‘THE MINOR POEMS’ IN VOL. I. (continued 6)

To whiche blisse he us bringe That blood on crosse for us gan springe,

The mery wordes of the Host to the Monk. Whan ended was my tale of Melibee, 3080 And of Prudence and hir benignitee, Our hoste seyde, ‘as I am faithful man, And by the precious corpus Madrian, I hadde lever than a barel ale That goode lief my wyf hadde herd this tale! 3085 For she nis no-thing of swich pacience As was this Melibeus wyf Prudence. By goddes bones! whan I bete my knaves, (10) She bringth me forth the grete clobbed staves, And cryeth, “slee the dogges everichoon, 3090 And brek hem, bothe bak and every boon.” And if that any neighebor of myne Wol nat in chirche to my wyf enclyne, Or be so hardy to hir to trespace, Whan she comth hoom, she rampeth in my face, 3095 And cryeth, “false coward, wreek thy wyf, By corpus bones! I wol have thy knyf, And thou shalt have my distaf and go spinne!” (20) Fro day to night right thus she wol biginne;— “Allas!” she seith, “that ever I was shape 3100 To wedde a milksop or a coward ape, That wol be overlad with every wight! Thou darst nat stonden by thy wyves right!” This is my lyf, but-if that I wol fighte; And out at dore anon I moot me dighte, 3105 Or elles I am but lost, but-if that I Be lyk a wilde leoun fool-hardy. I woot wel she wol do me slee som day (30) Som neighebor, and thanne go my wey. For I am perilous with knyf in honde, 3110 Al be it that I dar nat hir withstonde, For she is big in armes, by my feith, That shal he finde, that hir misdooth or seith. But lat us passe awey fro this matere.

My lord the Monk,’ quod he, ‘be mery of chere; 3115 For ye shul telle a tale trewely. Lo! Rouchestre stant heer faste by! Ryd forth, myn owene lord, brek nat our game, (40) But, by my trouthe, I knowe nat your name, Wher shal I calle yow my lord dan Iohn, 3120 Or dan Thomas, or elles dan Albon? Of what hous be ye, by your fader kin? I vow to god, thou, hast a ful fair skin, It is a gentil pasture ther thou goost; Thou art nat lyk a penaunt or a goost. 3125 Upon my feith, thou art som officer, Som worthy sexteyn, or som celerer, For by my fader soule, as to my doom, (50) Thou art a maister whan thou art at hoom; No povre cloisterer, ne no novys, 3130 But a governour, wyly and wys. And therwithal of brawnes and of bones A wel-faring persone for the nones. I pray to god, yeve him confusioun That first thee broghte un-to religioun; 3135 Thou woldest han been a trede-foul aright. Haddestow as greet a leve, as thou hast might To parfourne al thy lust in engendrure, (60) Thou haddest bigeten many a creature. Alas! why werestow so wyd a cope? 3140 God yeve me sorwe! but, and I were a pope, Not only thou, but every mighty man, Thogh he were shorn ful hye upon his pan, Sholde have a wyf; for al the world is lorn! Religioun hath take up al the corn 3145 Of treding, and we borel men ben shrimpes! Of feble trees ther comen wrecched impes. This maketh that our heires been so sclendre (70) And feble, that they may nat wel engendre. This maketh that our wyves wol assaye 3150 Religious folk, for ye may bettre paye Of Venus payements than mowe we; God woot, no lussheburghes payen ye! But be nat wrooth, my lord, for that I pleye; Ful ofte in game a sooth I have herd seye.’

3155 This worthy monk took al in pacience, And seyde, ‘I wol doon al my diligence, As fer as souneth in-to honestee, (80) To telle yow a tale, or two, or three. And if yow list to herkne hiderward, 3160 I wol yow seyn the lyf of seint Edward; Or elles first Tragedies wol I telle Of whiche I have an hundred in my celle. Tragedie is to seyn a certeyn storie, As olde bokes maken us memorie, 3165 Of him that stood in greet prosperitee And is y-fallen out of heigh degree Into miserie, and endeth wrecchedly. (90) And they ben versifyed comunly Of six feet, which men clepe exametron. 3170 In prose eek been endyted many oon, And eek in metre, in many a sondry wyse. Lo! this declaring oughte y-nough suffise.

Now herkneth, if yow lyketh for to here; But first I yow biseke in this matere, 3175 Though I by ordre telle nat thise thinges, Be it of popes, emperours, or kinges, After hir ages, as men writen finde, (100) But telle hem som bifore and som bihinde, As it now comth un-to my remembraunce; 3180 Have me excused of myn ignoraunce.’ Explicit.

Here biginneth the Monkes Tale, de Casibus Virorum Illustrium. I wol biwayle in maner of Tragedie The harm of hem that stode in heigh degree, And fillen so that ther nas no remedie To bringe hem out of hir adversitee; 3185 For certein, whan that fortune list to flee, Ther may no man the cours of hir withholde; Lat no man truste on blind prosperitee; Be war by thise ensamples trewe and olde.

Lucifer. At Lucifer, though he an angel were, 3190 And nat a man, at him I wol biginne; (11) For, thogh fortune may non angel dere, From heigh degree yet fel he for his sinne Doun in-to helle, wher he yet is inne. O Lucifer! brightest of angels alle, 3195 Now artow Sathanas, that maist nat twinne Out of miserie, in which that thou art falle.

Adam. Lo Adam, in the feld of Damassene, With goddes owene finger wroght was he, And nat bigeten of mannes sperme unclene, 3200 And welte al Paradys, saving o tree. (21) Had never worldly man so heigh degree As Adam, til he for misgovernaunce Was drive out of his hye prosperitee To labour, and to helle, and to meschaunce.

Sampson. 3205 Lo Sampson, which that was annunciat By thangel, longe er his nativitee, And was to god almighty consecrat, And stood in noblesse, whyl he mighte see. Was never swich another as was he, 3210 To speke of strengthe, and therwith hardinesse; (31) But to his wyves tolde he his secree, Through which he slow him-self, for wrecchednesse.

Sampson, this noble almighty champioun, Withouten wepen save his hondes tweye, 3215 He slow and al to-rente the leoun, Toward his wedding walking by the weye. His false wyf coude him so plese and preye Til she his conseil knew, and she untrewe Un-to his foos his conseil gan biwreye, 3220 And him forsook, and took another newe. (41) Three hundred foxes took Sampson for ire, And alle hir tayles he togider bond, And sette the foxes tayles alle on fire, For he on every tayl had knit a brond; 3225 And they brende alle the cornes in that lond, And alle hir oliveres and vynes eek. A thousand men he slow eek with his hond, And had no wepen but an asses cheek. Whan they were slayn, so thursted him that he 3230 Was wel my lorn, for which he gan to preye (51) That god wolde on his peyne han som pitee, And sende him drinke, or elles moste he deye; And of this asses cheke, that was dreye, Out of a wang-tooth sprang anon a welle, 3235 Of which he drank y-nogh, shortly to seye, Thus heelp him god, as Iudicum can telle.

By verray force, at Gazan, on a night, Maugree Philistiens of that citee, The gates of the toun he hath up-plight, 3240 And on his bak y-caried hem hath he (61) Hye on an hille, that men mighte hem see. O noble almighty Sampson, leef and dere, Had thou nat told to wommen thy secree, In al this worlde ne hadde been thy pere! 3245 This Sampson never sicer drank ne wyn, Ne on his heed cam rasour noon ne shere, By precept of the messager divyn, For alle his strengthes in his heres were; And fully twenty winter, yeer by yere, 3250 He hadde of Israel the governaunce. (71) But sone shal he wepen many a tere, For wommen shal him bringen to meschaunce!

Un-to his lemman Dalida he tolde That in his heres al his strengthe lay, 3255 And falsly to his fo-men she him solde. And sleping in hir barme up-on a day She made to clippe or shere his heer awey, And made his fo-men al his craft espyen; And whan that they him fonde in this array, 3260 They bounde him faste, and putten out his yën.

(81) But er his heer were clipped or y-shave, Ther was no bond with which men might him binde; But now is he in prisoun in a cave, Wher-as they made him at the querne grinde. 3265 O noble Sampson, strongest of mankinde, O whylom Iuge in glorie and in richesse, Now maystow wepen with thyn yën blinde, Sith thou fro wele art falle in wrecchednesse.

