‘THE MINOR POEMS’ IN VOL. I. (continued 8)

Now wol I seye yow sooth, by seint Thomas, Why that I rente out of his book a leef, For which he smoot me so that I was deef. He hadde a book that gladly, night and day, 670 For his desport he wolde rede alway. He cleped it Valerie and Theofraste, At whiche book he lough alwey ful faste. And eek ther was som-tyme a clerk at Rome, A cardinal, that highte Seint Ierome, 675 That made a book agayn Iovinian; In whiche book eek ther was Tertulan, Crisippus, Trotula, and Helowys, That was abbesse nat fer fro Parys; And eek the Parables of Salomon, 680 Ovydes Art, and bokes many on, And alle thise wer bounden in o volume. And every night and day was his custume, Whan he had leyser and vacacioun From other worldly occupacioun, 685 To reden on this book of wikked wyves. He knew of hem mo legendes and lyves Than been of gode wyves in the Bible. For trusteth wel, it is an impossible That any clerk wol speke good of wyves, 690 But-if it be of holy seintes lyves, Ne of noon other womman never the mo. Who peyntede the leoun, tel me who? By god, if wommen hadde writen stories, As clerkes han with-inne hir oratories, 695 They wolde han writen of men more wikkednesse Than all the mark of Adam may redresse. The children of Mercurie and of Venus Been in hir wirking ful contrarious; Mercurie loveth wisdom and science, 700 And Venus loveth ryot and dispence. And, for hir diverse disposicioun, Ech falleth in otheres exaltacioun; And thus, god woot! Mercurie is desolat In Pisces, wher Venus is exaltat; 705 And Venus falleth ther Mercurie is reysed; Therfore no womman of no clerk is preysed. The clerk, whan he is old, and may noght do Of Venus werkes worth his olde sho, Than sit he doun, and writ in his dotage 710 That wommen can nat kepe hir mariage!

But now to purpos, why I tolde thee That I was beten for a book, pardee. Up-on a night Iankin, that was our syre, Redde on his book, as he sat by the fyre, 715 Of Eva first, that, for hir wikkednesse, Was al mankinde broght to wrecchednesse, For which that Iesu Crist him-self was slayn, That boghte us with his herte-blood agayn. Lo, here expres of womman may ye finde, 720 That womman was the los of al mankinde.

Tho redde he me how Sampson loste his heres, Slepinge, his lemman kitte hem with hir sheres; Thurgh whiche tresoun loste he bothe his yën.

Tho redde he me, if that I shal nat lyen, 725 Of Hercules and of his Dianyre, That caused him to sette himself a-fyre. No-thing forgat he the penaunce and wo That Socrates had with hise wyves two; How Xantippa caste pisse up-on his heed; 730 This sely man sat stille, as he were deed; He wyped his heed, namore dorste he seyn But “er that thonder stinte, comth a reyn.”

Of Phasipha, that was the quene of Crete, For shrewednesse, him thoughte the tale swete; 735 Fy! spek na-more—it is a grisly thing— Of hir horrible lust and hir lyking.

Of Clitemistra, for hir lecherye, That falsly made hir housbond for to dye, He redde it with ful good devocioun.

740 He tolde me eek for what occasioun Amphiorax at Thebes loste his lyf; Myn housbond hadde a legende of his wyf, Eriphilem, that for an ouche of gold Hath prively un-to the Grekes told 745 Wher that hir housbonde hidde him in a place, For which he hadde at Thebes sory grace. Of Lyma tolde he me, and of Lucye, They bothe made hir housbondes for to dye; That oon for love, that other was for hate; 750 Lyma hir housbond, on an even late, Empoysoned hath, for that she was his fo. Lucya, likerous, loved hir housbond so, That, for he sholde alwey up-on hir thinke, She yaf him swich a maner love-drinke, 755 That he was deed, er it were by the morwe; And thus algates housbondes han sorwe.

Than tolde he me, how oon Latumius Compleyned to his felawe Arrius, That in his gardin growed swich a tree, 760 On which, he seyde, how that his wyves three Hanged hem-self for herte despitous. “O leve brother,” quod this Arrius, “Yif me a plante of thilke blissed tree, And in my gardin planted shal it be!”

