‘THE MINOR POEMS’ IN VOL. I. (continued 7)

Lo, swich it is for to be recchelees, And necligent, and truste on flaterye. But ye that holden this tale a folye, As of a fox, or of a cok and hen, 4630 Taketh the moralitee, good men. (621) For seint Paul seith, that al that writen is, To our doctryne it is y-write, y-wis. Taketh the fruyt, and lat the chaf be stille.

Now, gode god, if that it be thy wille, 4635 As seith my lord, so make us alle good men; And bringe us to his heighe blisse. Amen. Here is ended the Nonne Preestes Tale.

‘Sir Nonnes Preest,’ our hoste seyde anoon, ‘Y-blessed be thy breche, and every stoon! This was a mery tale of Chauntecleer. 4640 But, by my trouthe, if thou were seculer, Thou woldest been a trede-foul a-right. For, if thou have corage as thou hast might, Thee were nede of hennes, as I wene, Ya, mo than seven tymes seventene. 4645 See, whiche braunes hath this gentil Preest, (10) So greet a nekke, and swich a large breest! He loketh as a sperhauk with his yën; Him nedeth nat his colour for to dyen With brasil, ne with greyn of Portingale. 4650 Now sire, faire falle yow for youre tale!’ And after that he, with ful mery chere, Seide to another, as ye shullen here.

‘Ye, let that passen,’ quod our Hoste, ‘as now. Sire Doctour of Phisyk, I preye yow, Telle us a tale of som honest matere.’ ‘It shal be doon, if that ye wol it here,’ Seyde this Doctour, and his tale bigan anon. ‘Now, good men,’ quod he, ‘herkneth everichon.’

*** For a spurious Prologue, see p. 289. Here folweth the Phisiciens Tale. Ther was, as telleth Titus Livius, A knight that called was Virginius, Fulfild of honour and of worthinesse, And strong of freendes and of greet richesse.

5 This knight a doghter hadde by his wyf, No children hadde he mo in al his lyf. Fair was this mayde in excellent beautee Aboven every wight that man may see; For nature hath with sovereyn diligence 10 Y-formed hir in so greet excellence, As though she wolde seyn, ‘lo! I, Nature, Thus can I forme and peynte a creature, Whan that me list; who can me countrefete? Pigmalion noght, though he ay forge and bete, 15 Or grave, or peynte; for I dar wel seyn, Apelles, Zanzis, sholde werche in veyn, Outher to grave or peynte or forge or bete, If they presumed me to countrefete. For he that is the former principal 20 Hath maked me his vicaire general, To forme and peynten erthely creaturis Right as me list, and ech thing in my cure is Under the mone, that may wane and waxe, And for my werk right no-thing wol I axe; 25 My lord and I ben ful of oon accord; I made hir to the worship of my lord. So do I alle myne othere creatures, What colour that they han, or what figures.’— Thus semeth me that Nature wolde seye.

30 This mayde of age twelf yeer was and tweye, In which that Nature hadde swich delyt. For right as she can peynte a lilie whyt And reed a rose, right with swich peynture She peynted hath this noble creature 35 Er she were born, up-on hir limes free, Wher-as by right swiche colours sholde be; And Phebus dyed hath hir tresses grete Lyk to the stremes of his burned hete. And if that excellent was hir beautee, 40 A thousand-fold more vertuous was she. In hir ne lakked no condicioun, That is to preyse, as by discrecioun. As wel in goost as body chast was she; For which she floured in virginitee 45 With alle humilitee and abstinence, With alle attemperaunce and pacience, With mesure eek of bering and array. Discreet she was in answering alway; Though she were wys as Pallas, dar I seyn, 50 Hir facound eek ful wommanly and pleyn, No countrefeted termes hadde she To seme wys; but after hir degree She spak, and alle hir wordes more and lesse Souninge in vertu and in gentillesse. 55 Shamfast she was in maydens shamfastnesse, Constant in herte, and ever in bisinesse To dryve hir out of ydel slogardye. Bacus hadde of hir mouth right no maistrye; For wyn and youthe doon Venus encrece, 60 As men in fyr wol casten oile or grece. And of hir owene vertu, unconstreyned, She hath ful ofte tyme syk hir feyned, For that she wolde fleen the companye Wher lykly was to treten of folye, 65 As is at festes, revels, and at daunces, That been occasions of daliaunces. Swich thinges maken children for to be To sone rype and bold, as men may see, Which is ful perilous, and hath ben yore. 70 For al to sone may she lerne lore Of boldnesse, whan she woxen is a wyf.

And ye maistresses in your olde lyf, That lordes doghtres han in governaunce, Ne taketh of my wordes no displesaunce; 75 Thenketh that ye ben set in governinges Of lordes doghtres, only for two thinges; Outher for ye han kept your honestee, Or elles ye han falle in freletee, And knowen wel y-nough the olde daunce, 80 And han forsaken fully swich meschaunce For evermo; therfore, for Cristes sake, To teche hem vertu loke that ye ne slake. A theef of venisoun, that hath forlaft His likerousnesse, and al his olde craft, 85 Can kepe a forest best of any man. Now kepeth hem wel, for if ye wol, ye can; Loke wel that ye un-to no vice assente, Lest ye be dampned for your wikke entente; For who-so doth, a traitour is certeyn. 90 And taketh kepe of that that I shal seyn; Of alle tresons sovereyn pestilence Is whan a wight bitrayseth innocence.

Ye fadres and ye modres eek also, Though ye han children, be it oon or two, 95 Your is the charge of al hir surveyaunce, Whyl that they been under your governaunce. Beth war that by ensample of your livinge, Or by your necligence in chastisinge, That they ne perisse; for I dar wel seye, 100 If that they doon, ye shul it dere abeye. Under a shepherde softe and necligent The wolf hath many a sheep and lamb to-rent. Suffyseth oon ensample now as here, For I mot turne agayn to my matere.

105 This mayde, of which I wol this tale expresse, So kepte hir-self, hir neded no maistresse; For in hir living maydens mighten rede, As in a book, every good word or dede, That longeth to a mayden vertuous; 110 She was so prudent and so bountevous. For which the fame out-sprong on every syde Bothe of hir beautee and hir bountee wyde; That thurgh that land they preysed hir echone, That loved vertu, save envye allone, 115 That sory is of other mennes wele, And glad is of his sorwe and his unhele; (The doctour maketh this descripcioun). This mayde up-on a day wente in the toun Toward a temple, with hir moder dere, 120 As is of yonge maydens the manere.

Now was ther thanne a Iustice in that toun, That governour was of that regioun. And so bifel, this Iuge his eyen caste Up-on this mayde, avysinge him ful faste, 125 As she cam forby ther this Iuge stood. Anon his herte chaunged and his mood, So was he caught with beautee of this mayde; And to him-self ful prively he sayde, ‘This mayde shal be myn, for any man.’

130 Anon the feend in-to his herte ran, And taughte him sodeynly, that he by slighte The mayden to his purpos winne mighte. For certes, by no force, ne by no mede, Him thoughte, he was nat able for to spede; 135 For she was strong of freendes, and eek she Confermed was in swich soverayn bountee, That wel he wiste he mighte hir never winne As for to make hir with hir body sinne. For which, by greet deliberacioun, 140 He sente after a cherl, was in the toun, Which that he knew for subtil and for bold. This Iuge un-to this cherl his tale hath told In secree wyse, and made him to ensure, He sholde telle it to no creature, 145 And if he dide, he sholde lese his heed. Whan that assented was this cursed reed, Glad was this Iuge and maked him greet chere, And yaf hym yiftes preciouse and dere.

Whan shapen was al hir conspiracye 150 Fro point to point, how that his lecherye Parfourned sholde been ful subtilly, As ye shul here it after openly, Hoom gooth the cherl, that highte Claudius. This false Iuge that highte Apius, 155 So was his name, (for this is no fable, But knowen for historial thing notable, The sentence of it sooth is, out of doute), This false Iuge gooth now faste aboute To hasten his delyt al that he may. 160 And so bifel sone after, on a day, This false Iuge, as telleth us the storie, As he was wont, sat in his consistorie, And yaf his domes up-on sondry cas. This false cherl cam forth a ful greet pas, 165 And seyde, ‘lord, if that it be your wille, As dooth me right up-on this pitous bille, In which I pleyne up-on Virginius. And if that he wol seyn it is nat thus, I wol it preve, and finde good witnesse, 170 That sooth is that my bille wol expresse.’

The Iuge answerde, ‘of this, in his absence, I may nat yeve diffinitif sentence. Lat do him calle, and I wol gladly here; Thou shall have al right, and no wrong here.’