Thende of this caytif was as I shal seye; 3270 His fo-men made a feste upon a day, (91) And made him as hir fool bifore hem pleye, And this was in a temple of greet array. But atte laste he made a foul affray; For he two pilers shook, and made hem falle, 3275 And doun fil temple and al, and ther it lay, And slow him-self, and eek his fo-men alle.

This is to seyn, the princes everichoon, And eek three thousand bodies wer ther slayn With falling of the grete temple of stoon. 3280 Of Sampson now wol I na-more seyn. (101) Beth war by this ensample old and playn That no men telle hir conseil til hir wyves Of swich thing as they wolde han secree fayn, If that it touche hir limmes or hir lyves.

Hercules. 3285 Of Hercules the sovereyn conquerour Singen his workes laude and heigh renoun; For in his tyme of strengthe he was the flour. He slow, and rafte the skin of the leoun; He of Centauros leyde the boost adoun; 3290 He Arpies slow, the cruel briddes felle; (111) He golden apples rafte of the dragoun; He drow out Cerberus, the hound of helle: He slow the cruel tyrant Busirus, And made his hors to frete him, flesh and boon; 3295 He slow the firy serpent venimous; Of Achelois two hornes, he brak oon; And he slow Cacus in a cave of stoon; He slow the geaunt Antheus the stronge; He slow the grisly boor, and that anoon, 3300 And bar the heven on his nekke longe.

(121) Was never wight, sith that the world bigan, That slow so many monstres as dide he. Thurgh-out this wyde world his name ran, What for his strengthe, and for his heigh bountee, 3305 And every reaume wente he for to see. He was so strong that no man mighte him lette; At bothe the worldes endes, seith Trophee, In stede of boundes, he a piler sette.

A lemman hadde this noble champioun, 3310 That highte Dianira, fresh as May; (131) And, as thise clerkes maken mencioun, She hath him sent a sherte fresh and gay. Allas! this sherte, allas and weylaway! Envenimed was so subtilly with-alle, 3315 That, er that he had wered it half a day, It made his flesh al from his bones falle.

But nathelees somme clerkes hir excusen By oon that highte Nessus, that it maked; Be as be may, I wol hir noght accusen; 3320 But on his bak this sherte he wered al naked, (141) Til that his flesh was for the venim blaked. And whan he sey noon other remedye, In hote coles he hath him-selven raked, For with no venim deyned him to dye. 3325 Thus starf this worthy mighty Hercules; Lo, who may truste on fortune any throwe? For him that folweth al this world of prees, Er he be war, is ofte y-leyd ful lowe. Ful wys is he that can him-selven knowe. 3330 Beth war, for whan that fortune list to glose, (151) Than wayteth she hir man to overthrowe By swich a wey as he wolde leest suppose.

Nabugodonosor (Nebuchadnezzar). The mighty trone, the precious tresor, The glorious ceptre and royal magestee 3335 That hadde the king Nabugodonosor, With tonge unnethe may discryved be. He twyes wan Ierusalem the citee; The vessel of the temple he with him ladde. At Babiloyne was his sovereyn see, 3340 In which his glorie and his delyt he hadde.

(161) The fairest children of the blood royal Of Israel he leet do gelde anoon, And maked ech of hem to been his thral. Amonges othere Daniel was oon, 3345 That was the wysest child of everichoon; For he the dremes of the king expouned, Wher-as in Chaldey clerk ne was ther noon That wiste to what fyn his dremes souned. This proude king leet make a statue of golde, 3350 Sixty cubytes long, and seven in brede, (171) To which image bothe yonge and olde Comaunded he to loute, and have in drede; Or in a fourneys ful of flambes rede He shal be brent, that wolde noght obeye. 3355 But never wolde assente to that dede Daniel, ne his yonge felawes tweye.

This king of kinges proud was and elaat, He wende that god, that sit in magestee, Ne mighte him nat bireve of his estaat: 3360 But sodeynly he loste his dignitee, (181) And lyk a beste him semed for to be, And eet hay as an oxe, and lay ther-oute; In reyn with wilde bestes walked he, Til certein tyme was y-come aboute. 3365 And lyk an egles fetheres wexe his heres, His nayles lyk a briddes clawes were; Til god relessed him a certein yeres, And yaf him wit; and than with many a tere He thanked god, and ever his lyf in fere 3370 Was he to doon amis, or more trespace; (191) And, til that tyme he leyd was on his bere, He knew that god was ful of might and grace.

Balthasar (Belshazzar). His sone, which that highte Balthasar, That heeld the regne after his fader day, 3375 He by his fader coude nought be war, For proud he was of herte and of array; And eek an ydolastre was he ay. His hye estaat assured him in pryde. But fortune caste him doun, and ther he lay, 3380 And sodeynly his regne gan divyde.

(201) A feste he made un-to his lordes alle Up-on a tyme, and bad hem blythe be, And than his officeres gan he calle— ‘Goth, bringeth forth the vessels,’ [tho] quod he, 3385 ‘Which that my fader, in his prosperitee, Out of the temple of Ierusalem birafte, And to our hye goddes thanke we Of honour, that our eldres with us lafte.’

His wyf, his lordes, and his concubynes 3390 Ay dronken, whyl hir appetytes laste, (211) Out of thise noble vessels sundry wynes; And on a wal this king his yën caste, And sey an hond armlees, that wroot ful faste, For fere of which he quook and syked sore. 3395 This hond, that Balthasar so sore agaste, Wroot Mane, techel, phares, and na-more. In al that lond magicien was noon That coude expoune what this lettre mente; But Daniel expouned it anoon, 3400 And seyde, ‘king, god to thy fader lente (221) Glorie and honour, regne, tresour, rente: And he was proud, and no-thing god ne dradde, And therfor god gret wreche up-on him sente, And him birafte the regne that he hadde.

3405 He was out cast of mannes companye, With asses was his habitacioun, And eet hey as a beste in weet and drye, Til that he knew, by grace and by resoun, That god of heven hath dominacioun 3410 Over every regne and every creature; (231) And thanne had god of him compassioun, And him restored his regne and his figure. Eek thou, that art his sone, art proud also, And knowest alle thise thinges verraily, 3415 And art rebel to god, and art his fo. Thou drank eek of his vessels boldely; Thy wyf eek and thy wenches sinfully Dronke of the same vessels sondry wynes, And heriest false goddes cursedly; 3420 Therfor to thee y-shapen ful gret pyne is. (241) This hand was sent from god, that on the walle Wroot mane, techel, phares, truste me; Thy regne is doon, thou weyest noght at alle; Divyded is thy regne, and it shal be 3425 To Medes and to Perses yeven,’ quod he. And thilke same night this king was slawe, And Darius occupyeth his degree, Thogh he therto had neither right ne lawe.

Lordinges, ensample heer-by may ye take 3430 How that in lordshipe is no sikernesse; (251) For whan fortune wol a man forsake, She bereth awey his regne and his richesse, And eek his freendes, bothe more and lesse; For what man that hath freendes thurgh fortune, 3435 Mishap wol make hem enemys, I gesse: This proverbe is ful sooth and ful commune.

Cenobia (Zenobia). Cenobia, of Palimerie quene, As writen Persiens of hir noblesse, So worthy was in armes and so kene, 3440 That no wight passed hir in hardinesse, (261) Ne in linage, ne in other gentillesse. Of kinges blode of Perse is she descended; I seye nat that she hadde most fairnesse, But of hir shape she mighte nat been amended.

3445 From hir childhede I finde that she fledde Office of wommen, and to wode she wente; And many a wilde hertes blood she shedde With arwes brode that she to hem sente. She was so swift that she anon hem hente, 3450 And whan that she was elder, she wolde kille (271) Leouns, lepardes, and beres al to-rente, And in hir armes welde hem at hir wille. She dorste wilde beestes dennes seke, And rennen in the montaignes al the night, 3455 And slepen under a bush, and she coude eke Wrastlen by verray force and verray might With any yong man, were he never so wight; Ther mighte no-thing in hir armes stonde. She kepte hir maydenhod from every wight, 3460 To no man deigned hir for to be bonde.

(281) But atte laste hir frendes han hir maried To Odenake, a prince of that contree, Al were it so that she hem longe taried; And ye shul understonde how that he 3465 Hadde swiche fantasyes as hadde she. But nathelees, whan they were knit in-fere, They lived in Ioye and in felicitee; For ech of hem hadde other leef and dere.