765 Of latter date, of wyves hath he red, That somme han slayn hir housbondes in hir bed, And lete hir lechour dighte hir al the night Whyl that the corps lay in the floor up-right. And somme han drive nayles in hir brayn 770 Whyl that they slepte, and thus they han hem slayn. Somme han hem yeve poysoun in hir drinke. He spak more harm than herte may bithinke. And ther-with-al, he knew of mo proverbes Than in this world ther growen gras or herbes. 775 “Bet is,” quod he, “thyn habitacioun Be with a leoun or a foul dragoun, Than with a womman usinge for to chyde. Bet is,” quod he, “hye in the roof abyde Than with an angry wyf doun in the hous; 780 They been so wikked and contrarious; They haten that hir housbondes loveth ay.” He seyde, “a womman cast hir shame away, Whan she cast of hir smok;” and forther-mo, “A fair womman, but she be chaast also, 785 Is lyk a gold ring in a sowes nose.” Who wolde wenen, or who wolde suppose The wo that in myn herte was, and pyne?

And whan I saugh he wolde never fyne To reden on this cursed book al night, 790 Al sodeynly three leves have I plight Out of his book, right as he radde, and eke, I with my fist so took him on the cheke, That in our fyr he fil bakward adoun. And he up-stirte as dooth a wood leoun, 795 And with his fist he smoot me on the heed, That in the floor I lay as I were deed. And when he saugh how stille that I lay, He was agast, and wolde han fled his way, Til atte laste out of my swogh I breyde: 800 “O! hastow slayn me, false theef?” I seyde, “And for my land thus hastow mordred me? Er I be deed, yet wol I kisse thee.”

And neer he cam, and kneled faire adoun, And seyde, “dere suster Alisoun, 805 As help me god, I shal thee never smyte; That I have doon, it is thy-self to wyte. Foryeve it me, and that I thee biseke”— And yet eft-sones I hitte him on the cheke, And seyde, “theef, thus muchel am I wreke; 810 Now wol I dye, I may no lenger speke.” But atte laste, with muchel care and wo, We fille acorded, by us selven two. He yaf me al the brydel in myn hond To han the governance of hous and lond, 815 And of his tonge and of his hond also, And made him brenne his book anon right tho. And whan that I hadde geten un-to me, By maistrie, al the soveraynetee, And that he seyde, “myn owene trewe wyf, 820 Do as thee lust the terme of al thy lyf, Keep thyn honour, and keep eek myn estaat”— After that day we hadden never debaat. God help me so, I was to him as kinde As any wyf from Denmark un-to Inde, 825 And also trewe, and so was he to me. I prey to god that sit in magestee, So blesse his soule, for his mercy dere! Now wol I seye my tale, if ye wol here.’

Biholde the wordes bitween the Somonour and the Frere. The Frere lough, whan he hadde herd al this, 830 ‘Now, dame,’ quod he, ‘so have I Ioye or blis, This is a long preamble of a tale!’ And whan the Somnour herde the Frere gale, ‘Lo!’ quod the Somnour, ‘goddes armes two! A frere wol entremette him ever-mo. 835 Lo, gode men, a flye and eek a frere Wol falle in every dish and eek matere. What spekestow of preambulacioun? What! amble, or trotte, or pees, or go sit doun; Thou lettest our disport in this manere.’

840 ‘Ye, woltow so, sir Somnour?’ quod the Frere, ‘Now, by my feith, I shal, er that I go, Telle of a Somnour swich a tale or two, That alle the folk shal laughen in this place.’ ‘Now elles, Frere, I bishrewe thy face,’ 845 Quod this Somnour, ‘and I bishrewe me, But if I telle tales two or thre Of freres er I come to Sidingborne, That I shal make thyn herte for to morne; For wel I wool thy patience is goon.’ 850 Our hoste cryde ‘pees! and that anoon!’ And seyde, ‘lat the womman telle hir tale. Ye fare as folk that dronken been of ale. Do, dame, tel forth your tale, and that is best.’

‘Al redy, sir,’ quod she, ‘right as yow lest, 855 If I have licence of this worthy Frere.’ ‘Yis, dame,’ quod he, ‘tel forth, and I wol here.’ Here endeth the Wyf of Bathe hir Prologe.