175 Virginius cam, to wite the Iuges wille, And right anon was rad this cursed bille; The sentence of it was as ye shul here. ‘To yow, my lord, sire Apius so dere, Sheweth your povre servant Claudius, 180 How that a knight, called Virginius, Agayns the lawe, agayn al equitee, Holdeth, expres agayn the wil of me, My servant, which that is my thral by right, Which fro myn hous was stole up-on a night, 185 Whyl that she was ful yong; this wol I preve By witnesse, lord, so that it nat yow greve. She nis his doghter nat, what so he seye; Wherfore to yow, my lord the Iuge, I preye, Yeld me my thral, if that it be your wille.’ 190 Lo! this was al the sentence of his bille. Virginius gan up-on the cherl biholde, But hastily, er he his tale tolde, And wolde have preved it, as sholde a knight, And eek by witnessing of many a wight, 195 That it was fals that seyde his adversarie, This cursed Iuge wolde no-thing tarie, Ne here a word more of Virginius, But yaf his Iugement, and seyde thus:—

‘I deme anon this cherl his servant have; 200 Thou shalt no lenger in thyn hous hir save. Go bring hir forth, and put hir in our warde, The cherl shal have his thral, this I awarde.’

And whan this worthy knight Virginius, Thurgh sentence of this Iustice Apius, 205 Moste by force his dere doghter yiven Un-to the Iuge, in lecherye to liven, He gooth him hoom, and sette him in his halle, And leet anon his dere doghter calle, And, with a face deed as asshen colde, 210 Upon hir humble face he gan biholde, With fadres pitee stiking thurgh his herte, Al wolde he from his purpos nat converte.

‘Doghter,’ quod he, ‘Virginia, by thy name, Ther been two weyes, outher deeth or shame, 215 That thou most suffre; allas! that I was bore! For never thou deservedest wherfore To dyen with a swerd or with a knyf. O dere doghter, ender of my lyf, Which I have fostred up with swich plesaunce, 220 That thou were never out of my remembraunce! O doghter, which that art my laste wo, And in my lyf my laste Ioye also, O gemme of chastitee, in pacience Take thou thy deeth, for this is my sentence. 225 For love and nat for hate, thou most be deed; My pitous hand mot smyten of thyn heed. Allas! that ever Apius thee say! Thus hath he falsly Iuged thee to-day’— And tolde hir al the cas, as ye bifore 230 Han herd; nat nedeth for to telle it more.

‘O mercy, dere fader,’ quod this mayde, And with that word she both hir armes layde About his nekke, as she was wont to do: The teres broste out of hir eyen two, 235 And seyde, ‘gode fader, shal I dye? Is ther no grace? is ther no remedye?’

‘No, certes, dere doghter myn,’ quod he. ‘Thanne yif me leyser, fader myn,’ quod she, ‘My deeth for to compleyne a litel space; 240 For pardee, Iepte yaf his doghter grace For to compleyne, er he hir slow, allas! And god it woot, no-thing was hir trespas, But for she ran hir fader first to see, To welcome him with greet solempnitee.’ 245 And with that word she fil aswowne anon, And after, whan hir swowning is agon, She ryseth up, and to hir fader sayde, ‘Blessed be god, that I shal dye a mayde. Yif me my deeth, er that I have a shame; 250 Doth with your child your wil, a goddes name!’

And with that word she preyed him ful ofte, That with his swerd he wolde smyte softe, And with that word aswowne doun she fil. Hir fader, with ful sorweful herte and wil, 255 Hir heed of smoot, and by the top it hente, And to the Iuge he gan it to presente, As he sat yet in doom in consistorie. And whan the Iuge it saugh, as seith the storie, He bad to take him and anhange him faste. 260 But right anon a thousand peple in thraste, To save the knight, for routhe and for pitee, For knowen was the false iniquitee. The peple anon hath suspect of this thing, By manere of the cherles chalanging, 265 That it was by the assent of Apius; They wisten wel that he was lecherous. For which un-to this Apius they gon, And caste him in a prison right anon, Wher-as he slow him-self; and Claudius, 270 That servant was un-to this Apius, Was demed for to hange upon a tree; But that Virginius, of his pitee, So preyde for him that he was exyled; And elles, certes, he had been bigyled. 275 The remenant were anhanged, more and lesse, That were consentant of this cursednesse.—

Heer men may seen how sinne hath his meryte! Beth war, for no man woot whom god wol smyte In no degree, ne in which maner wyse 280 The worm of conscience may agryse Of wikked lyf, though it so privee be, That no man woot ther-of but god and he. For be he lewed man, or elles lered, He noot how sone that he shal been afered. 285 Therfore I rede yow this conseil take, Forsaketh sinne, er sinne yow forsake. Here endeth the Phisiciens tale.

The wordes of the Host to the Phisicien and the Pardoner. Our Hoste gan to swere as he were wood, ‘Harrow!’ quod he, ‘by nayles and by blood!. This was a fals cherl and a fals Iustyse! 290 As shamful deeth as herte may devyse Come to thise Iuges and hir advocats! Algate this sely mayde is slayn, allas! Allas! to dere boghte she beautee! Wherfore I seye al day, as men may see, 295 That yiftes of fortune or of nature (10) Ben cause of deeth to many a creature. Hir beautee was hir deeth, I dar wel sayn; Allas! so pitously as she was slayn! Of bothe yiftes that I speke of now 300 Men han ful ofte more harm than prow. But trewely, myn owene mayster dere, This is a pitous tale for to here. But natheles, passe over, is no fors; I prey to god, so save thy gentil cors, 305 And eek thyne urinals and thy Iordanes, (20) Thyn Ypocras, and eek thy Galianes, And every boist ful of thy letuarie; God blesse hem, and our lady seinte Marie! So mot I theen, thou art a propre man, 310 And lyk a prelat, by seint Ronyan! Seyde I nat wel? I can nat speke in terme; But wel I woot, thou doost my herte to erme, That I almost have caught a cardiacle. By corpus bones! but I have triacle, 315 Or elles a draught of moyste and corny ale, (30) Or but I here anon a mery tale, Myn herte is lost for pitee of this mayde. Thou bel amy, thou Pardoner,’ he seyde, ‘Tel us som mirthe or Iapes right anon.’ 320 ‘It shall be doon,’ quod he, ‘by seint Ronyon! But first,’ quod he, ‘heer at this ale-stake I wol both drinke, and eten of a cake.’

But right anon thise gentils gonne to crye, ‘Nay! lat him telle us of no ribaudye; 325 Tel us som moral thing, that we may lere (40) Som wit, and thanne wol we gladly here.’ ‘I graunte, y-wis,’ quod he, ‘but I mot thinke Up-on som honest thing, whyl that I drinke.

Here folweth the Prologe of the Pardoners Tale. Radix malorum est Cupiditas: Ad Thimotheum, sexto. ‘Lordings,’ quod he, ‘in chirches whan I preche, 330 I peyne me to han an hauteyn speche, And ringe it out as round as gooth a belle, For I can al by rote that I telle. My theme is alwey oon, and ever was— “Radix malorum est Cupiditas.” 335 First I pronounce whennes that I come, And than my bulles shewe I, alle and somme. Our lige lordes seel on my patente, (10) That shewe I first, my body to warente, That no man be so bold, ne preest ne clerk, 340 Me to destourbe of Cristes holy werk; And after that than telle I forth my tales, Bulles of popes and of cardinales, Of patriarkes, and bishoppes I shewe; And in Latyn I speke a wordes fewe, 345 To saffron with my predicacioun, And for to stire men to devocioun. Than shewe I forth my longe cristal stones, (20) Y-crammed ful of cloutes and of bones; Reliks been they, as wenen they echoon. 350 Than have I in latoun a sholder-boon Which that was of an holy Iewes shepe. “Good men,” seye I, “tak of my wordes kepe; If that this boon be wasshe in any welle, If cow, or calf, or sheep, or oxe swelle 355 That any worm hath ete, or worm y-stonge, Tak water of that welle, and wash his tonge, And it is hool anon; and forthermore, (30) Of pokkes and of scabbe, and every sore Shal every sheep be hool, that of this welle 360 Drinketh a draughte; tak kepe eek what I telle. If that the good-man, that the bestes oweth, Wol every wike, er that the cok him croweth, Fastinge, drinken of this welle a draughte, As thilke holy Iewe our eldres taughte, 565 His bestes and his stoor shal multiplye. And, sirs, also it heleth Ialousye; For, though a man be falle in Ialous rage, (40) Let maken with this water his potage, And never shal he more his wyf mistriste, 370 Though he the sooth of hir defaute wiste; Al had she taken preestes two or three.

