thy benignitee, And getest us the light, thurgh thy preyere, 1670 To gyden us un-to thy sone so dere.

My conning is so wayk, o blisful quene, (30) For to declare thy grete worthinesse, That I ne may the weighte nat sustene, But as a child of twelf monthe old, or lesse, 1675 That can unnethes any word expresse, Right so fare I, and therfor I yow preye, Gydeth my song that I shal of yow seye. Explicit.

Here biginneth the Prioresses Tale. Ther was in Asie, in a greet citee, Amonges cristen folk, a Iewerye, 1680 Sustened by a lord of that contree For foule usure and lucre of vilanye, (40) Hateful to Crist and to his companye; And thurgh the strete men mighte ryde or wende, For it was free, and open at either ende.

1685 A litel scole of cristen folk ther stood Doun at the ferther ende, in which ther were Children an heep, y-comen of cristen blood, That lerned in that scole yeer by yere Swich maner doctrine as men used there, 1690 This is to seyn, to singen and to rede, As smale children doon in hir childhede. (50) Among thise children was a widwes sone, A litel clergeon, seven yeer of age, That day by day to scole was his wone, 1695 And eek also, wher-as he saugh thimage Of Cristes moder, hadde he in usage, As him was taught, to knele adoun and seye His Ave Marie, as he goth by the weye.

Thus hath this widwe hir litel sone y-taught 1700 Our blisful lady, Cristes moder dere, To worshipe ay, and he forgat it naught, (60) For sely child wol alday sone lere; But ay, whan I remembre on this matere, Seint Nicholas stant ever in my presence, 1705 For he so yong to Crist did reverence.

This litel child, his litel book lerninge, As he sat in the scole at his prymer, He Alma redemptoris herde singe, As children lerned hir antiphoner; 1710 And, as he dorste, he drough him ner and ner, And herkned ay the wordes and the note, (70) Til he the firste vers coude al by rote. Noght wiste he what this Latin was to seye, For he so yong and tendre was of age; 1715 But on a day his felaw gan he preye Texpounden him this song in his langage, Or telle him why this song was in usage; This preyde he him to construe and declare Ful ofte tyme upon his knowes bare.

1720 His felaw, which that elder was than he, Answerde him thus: ‘this song, I have herd seye, (80) Was maked of our blisful lady free, Hir to salue, and eek hir for to preye To been our help and socour whan we deye. 1725 I can no more expounde in this matere; I lerne song, I can but smal grammere.’

‘And is this song maked in reverence Of Cristes moder?’ seyde this innocent; ‘Now certes, I wol do my diligence 1730 To conne it al, er Cristemasse is went; Though that I for my prymer shal be shent, (90) And shal be beten thryës in an houre, I wol it conne, our lady for to honoure.’

His felaw taughte him homward prively, 1735 Fro day to day, til he coude it by rote, And than he song it wel and boldely Fro word to word, acording with the note; Twyës a day it passed thurgh his throte, To scoleward and homward whan he wente; 1740 On Cristes moder set was his entente. As I have seyd, thurgh-out the Iewerye (100) This litel child, as he cam to and fro, Ful merily than wolde he singe, and crye O Alma redemptoris ever-mo. 1745 The swetnes hath his herte perced so Of Cristes moder, that, to hir to preye, He can nat stinte of singing by the weye.

Our firste fo, the serpent Sathanas, That hath in Iewes herte his waspes nest, 1750 Up swal, and seide, ‘o Hebraik peple, allas! Is this to yow a thing that is honest, (110) That swich a boy shal walken as him lest In your despyt, and singe of swich sentence, Which is agayn your lawes reverence?’