Here biginneth the Tale of the Wyf of Bathe. In tholde dayes of the king Arthour, Of which that Britons speken greet honour, All was this land fulfild of fayerye. 860 The elf-queen, with hir Ioly companye, Daunced ful ofte in many a grene mede; This was the olde opinion, as I rede, I speke of manye hundred yeres ago; But now can no man see none elves mo. 865 For now the grete charitee and prayeres (10) Of limitours and othere holy freres, That serchen every lond and every streem, As thikke as motes in the sonne-beem, Blessinge halles, chambres, kichenes, boures, 870 Citees, burghes, castels, hye toures, Thropes, bernes, shipnes, dayeryes, This maketh that ther been no fayeryes. For ther as wont to walken was an elf, Ther walketh now the limitour him-self 875 In undermeles and in morweninges, (20) And seyth his matins and his holy thinges As he goth in his limitacioun. Wommen may go saufly up and doun, In every bush, or under every tree; 880 Ther is noon other incubus but he, And he ne wol doon hem but dishonour.

And so bifel it, that this king Arthour Hadde in his hous a lusty bacheler, That on a day cam rydinge fro river; 885 And happed that, allone as she was born, (30) He saugh a mayde walkinge him biforn, Of whiche mayde anon, maugree hir heed, By verray force he rafte hir maydenheed; For which oppressioun was swich clamour 890 And swich pursute un-to the king Arthour, That dampned was this knight for to be deed By cours of lawe, and sholde han lost his heed Paraventure, swich was the statut tho; But that the quene and othere ladies mo 895 So longe preyeden the king of grace, (40) Til he his lyf him graunted in the place, And yaf him to the quene al at hir wille, To chese, whether she wolde him save or spille.

The quene thanketh the king with al hir might, 900 And after this thus spak she to the knight, Whan that she saugh hir tyme, up-on a day: ‘Thou standest yet,’ quod she, ‘in swich array, That of thy lyf yet hastow no suretee. I grante thee lyf, if thou canst tellen me 905 What thing is it that wommen most desyren? (50) Be war, and keep thy nekke-boon from yren. And if thou canst nat tellen it anon, Yet wol I yeve thee leve for to gon A twelf-month and a day, to seche and lere 910 An answere suffisant in this matere. And suretee wol I han, er that thou pace, Thy body for to yelden in this place.’

Wo was this knight and sorwefully he syketh; But what! he may nat do al as him lyketh. 915 And at the laste, he chees him for to wende, (60) And come agayn, right at the yeres ende, With swich answere as god wolde him purveye; And taketh his leve, and wendeth forth his weye.

He seketh every hous and every place, 920 Wher-as he hopeth for to finde grace, To lerne, what thing wommen loven most; But he ne coude arryven in no cost, Wher-as he mighte finde in this matere Two creatures accordinge in-fere. 925 Somme seyde, wommen loven best richesse, (70) Somme seyde, honour, somme seyde, Iolynesse; Somme, riche array, somme seyden, lust abedde, And ofte tyme to be widwe and wedde. Somme seyde, that our hertes been most esed, 930 Whan that we been y-flatered and y-plesed. He gooth ful ny the sothe, I wol nat lye; A man shal winne us best with flaterye; And with attendance, and with bisinesse, Been we y-lymed, bothe more and lesse. 935 And somme seyn, how that we loven best (80) For to be free, and do right as us lest, And that no man repreve us of our vyce, But seye that we be wyse, and no-thing nyce. For trewely, ther is noon of us alle, 940 If any wight wol clawe us on the galle, That we nil kike, for he seith us sooth; Assay, and he shal finde it that so dooth. For be we never so vicious with-inne, We wol been holden wyse, and clene of sinne.

945 And somme seyn, that greet delyt han we (90) For to ben holden stable and eek secree, And in o purpos stedefastly to dwelle, And nat biwreye thing that men us telle. But that tale is nat worth a rake-stele; 950 Pardee, we wommen conne no-thing hele; Witnesse on Myda; wol ye here the tale? Ovyde, amonges othere thinges smale, Seyde, Myda hadde, under his longe heres, Growinge up-on his heed two asses eres, 955 The which vyce he hidde, as he best mighte, (100) Ful subtilly from every mannes sighte, That, save his wyf, ther wiste of it na-mo. He loved hir most, and trusted hir also; He preyede hir, that to no creature 960 She sholde tellen of his disfigure.