Heer is a miteyn eek, that ye may see. He that his hond wol putte in this miteyn, He shal have multiplying of his greyn, 375 Whan he hath sowen, be it whete or otes, So that he offre pens, or elles grotes. Good men and wommen, o thing warne I yow, (50) If any wight be in this chirche now, That hath doon sinne horrible, that he 380 Dar nat, for shame, of it y-shriven be, Or any womman, be she yong or old, That hath y-maad hir housbond cokewold, Swich folk shul have no power ne no grace To offren to my reliks in this place. 385 And who-so findeth him out of swich blame, He wol com up and offre in goddes name, And I assoille him by the auctoritee (60) Which that by bulle y-graunted was to me.”

By this gaude have I wonne, yeer by yeer, 390 An hundred mark sith I was Pardoner. I stonde lyk a clerk in my pulpet, And whan the lewed peple is doun y-set, I preche, so as ye han herd bifore, And telle an hundred false Iapes more. 395 Than peyne I me to strecche forth the nekke, And est and west upon the peple I bekke, As doth a dowve sitting on a berne. (70) Myn hondes and my tonge goon so yerne, That it is Ioye to see my bisinesse. 400 Of avaryce and of swich cursednesse Is al my preching, for to make hem free To yeve her pens, and namely un-to me. For my entente is nat but for to winne, And no-thing for correccioun of sinne. 405 I rekke never, whan that they ben beried, Though that her soules goon a-blakeberied! For certes, many a predicacioun (80) Comth ofte tyme of yvel entencioun; Som for plesaunce of folk and flaterye, 410 To been avaunced by ipocrisye, And som for veyne glorie, and som for hate. For, whan I dar non other weyes debate, Than wol I stinge him with my tonge smerte In preching, so that he shal nat asterte 415 To been defamed falsly, if that he Hath trespased to my brethren or to me. For, though I telle noght his propre name, (90) Men shal wel knowe that it is the same By signes and by othere circumstances. 420 Thus quyte I folk that doon us displesances; Thus spitte I out my venim under hewe Of holynesse, to seme holy and trewe.

But shortly myn entente I wol devyse; I preche of no-thing but for coveityse. 425 Therfor my theme is yet, and ever was— “Radix malorum est cupiditas.” Thus can I preche agayn that same vyce (100) Which that I use, and that is avaryce. But, though my-self be gilty in that sinne, 430 Yet can I maken other folk to twinne From avaryce, and sore to repente. But that is nat my principal entente. I preche no-thing but for coveityse; Of this matere it oughte y-nogh suffyse.

435 Than telle I hem ensamples many oon Of olde stories, longe tyme agoon: For lewed peple loven tales olde; (110) Swich thinges can they wel reporte and holde. What? trowe ye, the whyles I may preche, 440 And winne gold and silver for I teche, That I wol live in povert wilfully? Nay, nay, I thoghte it never trewely! For I wol preche and begge in sondry londes; I wol not do no labour with myn hondes, 445 Ne make baskettes, and live therby, Because I wol nat beggen ydelly. I wol non of the apostles counterfete; (120) I wol have money, wolle, chese, and whete, Al were it yeven of the povrest page, 450 Or of the povrest widwe in a village, Al sholde hir children sterve for famyne. Nay! I wol drinke licour of the vyne, And have a Ioly wenche in every toun. But herkneth, lordings, in conclusioun; 455 Your lyking is that I shal telle a tale. Now, have I dronke a draughte of corny ale, By god, I hope I shal yow telle a thing (130) That shal, by resoun, been at your lyking. For, though myself be a ful vicious man, 460 A moral tale yet I yow telle can, Which I am wont to preche, for to winne. Now holde your pees, my tale I wol beginne.

Here biginneth the Pardoners Tale. In Flaundres whylom was a companye Of yonge folk, that haunteden folye, 465 As ryot, hasard, stewes, and tavernes, Wher-as, with harpes, lutes, and giternes, They daunce and pleye at dees bothe day and night, (140) And ete also and drinken over hir might, Thurgh which they doon the devel sacrifyse 470 With-in that develes temple, in cursed wyse, By superfluitee abhominable; Hir othes been so grete and so dampnable, That it is grisly for to here hem swere; Our blissed lordes body they to-tere; 475 Hem thoughte Iewes rente him noght y-nough; And ech of hem at otheres sinne lough. And right anon than comen tombesteres (150) Fetys and smale, and yonge fruytesteres, Singers with harpes, baudes, wafereres, 480 Whiche been the verray develes officeres To kindle and blowe the fyr of lecherye, That is annexed un-to glotonye; The holy writ take I to my witnesse, That luxurie is in wyn and dronkenesse.

485 Lo, how that dronken Loth, unkindely, Lay by his doghtres two, unwitingly; So dronke he was, he niste what he wroghte. (160) Herodes, (who-so wel the stories soghte), Whan he of wyn was replet at his feste, 490 Right at his owene table he yaf his heste To sleen the Baptist Iohn ful giltelees.

Senek seith eek a good word doutelees; He seith, he can no difference finde Bitwix a man that is out of his minde 495 And a man which that is dronkelewe, But that woodnesse, y-fallen in a shrewe, Persevereth lenger than doth dronkenesse. (170) O glotonye, ful of cursednesse, O cause first of our confusioun, 500 O original of our dampnacioun, Til Crist had boght us with his blood agayn! Lo, how dere, shortly for to sayn, Aboght was thilke cursed vileinye; Corrupt was al this world for glotonye!

505 Adam our fader, and his wyf also, Fro Paradys to labour and to wo Were driven for that vyce, it is no drede; (180) For whyl that Adam fasted, as I rede, He was in Paradys; and whan that he 510 Eet of the fruyt defended on the tree, Anon he was out-cast to wo and peyne. O glotonye, on thee wel oghte us pleyne! O, wiste a man how many maladyes Folwen of excesse and of glotonyes, 515 He wolde been the more mesurable Of his diete, sittinge at his table. Allas! the shorte throte, the tendre mouth, (190) Maketh that, Est and West, and North and South, In erthe, in eir, in water men to-swinke 520 To gete a glotoun deyntee mete and drinke! Of this matere, o Paul, wel canstow trete, ‘Mete un-to wombe, and wombe eek un-to mete, Shal god destroyen bothe,’ as Paulus seith. Allas! a foul thing is it, by my feith, 525 To seye this word, and fouler is the dede, Whan man so drinketh of the whyte and rede, That of his throte he maketh his privee, (200) Thurgh thilke cursed superfluitee.

The apostel weping seith ful pitously, 530 ‘Ther walken many of whiche yow told have I, I seye it now weping with pitous voys, That they been enemys of Cristes croys, Of whiche the ende is deeth, wombe is her god.’ O wombe! O bely! O stinking cod, 535 Fulfild of donge and of corrupcioun! At either ende of thee foul is the soun. How greet labour and cost is thee to finde! (210) Thise cokes, how they stampe, and streyne, and grinde, And turnen substaunce in-to accident, 540 To fulfille al thy likerous talent! Out of the harde bones knokke they The mary, for they caste noght a-wey That may go thurgh the golet softe and swote; Of spicerye, of leef, and bark, and rote 545 Shal been his sauce y-maked by delyt, To make him yet a newer appetyt. But certes, he that haunteth swich delyces (220) Is deed, whyl that he liveth in tho vyces.

A lecherous thing is wyn, and dronkenesse 550 Is ful of stryving and of wrecchednesse. O dronke man, disfigured is thy face, Sour is thy breeth, foul artow to embrace, And thurgh thy dronke nose semeth the soun As though thou seydest ay ‘Sampsoun, Sampsoun’; 555 And yet, god wot, Sampsoun drank never no wyn. Thou fallest, as it were a stiked swyn; Thy tonge is lost, and al thyn honest cure; (230) For dronkenesse is verray sepulture Of mannes wit and his discrecioun. 560 In whom that drinke hath dominacioun, He can no conseil kepe, it is no drede. Now kepe yow fro the whyte and fro the rede, And namely fro the whyte wyn of Lepe, That is to selle in Fish-strete or in Chepe. 565 This wyn of Spayne crepeth subtilly In othere wynes, growing faste by, Of which ther ryseth swich fumositee, (240) That whan a man hath dronken draughtes three, And weneth that he be at hoom in Chepe, 570 He is in Spayne, right at the toune of Lepe, Nat at the Rochel, ne at Burdeux toun; And thanne wol he seye, ‘Sampsoun, Sampsoun.’ But herkneth, lordings, o word, I yow preye, That alle the sovereyn actes, dar I seye, 575 Of victories in the olde testament, Thurgh verray god, that is omnipotent, Were doon in abstinence and in preyere; (250) Loketh the Bible, and ther ye may it lere.