1755 Fro thennes forth the Iewes han conspyred This innocent out of this world to chace; An homicyde ther-to han they hyred, That in an aley hadde a privee place; And as the child gan for-by for to pace, 1760 This cursed Iew him hente and heeld him faste, And kitte his throte, and in a pit him caste. (120) I seye that in a wardrobe they him threwe Wher-as these Iewes purgen hir entraille. O cursed folk of Herodes al newe, 1765 What may your yvel entente yow availle? Mordre wol out, certein, it wol nat faille, And namely ther thonour of god shal sprede, The blood out cryeth on your cursed dede.

‘O martir, souded to virginitee, 1770 Now maystou singen, folwing ever in oon The whyte lamb celestial,’ quod she, (130) ‘Of which the grete evangelist, seint Iohn, In Pathmos wroot, which seith that they that goon Biforn this lamb, and singe a song al newe, 1775 That never, fleshly, wommen they ne knewe.’ This povre widwe awaiteth al that night After hir litel child, but he cam noght; For which, as sone as it was dayes light, With face pale of drede and bisy thoght, 1780 She hath at scole and elles-wher him soght, Til finally she gan so fer espye (140) That he last seyn was in the Iewerye. With modres pitee in hir brest enclosed, She gooth, as she were half out of hir minde, 1785 To every place wher she hath supposed By lyklihede hir litel child to finde; And ever on Cristes moder meke and kinde She cryde, and atte laste thus she wroghte, Among the cursed Iewes she him soghte. 1790 She frayneth and she preyeth pitously To every Iew that dwelte in thilke place, (150) To telle hir, if hir child wente oght for-by. They seyde, ‘nay’; but Iesu, of his grace, Yaf in hir thought, inwith a litel space, 1795 That in that place after hir sone she cryde, Wher he was casten in a pit bisyde.

O grete god, that parfournest thy laude By mouth of innocents, lo heer thy might! This gemme of chastitee, this emeraude, 1800 And eek of martirdom the ruby bright, Ther he with throte y-corven lay upright, (160) He ‘Alma redemptoris’ gan to singe So loude, that al the place gan to ringe. The Cristen folk, that thurgh the strete wente, 1805 In coomen, for to wondre up-on this thing, And hastily they for the provost sente; He cam anon with-outen tarying, And herieth Crist that is of heven king, And eek his moder, honour of mankinde, 1810 And after that, the Iewes leet he binde,

This child with pitous lamentacioun (170) Up-taken was, singing his song alway; And with honour of greet processioun They carien him un-to the nexte abbay. 1815 His moder swowning by the bere lay; Unnethe might the peple that was there This newe Rachel bringe fro his bere.

With torment and with shamful deth echon This provost dooth thise Iewes for to sterve 1820 That of this mordre wiste, and that anon; He nolde no swich cursednesse observe. (180) Yvel shal have, that yvel wol deserve. Therfor with wilde hors he dide hem drawe, And after that he heng hem by the lawe.

1825 Up-on his here ay lyth this innocent Biforn the chief auter, whyl masse laste, And after that, the abbot with his covent Han sped hem for to burien him ful faste; And whan they holy water on him caste, 1830 Yet spak this child, whan spreynd was holy water, And song—‘O Alma redemptoris mater!’

(190) This abbot, which that was an holy man As monkes been, or elles oghten be, This yonge child to coniure he bigan, 1835 And seyde, ‘o dere child, I halse thee, In vertu of the holy Trinitee, Tel me what is thy cause for to singe, Sith that thy throte is cut, to my seminge?’ ‘My throte is cut un-to my nekke-boon,’ 1840 Seyde this child, ‘and, as by wey of kinde, I sholde have deyed, ye, longe tyme agoon, (200) But Iesu Crist, as ye in bokes finde, Wil that his glorie laste and be in minde, And, for the worship of his moder dere, 1845 Yet may I singe “O Alma” loude and clere. This welle of mercy, Cristes moder swete, I lovede alwey, as after my conninge; And whan that I my lyf sholde forlete, To me she cam, and bad me for to singe 1850 This antem verraily in my deyinge, As ye han herd, and, whan that I had songe, (210) Me thoughte, she leyde a greyn up-on my tonge.