Save o thing, that she never wolde assente 3470 By no wey, that he sholde by hir lye (291) But ones, for it was hir pleyn entente To have a child, the world to multiplye; And al-so sone as that she mighte espye That she was nat with childe with that dede, 3475 Than wolde she suffre him doon his fantasye Eft-sone, and nat but ones, out of drede. And if she were with childe at thilke cast, Na-more sholde he pleyen thilke game Til fully fourty dayes weren past; 3480 Than wolde she ones suffre him do the same. (301) Al were this Odenake wilde or tame, He gat na-more of hir, for thus she seyde, ‘It was to wyves lecherye and shame In other cas, if that men with hem pleyde.’

3485 Two sones by this Odenake hadde she, The whiche she kepte in vertu and lettrure; But now un-to our tale turne we. I seye, so worshipful a creature, And wys therwith, and large with mesure, 3490 So penible in the warre, and curteis eke, (311) Ne more labour mighte in werre endure, Was noon, thogh al this world men sholde seke.

Hir riche array ne mighte nat be told As wel in vessel as in hir clothing; 3495 She was al clad in perree and in gold, And eek she lafte noght, for noon hunting, To have of sondry tonges ful knowing, Whan that she leyser hadde, and for to entende To lernen bokes was al hir lyking, 3500 How she in vertu mighte hir lyf dispende. (321) And, shortly of this storie for to trete, So doughty was hir housbonde and eek she, That they conquered many regnes grete In the orient, with many a fair citee, 3505 Apertenaunt un-to the magestee Of Rome, and with strong hond helde hem ful faste; Ne never mighte hir fo-men doon hem flee, Ay whyl that Odenakes dayes laste.

Hir batailes, who-so list hem for to rede, 3510 Agayn Sapor the king and othere mo, (331) And how that al this proces fil in dede, Why she conquered and what title had therto, And after of hir meschief and hir wo, How that she was biseged and y-take, 3515 Let him un-to my maister Petrark go, That writ y-nough of this, I undertake.

When Odenake was deed, she mightily The regnes heeld, and with hir propre honde Agayn hir foos she faught so cruelly, 3520 That ther nas king ne prince in al that londe (341) That he nas glad, if that he grace fonde, That she ne wolde up-on his lond werreye; With hir they made alliaunce by bonde To been in pees, and lete hir ryde and pleye.

3525 The emperour of Rome, Claudius, Ne him bifore, the Romayn Galien, Ne dorste never been so corageous, Ne noon Ermyn, ne noon Egipcien, Ne Surrien, ne noon Arabien, 3530 Within the feld that dorste with hir fighte (351) Lest that she wolde hem with hir hondes slen, Or with hir meynee putten hem to flighte.

In kinges habit wente hir sones two, As heires of hir fadres regnes alle, 3535 And Hermanno, and Thymalaö Her names were, as Persiens hem calle. But ay fortune hath in hir hony galle; This mighty quene may no whyl endure. Fortune out of hir regne made hir falle 3540 To wrecchednesse and to misaventure. (361) Aurelian, whan that the governaunce Of Rome cam in-to his hondes tweye, He shoop up-on this queen to do vengeaunce, And with his legiouns he took his weye 3545 Toward Cenobie, and, shortly for to seye, He made hir flee, and atte laste hir hente, And fettred hir, and eek hir children tweye, And wan the lond, and hoom to Rome he wente. Amonges othere thinges that he wan, 3550 Hir char, that was with gold wrought and perree, (371) This grete Romayn, this Aurelian, Hath with him lad, for that men sholde it see. Biforen his triumphe walketh she With gilte cheynes on hir nekke hanging; 3555 Corouned was she, as after hir degree, And ful of perree charged hir clothing.

Allas, fortune! she that whylom was Dredful to kinges and to emperoures, Now gaureth al the peple on hir, allas! 3560 And she that helmed was in starke stoures, (381) And wan by force tounes stronge and toures, Shal on hir heed now were a vitremyte; And she that bar the ceptre ful of floures [T. 14380. Shal bere a distaf, hir cost for to quyte.

(Nero follows in T.; see p. 259.) De Petro Rege Ispannie. [T. 14685. O noble, o worthy Petro, glorie of Spayne, 3566 Whom fortune heeld so hy in magestee, Wel oughten men thy pitous deeth complayne! Out of thy lond thy brother made thee flee; And after, at a sege, by subtiltee, 3570 Thou were bitrayed, and lad un-to his tente, (391) Wher-as he with his owene hond slow thee, Succeding in thy regne and in thy rente.

[T. 14693. The feeld of snow, with thegle of blak ther-inne, Caught with the lymrod, coloured as the glede, 3575 He brew this cursednes and al this sinne. The ‘wikked nest’ was werker of this nede; Noght Charles Oliver, that ay took hede Of trouthe and honour, but of Armorike Genilon Oliver, corrupt for mede, 3580 Broghte this worthy king in swich a brike.

De Petro Rege de Cipro. (401) O worthy Petro, king of Cypre, also, That Alisaundre wan by heigh maistrye, Ful many a hethen wroghtestow ful wo, Of which thyn owene liges hadde envye, 3585 And, for no thing but for thy chivalrye, They in thy bedde han slayn thee by the morwe. Thus can fortune hir wheel governe and gye, [T. 14708. And out of Ioye bringe men to sorwe.

De Barnabo de Lumbardia. Of Melan grete Barnabo Viscounte, 3590 God of delyt, and scourge of Lumbardye, (411) Why sholde I nat thyn infortune acounte, Sith in estaat thou clombe were so hye? Thy brother sone, that was thy double allye, For he thy nevew was, and sone-in-lawe, 3595 With-inne his prisoun made thee to dye; But why, ne how, noot I that thou were slawe.

De Hugelino, Comite de Pize. Of the erl Hugelyn of Pyse the langour Ther may no tonge telle for pitee; But litel out of Pyse stant a tour, 3600 In whiche tour in prisoun put was he, (421) And with him been his litel children three. The eldeste scarsly fyf yeer was of age. Allas, fortune! it was greet crueltee Swiche briddes for to putte in swiche a cage!

3605 Dampned was he to deye in that prisoun, For Roger, which that bisshop was of Pyse, Hadde on him maad a fals suggestioun, Thurgh which the peple gan upon him ryse, And putten him to prisoun in swich wyse 3610 As ye han herd, and mete and drink he hadde (431) So smal, that wel unnethe it may suffyse, And therwith-al it was ful povre and badde.

And on a day bifil that, in that hour, Whan that his mete wont was to be broght, 3615 The gayler shette the dores of the tour. He herde it wel,—but he spak right noght, And in his herte anon ther fil a thoght, That they for hunger wolde doon him dyen. ‘Allas!’ quod he, ‘allas! that I was wroght!’ 3620 Therwith the teres fillen from his yën.

(441) His yonge sone, that three yeer was of age, Un-to him seyde, ‘fader, why do ye wepe? Whan wol the gayler bringen our potage, Is ther no morsel breed that ye do kepe? 3625 I am so hungry that I may nat slepe, Now wolde god that I mighte slepen ever! Than sholde nat hunger in my wombe crepe; Ther is no thing, save breed, that me were lever.’

Thus day by day this child bigan to crye, 3630 Til in his fadres barme adoun it lay, (451) And seyde, ‘far-wel, fader, I moot dye,’ And kiste his fader, and deyde the same day. And whan the woful fader deed it sey, For wo his armes two he gan to byte, 3635 And seyde, ‘allas, fortune! and weylaway! Thy false wheel my wo al may I wyte!’

His children wende that it for hunger was That he his armes gnow, and nat for wo, And seyde, ‘fader, do nat so, allas! 3640 But rather eet the flesh upon us two; (461) Our flesh thou yaf us, tak our flesh us fro And eet y-nough:’ right thus they to him seyde, And after that, with-in a day or two, They leyde hem in his lappe adoun, and deyde.

3645 Him-self, despeired, eek for hunger starf; Thus ended is this mighty Erl of Pyse; From heigh estaat fortune awey him carf. Of this Tragedie it oghte y-nough suffyse. Who-so wol here it in a lenger wyse, 3650 Redeth the grete poete of Itaille, (471) That highte Dant, for he can al devyse [T. 14772. Fro point to point, nat o word wol he faille.

Nero. [T. 14381. Al-though that Nero were as vicious As any feend that lyth ful lowe adoun, 3655 Yet he, as telleth us Swetonius, This wyde world hadde in subieccioun, Both Est and West, South and Septemtrioun; Of rubies, saphires, and of perles whyte Were alle his clothes brouded up and doun; 3660 For he in gemmes greetly gan delyte.