Loke, Attila, the grete conquerour, 580 Deyde in his sleep, with shame and dishonour, Bledinge ay at his nose in dronkenesse; A capitayn shoulde live in sobrenesse. And over al this, avyseth yow right wel What was comaunded un-to Lamuel— 585 Nat Samuel, but Lamuel, seye I—- Redeth the Bible, and finde it expresly Of wyn-yeving to hem that han Iustyse. (260) Na-more of this, for it may wel suffyse. And now that I have spoke of glotonye, 590 Now wol I yow defenden hasardrye. Hasard is verray moder of lesinges, And of deceite, and cursed forsweringes, Blaspheme of Crist, manslaughtre, and wast also Of catel and of tyme; and forthermo, 595 It is repreve and contrarie of honour For to ben holde a commune hasardour. And ever the hyër he is of estaat, (270) The more is he holden desolaat. If that a prince useth hasardrye, 600 In alle governaunce and policye He is, as by commune opinoun, Y-holde the lasse in reputacioun.

Stilbon, that was a wys embassadour, Was sent to Corinthe, in ful greet honour, 605 Fro Lacidomie, to make hir alliaunce. And whan he cam, him happede, par chaunce, That alle the grettest that were of that lond, (280) Pleyinge atte hasard he hem fond. For which, as sone as it mighte be, 610 He stal him hoom agayn to his contree, And seyde, ‘ther wol I nat lese my name; Ne I wol nat take on me so greet defame, Yow for to allye un-to none hasardours. Sendeth othere wyse embassadours; 615 For, by my trouthe, me were lever dye, Than I yow sholde to hasardours allye. For ye that been so glorious in honours (290) Shul nat allyen yow with hasardours As by my wil, ne as by my tretee.’ 620 This wyse philosophre thus seyde he.

Loke eek that, to the king Demetrius The king of Parthes, as the book seith us, Sente him a paire of dees of gold in scorn, For he hadde used hasard ther-biforn; 625 For which he heeld his glorie or his renoun At no value or reputacioun. Lordes may finden other maner pley (300) Honeste y-nough to dryve the day awey.

Now wol I speke of othes false and grete 630 A word or two, as olde bokes trete. Gret swering is a thing abhominable, And false swering is yet more reprevable. The heighe god forbad swering at al, Witnesse on Mathew; but in special 635 Of swering seith the holy Ieremye, ‘Thou shalt seye sooth thyn othes, and nat lye, And swere in dome, and eek in rightwisnesse;’ (310) But ydel swering is a cursednesse. Bihold and see, that in the firste table 640 Of heighe goddes hestes honurable, How that the seconde heste of him is this— ‘Tak nat my name in ydel or amis.’ Lo, rather he forbedeth swich swering Than homicyde or many a cursed thing; 645 I seye that, as by ordre, thus it stondeth; This knowen, that his hestes understondeth, How that the second heste of god is that. (320) And forther over, I wol thee telle al plat, That vengeance shal nat parten from his hous, 650 That of his othes is to outrageous. ‘By goddes precious herte, and by his nayles, And by the blode of Crist, that it is in Hayles, Seven is my chaunce, and thyn is cink and treye; By goddes armes, if thou falsly pleye, 655 This dagger shal thurgh-out thyn herte go’— This fruyt cometh of the bicched bones two, Forswering, ire, falsnesse, homicyde. (330) Now, for the love of Crist that for us dyde, Leveth your othes, bothe grete and smale; 660 But, sirs, now wol I telle forth my tale.

Thise ryotoures three, of whiche I telle, Longe erst er pryme rong of any belle, Were set hem in a taverne for to drinke; And as they satte, they herde a belle clinke 665 Biforn a cors, was caried to his grave; That oon of hem gan callen to his knave, ‘Go bet,’ quod he, ‘and axe redily, (340) What cors is this that passeth heer forby; And look that thou reporte his name wel.’

670 ‘Sir,’ quod this boy, ‘it nedeth never-a-del. It was me told, er ye cam heer, two houres; He was, pardee, an old felawe of youres; And sodeynly he was y-slayn to-night, For-dronke, as he sat on his bench upright; 675 Ther cam a privee theef, men clepeth Deeth, That in this contree al the peple sleeth, And with his spere he smoot his herte a-two, (350) And wente his wey with-outen wordes mo. He hath a thousand slayn this pestilence: 680 And, maister, er ye come in his presence, Me thinketh that it were necessarie For to be war of swich an adversarie: Beth redy for to mete him evermore. Thus taughte me my dame, I sey na-more.’ 685 ‘By seinte Marie,’ seyde this taverner, ‘The child seith sooth, for he hath slayn this yeer, Henne over a myle, with-in a greet village, (360) Both man and womman, child and hyne, and page. I trowe his habitacioun be there; 690 To been avysed greet wisdom it were, Er that he dide a man a dishonour.’ ‘Ye, goddes armes,’ quod this ryotour, ‘Is it swich peril with him for to mete? I shal him seke by wey and eek by strete, 695 I make avow to goddes digne bones! Herkneth, felawes, we three been al ones; (370) Lat ech of us holde up his hond til other, And ech of us bicomen otheres brother, And we wol sleen this false traytour Deeth; 700 He shal be slayn, which that so many sleeth, By goddes dignitee, er it be night.’ Togidres han thise three her trouthes plight, To live and dyen ech of hem for other, As though he were his owene y-boren brother. 705 And up they sterte al dronken, in this rage, And forth they goon towardes that village, Of which the taverner had spoke biforn, (380) And many a grisly ooth than han they sworn, And Cristes blessed body they to-rente— 710 ‘Deeth shal be deed, if that they may him hente.’

Whan they han goon nat fully half a myle, Right as they wolde han troden over a style, An old man and a povre with hem mette. This olde man ful mekely hem grette, 715 And seyde thus, ‘now, lordes, god yow see!’ The proudest of thise ryotoures three Answerde agayn, ‘what? carl, with sory grace, (390) Why artow al forwrapped save thy face? Why livestow so longe in so greet age?’ 720 This olde man gan loke in his visage, And seyde thus, ‘for I ne can nat finde A man, though that I walked in-to Inde, Neither in citee nor in no village, That wolde chaunge his youthe for myn age; 725 And therfore moot I han myn age stille, As longe time as it is goddes wille. Ne deeth, allas! ne wol nat han my lyf; (400) Thus walke I, lyk a restelees caityf, And on the ground, which is my modres gate, 730 I knokke with my staf, bothe erly and late, And seye, “leve moder, leet me in! Lo, how I vanish, flesh, and blood, and skin! Allas! whan shul my bones been at reste? Moder, with yow wolde I chaunge my cheste, 735 That in my chambre longe tyme hath be, Ye! for an heyre clout to wrappe me!” But yet to me she wol nat do that grace, (410) For which ful pale and welked is my face. But, sirs, to yow it is no curteisye 740 To speken to an old man vileinye, But he trespasse in worde, or elles in dede. In holy writ ye may your-self wel rede, “Agayns an old man, hoor upon his heed, Ye sholde aryse;” wherfor I yeve yow reed, 745 Ne dooth un-to an old man noon harm now, Na-more than ye wolde men dide to yow In age, if that ye so longe abyde; (420) And god be with yow, wher ye go or ryde. I moot go thider as I have to go.’

750 ‘Nay, olde cherl, by god, thou shall nat so,’ Seyde this other hasardour anon; ‘Thou partest nat so lightly, by seint Iohn! Thou spak right now of thilke traitour Deeth, That in this contree alle our frendes sleeth. 755 Have heer my trouthe, as thou art his aspye, Tel wher he is, or thou shalt it abye, By god, and by the holy sacrament! (430) For soothly thou art oon of his assent, To sleen us yonge folk, thou false theef!’ 760 ‘Now, sirs,’ quod he, ‘if that yow be so leef To finde Deeth, turne up this croked wey, For in that grove I lafte him, by my fey, Under a tree, and ther he wol abyde; Nat for your boost he wol him no-thing hyde. 765 See ye that ook? right ther ye shul him finde. God save yow, that boghte agayn mankinde, And yow amende!‘—thus seyde this olde man. (440) And everich of thise ryotoures ran, Til he cam to that tree, and ther they founde 770 Of florins fyne of golde y-coyned rounde Wel ny an eighte busshels, as hem thoughte. No lenger thanne after Deeth they soughte, But ech of hem so glad was of that sighte, For that the florins been so faire and brighte, 775 That doun they sette hem by this precious hord. The worste of hem he spake the firste word.