Wherfor I singe, and singe I moot certeyn In honour of that blisful mayden free, 1855 Til fro my tonge of-taken is the greyn; And afterward thus seyde she to me, “My litel child, now wol I fecche thee Whan that the greyn is fro thy tonge y-take; Be nat agast, I wol thee nat forsake.”’ 1860 This holy monk, this abbot, him mene I, His tonge out-caughte, and took a-wey the greyn, (220) And he yaf up the goost ful softely. And whan this abbot had this wonder seyn, His salte teres trikled doun as reyn, 1865 And gruf he fil al plat up-on the grounde, And stille he lay as he had been y-bounde.

The covent eek lay on the pavement Weping, and herien Cristes moder dere, And after that they ryse, and forth ben went, 1870 And toke awey this martir fro his bere, And in a tombe of marbul-stones clere (230) Enclosen they his litel body swete; Ther he is now, god leve us for to mete.

O yonge Hugh of Lincoln, slayn also 1875 With cursed Iewes, as it is notable, For it nis but a litel whyle ago; Preye eek for us, we sinful folk unstable, That, of his mercy, god so merciable (237) On us his grete mercy multiplye, 1880 For reverence of his moder Marye. Amen. Here is ended the Prioresses Tale.

Bihold the murye wordes of the Host to Chaucer. Whan seyd was al this miracle, every man As sobre was, that wonder was to se, Til that our hoste Iapen tho bigan, And than at erst he loked up-on me, 1885 And seyde thus, ‘what man artow?’ quod he; ‘Thou lokest as thou woldest finde an hare, For ever up-on the ground I see thee stare.

Approche neer, and loke up merily. Now war yow, sirs, and lat this man have place; 1890 He in the waast is shape as wel as I; (11) This were a popet in an arm tenbrace For any womman, smal and fair of face. He semeth elvish by his contenaunce, For un-to no wight dooth he daliaunce.

1895 Sey now somwhat, sin other folk han sayd; Tel us a tale of mirthe, and that anoon;‘— ‘Hoste,’ quod I, ‘ne beth nat yvel apayd, For other tale certes can I noon, But of a ryme I lerned longe agoon.’ 1900 ‘Ye, that is good,’ quod he; ‘now shul we here (21) Som deyntee thing, me thinketh by his chere.’ Explicit.

Here biginneth Chaucers Tale of Thopas. Listeth, lordes, in good entent, And I wol telle verrayment Of mirthe and of solas; 1905 Al of a knyght was fair and gent In bataille and in tourneyment, His name was sir Thopas.

Y-born he was in fer contree, In Flaundres, al biyonde the see, 1910 At Popering, in the place; (10) His fader was a man ful free, And lord he was of that contree, As it was goddes grace. Sir Thopas wex a doghty swayn, 1915 Whyt was his face as payndemayn, His lippes rede as rose; His rode is lyk scarlet in grayn, And I yow telle in good certayn, He hadde a semely nose. 1920 His heer, his berd was lyk saffroun, (20) That to his girdel raughte adoun; His shoon of Cordewane. Of Brugges were his hosen broun, His robe was of ciclatoun, 1925 That coste many a Iane.

He coude hunte at wilde deer, And ryde an hauking for riveer, With grey goshauk on honde; Ther-to be was a good archeer, 1930 Of wrastling was ther noon his peer, (30) Ther any ram shal stonde.

Ful many a mayde, bright in bour, They moorne for him, paramour, Whan hem were bet to slepe; 1935 But he was chast and no lechour, And sweet as is the bremble-flour That bereth the rede hepe. And so bifel up-on a day, For sothe, as I yow telle may, 1940 Sir Thopas wolde out ryde; (40) He worth upon his stede gray, And in his honde a launcegay, A long swerd by his syde.