(481) More delicat, more pompous of array, More proud was never emperour than he; That ilke cloth, that he had wered o day, After that tyme he nolde it never see. 3665 Nettes of gold-thred hadde he gret plentee To fisshe in Tybre, whan him liste pleye. His lustes were al lawe in his decree, For fortune as his freend him wolde obeye. He Rome brende for his delicacye; 3670 The senatours he slow up-on a day. (491) To here how men wolde wepe and crye; And slow his brother, and by his sister lay. His moder made he in pitous array; For he hir wombe slitte, to biholde 3675 Wher he conceyved was; so weilawey! That he so litel of his moder tolde!

No tere out of his yën for that sighte Ne cam, but seyde, ‘a fair womman was she.’ Gret wonder is, how that he coude or mighte 3680 Be domesman of hir dede beautee. (501) The wyn to bringen him comaunded he, And drank anon; non other wo he made. Whan might is Ioyned un-to crueltee, Allas! to depe wol the venim wade!

3685 In youthe a maister hadde this emperour, To teche him letterure and curteisye, For of moralitee he was the flour, As in his tyme, but-if bokes lye; And whyl this maister hadde of him maistrye, 3690 He maked him so conning and so souple (511) That longe tyme it was er tirannye Or any vyce dorste on him uncouple. This Seneca, of which that I devyse, By-cause Nero hadde of him swich drede, 3695 For he fro vyces wolde him ay chastyse Discreetly as by worde and nat by dede;— ‘Sir,’ wolde he seyn, ‘an emperour moot nede Be vertuous, and hate tirannye’— For which he in a bath made him to blede 3700 On bothe his armes, til he moste dye.

(521) This Nero hadde eek of acustumaunce In youthe ageyn his maister for to ryse, Which afterward him thoughte a greet grevaunce; Therfor he made him deyen in this wyse. 3705 But natheles this Seneca the wyse Chees in a bath to deye in this manere Rather than han another tormentyse; And thus hath Nero slayn his maister dere.

Now fil it so that fortune list no lenger 3710 The hye pryde of Nero to cheryce; (531) For though that he were strong, yet was she strenger; She thoughte thus, ‘by god, I am to nyce To sette a man that is fulfild of vyce In heigh degree, and emperour him calle. 3715 By god, out of his sete I wol him tryce; When he leest weneth, sonest shal he falle.’

The peple roos up-on him on a night For his defaute, and whan he it espyed, Out of his dores anon he hath him dight 3720 Alone, and, ther he wende han ben allyed, (541) He knokked faste, and ay, the more he cryed, The faster shette they the dores alle; Tho wiste he wel he hadde him-self misgyed, And wente his wey, no lenger dorste he calle.

3725 The peple cryde and rombled up and doun, That with his eres herde he how they seyde, ‘Wher is this false tyraunt, this Neroun?’ For fere almost out of his wit he breyde, And to his goddes pitously he preyde 3730 For socour, but it mighte nat bityde. (551) For drede of this, him thoughte that he deyde, And ran in-to a gardin, him to hyde. And in this gardin fond he cherles tweye That seten by a fyr ful greet and reed, 3735 And to thise cherles two he gan to preye To sleen him, and to girden of his heed, That to his body, whan that he were deed, Were no despyt y-doon, for his defame. Him-self he slow, he coude no better reed, 3740 Of which fortune lough, and hadde a game.

De Oloferno (Holofernes). (561) Was never capitayn under a king That regnes mo putte in subieccioun, Ne strenger was in feeld of alle thing, As in his tyme, ne gretter of renoun, 3745 Ne more pompous in heigh presumpcioun Than Oloferne, which fortune ay kiste So likerously, and ladde him up and doun Til that his heed was of, er that he wiste. Nat only that this world hadde him in awe 3750 For lesinge of richesse or libertee, (571) But he made every man reneye his lawe. ‘Nabugodonosor was god,’ seyde he, ‘Noon other god sholde adoured be.’ Ageyns his heste no wight dar trespace 3755 Save in Bethulia, a strong citee, Wher Eliachim a prest was of that place.

But tak kepe of the deeth of Olofern; Amidde his host he dronke lay a night, With-inne his tente, large as is a bern, 3760 And yit, for al his pompe and al his might, (581) Iudith, a womman, as he lay upright, Sleping, his heed of smoot, and from his tente Ful prively she stal from every wight, And with his heed unto hir toun she wente.

De Rege Anthiocho illustri. 3765 What nedeth it of King Anthiochus To telle his hye royal magestee, His hye pryde, his werkes venimous? For swich another was ther noon as he. Rede which that he was in Machabee, 3770 And rede the proude wordes that he seyde, (591) And why he fil fro heigh prosperitee, And in an hil how wrechedly he deyde. Fortune him hadde enhaunced so in pryde That verraily he wende he mighte attayne 3775 Unto the sterres, upon every syde, And in balance weyen ech montayne, And alle the flodes of the see restrayne. And goddes peple hadde he most in hate, Hem wolde he sleen in torment and in payne, 3780 Wening that god ne mighte his pryde abate.

(601) And for that Nichanor and Thimothee Of Iewes weren venquisshed mightily, Unto the Iewes swich an hate hadde he That he bad greithe his char ful hastily, 3785 And swoor, and seyde, ful despitously, Unto Ierusalem he wolde eft-sone, To wreken his ire on it ful cruelly; But of his purpos he was let ful sone.

God for his manace him so sore smoot 3790 With invisible wounde, ay incurable, (611) That in his guttes carf it so and boot That his peynes weren importable. And certeinly, the wreche was resonable, For many a mannes guttes dide he peyne; 3795 But from his purpos cursed and dampnable For al his smert he wolde him nat restreyne; But bad anon apparaillen his host, And sodeynly, er he of it was war, God daunted al his pryde and al his bost. 3800 For he so sore fil out of his char, (621) That it his limes and his skin to-tar, So that he neither mighte go ne ryde, But in a chayer men aboute him bar, Al for-brused, bothe bak and syde.

3805 The wreche of god him smoot so cruelly That thurgh his body wikked wormes crepte; And ther-with-al he stank so horribly, That noon of al his meynee that him kepte, Whether so he wook or elles slepte, 3810 Ne mighte noght for stink of him endure. (631) In this meschief he wayled and eek wepte, And knew god lord of every creature.

To al his host and to him-self also Ful wlatsom was the stink of his careyne; 3815 No man ne mighte him bere to ne fro. And in this stink and this horrible peyne He starf ful wrecchedly in a monteyne. Thus hath this robbour and this homicyde, That many a man made to wepe and pleyne, 3820 Swich guerdon as bilongeth unto pryde.

De Alexandro. (641) The storie of Alisaundre is so comune, That every wight that hath discrecioun Hath herd somwhat or al of his fortune. This wyde world, as in conclusioun, 3825 He wan by strengthe, or for his hye renoun They weren glad for pees un-to him sende. The pryde of man and beste he leyde adoun, Wher-so he cam, un-to the worldes ende.

Comparisoun might never yit be maked 3830 Bitwixe him and another conquerour; (651) For al this world for drede of him hath quaked, He was of knighthode and of fredom flour; Fortune him made the heir of hir honour; Save wyn and wommen, no-thing mighte aswage 3835 His hye entente in armes and labour; So was he ful of leonyn corage.

What preys were it to him, though I yow tolde Of Darius, and an hundred thousand mo, Of kinges, princes, erles, dukes bolde, 3840 Whiche he conquered, and broghte hem in-to wo? (661) I seye, as fer as man may ryde or go, The world was his, what sholde I more devyse? For though I write or tolde you evermo Of his knighthode, it mighte nat suffyse.

3845 Twelf yeer he regned, as seith Machabee; Philippes sone of Macedoyne he was, That first was king in Grece the contree. O worthy gentil Alisaundre, allas! That ever sholde fallen swich a cas! 3850 Empoisoned of thyn owene folk thou were; (671) Thy sys fortune hath turned into as; And yit for thee ne weep she never a tere!

Who shal me yeven teres to compleyne The deeth of gentillesse and of fraunchyse, 3855 That al the world welded in his demeyne, And yit him thoughte it mighte nat suffyse? So ful was his corage of heigh empryse. Allas! who shal me helpe to endyte False fortune, and poison to despyse, 3860 The whiche two of al this wo I wyte?