‘Brethren,’ quod he, ‘tak kepe what I seye; (450) My wit is greet, though that I bourde and pleye. This tresor hath fortune un-to us yiven, 780 In mirthe and Iolitee our lyf to liven, And lightly as it comth, so wol we spende. Ey! goddes precious dignitee! who wende To-day, that we sholde han so fair a grace? But mighte this gold be caried fro this place 785 Hoom to myn hous, or elles un-to youres— For wel ye woot that al this gold is oures— Than were we in heigh felicitee. (460) But trewely, by daye it may nat be; Men wolde seyn that we were theves stronge, 790 And for our owene tresor doon us honge. This tresor moste y-caried be by nighte As wysly and as slyly as it mighte. Wherfore I rede that cut among us alle Be drawe, and lat se wher the cut wol falle; 795 And he that hath the cut with herte blythe Shal renne to the toune, and that ful swythe, And bringe us breed and wyn ful prively. (470) And two of us shul kepen subtilly This tresor wel; and, if he wol nat tarie, 800 Whan it is night, we wol this tresor carie By oon assent, wher-as us thinketh best.’ That oon of hem the cut broughte in his fest, And bad hem drawe, and loke wher it wol falle; And it fil on the yongeste of hem alle; 805 And forth toward the toun he wente anon. And al-so sone as that he was gon, That oon of hem spak thus un-to that other, (480) ‘Thou knowest wel thou art my sworne brother, Thy profit wol I telle thee anon. 810 Thou woost wel that our felawe is agon; And heer is gold, and that ful greet plentee, That shal departed been among us three. But natheles, if I can shape it so That it departed were among us two, 815 Hadde I nat doon a freendes torn to thee?’

That other answerde, ‘I noot how that may be; He woot how that the gold is with us tweye, (490) What shal we doon, what shal we to him seye?’ ‘Shal it be conseil?’ seyde the firste shrewe, 820 ‘And I shal tellen thee, in wordes fewe, What we shal doon, and bringe it wel aboute.’

‘I graunte,’ quod that other, ‘out of doute, That, by my trouthe, I wol thee nat biwreye.’

‘Now,’ quod the firste, ‘thou woost wel we be tweye, 825 And two of us shul strenger be than oon. Look whan that he is set, and right anoon Arys, as though thou woldest with him pleye; (500) And I shal ryve him thurgh the sydes tweye Whyl that thou strogelest with him as in game, 830 And with thy dagger look thou do the same; And than shal al this gold departed be, My dere freend, bitwixen me and thee; Than may we bothe our lustes al fulfille, And pleye at dees right at our owene wille.’ 835 And thus acorded been thise shrewes tweye To sleen the thridde, as ye han herd me seye.

This yongest, which that wente un-to the toun, (510) Ful ofte in herte he rolleth up and doun The beautee of thise florins newe and brighte. 840 ‘O lord!’ quod he, ‘if so were that I mighte Have al this tresor to my-self allone, Ther is no man that liveth under the trone Of god, that sholde live so mery as I!’ And atte laste the feend, our enemy, 845 Putte in his thought that he shold poyson beye, With which he mighte sleen his felawes tweye; For-why the feend fond him in swich lyvinge, (520) That he had leve him to sorwe bringe, For this was outrely his fulle entente 850 To sleen hem bothe, and never to repente. And forth he gooth, no lenger wolde he tarie, Into the toun, un-to a pothecarie, And preyed him, that he him wolde selle Som poyson, that he mighte his rattes quelle; 855 And eek ther was a polcat in his hawe, That, as he seyde, his capouns hadde y-slawe, And fayn he wolde wreke him, if he mighte, (530) On vermin, that destroyed him by nighte.

The pothecarie answerde, ‘and thou shalt have 860 A thing that, al-so god my soule save, In al this world ther nis no creature, That ete or dronke hath of this confiture Noght but the mountance of a corn of whete, That he ne shal his lyf anon forlete; 865 Ye, sterve he shal, and that in lasse whyle Than thou wolt goon a paas nat but a myle; This poyson is so strong and violent.’

(540) This cursed man hath in his hond y-hent This poyson in a box, and sith he ran 870 In-to the nexte strete, un-to a man, And borwed [of] him large botels three; And in the two his poyson poured he; The thridde he kepte clene for his drinke. For al the night he shoop him for to swinke 875 In caryinge of the gold out of that place. And whan this ryotour, with sory grace, Had filled with wyn his grete botels three, (550) To his felawes agayn repaireth he.

What nedeth it to sermone of it more? 880 For right as they had cast his deeth bifore, Right so they han him slayn, and that anon. And whan that this was doon, thus spak that oon, ‘Now lat us sitte and drinke, and make us merie, And afterward we wol his body berie.’ 885 And with that word it happed him, par cas, To take the botel ther the poyson was, And drank, and yaf his felawe drinke also, (560) For which anon they storven bothe two.

But, certes, I suppose that Avicen 890 Wroot never in no canon, ne in no fen, Mo wonder signes of empoisoning Than hadde thise wrecches two, er hir ending. Thus ended been thise homicydes two, And eek the false empoysoner also.

895 O cursed sinne, ful of cursednesse! O traytours homicyde, o wikkednesse! O glotonye, luxurie, and hasardrye! (570) Thou blasphemour of Crist with vileinye And othes grete, of usage and of pryde! 900 Allas! mankinde, how may it bityde, That to thy creatour which that thee wroghte, And with his precious herte-blood thee boghte, Thou art so fals and so unkinde, allas!

Now, goode men, god forgeve yow your trespas, 905 And ware yow fro the sinne of avaryce. Myn holy pardoun may yow alle waryce, So that ye offre nobles or sterlinges, (580) Or elles silver broches, spones, ringes. Boweth your heed under this holy bulle! 910 Cometh up, ye wyves, offreth of your wolle! Your name I entre heer in my rolle anon; In-to the blisse of hevene shul ye gon; I yow assoile, by myn heigh power, Yow that wol offre, as clene and eek as cleer 915 As ye were born; and, lo, sirs, thus I preche. And Iesu Crist, that is our soules leche, So graunte yow his pardon to receyve; (590) For that is best; I wol yow nat deceyve.

But sirs, o word forgat I in my tale, 920 I have relikes and pardon in my male, As faire as any man in Engelond, Whiche were me yeven by the popes hond. If any of yow wol, of devocioun, Offren, and han myn absolucioun, 925 Cometh forth anon, and kneleth heer adoun, And mekely receyveth my pardoun: Or elles, taketh pardon as ye wende, (600) Al newe and fresh, at every tounes ende, So that ye offren alwey newe and newe 930 Nobles and pens, which that be gode and trewe. It is an honour to everich that is heer, That ye mowe have a suffisant pardoneer Tassoille yow, in contree as ye ryde, For aventures which that may bityde. 935 Peraventure ther may falle oon or two Doun of his hors, and breke his nekke atwo. Look which a seuretee is it to yow alle (610) That I am in your felaweship y-falle, That may assoille yow, bothe more and lasse, 940 Whan that the soule shal fro the body passe, I rede that our hoste heer shal biginne, For he is most envoluped in sinne. Com forth, sir hoste, and offre first anon, And thou shalt kisse the reliks everichon, 945 Ye, for a grote! unbokel anon thy purs.’

‘Nay, nay,’ quod he, ‘than have I Cristes curs! Lat be,’ quod he, ‘it shal nat be, so theech! (620) Thou woldest make me kisse thyn old breech, And swere it were a relik of a seint, 950 Thogh it were with thy fundement depeint! But by the croys which that seint Eleyne fond, I wolde I hadde thy coillons in myn hond In stede of relikes or of seintuarie; Lat cutte hem of, I wol thee helpe hem carie; 955 Thay shul be shryned in an hogges tord.’

This pardoner answerde nat a word; So wrooth he was, no word ne wolde he seye. (630) ‘Now,’ quod our host, ‘I wol no lenger pleye With thee, ne with noon other angry man.’ 960 But right anon the worthy knight bigan, Whan that he saugh that al the peple lough, ‘Na-more of this, for it is right y-nough; Sir pardoner, be glad and mery of chere; And ye, sir host, that been to me so dere, 965 I prey yow that ye kisse the pardoner. And pardoner, I prey thee, drawe thee neer, (639) And, as we diden, lat us laughe and pleye.’ [T. 12902. Anon they kiste, and riden forth hir weye. Here is ended the Pardoners Tale. (For T. 12903, see p. 165).

The Prologe of the Wyves Tale of Bathe. ‘Experience, though noon auctoritee Were in this world, were right y-nough to me To speke of wo that is in mariage; For, lordinges, sith I twelf yeer was of age, 5 Thonked be god that is eterne on lyve, Housbondes at chirche-dore I have had fyve; For I so ofte have y-wedded be; And alle were worthy men in hir degree. But me was told certeyn, nat longe agon is, 10 That sith that Crist ne wente never but onis To wedding in the Cane of Galilee, That by the same ensample taughte he me That I ne sholde wedded be but ones. Herke eek, lo! which a sharp word for the nones 15 Besyde a welle Iesus, god and man, Spak in repreve of the Samaritan: “Thou hast y-had fyve housbondes,” quod he, “And thilke man, the which that hath now thee, Is noght thyn housbond;” thus seyde he certeyn; 20 What that he mente ther-by, I can nat seyn; But that I axe, why that the fifthe man Was noon housbond to the Samaritan? How manye mighte she have in mariage? Yet herde I never tellen in myn age 25 Upon this nombre diffinicioun; Men may devyne and glosen up and doun. But wel I woot expres, with-oute lye, God bad us for to wexe and multiplye; That gentil text can I wel understonde. 30 Eek wel I woot he seyde, myn housbonde Sholde lete fader and moder, and take me; But of no nombre mencioun made he, Of bigamye or of octogamye; Why sholde men speke of it vileinye?