She swoor him ‘nay, for al this world to winne, She nolde do that vileinye or sinne, To make hir housbond han so foul a name; She nolde nat telle it for hir owene shame.’ 965 But nathelees, hir thoughte that she dyde, (110) That she so longe sholde a conseil hyde; Hir thoughte it swal so sore aboute hir herte, That nedely som word hir moste asterte; And sith she dorste telle it to no man, 970 Doun to a mareys faste by she ran; Til she came there, hir herte was a-fyre, And, as a bitore bombleth in the myre, She leyde hir mouth un-to the water doun: ‘Biwreye me nat, thou water, with thy soun,’ 975 Quod she, ‘to thee I telle it, and namo; (120) Myn housbond hath longe asses eres two! Now is myn herte all hool, now is it oute; I mighte no lenger kepe it, out of doute,’ Heer may ye se, thogh we a tyme abyde, 980 Yet out it moot, we can no conseil hyde; The remenant of the tale if ye wol here, Redeth Ovyde, and ther ye may it lere.

This knight, of which my tale is specially, Whan that he saugh he mighte nat come therby, 985 This is to seye, what wommen loven moost, (130) With-inne his brest ful sorweful was the goost; But hoom he gooth, he mighte nat soiourne. The day was come, that hoomward moste he tourne, And in his wey it happed him to ryde, 990 In al this care, under a forest-syde, Wher-as he saugh up-on a daunce go Of ladies foure and twenty, and yet mo; Toward the whiche daunce he drow ful yerne, In hope that som wisdom sholde he lerne. 995 But certeinly, er he came fully there, (140) Vanisshed was this daunce, he niste where. No creature saugh he that bar lyf, Save on the grene he saugh sittinge a wyf; A fouler wight ther may no man devyse. 1000 Agayn the knight this olde wyf gan ryse, And seyde, ‘sir knight, heer-forth ne lyth no wey. Tel me, what that ye seken, by your fey? Paraventure it may the bettre be; Thise olde folk can muchel thing,’ quod she.

1005 ‘My leve mooder,’ quod this knight certeyn, (150) ‘I nam but deed, but-if that I can seyn What thing it is that wommen most desyre; Coude ye me wisse, I wolde wel quyte your hyre.’ ‘Plighte me thy trouthe, heer in myn hand,’ quod she, 1010 ‘The nexte thing that I requere thee, Thou shalt it do, if it lye in thy might; And I wol telle it yow er it be night.’ ‘Have heer my trouthe,’ quod the knight, ‘I grante.’ ‘Thanne,’ quod she, ‘I dar me wel avante, 1015 Thy lyf is sauf, for I wol stonde therby, (160) Up-on my lyf, the queen wol seye as I. Lat see which is the proudeste of hem alle, That wereth on a coverchief or a calle, That dar seye nay, of that I shal thee teche; 1020 Lat us go forth with-outen lenger speche.’ Tho rouned she a pistel in his ere, And bad him to be glad, and have no fere.

Whan they be comen to the court, this knight Seyde, ‘he had holde his day, as he hadde hight, 1025 And redy was his answere,’ as he sayde. (170) Ful many a noble wyf, and many a mayde, And many a widwe, for that they ben wyse, The quene hir-self sittinge as a Iustyse, Assembled been, his answere for to here; 1030 And afterward this knight was bode appere.

To every wight comanded was silence, And that the knight sholde telle in audience, What thing that worldly wommen loven best. This knight ne stood nat stille as doth a best, 1035 But to his questioun anon answerde (180) With manly voys, that al the court it herde: ‘My lige lady, generally,’ quod he, ‘Wommen desyren to have sovereyntee As wel over hir housbond as hir love, 1040 And for to been in maistrie him above; This is your moste desyr, thogh ye me kille, Doth as yow list, I am heer at your wille.’

In al the court ne was ther wyf ne mayde, Ne widwe, that contraried that he sayde, 1045 But seyden, ‘he was worthy han his lyf.’ (190) And with that word up stirte the olde wyf, Which that the knight saugh sittinge in the grene: ‘Mercy,’ quod she, ‘my sovereyn lady quene! Er that your court departe, do me right. 1050 I taughte this answere un-to the knight; For which he plighte me his trouthe there, The firste thing I wolde of him requere, He wolde it do, if it lay in his might. Bifore the court than preye I thee, sir knight,’ 1055 Quod she, ‘that thou me take un-to thy wyf; (200) For wel thou wost that I have kept thy lyf. If I sey fals, sey nay, up-on thy fey!’