De Iulio Cesare. (681) By wisdom, manhede, and by greet labour Fro humble bed to royal magestee, Up roos he, Iulius the conquerour, That wan al thoccident by lond and see, 3865 By strengthe of hond, or elles by tretee, And un-to Rome made hem tributarie; And sitthe of Rome the emperour was he, Til that fortune wex his adversarie.

O mighty Cesar, that in Thessalye 3870 Ageyn Pompeius, fader thyn in lawe, (691) That of thorient hadde al the chivalrye As fer as that the day biginneth dawe, Thou thurgh thy knighthode hast hem take and slawe, Save fewe folk that with Pompeius fledde, 3875 Thurgh which thou puttest al thorient in awe. Thanke fortune, that so wel thee spedde!

But now a litel whyl I wol biwaille This Pompeius, this noble governour Of Rome, which that fleigh at this bataille; 3880 I seye, oon of his men, a fals traitour, (701) His heed of smoot, to winnen him favour Of Iulius, and him the heed he broghte. Allas, Pompey, of thorient conquerour, That fortune unto swich a fyn thee broghte!

3885 To Rome ageyn repaireth Iulius With his triumphe, laureat ful hye, But on a tyme Brutus Cassius, That ever hadde of his hye estaat envye, Ful prively hath maad conspiracye 3890 Ageins this Iulius, in subtil wyse, (711) And cast the place, in whiche he sholde dye With boydekins, as I shal yow devyse.

This Iulius to the Capitolie wente Upon a day, as he was wont to goon, 3895 And in the Capitolie anon him hente This false Brutus, and his othere foon, And stikede him with boydekins anoon With many a wounde, and thus they lete him lye; But never gronte he at no strook but oon, 3900 Or elles at two, but-if his storie lye. (721) So manly was this Iulius at herte And so wel lovede estaatly honestee, That, though his deedly woundes sore smerte, His mantel over his hippes casteth he, 3905 For no man sholde seen his privitee. And, as he lay on deying in a traunce, And wiste verraily that deed was he, Of honestee yit hadde he remembraunce.

Lucan, to thee this storie I recomende, 3910 And to Sweton, and to Valerie also, (731) That of this storie wryten word and ende, How that to thise grete conqueroures two Fortune was first freend, and sithen fo. No man ne truste up-on hir favour longe, 3915 But have hir in awayt for ever-mo. Witnesse on alle thise conqueroures stronge.

Cresus. This riche Cresus, whylom king of Lyde, Of whiche Cresus Cyrus sore him dradde, Yit was he caught amiddes al his pryde, 3920 And to be brent men to the fyr him ladde. (741) But swich a reyn doun fro the welkne shadde That slow the fyr, and made him to escape; But to be war no grace yet he hadde, Til fortune on the galwes made him gape. 3925 Whan he escaped was, he can nat stente For to biginne a newe werre agayn. He wende wel, for that fortune him sente Swich hap, that he escaped thurgh the rayn, That of his foos he mighte nat be slayn; 3930 And eek a sweven up-on a night he mette, (751) Of which he was so proud and eek so fayn, That in vengeaunce he al his herte sette. Up-on a tree he was, as that him thoughte, Ther Iuppiter him wesh, bothe bak and syde, 3935 And Phebus eek a fair towaille him broughte To drye him with, and ther-for wex his pryde; And to his doghter, that stood him bisyde, Which that he knew in heigh science habounde, He bad hir telle him what it signifyde, 3940 And she his dreem bigan right thus expounde.

(761) ‘The tree,’ quod she, ‘the galwes is to mene, And Iuppiter bitokneth snow and reyn, And Phebus, with his towaille so clene, Tho ben the sonne stremes for to seyn; 3945 Thou shalt anhanged be, fader, certeyn; Reyn shal thee wasshe, and sonne shal thee drye;’ Thus warned she him ful plat and ful pleyn, His doughter, which that called was Phanye.

Anhanged was Cresus, the proude king, 3950 His royal trone mighte him nat availle.— (771) Tragedie is noon other maner thing, Ne can in singing crye ne biwaille, But for that fortune alwey wol assaille With unwar strook the regnes that ben proude; 3955 For when men trusteth hir, than wol she faille, [See p. 256. And covere hir brighte face with a cloude. Explicit Tragedia. Here stinteth the Knight the Monk of his Tale.

The prologue of the Nonne Preestes Tale. ‘Ho!’ quod the knight, ‘good sir, na-more of this, That ye han seyd is right y-nough, y-wis, And mochel more; for litel hevinesse 3960 Is right y-nough to mochel folk, I gesse. I seye for me, it is a greet disese Wher-as men han ben in greet welthe and ese, To heren of hir sodeyn fal, allas! And the contrarie is Ioie and greet solas, 3965 As whan a man hath been in povre estaat, (10) And clymbeth up, and wexeth fortunat, And ther abydeth in prosperitee, Swich thing is gladsom, as it thinketh me, And of swich thing were goodly for to telle.’ 3970 ‘Ye,’ quod our hoste, ‘by seint Poules belle, Ye seye right sooth; this monk, he clappeth loude, He spak how “fortune covered with a cloude” I noot never what, and als of a “Tragedie” Right now ye herde, and parde! no remedie 3975 It is for to biwaille, ne compleyne (20) That that is doon, and als it is a peyne, As ye han seyd, to here of hevinesse. Sir monk, na-more of this, so god yow blesse! Your tale anoyeth al this companye; 3980 Swich talking is nat worth a boterflye; For ther-in is ther no desport ne game. Wherfor, sir Monk, or dan Piers by your name, I preye yow hertely, telle us somwhat elles, For sikerly, nere clinking of your belles, 3985 That on your brydel hange on every syde, (30) By heven king, that for us alle dyde, I sholde er this han fallen doun for slepe, Although the slough had never been so depe; Than had your tale al be told in vayn. 3990 For certeinly, as that thise clerkes seyn, “Wher-as a man may have noon audience, Noght helpeth it to tellen his sentence.” And wel I woot the substance is in me, If any thing shal wel reported be. 3995 Sir, sey somwhat of hunting, I yow preye.’ (40) ‘Nay,’ quod this monk, ‘I have no lust to pleye; Now let another telle, as I have told.’ Than spak our host, with rude speche and bold, And seyde un-to the Nonnes Preest anon, 4000 ‘Com neer, thou preest, com hider, thou sir Iohn, Tel us swich thing as may our hertes glade, Be blythe, though thou ryde up-on a Iade. What though thyn hors be bothe foule and lene, If he wol serve thee, rekke nat a bene; 4005 Look that thyn herte be mery evermo.’ (50) ‘Yis, sir,’ quod he, ‘yis, host, so mote I go, But I be mery, y-wis, I wol be blamed:‘— And right anon his tale he hath attamed, And thus he seyde un-to us everichon, 4010 This swete preest, this goodly man, sir Iohn. Explicit.

Here biginneth the Nonne Preestes Tale of the Cok and Hen, Chauntecleer and Pertelote. A povre widwe, somdel stope in age, Was whylom dwelling in a narwe cotage, Bisyde a grove, stonding in a dale. This widwe, of which I telle yow my tale, 4015 Sin thilke day that she was last a wyf, In pacience ladde a ful simple lyf, For litel was hir catel and hir rente; By housbondrye, of such as God hir sente, She fond hir-self, and eek hir doghtren two. 4020 Three large sowes hadde she, and namo, (11) Three kyn, and eek a sheep that highte Malle. Ful sooty was hir bour, and eek hir halle, In which she eet ful many a sclendre meel. Of poynaunt sauce hir neded never a deel. 4025 No deyntee morsel passed thurgh hir throte; Hir dyete was accordant to hir cote. Repleccioun ne made hir never syk; Attempree dyete was al hir phisyk, And exercyse, and hertes suffisaunce. 4030 The goute lette hir no-thing for to daunce, (21) Napoplexye shente nat hir heed; No wyn ne drank she, neither whyt ne reed; Hir bord was served most with whyt and blak, Milk and broun breed, in which she fond no lak, 4035 Seynd bacoun, and somtyme an ey or tweye, For she was as it were a maner deye.