35 Lo, here the wyse king, dan Salomon; I trowe he hadde wyves mo than oon; As, wolde god, it leveful were to me To be refresshed half so ofte as he! Which yifte of god hadde he for alle his wyvis! 40 No man hath swich, that in this world alyve is. God woot, this noble king, as to my wit, The firste night had many a mery fit With ech of hem, so wel was him on lyve! Blessed be god that I have wedded fyve! 45 Welcome the sixte, whan that ever he shal. For sothe, I wol nat kepe me chast in al; Whan myn housbond is fro the world y-gon, Som Cristen man shal wedde me anon; For thanne thapostle seith, that I am free 50 To wedde, a goddes half, wher it lyketh me. He seith that to be wedded is no sinne; Bet is to be wedded than to brinne. What rekketh me, thogh folk seye vileinye Of shrewed Lameth and his bigamye? 55 I woot wel Abraham was an holy man, And Iacob eek, as ferforth as I can; And ech of hem hadde wyves mo than two; And many another holy man also. Whan saugh ye ever, in any maner age, 60 That hye god defended mariage By expres word? I pray you, telleth me; Or wher comanded he virginitee? I woot as wel as ye, it is no drede, Thapostel, whan he speketh of maydenhede; 65 He seyde, that precept ther-of hadde he noon. Men may conseille a womman to been oon, But conseilling is no comandement; He putte it in our owene Iugement. For hadde god comanded maydenhede, 70 Thanne hadde he dampned wedding with the dede; And certes, if ther were no seed y-sowe, Virginitee, wher-of than sholde it growe? Poul dorste nat comanden atte leste A thing of which his maister yaf noon heste. 75 The dart is set up for virginitee; Cacche who so may, who renneth best lat see.

But this word is nat take of every wight, But ther as god list give it of his might. I woot wel, that thapostel was a mayde; 80 But natheless, thogh that he wroot and sayde, He wolde that every wight were swich as he, Al nis but conseil to virginitee; And for to been a wyf, he yaf me leve Of indulgence; so it is no repreve 85 To wedde me, if that my make dye, With-oute excepcioun of bigamye. Al were it good no womman for to touche, He mente as in his bed or in his couche; For peril is bothe fyr and tow tassemble; 90 Ye knowe what this ensample may resemble. This is al and som, he heeld virginitee More parfit than wedding in freletee. Freeltee clepe I, but-if that he and she Wolde leden al hir lyf in chastitee.

95 I graunte it wel, I have noon envye, Thogh maydenhede preferre bigamye; Hem lyketh to be clene, body and goost, Of myn estaat I nil nat make no boost. For wel ye knowe, a lord in his houshold, 100 He hath nat every vessel al of gold; Somme been of tree, and doon hir lord servyse. God clepeth folk to him in sondry wyse, And everich hath of god a propre yifte, Som this, som that,—as him lyketh shifte.

105 Virginitee is greet perfeccioun, And continence eek with devocioun. But Crist, that of perfeccioun is welle, Bad nat every wight he shold go selle All that he hadde, and give it to the pore, 110 And in swich wyse folwe hime and his fore. He spak to hem that wolde live parfitly; And lordinges, by your leve, that am nat I. I wol bistowe the flour of al myn age In the actes and in fruit of mariage.

115 Telle me also, to what conclusioun Were membres maad of generacioun, And for what profit was a wight y-wroght? Trusteth right wel, they wer nat maad for noght. Glose who-so wole, and seye bothe up and doun, That they were maked for purgacioun Of urine, and our bothe thinges smale Were eek to knowe a femele from a male, And for noone other cause: sey ye no? The experience woot wel it is noght so; 125 So that the clerkes be nat with me wrothe, I sey this, that they maked been for bothe, This is to seye, for office, and for ese Of engendrure, ther we nat god displese. Why sholde men elles in hir bokes sette, 130 That man shal yelde to his wyf hir dette? Now wher-with sholde he make his payement, If he ne used his sely instrument? Than were they maad up-on a creature, To purge uryne, and eek for engendrure.

135 But I seye noght that every wight is holde, That hath swich harneys as I to yow tolde, To goon and usen hem in engendrure; Than sholde men take of chastitee no cure. Crist was a mayde, and shapen as a man, 140 And many a seint, sith that the world bigan, Yet lived they ever in parfit chastitee. I nil envye no virginitee; Lat hem be breed of pured whete-seed, And lat us wyves hoten barly-breed; 145 And yet with barly-breed, Mark telle can, Our lord Iesu refresshed many a man. In swich estaat as god hath cleped us I wol persevere, I nam nat precious. In wyfhode I wol use myn instrument 150 As frely as my maker hath it sent. If I be daungerous, god yeve me sorwe! Myn housbond shal it have bothe eve and morwe, Whan that him list com forth and paye his dette. An housbonde I wol have, I nil nat lette, 155 Which shal be bothe my dettour and my thral, And have his tribulacioun with-al Up-on his flessh, whyl that I am his wyf. I have the power duringe al my lyf Up-on his propre body, and noght he. 160 Right thus the apostel tolde it un-to me; And bad our housbondes for to love us weel. Al this sentence me lyketh every-deel’—

Up sterte the Pardoner, and that anon, ‘Now dame,’ quod he, ‘by god and by seint Iohn, 165 Ye been a noble prechour in this cas! I was aboute to wedde a wyf; allas! What sholde I bye it on my flesh so dere? Yet hadde I lever wedde no wyf to-yere!’

‘Abyde!’ quod she, ‘my tale is nat bigonne; 170 Nay, thou shalt drinken of another tonne Er that I go, shal savoure wors than ale. And whan that I have told thee forth my tale Of tribulacioun in mariage, Of which I am expert in al myn age, 175 This to seyn, my-self have been the whippe;— Than maystow chese whether thou wolt sippe Of thilke tonne that I shal abroche. Be war of it, er thou to ny approche; For I shal telle ensamples mo than ten. 180 Who-so that nil be war by othere men, By him shul othere men corrected be. The same wordes wryteth Ptholomee; Rede in his Almageste, and take it there.’

‘Dame, I wolde praye yow, if your wil it were,’ 185 Seyde this Pardoner, ‘as ye bigan, Telle forth your tale, spareth for no man, And teche us yonge men of your praktike.’

‘Gladly,’ quod she, ‘sith it may yow lyke. But yet I praye to al this companye, 190 If that I speke after my fantasye, As taketh not a-grief of that I seye; For myn entente nis but for to pleye.

Now sires, now wol I telle forth my tale.— As ever mote I drinken wyn or ale, 195 I shal seye sooth, tho housbondes that I hadde, As three of hem were gode and two were badde. The three men were gode, and riche, and olde; Unnethe mighte they the statut holde In which that they were bounden un-to me. 200 Ye woot wel what I mene of this, pardee! As help me god, I laughe whan I thinke How pitously a-night I made hem swinke; And by my fey, I tolde of it no stoor. They had me yeven hir gold and hir tresoor; 205 Me neded nat do lenger diligence To winne hir love, or doon hem reverence. They loved me so wel, by god above, That I ne tolde no deyntee of hir love! A wys womman wol sette hir ever in oon 210 To gete hir love, ther as she hath noon. But sith I hadde hem hoolly in myn hond, And sith they hadde me yeven all hir lond, What sholde I taken hede hem for to plese, But it were for my profit and myn ese? 215 I sette hem so a-werke, by my fey, That many a night they songen “weilawey!” The bacoun was nat fet for hem, I trowe, That som men han in Essex at Dunmowe. I governed hem so wel, after my lawe, 220 That ech of hem ful blisful was and fawe To bringe me gaye thinges fro the fayre. They were ful glad whan I spak to hem fayre; For god it woot, I chidde hem spitously.

Now herkneth, how I bar me proprely, 225 Ye wyse wyves, that can understonde.

Thus shul ye speke and bere hem wrong on honde; For half so boldely can ther no man Swere and lyen as a womman can. I sey nat this by wyves that ben wyse, 230 But-if it be whan they hem misavyse. A wys wyf, if that she can hir good, Shal beren him on hond the cow is wood, And take witnesse of hir owene mayde Of hir assent; but herkneth how I sayde.