He priketh thurgh a fair forest, 1945 Ther-inne is many a wilde best, Ye, bothe bukke and hare; And, as he priketh north and est, I telle it yow, him hadde almest Bitid a sory care.

1950 Ther springen herbes grete and smale, (50) The lycorys and cetewale, And many a clowe-gilofre; And notemuge to putte in ale, Whether it be moyste or stale, 1955 Or for to leye in cofre. The briddes singe, it is no nay, The sparhauk and the papeiay, That Ioye it was to here; The thrustelcok made eek his lay, 1960 The wodedowve upon the spray (60) She sang ful loude and clere.

Sir Thopas fil in love-longinge Al whan he herde the thrustel singe, And priked as he were wood: 1965 His faire stede in his prikinge So swatte that men mighte him wringe, His sydes were al blood. Sir Thopas eek so wery was For prikinge on the softe gras, 1970 So fiers was his corage, (70) That doun he leyde him in that plas To make his stede som solas, And yaf him good forage. ‘O seinte Marie, benedicite! 1975 What eyleth this love at me To binde me so sore? Me dremed al this night, pardee, An elf-queen shal my lemman be, And slepe under my gore. 1980 An elf-queen wol I love, y-wis, (80) For in this world no womman is [T. 13722 Worthy to be my make [T. 13722 In toune; [T. 13723 Alle othere wommen I forsake, 1985 And to an elf-queen I me take By dale and eek by doune!’

In-to his sadel he clamb anoon, And priketh over style and stoon An elf-queen for tespye, 1990 Til he so longe had riden and goon (90) That he fond, in a privee woon, [T. 13731 The contree of Fairye [T. 13734 So wilde; For in that contree was ther noon 1995 That to him dorste ryde or goon, Neither wyf ne childe.

Til that ther cam a greet geaunt, His name was sir Olifaunt, A perilous man of dede; 2000 He seyde, ‘child, by Termagaunt, (100) But-if thou prike out of myn haunt, [T. 13743 Anon I slee thy stede [T. 13743 With mace. Heer is the queen of Fayërye, 2005 With harpe and pype and simphonye Dwelling in this place.’

The child seyde, ‘al-so mote I thee, Tomorwe wol I mete thee Whan I have myn armoure; 2010 And yet I hope, par ma fay, (110) That thou shalt with this launcegay [T. 13752 Abyen it ful soure; [T. 13752 Thy mawe Shal I percen, if I may, 2015 Er it be fully pryme of day, For heer thou shalt be slawe.’

Sir Thopas drow abak ful faste; This geaunt at him stones caste Out of a fel staf-slinge; 2020 But faire escapeth child Thopas, (120) And al it was thurgh goddes gras, And thurgh his fair beringe.

Yet listeth, lordes, to my tale Merier than the nightingale, 2025 For now I wol yow roune How sir Thopas with sydes smale, Priking over hil and dale, Is come agayn to toune.

His merie men comanded he 2030 To make him bothe game and glee, (130) For nedes moste he fighte With a geaunt with hevedes three, For paramour and Iolitee Of oon that shoon ful brighte.

2035 ‘Do come,’ he seyde, ‘my minstrales, And gestours, for to tellen tales Anon in myn arminge; Of romances that been royales, Of popes and of cardinales, 2040 And eek of love-lykinge.’

(140) They fette him first the swete wyn, And mede eek in a maselyn, And royal spicerye; Of gingebreed that was ful fyn, 2045 And lycorys, and eek comyn, With sugre that is so trye.

He dide next his whyte lere Of clooth of lake fyn and clere A breech and eek a sherte; 2050 And next his sherte an aketoun, (150) And over that an habergeoun For percinge of his herte; And over that a fyn hauberk, Was al y-wroght of Iewes werk, 2055 Ful strong it was of plate; And over that his cote-armour As whyt as is a lily-flour, In which he wol debate.