A yerd she hadde, enclosed al aboute With stikkes, and a drye dich with-oute, In which she hadde a cok, hight Chauntecleer, 4040 In al the land of crowing nas his peer. (31) His vois was merier than the mery orgon On messe-dayes that in the chirche gon; Wel sikerer was his crowing in his logge, Than is a clokke, or an abbey orlogge. 4045 By nature knew he ech ascencioun Of equinoxial in thilke toun; For whan degrees fiftene were ascended, Thanne crew he, that it mighte nat ben amended. His comb was redder than the fyn coral, 4050 And batailed, as it were a castel-wal. (41) His bile was blak, and as the Ieet it shoon; Lyk asur were his legges, and his toon; His nayles whytter than the lilie flour, And lyk the burned gold was his colour. 4055 This gentil cok hadde in his governaunce Sevene hennes, for to doon al his plesaunce, Whiche were his sustres and his paramours, And wonder lyk to him, as of colours. Of whiche the faireste hewed on hir throte 4060 Was cleped faire damoysele Pertelote. (51) Curteys she was, discreet, and debonaire, And compaignable, and bar hir-self so faire, Sin thilke day that she was seven night old, That trewely she hath the herte in hold 4065 Of Chauntecleer loken in every lith; He loved hir so, that wel was him therwith. But such a Ioye was it to here hem singe, Whan that the brighte sonne gan to springe, In swete accord, ‘my lief is faren in londe.’ 4070 For thilke tyme, as I have understonde, (61) Bestes and briddes coude speke and singe.

And so bifel, that in a daweninge, As Chauntecleer among his wyves alle Sat on his perche, that was in the halle, 4075 And next him sat this faire Pertelote, This Chauntecleer gan gronen in his throte, As man that in his dreem is drecched sore. And whan that Pertelote thus herde him rore, She was agast, and seyde, ‘O herte dere, 4080 What eyleth yow, to grone in this manere? (71) Ye been a verray sleper, fy for shame!’ And he answerde and seyde thus, ‘madame, I pray yow, that ye take it nat a-grief: By god, me mette I was in swich meschief 4085 Right now, that yet myn herte is sore afright. Now god,’ quod he, ‘my swevene recche aright, And keep my body out of foul prisoun! Me mette, how that I romed up and doun Withinne our yerde, wher-as I saugh a beste, 4090 Was lyk an hound, and wolde han maad areste (81) Upon my body, and wolde han had me deed. His colour was bitwixe yelwe and reed; And tipped was his tail, and bothe his eres, With blak, unlyk the remenant of his heres; 4095 His snowte smal, with glowinge eyen tweye. Yet of his look for fere almost I deye; This caused me my groning, doutelees.’

‘Avoy!’ quod she, ‘fy on yow, hertelees! Allas!’ quod she, ‘for, by that god above, 4100 Now han ye lost myn herte and al my love; (91) I can nat love a coward, by my feith. For certes, what so any womman seith, We alle desyren, if it mighte be, To han housbondes hardy, wyse, and free, 4105 And secree, and no nigard, ne no fool, Ne him that is agast of every tool, Ne noon avauntour, by that god above! How dorste ye seyn for shame unto your love, That any thing mighte make yow aferd? 4110 Have ye no mannes herte, and han a berd? (101) Allas! and conne ye been agast of swevenis? No-thing, god wot, but vanitee, in sweven is. Swevenes engendren of replecciouns, And ofte of fume, and of complecciouns, 4115 Whan humours been to habundant in a wight. Certes this dreem, which ye han met to-night, Cometh of the grete superfluitee Of youre rede colera, pardee, Which causeth folk to dreden in here dremes 4120 Of arwes, and of fyr with rede lemes, (111) Of grete bestes, that they wol hem byte, Of contek, and of whelpes grete and lyte; Right as the humour of malencolye Causeth ful many a man, in sleep, to crye, 4125 For fere of blake beres, or boles blake, Or elles, blake develes wole hem take. Of othere humours coude I telle also, That werken many a man in sleep ful wo; But I wol passe as lightly as I can.

4130 Lo Catoun, which that was so wys a man, (121) Seyde he nat thus, ne do no fors of dremes? Now, sire,’ quod she, ‘whan we flee fro the bemes, For Goddes love, as tak som laxatyf; Up peril of my soule, and of my lyf, 4135 I counseille yow the beste, I wol nat lye, That bothe of colere and of malencolye Ye purge yow; and for ye shul nat tarie, Though in this toun is noon apotecarie, I shal my-self to herbes techen yow, 4140 That shul ben for your hele, and for your prow; (131) And in our yerd tho herbes shal I finde, The whiche han of hir propretee, by kinde, To purgen yow binethe, and eek above. Forget not this, for goddes owene love! 4145 Ye been ful colerik of compleccioun. Ware the sonne in his ascencioun Ne fynde yow nat repleet of humours hote; And if it do, I dar wel leye a grote, That ye shul have a fevere terciane, 4150 Or an agu, that may be youre bane. (141) A day or two ye shul have digestyves Of wormes, er ye take your laxatyves, Of lauriol, centaure, and fumetere, Or elles of ellebor, that groweth there, 4155 Of catapuce, or of gaytres beryis, Of erbe yve, growing in our yerd, that mery is; Pekke hem up right as they growe, and ete hem in. Be mery, housbond, for your fader kin! Dredeth no dreem; I can say yow na-more.’

4160 ‘Madame,’ quod he, ‘graunt mercy of your lore. (151) But nathelees, as touching daun Catoun, That hath of wisdom such a greet renoun, Though that he bad no dremes for to drede, By god, men may in olde bokes rede 4165 Of many a man, more of auctoritee Than ever Catoun was, so mote I thee, Than al the revers seyn of his sentence, And han wel founden by experience, That dremes ben significaciouns, 4170 As wel of Ioye as tribulaciouns (161) That folk enduren in this lyf present. Ther nedeth make of this noon argument; The verray preve sheweth it in dede.

Oon of the gretteste auctours that men rede 4175 Seith thus, that whylom two felawes wente On pilgrimage, in a ful good entente; And happed so, thay come into a toun, Wher-as ther was swich congregacioun Of peple, and eek so streit of herbergage, 4180 That they ne founde as muche as o cotage, (171) In which they bothe mighte y-logged be. Wherfor thay mosten, of necessitee, As for that night, departen compaignye; And ech of hem goth to his hostelrye, 4185 And took his logging as it wolde falle. That oon of hem was logged in a stalle, Fer in a yerd, with oxen of the plough; That other man was logged wel y-nough, As was his aventure, or his fortune, 4190 That us governeth alle as in commune.

(181) And so bifel, that, longe er it were day, This man mette in his bed, ther-as he lay, How that his felawe gan up-on him calle, And seyde, ‘allas! for in an oxes stalle 4195 This night I shal be mordred ther I lye. Now help me, dere brother, er I dye; In alle haste com to me,’ he sayde. This man out of his sleep for fere abrayde; But whan that he was wakned of his sleep, 4200 He turned him, and took of this no keep; (191) Him thoughte his dreem nas but a vanitee. Thus twyës in his sleping dremed he. And atte thridde tyme yet his felawe Cam, as him thoughte, and seide, ‘I am now slawe; 4205 Bihold my blody woundes, depe and wyde! Arys up erly in the morwe-tyde, And at the west gate of the toun,’ quod he, ‘A carte ful of donge ther shaltow see, In which my body is hid ful prively; 4210 Do thilke carte aresten boldely. (201) My gold caused my mordre, sooth to sayn;’ And tolde him every poynt how he was slayn, With a ful pitous face, pale of hewe. And truste wel, his dreem he fond ful trewe; 4215 For on the morwe, as sone as it was day, To his felawes in he took the way; And whan that he cam to this oxes stalle, After his felawe he bigan to calle.

The hostiler answered him anon, 4220 And seyde, ‘sire, your felawe is agon, (211) As sone as day he wente out of the toun.’ This man gan fallen in suspecioun, Remembring on his dremes that he mette, And forth he goth, no lenger wolde he lette, 4225 Unto the west gate of the toun, and fond A dong-carte, as it were to donge lond, That was arrayed in the same wyse As ye han herd the dede man devyse; And with an hardy herte he gan to crye 4230 Vengeaunce and Iustice of this felonye:— (221) ‘My felawe mordred is this same night, And in this carte he lyth gapinge upright. I crye out on the ministres,’ quod he, ‘That sholden kepe and reulen this citee; 4235 Harrow! allas! her lyth my felawe slayn!’ What sholde I more un-to this tale sayn? The peple out-sterte, and caste the cart to grounde, And in the middel of the dong they founde The dede man, that mordred was al newe.