This knight answerde, ‘allas! and weylawey! I woot right wel that swich was my biheste. 1060 For goddes love, as chees a newe requeste; Tak al my good, and lat my body go.’

‘Nay than,’ quod she, ‘I shrewe us bothe two! For thogh that I be foul, and old, and pore, I nolde for al the metal, ne for ore, 1065 That under erthe is grave, or lyth above, (210) But-if thy wyf I were, and eek thy love.’

‘My love?’ quod he; ‘nay, my dampnacioun! Allas! that any of my nacioun Sholde ever so foule disparaged be!’ 1070 But al for noght, the ende is this, that he Constreyned was, he nedes moste hir wedde; And taketh his olde wyf, and gooth to bedde.

Now wolden som men seye, paraventure, That, for my necligence, I do no cure 1075 To tellen yow the Ioye and al tharray (220) That at the feste was that ilke day. To whiche thing shortly answere I shal; I seye, ther nas no Ioye ne feste at al, Ther nas but hevinesse and muche sorwe; 1080 For prively he wedded hir on a morwe, And al day after hidde him as an oule; So wo was him, his wyf looked so foule. Greet was the wo the knight hadde in his thoght, Whan he was with his wyf a-bedde y-broght; 1085 He walweth, and he turneth to and fro. (230) His olde wyf lay smylinge evermo, And seyde, ‘o dere housbond, benedicite! Fareth every knight thus with his wyf as ye? Is this the lawe of king Arthures hous? 1090 Is every knight of his so dangerous? I am your owene love and eek your wyf; I am she, which that saved hath your lyf; And certes, yet dide I yow never unright; Why fare ye thus with me this firste night? 1095 Ye faren lyk a man had lost his wit; (240) What is my gilt? for goddes love, tel me it, And it shal been amended, if I may.’

‘Amended?’ quod this knight, ‘allas! nay, nay! It wol nat been amended never mo! 1100 Thou art so loothly, and so old also, And ther-to comen of so lowe a kinde, That litel wonder is, thogh I walwe and winde. So wolde god myn herte wolde breste!’

‘Is this,’ quod she, ‘the cause of your unreste?’ 1105 ‘Ye, certainly,’ quod he, ‘no wonder is.’ (250) ‘Now, sire,’ quod she, ‘I coude amende al this, If that me liste, er it were dayes three, So wel ye mighte here yow un-to me. But for ye speken of swich gentillesse 1110 As is descended out of old richesse, That therfore sholden ye be gentil men, Swich arrogance is nat worth an hen. Loke who that is most vertuous alway, Privee and apert, and most entendeth ay 1115 To do the gentil dedes that he can, (260) And tak him for the grettest gentil man. Crist wol, we clayme of him our gentillesse, Nat of our eldres for hir old richesse. For thogh they yeve us al hir heritage, 1120 For which we clayme to been of heigh parage, Yet may they nat biquethe, for no-thing, To noon of us hir vertuous living, That made hem gentil men y-called be; And bad us folwen hem in swich degree.

1125 Wel can the wyse poete of Florence, (270) That highte Dant, speken in this sentence; Lo in swich maner rym is Dantes tale: “Ful selde up ryseth by his branches smale Prowesse of man, for god, of his goodnesse, 1130 Wol that of him we clayme our gentillesse;” For of our eldres may we no-thing clayme But temporel thing, that man may hurte and mayme.

Eek every wight wot this as wel as I, If gentillesse were planted naturelly 1135 Un-to a certeyn linage, doun the lyne, (280) Privee ne apert, than wolde they never fyne To doon of gentillesse the faire offyce; They mighte do no vileinye or vyce.

Tak fyr, and ber it in the derkeste hous 1140 Bitwix this and the mount of Caucasus, And lat men shette the dores and go thenne; Yet wol the fyr as faire lye and brenne, As twenty thousand men mighte it biholde; His office naturel ay wol it holde, 1145 Up peril of my lyf, til that it dye.