235 ‘Sir olde kaynard, is this thyn array? Why is my neighebores wyf so gay? She is honoured over-al ther she goth; I sitte at hoom, I have no thrifty cloth. What dostow at my neighebores hous? 240 Is she so fair? artow so amorous? What rowne ye with our mayde? benedicite! Sir olde lechour, lat thy Iapes be! And if I have a gossib or a freend, With-outen gilt, thou chydest as a feend, 245 If that I walke or pleye un-to his hous! Thou comest hoom as dronken as a mous, And prechest on thy bench, with yvel preef! Thou seist to me, it is a greet meschief To wedde a povre womman, for costage; 250 And if that she be riche, of heigh parage, Than seistow that it is a tormentrye To suffre hir pryde and hir malencolye. And if that she be fair, thou verray knave, Thou seyst that every holour wol hir have; 255 She may no whyle in chastitee abyde, That is assailled up-on ech a syde.

Thou seyst, som folk desyre us for richesse, Somme for our shap, and somme for our fairnesse; And som, for she can outher singe or daunce, 260 And som, for gentillesse and daliaunce; Som, for hir handes and hir armes smale; Thus goth al to the devel by thy tale. Thou seyst, men may nat kepe a castel-wal; It may so longe assailled been over-al.

265 And if that she be foul, thou seist that she Coveiteth every man that she may se; For as a spaynel she wol on him lepe, Til that she finde som man hir to chepe; Ne noon so grey goos goth ther in the lake, 270 As, seistow, that wol been with-oute make. And seyst, it is an hard thing for to welde A thing that no man wol, his thankes, helde. Thus seistow, lorel, whan thow goost to bedde; And that no wys man nedeth for to wedde, 275 Ne no man that entendeth un-to hevene. With wilde thonder-dint and firy levene Mote thy welked nekke be to-broke!

Thow seyst that dropping houses, and eek smoke, And chyding wyves, maken men to flee 280 Out of hir owene hous; a! benedicite! What eyleth swich an old man for to chyde?

Thow seyst, we wyves wol our vyces hyde Til we be fast, and than we wol hem shewe; Wel may that be a proverbe of a shrewe!

285 Thou seist, that oxen, asses, hors, and houndes, They been assayed at diverse stoundes; Bacins, lavours, er that men hem bye, Spones and stoles, and al swich housbondrye, And so been pottes, clothes, and array; 290 But folk of wyves maken noon assay Til they be wedded; olde dotard shrewe! And than, seistow, we wol oure vices shewe.

Thou seist also, that it displeseth me But-if that thou wolt preyse my beautee, 295 And but thou poure alwey up-on my face, And clepe me “faire dame” in every place; And but thou make a feste on thilke day That I was born, and make me fresh and gay, And but thou do to my norice honour, 300 And to my chamberere with-inne my bour, And to my fadres folk and his allyes;— Thus seistow, olde barel ful of lyes!

And yet of our apprentice Ianekyn, For his crisp heer, shyninge as gold so fyn, 305 And for he squiereth me bothe up and doun, Yet hastow caught a fals suspecioun; I wol hym noght, thogh thou were deed to-morwe.

But tel me this, why hydestow, with sorwe, The keyes of thy cheste awey fro me? 310 It is my good as wel as thyn, pardee. What wenestow make an idiot of our dame? Now by that lord, that called is seint Iame, Thou shalt nat bothe, thogh that thou were wood, Be maister of my body and of my good; 315 That oon thou shalt forgo, maugree thyne yën; What nedeth thee of me to enquere or spyën? I trowe, thou woldest loke me in thy chiste! Thou sholdest seye, “wyf, go wher thee liste, Tak your disport, I wol nat leve no talis; 320 I knowe yow for a trewe wyf, dame Alis.” We love no man that taketh kepe or charge Wher that we goon, we wol ben at our large.

Of alle men y-blessed moot he be, The wyse astrologien Dan Ptholome, 325 That seith this proverbe in his Almageste, “Of alle men his wisdom is the hyeste, That rekketh never who hath the world in honde.” By this proverbe thou shalt understonde, Have thou y-nogh, what thar thee recche or care 330 How merily that othere folkes fare? For certeyn, olde dotard, by your leve, Ye shul have queynte right y-nough at eve. He is to greet a nigard that wol werne A man to lighte his candle at his lanterne; 335 He shal have never the lasse light, pardee; Have thou y-nough, thee thar nat pleyne thee.

Thou seyst also, that if we make us gay With clothing and with precious array, That it is peril of our chastitee; 340 And yet, with sorwe, thou most enforce thee, And seye thise wordes in the apostles name, “In habit, maad with chastitee and shame, Ye wommen shul apparaille yow,” quod he, “And noght in tressed heer and gay perree, 345 As perles, ne with gold, ne clothes riche;” After thy text, ne after thy rubriche I wol nat wirche as muchel as a gnat. Thou seydest this, that I was lyk a cat; For who-so wolde senge a cattes skin, 350 Thanne wolde the cat wel dwellen in his in; And if the cattes skin be slyk and gay, She wol nat dwelle in house half a day, But forth she wole, er any day be dawed, To shewe hir skin, and goon a-caterwawed; 355 This is to seye, if I be gay, sir shrewe, I wol renne out, my borel for to shewe.

Sire olde fool, what eyleth thee to spyën? Thogh thou preye Argus, with his hundred yën, To be my warde-cors, as he can best, 360 In feith, he shal nat kepe me but me lest; Yet coude I make his berd, so moot I thee.

Thou seydest eek, that ther ben thinges three, The whiche thinges troublen al this erthe, And that no wight ne may endure the ferthe; 365 O leve sir shrewe, Iesu shorte thy lyf! Yet prechestow, and seyst, an hateful wyf Y-rekened is for oon of thise meschances. Been ther none othere maner resemblances That ye may lykne your parables to, 370 But-if a sely wyf be oon of tho?

Thou lykenest wommanes love to helle, To bareyne lond, ther water may not dwelle. Thou lyknest it also to wilde fyr; The more it brenneth, the more it hath desyr 375 To consume every thing that brent wol be. Thou seyst, that right as wormes shende a tree, Right so a wyf destroyeth hir housbonde; This knowe they that been to wyves bonde.’

Lordinges, right thus, as ye have understonde, 380 Bar I stifly myne olde housbondes on honde, That thus they seyden in hir dronkenesse; And al was fals, but that I took witnesse On Ianekin and on my nece also. O lord, the peyne I dide hem and the wo, 385 Ful giltelees, by goddes swete pyne! For as an hors I coude byte and whyne. I coude pleyne, thogh I were in the gilt, Or elles often tyme hadde I ben spilt. Who-so that first to mille comth, first grint; 390 I pleyned first, so was our werre y-stint. They were ful glad to excusen hem ful blyve Of thing of which they never agilte hir lyve.

Of wenches wolde I beren him on honde, Whan that for syk unnethes mighte he stonde. 395 Yet tikled it his herte, for that he Wende that I hadde of him so greet chiertee. I swoor that al my walkinge out by nighte Was for tespye wenches that he dighte; Under that colour hadde I many a mirthe. 400 For al swich wit is yeven us in our birthe; Deceite, weping, spinning god hath yive To wommen kindely, whyl they may live. And thus of o thing I avaunte me, Atte ende I hadde the bettre in ech degree, 405 By sleighte, or force, or by som maner thing, As by continuel murmur or grucching; Namely a bedde hadden they meschaunce, Ther wolde I chyde and do hem no plesaunce; I wolde no lenger in the bed abyde, 410 If that I felte his arm over my syde, Til he had maad his raunson un-to me; Than wolde I suffre him do his nycetee. And ther-fore every man this tale I telle, Winne who-so may, for al is for to selle. 415 With empty hand men may none haukes lure; For winning wolde I al his lust endure, And make me a feyned appetyt; And yet in bacon hadde I never delyt; That made me that ever I wolde hem chyde. 420 For thogh the pope had seten hem biside, I wolde nat spare hem at hir owene bord. For by my trouthe, I quitte hem word for word. As help me verray god omnipotent, Thogh I right now sholde make my testament, 425 I ne owe hem nat a word that it nis quit. I broghte it so aboute by my wit, That they moste yeve it up, as for the beste; Or elles hadde we never been in reste. For thogh he loked as a wood leoun, 430 Yet sholde he faille of his conclusioun.

Thanne wolde I seye, ‘gode lief, tak keep How mekely loketh Wilkin oure sheep; Com neer, my spouse, lat me ba thy cheke! Ye sholde been al pacient and meke, 435 And han a swete spyced conscience, Sith ye so preche of Iobes pacience. Suffreth alwey, sin ye so wel can preche; And but ye do, certain we shal yow teche That it is fair to have a wyf in pees. 440 Oon of us two moste bowen, doutelees; And sith a man is more resonable Than womman is, ye moste been suffrable. What eyleth yow to grucche thus and grone? Is it for ye wolde have my queynte allone? 445 Why taak it al, lo, have it every-deel; Peter! I shrewe yow but ye love it weel! For if I wolde selle my bele chose, I coude walke as fresh as is a rose; But I wol kepe it for your owene tooth. 450 Ye be to blame, by god, I sey yow sooth.’