His sheeld was al of gold so reed, 2060 And ther-in was a bores heed, (160) A charbocle bisyde; And there he swoor, on ale and breed, How that ‘the geaunt shal be deed, Bityde what bityde!’

2065 His Iambeux were of quirboilly, His swerdes shethe of yvory, His helm of laton bright; His sadel was of rewel-boon, His brydel as the sonne shoon, 2070 Or as the mone light.

(170) His spere was of fyn ciprees, That bodeth werre, and no-thing pees, The heed ful sharpe y-grounde; His stede was al dappel-gray, 2075 It gooth an ambel in the way [T. 13815 Ful softely and rounde [T. 13815 In londe. Lo, lordes myne, heer is a fit! If ye wol any more of it, 2080 To telle it wol I fonde.

[The Second Fit.] (180) Now hold your mouth, par charitee, Bothe knight and lady free, And herkneth to my spelle; Of bataille and of chivalry, 2085 And of ladyes love-drury Anon I wol yow telle.

Men speke of romances of prys, Of Horn child and of Ypotys, Of Bevis and sir Gy, 2090 Of sir Libeux and Pleyn-damour; (190) But sir Thopas, he bereth the flour Of royal chivalry.

His gode stede al he bistrood, And forth upon his wey he glood 2095 As sparkle out of the bronde; Up-on his crest he bar a tour, And ther-in stiked a lily-flour, God shilde his cors fro shonde!

And for he was a knight auntrous, 2100 He nolde slepen in non hous, (200) But liggen in his hode; His brighte helm was his wonger, And by him baiteth his dextrer Of herbes fyne and gode. 2105 Him-self drank water of the wel, As did the knight sir Percivel, So worthy under wede, (207) Til on a day—— Here the Host stinteth Chaucer of his Tale of Thopas.

‘No more of this, for goddes dignitee,’ 2110 Quod oure hoste, ‘for thou makest me So wery of thy verray lewednesse That, also wisly god my soule blesse, Myn eres aken of thy drasty speche; Now swiche a rym the devel I biteche! 2115 This may wel be rym dogerel,’ quod he. ‘Why so?’ quod I, ‘why wiltow lette me More of my tale than another man, (10) Sin that it is the beste rym I can?’

‘By god,’ quod he, ‘for pleynly, at a word, 2120 Thy drasty ryming is nat worth a tord; Thou doost nought elles but despendest tyme, Sir, at o word, thou shall no lenger ryme. Lat see wher thou canst tellen aught in geste, Or telle in prose somwhat at the leste 2125 In which ther be som mirthe or som doctryne.’ ‘Gladly,’ quod I, ‘by goddes swete pyne, I wol yow telle a litel thing in prose, (20) That oghte lyken yow, as I suppose, Or elles, certes, ye been to daungerous. 2130 It is a moral tale vertuous, Al be it told som-tyme in sondry wyse Of sondry folk, as I shal yow devyse. As thus; ye woot that every evangelist, That telleth us the peyne of Iesu Crist, 2135 Ne saith nat al thing as his felaw dooth, But natheles, hir sentence is al sooth, And alle acorden as in hir sentence, (30) Al be ther in hir telling difference. For somme of hem seyn more, and somme lesse, 2140 Whan they his pitous passioun expresse; I mene of Marke, Mathew, Luk and Iohn; But doutelees hir sentence is al oon. Therfor, lordinges alle, I yow biseche, If that ye thinke I varie as in my speche, 2145 As thus, thogh that I telle som-what more Of proverbes, than ye han herd bifore, Comprehended in this litel tretis here, (40) To enforce with the theffect of my matere, And thogh I nat the same wordes seye 2150 As ye han herd, yet to yow alle I preye, Blameth me nat; for, as in my sentence, Ye shul not fynden moche difference Fro the sentence of this tretis lyte After the which this mery tale I wryte. 2155 And therfor herkneth what that I shal seye, (48) And lat me tellen al my tale, I preye.’ Explicit.