(290) Heer may ye see wel, how that genterye Is nat annexed to possessioun, Sith folk ne doon hir operacioun Alwey, as dooth the fyr, lo! in his kinde. 1150 For, god it woot, men may wel often finde A lordes sone do shame and vileinye; And he that wol han prys of his gentrye For he was boren of a gentil hous, And hadde hise eldres noble and vertuous, 1155 And nil him-selven do no gentil dedis, (300) Ne folwe his gentil auncestre that deed is, He nis nat gentil, be he duk or erl; For vileyns sinful dedes make a cherl. For gentillesse nis but renomee 1160 Of thyne auncestres, for hir heigh bountee, Which is a strange thing to thy persone. Thy gentillesse cometh fro god allone; Than comth our verray gentillesse of grace, It was no-thing biquethe us with our place.

1165 Thenketh how noble, as seith Valerius, (310) Was thilke Tullius Hostilius, That out of povert roos to heigh noblesse. Redeth Senek, and redeth eek Boëce, Ther shul ye seen expres that it no drede is, 1170 That he is gentil that doth gentil dedis; And therfore, leve housbond, I thus conclude, Al were it that myne auncestres were rude, Yet may the hye god, and so hope I, Grante me grace to liven vertuously. 1175 Thanne am I gentil, whan that I biginne (320) To liven vertuously and weyve sinne.

And ther-as ye of povert me repreve, The hye god, on whom that we bileve, In wilful povert chees to live his lyf. 1180 And certes every man, mayden, or wyf, May understonde that Iesus, hevene king, Ne wolde nat chese a vicious living. Glad povert is an honest thing, certeyn; This wol Senek and othere clerkes seyn. 1185 Who-so that halt him payd of his poverte, (330) I holde him riche, al hadde he nat a sherte. He that coveyteth is a povre wight, For he wolde han that is nat in his might. But he that noght hath, ne coveyteth have, 1190 Is riche, al-though ye holde him but a knave.

Verray povert, it singeth proprely; Iuvenal seith of povert merily: “The povre man, whan he goth by the weye, Bifore the theves he may singe and pleye.” 1195 Povert is hateful good, and, as I gesse, (340) A ful greet bringer out of bisinesse; A greet amender eek of sapience To him that taketh it in pacience. Povert is this, al-though it seme elenge: 1200 Possessioun, that no wight wol chalenge. Povert ful ofte, whan a man is lowe, Maketh his god and eek him-self to knowe. Povert a spectacle is, as thinketh me, Thurgh which he may his verray frendes see. 1205 And therfore, sire, sin that I noght yow greve, (350) Of my povert na-more ye me repreve.

Now, sire, of elde ye repreve me; And certes, sire, thogh noon auctoritee Were in no book, ye gentils of honour 1210 Seyn that men sholde an old wight doon favour, And clepe him fader, for your gentillesse; And auctours shal I finden, as I gesse. Now ther ye seye, that I am foul and old, Than drede you noght to been a cokewold; 1215 For filthe and elde, al-so moot I thee, (360) Been grete wardeyns up-on chastitee. But nathelees, sin I knowe your delyt, I shal fulfille your worldly appetyt. Chese now,’ quod she, ‘oon of thise thinges tweye, 1220 To han me foul and old til that I deye, And be to yow a trewe humble wyf, And never yow displese in al my lyf, Or elles ye wol han me yong and fair, And take your aventure of the repair 1225 That shal be to your hous, by-cause of me, (370) Or in som other place, may wel be. Now chese your-selven, whether that yow lyketh.’

This knight avyseth him and sore syketh, But atte laste he seyde in this manere, 1230 ‘My lady and my love, and wyf so dere, I put me in your wyse governance; Cheseth your-self, which may be most plesance, And most honour to yow and me also. I do no fors the whether of the two; 1235 For as yow lyketh, it suffiseth me.’ (380) ‘Thanne have I gete of yow maistrye,’ quod she, ‘Sin I may chese, and governe as me lest?’

‘Ye, certes, wyf,’ quod he, ‘I holde it best.’ ‘Kis me,’ quod she, ‘we be no lenger wrothe; 1240 For, by my trouthe, I wol be to yow bothe, This is to seyn, ye, bothe fair and good. I prey to god that I mot sterven wood, But I to yow be al-so good and trewe As ever was wyf, sin that the world was newe. 1245 And, but I be to-morn as fair to sene (390) As any lady, emperyce, or quene, That is bitwixe the est and eke the west, Doth with my lyf and deeth right as yow lest. Cast up the curtin, loke how that it is.’ 1250 And whan the knight saugh verraily al this, That she so fair was, and so yong ther-to, For Ioye he hente hir in his armes two, His herte bathed in a bath of blisse; A thousand tyme a-rewe he gan hir kisse. 1255 And she obeyed him in every thing (400) That mighte doon him plesance or lyking.