Swiche maner wordes hadde we on honde. Now wol I speken of my fourthe housbonde. My fourthe housbonde was a revelour, This is to seyn, he hadde a paramour; 455 And I was yong and ful of ragerye, Stiborn and strong, and Ioly as a pye. Wel coude I daunce to an harpe smale, And singe, y-wis, as any nightingale, Whan I had dronke a draughte of swete wyn. 460 Metellius, the foule cherl, the swyn, That with a staf birafte his wyf hir lyf, For she drank wyn, thogh I hadde been his wyf, He sholde nat han daunted me fro drinke; And, after wyn, on Venus moste I thinke: 465 For al so siker as cold engendreth hayl, A likerous mouth moste han a likerous tayl. In womman vinolent is no defence, This knowen lechours by experience.

But, lord Crist! whan that it remembreth me 470 Up-on my yowthe, and on my Iolitee, It tikleth me aboute myn herte rote. Unto this day it dooth myn herte bote That I have had my world as in my tyme. But age, allas! that al wol envenyme, 475 Hath me biraft my beautee and my pith; Lat go, fare-wel, the devel go therwith! The flour is goon, ther is na-more to telle, The bren, as I best can, now moste I selle; But yet to be right mery wol I fonde. 480 Now wol I tellen of my fourthe housbonde.

I seye, I hadde in herte greet despyt That he of any other had delyt. But he was quit, by god and by seint Ioce! I made him of the same wode a croce; 485 Nat of my body in no foul manere, But certeinly, I made folk swich chere, That in his owene grece I made him frye For angre, and for verray Ialousye. By god, in erthe I was his purgatorie, 490 For which I hope his soule be in glorie. For god it woot, he sat ful ofte and song Whan that his shoo ful bitterly him wrong. Ther was no wight, save god and he, that wiste, In many wyse, how sore I him twiste. 495 He deyde whan I cam fro Ierusalem, And lyth y-grave under the rode-beem, Al is his tombe noght so curious As was the sepulcre of him, Darius, Which that Appelles wroghte subtilly; 500 It nis but wast to burie him preciously. Lat him fare-wel, god yeve his soule reste, He is now in the grave and in his cheste.

Now of my fifthe housbond wol I telle. God lete his soule never come in helle! 505 And yet was he to me the moste shrewe; That fele I on my ribbes al by rewe, And ever shal, un-to myn ending-day. But in our bed he was so fresh and gay, And ther-with-al so wel coude he me glose, 510 Whan that he wolde han my bele chose, That thogh he hadde me bet on every boon, He coude winne agayn my love anoon. I trowe I loved him beste, for that he Was of his love daungerous to me. 515 We wommen han, if that I shal nat lye, In this matere a queynte fantasye; Wayte what thing we may nat lightly have, Ther-after wol we crye al-day and crave. Forbede us thing, and that desyren we; 520 Prees on us faste, and thanne wol we flee. With daunger oute we al our chaffare; Greet prees at market maketh dere ware, And to greet cheep is holde at litel prys; This knoweth every womman that is wys.

525 My fifthe housbonde, god his soule blesse! Which that I took for love and no richesse, He som-tyme was a clerk of Oxenford, And had left scole, and wente at hoom to bord With my gossib, dwellinge in oure toun, 530 God have hir soule! hir name was Alisoun. She knew myn herte and eek my privetee Bet than our parisshe-preest, so moot I thee! To hir biwreyed I my conseil al. For had myn housbonde pissed on a wal, 535 Or doon a thing that sholde han cost his lyf, To hir, and to another worthy wyf, And to my nece, which that I loved weel, I wolde han told his conseil every-deel. And so I dide ful often, god it woot, 540 That made his face ful often reed and hoot For verray shame, and blamed him-self for he Had told to me so greet a privetee.

And so bifel that ones, in a Lente, (So often tymes I to my gossib wente, 545 For ever yet I lovede to be gay, And for to walke, in March, Averille, and May, Fro hous to hous, to here sondry talis), That Iankin clerk, and my gossib dame Alis, And I my-self, in-to the feldes wente. 550 Myn housbond was at London al that Lente; I hadde the bettre leyser for to pleye, And for to see, and eek for to be seye Of lusty folk; what wiste I wher my grace Was shapen for to be, or in what place? 555 Therefore I made my visitaciouns, To vigilies and to processiouns, To preching eek and to thise pilgrimages, To pleyes of miracles and mariages, And wered upon my gaye scarlet gytes. 560 Thise wormes, ne thise motthes, ne thise mytes, Upon my peril, frete hem never a deel; And wostow why? for they were used weel.

Now wol I tellen forth what happed me. I seye, that in the feeldes walked we, 565 Til trewely we hadde swich daliance, This clerk and I, that of my purveyance I spak to him, and seyde him, how that he, If I were widwe, sholde wedde me. For certeinly, I sey for no bobance, 570 Yet was I never with-outen purveyance Of mariage, nof othere thinges eek. I holde a mouses herte nat worth a leek, That hath but oon hole for to sterte to, And if that faille, thanne is al y-do.

575 I bar him on honde, he hadde enchanted me; My dame taughte me that soutiltee. And eek I seyde, I mette of him al night; He wolde han slayn me as I lay up-right, And al my bed was ful of verray blood, 580 But yet I hope that he shal do me good; For blood bitokeneth gold, as me was taught. And al was fals, I dremed of it right naught, But as I folwed ay my dames lore, As wel of this as of other thinges more.

585 But now sir, lat me see, what I shal seyn? A! ha! by god, I have my tale ageyn. Whan that my fourthe housbond was on bere, I weep algate, and made sory chere, As wyves moten, for it is usage, 590 And with my coverchief covered my visage; But for that I was purveyed of a make, I weep but smal, and that I undertake.

To chirche was myn housbond born a-morwe With neighebores, that for him maden sorwe; 595 And Iankin oure clerk was oon of tho. As help me god, whan that I saugh him go After the bere, me thoughte he hadde a paire Of legges and of feet so clene and faire, That al myn herte I yaf un-to his hold. 600 He was, I trowe, a twenty winter old, And I was fourty, if I shal seye sooth; But yet I hadde alwey a coltes tooth. Gat-tothed I was, and that bicam me weel; I hadde the prente of sëynt Venus seel. 605 As help me god, I was a lusty oon, And faire and riche, and yong, and wel bigoon; And trewely, as myne housbondes tolde me, I had the beste quoniam mighte be. For certes, I am al Venerien 610 In felinge, and myn herte is Marcien. Venus me yaf my lust, my likerousnesse, And Mars yaf me my sturdy hardinesse. Myn ascendent was Taur, and Mars ther-inne. Allas! allas! that ever love was sinne! 615 I folwed ay myn inclinacioun By vertu of my constellacioun; That made me I coude noght withdrawe My chambre of Venus from a good felawe. Yet have I Martes mark up-on my face, 620 And also in another privee place. For, god so wis be my savacioun, I ne loved never by no discrecioun, But ever folwede myn appetyt, Al were he short or long, or blak or whyt; 625 I took no kepe, so that he lyked me, How pore he was, ne eek of what degree.

What sholde I seye, but, at the monthes ende, This Ioly clerk Iankin, that was so hende, Hath wedded me with greet solempnitee, 630 And to him yaf I al the lond and fee That ever was me yeven ther-bifore; But afterward repented me ful sore. He nolde suffre nothing of my list. By god, he smoot me ones on the list, 635 For that I rente out of his book a leef, That of the strook myn ere wex al deef. Stiborn I was as is a leonesse, And of my tonge a verray Iangleresse, And walke I wolde, as I had doon biforn, 640 From hous to hous, al-though he had it sworn. For which he often tymes wolde preche, And me of olde Romayn gestes teche, How he, Simplicius Gallus, lefte his wyf, And hir forsook for terme of al his lyf, 645 Noght but for open-heeded he hir say Lokinge out at his dore upon a day.

Another Romayn tolde he me by name, That, for his wyf was at a someres game With-oute his witing, he forsook hir eke. 650 And than wolde he up-on his Bible seke That ilke proverbe of Ecclesiaste, Wher he comandeth and forbedeth faste, Man shal nat suffre his wyf go roule aboute; Than wolde he seye right thus, with-outen doute, 655 “Who-so that buildeth his hous al of salwes, And priketh his blinde hors over the falwes, And suffreth his wyf to go seken halwes, Is worthy to been hanged on the galwes!” But al for noght, I sette noght an hawe 660 Of his proverbes nof his olde sawe, Ne I wolde nat of him corrected be. I hate him that my vices telleth me, And so do mo, god woot! of us than I. This made him with me wood al outrely; 665 I nolde noght forbere him in no cas.