4240 O blisful god, that art so Iust and trewe! (231) Lo, how that thou biwreyest mordre alway! Mordre wol out, that see we day by day. Mordre is so wlatsom and abhominable To god, that is so Iust and resonable, 4245 That he ne wol nat suffre it heled be; Though it abyde a yeer, or two, or three, Mordre wol out, this my conclusioun. And right anoon, ministres of that toun Han hent the carter, and so sore him pyned, 4250 And eek the hostiler so sore engyned, (241) That thay biknewe hir wikkednesse anoon, And were an-hanged by the nekke-boon.

Here may men seen that dremes been to drede. And certes, in the same book I rede, 4255 Right in the nexte chapitre after this, (I gabbe nat, so have I Ioye or blis,) Two men that wolde han passed over see, For certeyn cause, in-to a fer contree, If that the wind ne hadde been contrarie, 4260 That made hem in a citee for to tarie, (251) That stood ful mery upon an haven-syde. But on a day, agayn the even-tyde, The wind gan chaunge, and blew right as hem leste. Iolif and glad they wente un-to hir reste, 4265 And casten hem ful erly for to saille; But to that oo man fil a greet mervaille. That oon of hem, in sleping as he lay, Him mette a wonder dreem, agayn the day; Him thoughte a man stood by his beddes syde, 4270 And him comaunded, that he sholde abyde, (261) And seyde him thus, ‘if thou to-morwe wende, Thou shalt be dreynt; my tale is at an ende.’ He wook, and tolde his felawe what he mette, And preyde him his viage for to lette; 4275 As for that day, he preyde him to abyde. His felawe, that lay by his beddes syde, Gan for to laughe, and scorned him ful faste. ‘No dreem,’ quod he, ‘may so myn herte agaste, That I wol lette for to do my thinges. 4280 I sette not a straw by thy dreminges, (271) For swevenes been but vanitees and Iapes. Men dreme al-day of owles or of apes, And eke of many a mase therwithal; Men dreme of thing that nevere was ne shal. 4285 But sith I see that thou wolt heer abyde, And thus for-sleuthen wilfully thy tyde, God wot it reweth me; and have good day.’ And thus he took his leve, and wente his way. But er that he hadde halfe his cours y-seyled, 4290 Noot I nat why, ne what mischaunce it eyled, (281) But casuelly the shippes botme rente, And ship and man under the water wente In sighte of othere shippes it byside, That with hem seyled at the same tyde. 4295 And therfor, faire Pertelote so dere, By swiche ensamples olde maistow lere, That no man sholde been to recchelees Of dremes, for I sey thee, doutelees, That many a dreem ful sore is for to drede.

4300 Lo, in the lyf of seint Kenelm, I rede, (291) That was Kenulphus sone, the noble king Of Mercenrike, how Kenelm mette a thing; A lyte er he was mordred, on a day, His mordre in his avisioun he say. 4305 His norice him expouned every del His sweven, and bad him for to kepe him wel For traisoun; but he nas but seven yeer old, And therfore litel tale hath he told Of any dreem, so holy was his herte. 4310 By god, I hadde lever than my sherte (301) That ye had rad his legende, as have I. Dame Pertelote, I sey yow trewely, Macrobeus, that writ the avisioun In Affrike of the worthy Cipioun, 4315 Affermeth dremes, and seith that they been Warning of thinges that men after seen.

And forther-more, I pray yow loketh wel In the olde testament, of Daniel, If he held dremes any vanitee. 4320 Reed eek of Ioseph, and ther shul ye see (311) Wher dremes ben somtyme (I sey nat alle) Warning of thinges that shul after falle. Loke of Egipt the king, daun Pharao, His bakere and his boteler also, 4325 Wher they ne felte noon effect in dremes. Who-so wol seken actes of sondry remes, May rede of dremes many a wonder thing.

Lo Cresus, which that was of Lyde king, Mette he nat that he sat upon a tree, 4330 Which signified he sholde anhanged be? (321) Lo heer Andromacha, Ectores wyf, That day that Ector sholde lese his lyf, She dremed on the same night biforn, How that the lyf of Ector sholde be lorn, 4335 If thilke day he wente in-to bataille; She warned him, but it mighte nat availle; He wente for to fighte nathelees, But he was slayn anoon of Achilles. But thilke tale is al to long to telle, 4340 And eek it is ny day, I may nat dwelle. (331) Shortly I seye, as for conclusioun, That I shal han of this avisioun Adversitee; and I seye forther-more, That I ne telle of laxatyves no store, 4345 For they ben venimous, I woot it wel; I hem defye, I love hem never a del.

Now let us speke of mirthe, and stinte al this; Madame Pertelote, so have I blis, Of o thing god hath sent me large grace; 4350 For whan I see the beautee of your face, (341) Ye ben so scarlet-reed about your yën, It maketh al my drede for to dyen; For, also siker as In principio, Mulier est hominis confusio; 4355 Madame, the sentence of this Latin is— Womman is mannes Ioye and al his blis. For whan I fele a-night your softe syde, Al-be-it that I may nat on you ryde, For that our perche is maad so narwe, alas! 4360 I am so ful of Ioye and of solas (351) That I defye bothe sweven and dreem.’ And with that word he fley doun fro the beem, For it was day, and eek his hennes alle; And with a chuk he gan hem for to calle, 4365 For he had founde a corn, lay in the yerd. Royal he was, he was namore aferd; He fethered Pertelote twenty tyme, And trad as ofte, er that it was pryme. He loketh as it were a grim leoun; 4370 And on his toos he rometh up and doun, (361) Him deyned not to sette his foot to grounde. He chukketh, whan he hath a corn y-founde, And to him rennen thanne his wyves alle. Thus royal, as a prince is in his halle, 4375 Leve I this Chauntecleer in his pasture; And after wol I telle his aventure.

Whan that the month in which the world bigan, That highte March, whan god first maked man, Was complet, and [y]-passed were also, 4380 Sin March bigan, thritty dayes and two, (371) Bifel that Chauntecleer, in al his pryde, His seven wyves walking by his syde, Caste up his eyen to the brighte sonne, That in the signe of Taurus hadde y-ronne 4385 Twenty degrees and oon, and somwhat more; And knew by kynde, and by noon other lore, That it was pryme, and crew with blisful stevene. ‘The sonne,’ he sayde, ‘is clomben up on hevene Fourty degrees and oon, and more, y-wis. 4390 Madame Pertelote, my worldes blis, (381) Herkneth thise blisful briddes how they singe, And see the fresshe floures how they springe; Ful is myn herte of revel and solas.’ But sodeinly him fil a sorweful cas; 4395 For ever the latter ende of Ioye is wo. God woot that worldly Ioye is sone ago; And if a rethor coude faire endyte, He in a cronique saufly mighte it wryte, As for a sovereyn notabilitee. 4400 Now every wys man, lat him herkne me; (391) This storie is al-so trewe, I undertake, As is the book of Launcelot de Lake, That wommen holde in ful gret reverence. Now wol I torne agayn to my sentence.

4405 A col-fox, ful of sly iniquitee, That in the grove hadde woned yeres three, By heigh imaginacioun forn-cast, The same night thurgh-out the hegges brast Into the yerd, ther Chauntecleer the faire 4410 Was wont, and eek his wyves, to repaire; (401) And in a bed of wortes stille he lay, Til it was passed undern of the day, Wayting his tyme on Chauntecleer to falle, As gladly doon thise homicydes alle, 4415 That in awayt liggen to mordre men. O false mordrer, lurking in thy den! O newe Scariot, newe Genilon! False dissimilour, O Greek Sinon, That broghtest Troye al outrely to sorwe! 4420 O Chauntecleer, acursed be that morwe, (411) That thou into that yerd flough fro the bemes! Thou were ful wel y-warned by thy dremes, That thilke day was perilous to thee. But what that god forwoot mot nedes be, 4425 After the opinioun of certeyn clerkis. Witnesse on him, that any perfit clerk is, That in scole is gret altercacioun In this matere, and greet disputisoun, And hath ben of an hundred thousand men. 4430 But I ne can not bulte it to the bren, (421) As can the holy doctour Augustyn, Or Boece, or the bishop Bradwardyn, Whether that goddes worthy forwiting Streyneth me nedely for to doon a thing, 4435 (Nedely clepe I simple necessitee); Or elles, if free choys be graunted me To do that same thing, or do it noght, Though god forwoot it, er that it was wroght; Or if his witing streyneth nevere a del 4440 But by necessitee condicionel. (431) I wol not han to do of swich matere; My tale is of a cok, as ye may here, That took his counseil of his wyf, with sorwe, To walken in the yerd upon that morwe 4445 That he had met the dreem, that I yow tolde. Wommennes counseils been ful ofte colde; Wommannes counseil broghte us first to wo, And made Adam fro paradys to go, Ther-as he was ful mery, and wel at ese. 4450 But for I noot, to whom it mighte displese, (441) If I counseil of wommen wolde blame, Passe over, for I seyde it in my game. Rede auctours, wher they trete of swich matere, And what thay seyn of wommen ye may here. 4455 Thise been the cokkes wordes, and nat myne; I can noon harm of no womman divyne.