And thus they live, un-to hir lyves ende, In parfit Ioye; and Iesu Crist us sende Housbondes meke, yonge, and fresshe a-bedde, 1260 And grace toverbyde hem that we wedde. And eek I preye Iesu shorte hir lyves That wol nat be governed by hir wyves; And olde and angry nigardes of dispence, God sende hem sone verray pestilence. Here endeth the Wyves Tale of Bathe.

The Prologe of the Freres tale. 1265 This worthy limitour, this noble Frere, He made alwey a maner louring chere Upon the Somnour, but for honestee No vileyns word as yet to him spak he. But atte laste he seyde un-to the Wyf, 1270 ‘Dame,’ quod he, ‘god yeve yow right good lyf! Ye han heer touched, al-so moot I thee, In scole-matere greet difficultee; Ye han seyd muchel thing right wel, I seye; (10) But dame, here as we ryden by the weye, 1275 Us nedeth nat to speken but of game, And lete auctoritees, on goddes name, To preching and to scole eek of clergye. But if it lyke to this companye, I wol yow of a somnour telle a game. 1280 Pardee, ye may wel knowe by the name, That of a somnour may no good be sayd; I praye that noon of you be yvel apayd. A somnour is a renner up and doun (20) With mandements for fornicacioun, 1285 And is y-bet at every tounes ende.’

Our host tho spak, ‘a! sire, ye sholde be hende And curteys, as a man of your estaat; In companye we wol have no debaat. Telleth your tale, and lat the Somnour be.’

1290 ‘Nay,’ quod the Somnour, ‘lat him seye to me What so him list; whan it comth to my lot, By god, I shal him quyten every grot. (29) I shal him tellen which a greet honour [T. 6876 It is to be a flateringe limitour; [T. 6879 And his offyce I shal him telle, y-wis.’

1296 Our host answerde, ‘pees, na-more of this.’ And after this he seyde un-to the Frere, ‘Tel forth your tale, leve maister deere.’ Here endeth the Prologe of the Frere.

Here biginneth the Freres tale. Whilom ther was dwellinge in my contree 1300 An erchedeken, a man of heigh degree, That boldely dide execucioun In punisshinge of fornicacioun, Of wicchecraft, and eek of bauderye, Of diffamacioun, and avoutrye, 1305 Of chirche-reves, and of testaments, Of contractes, and of lakke of sacraments, [T. om. And eek of many another maner cryme [T. om. Which nedeth nat rehercen at this tyme; (11) Of usure, and of symonye also. 1310 But certes, lechours dide he grettest wo; They sholde singen, if that they were hent; And smale tytheres weren foule y-shent. If any persone wolde up-on hem pleyne, Ther mighte asterte him no pecunial peyne. 1315 For smale tythes and for smal offringe, He made the peple pitously to singe. For er the bisshop caughte hem with his hook, (20) They weren in the erchedeknes book. Thanne hadde he, thurgh his Iurisdiccioun, 1320 Power to doon on hem correccioun. He hadde a Somnour redy to his hond, A slyer boy was noon in Engelond; For subtilly he hadde his espiaille, That taughte him, wher that him mighte availle. 1325 He coude spare of lechours oon or two, To techen him to foure and twenty mo. For thogh this Somnour wood were as an hare, (30) To telle his harlotrye I wol nat spare; For we been out of his correccioun; 1330 They han of us no Iurisdiccioun, Ne never shullen, terme of alle hir lyves.

‘Peter! so been the wommen of the styves,’ Quod the Somnour, ‘y-put out of my cure!’