Faire in the sond, to bathe hir merily, Lyth Pertelote, and alle hir sustres by, Agayn the sonne; and Chauntecleer so free 4460 Song merier than the mermayde in the see; (451) For Phisiologus seith sikerly, How that they singen wel and merily. And so bifel that, as he caste his yë, Among the wortes, on a boterflye, 4465 He was war of this fox that lay ful lowe. No-thing ne liste him thanne for to crowe, But cryde anon, ‘cok, cok,’ and up he sterte, As man that was affrayed in his herte. For naturelly a beest desyreth flee 4470 Fro his contrarie, if he may it see, (461) Though he never erst had seyn it with his yë.

This Chauntecleer, whan he gan him espye, He wolde han fled, but that the fox anon Seyde, ‘Gentil sire, allas! wher wol ye gon? 4475 Be ye affrayed of me that am your freend? Now certes, I were worse than a feend, If I to yow wolde harm or vileinye. I am nat come your counseil for tespye; But trewely, the cause of my cominge 4480 Was only for to herkne how that ye singe. (471) For trewely ye have as mery a stevene As eny aungel hath, that is in hevene; Therwith ye han in musik more felinge Than hadde Boece, or any that can singe. 4485 My lord your fader (god his soule blesse!) And eek your moder, of hir gentilesse, Han in myn hous y-been, to my gret ese; And certes, sire, ful fayn wolde I yow plese. But for men speke of singing, I wol saye, 4490 So mote I brouke wel myn eyen tweye, (48l) Save yow, I herde never man so singe, As dide your fader in the morweninge; Certes, it was of herte, al that he song. And for to make his voys the more strong, 4495 He wolde so peyne him, that with bothe his yën He moste winke, so loude he wolde cryen, And stonden on his tiptoon ther-with-al, And strecche forth his nekke long and smal. And eek he was of swich discrecioun, 4500 That ther nas no man in no regioun (491) That him in song or wisdom mighte passe. I have wel rad in daun Burnel the Asse, Among his vers, how that ther was a cok, For that a preestes sone yaf him a knok 4505 Upon his leg, whyl he was yong and nyce, He made him for to lese his benefyce. But certeyn, ther nis no comparisoun Bitwix the wisdom and discrecioun Of youre fader, and of his subtiltee. 4510 Now singeth, sire, for seinte charitee, (501) Let see, conne ye your fader countrefete?’ This Chauntecleer his winges gan to bete, As man that coude his tresoun nat espye, So was he ravisshed with his flaterye.

4515 Allas! ye lordes, many a fals flatour Is in your courtes, and many a losengeour, That plesen yow wel more, by my feith, Than he that soothfastnesse unto yow seith. Redeth Ecclesiaste of flaterye; 4520 Beth war, ye lordes, of hir trecherye. (511) This Chauntecleer stood hye up-on his toos, Strecching his nekke, and heeld his eyen cloos, And gan to crowe loude for the nones; And daun Russel the fox sterte up at ones, 4525 And by the gargat hente Chauntecleer, And on his bak toward the wode him beer, For yet ne was ther no man that him sewed. O destinee, that mayst nat been eschewed! Allas, that Chauntecleer fleigh fro the bemes! 4530 Allas, his wyf ne roghte nat of dremes! (521) And on a Friday fil al this meschaunce. O Venus, that art goddesse of plesaunce, Sin that thy servant was this Chauntecleer, And in thy service dide al his poweer, 4535 More for delyt, than world to multiplye, Why woldestow suffre him on thy day to dye? O Gaufred, dere mayster soverayn, That, whan thy worthy king Richard was slayn With shot, compleynedest his deth so sore, 4540 Why ne hadde I now thy sentence and thy lore, (531) The Friday for to chide, as diden ye? (For on a Friday soothly slayn was he.) Than wolde I shewe yow how that I coude pleyne For Chauntecleres drede, and for his peyne.

4545 Certes, swich cry ne lamentacioun Was never of ladies maad, whan Ilioun Was wonne, and Pirrus with his streite swerd, Whan he hadde hent king Priam by the berd, And slayn him (as saith us Eneydos), 4550 As maden alle the hennes in the clos, (541) Whan they had seyn of Chauntecleer the sighte. But sovereynly dame Pertelote shrighte, Ful louder than dide Hasdrubales wyf, Whan that hir housbond hadde lost his lyf, 4555 And that the Romayns hadde brend Cartage; She was so ful of torment and of rage, That wilfully into the fyr she sterte, And brende hir-selven with a stedfast herte. O woful hennes, right so cryden ye, 4560 As, whan that Nero brende the citee (551) Of Rome, cryden senatoures wyves, For that hir housbondes losten alle hir lyves; Withouten gilt this Nero hath hem slayn. Now wol I torne to my tale agayn:—

4565 This sely widwe, and eek hir doghtres two, Herden thise hennes crye and maken wo, And out at dores sterten they anoon, And syen the fox toward the grove goon, And bar upon his bak the cok away; 4570 And cryden, ‘Out! harrow! and weylaway! (561) Ha, ha, the fox!’ and after him they ran, And eek with staves many another man; Ran Colle our dogge, and Talbot, and Gerland, And Malkin, with a distaf in hir hand; 4575 Ran cow and calf, and eek the verray hogges So were they fered for berking of the dogges And shouting of the men and wimmen eke, They ronne so, hem thoughte hir herte breke. They yelleden as feendes doon in helle; 4580 The dokes cryden as men wolde hem quelle; (571) The gees for fere flowen over the trees; Out of the hyve cam the swarm of bees; So hidous was the noyse, a! benedicite! Certes, he Iakke Straw, and his meynee, 4585 Ne made never shoutes half so shrille, Whan that they wolden any Fleming kille, As thilke day was maad upon the fox. Of bras thay broghten bemes, and of box, Of horn, of boon, in whiche they blewe and pouped, 4590 And therwithal thay shryked and they houped; (581) It semed as that heven sholde falle. Now, gode men, I pray yow herkneth alle!

Lo, how fortune turneth sodeinly The hope and pryde eek of hir enemy! 4595 This cok, that lay upon the foxes bak, In al his drede, un-to the fox he spak, And seyde, ‘sire, if that I were as ye, Yet sholde I seyn (as wis god helpe me), Turneth agayn, ye proude cherles alle! 4600 A verray pestilence up-on yow falle! (591) Now am I come un-to this wodes syde, Maugree your heed, the cok shal heer abyde; I wol him ete in feith, and that anon.’— The fox answerde, ‘in feith, it shal be don,’— 4605 And as he spak that word, al sodeinly This cok brak from his mouth deliverly, And heighe up-on a tree he fleigh anon. And whan the fox saugh that he was y-gon, ‘Allas!’ quod he, ‘O Chauntecleer, allas! 4610 I have to yow,’ quod he, ‘y-doon trespas, (601) In-as-muche as I maked yow aferd, Whan I yow hente, and broghte out of the yerd; But, sire, I dide it in no wikke entente; Com doun, and I shal telle yow what I mente. 4615 I shal seye sooth to yow, god help me so.’ ‘Nay than,’ quod he, ‘I shrewe us bothe two, And first I shrewe my-self, bothe blood and bones, If thou bigyle me ofter than ones. Thou shalt na-more, thurgh thy flaterye, 4620 Do me to singe and winke with myn yë. (611) For he that winketh, whan he sholde see, Al wilfully, god lat him never thee!’ ‘Nay,’ quod the fox, ‘but god yeve him meschaunce, That is so undiscreet of governaunce, 4625 That Iangleth whan he sholde holde his pees.’