‘Pees, with mischance and with misaventure,’ 1335 Thus seyde our host, ‘and lat him telle his tale. Now telleth forth, thogh that the Somnour gale, Ne spareth nat, myn owene maister dere.’ (40) This false theef, this Somnour, quod the Frere, Hadde alwey baudes redy to his hond, 1340 As any hauk to lure in Engelond, That tolde him al the secree that they knewe; For hir acqueyntance was nat come of-newe. They weren hise approwours prively; He took him-self a greet profit therby; 1345 His maister knew nat alwey what he wan. With-outen mandement, a lewed man He coude somne, on peyne of Cristes curs, (50) And they were gladde for to fille his purs, And make him grete festes atte nale. 1350 And right as Iudas hadde purses smale, And was a theef, right swich a theef was he; His maister hadde but half his duëtee. He was, if I shal yeven him his laude, A theef, and eek a Somnour, and a baude. 1355 He hadde eek wenches at his retenue, That, whether that sir Robert or sir Huwe, Or Iakke, or Rauf, or who-so that it were, (60) That lay by hem, they tolde it in his ere; Thus was the wenche and he of oon assent. 1360 And he wolde fecche a feyned mandement, And somne hem to the chapitre bothe two, And pile the man, and lete the wenche go. Thanne wolde he seye, ‘frend, I shal for thy sake Do stryken hir out of our lettres blake; 1365 Thee thar na-more as in this cas travaille; I am thy freend, ther I thee may availle.’ Certeyn he knew of bryberyes mo (70) Than possible is to telle in yeres two. For in this world nis dogge for the bowe, 1370 That can an hurt deer from an hool y-knowe, Bet than this Somnour knew a sly lechour, Or an avouter, or a paramour. And, for that was the fruit of al his rente, Therfore on it he sette al his entente.

1375 And so bifel, that ones on a day This Somnour, ever waiting on his pray, Rood for to somne a widwe, an old ribybe, (80) Feynynge a cause, for he wolde brybe. And happed that he saugh bifore him ryde 1380 A gay yeman, under a forest-syde. A bowe he bar, and arwes brighte and kene; He hadde up-on a courtepy of grene; An hat up-on his heed with frenges blake.

‘Sir,’ quod this Somnour, ‘hayl! and wel a-take!’ 1385 ‘Wel-come,’ quod he, ‘and every good felawe! Wher rydestow under this grene shawe?’ Seyde this yeman, ‘wiltow fer to day?’

(90) This Somnour him answerde, and seyde, ‘nay; Heer faste by,’ quod he, ‘is myn entente 1390 To ryden, for to reysen up a rente That longeth to my lordes duëtee.

‘Artow thanne a bailly?’ ‘Ye!’ quod he. He dorste nat, for verray filthe and shame, Seye that he was a somnour, for the name. 1395 ‘Depardieux,’ quod this yeman, ‘dere brother, Thou art a bailly, and I am another. I am unknowen as in this contree; (100) Of thyn aqueyntance I wolde praye thee, And eek of brotherhede, if that yow leste. 1400 I have gold and silver in my cheste; If that thee happe to comen in our shyre, Al shal be thyn, right as thou wolt desyre.’

‘Grantmercy,’ quod this Somnour, ‘by my feith!’ Everich in otheres hand his trouthe leith, 1405 For to be sworne bretheren til they deye. In daliance they ryden forth hir weye.

This Somnour, which that was as ful of Iangles, (no) As ful of venim been thise wariangles, And ever enquering up-on every thing, 1410 ‘Brother,’ quod he, ‘where is now your dwelling, Another day if that I sholde yow seche?’

This yeman him answerde in softe speche, ‘Brother,’ quod he, ‘fer in the north contree, Wher, as I hope, som-tyme I shal thee see. 1415 Er we departe, I shal thee so wel wisse, That of myn hous ne shaltow never misse.’ ‘Now, brother,’ quod this Somnour, ‘I yow preye, (120) Teche me, whyl that we ryden by the weye, Sin that ye been a baillif as am I, 1420 Som subtiltee, and tel me feithfully In myn offyce how I may most winne; And spareth nat for conscience ne sinne, But as my brother tel me, how do ye?’

‘Now, by my trouthe, brother dere,’ seyde he, 1425 ‘As I shal tellen thee a feithful tale, My wages been ful streite and ful smale. My lord is hard to me and daungerous, (130) And myn offyce is ful laborous; And therfore by extorcions I live. 1430 For sothe, I take al that men wol me yive; Algate, by sleyghte or by violence, Fro yeer to yeer I winne al my dispence. I can no bettre telle feithfully.’

‘Now, certes,’ quod this Somnour, ‘so fare I; 1435 I spare nat to taken, god it woot, But if it be to hevy or to hoot. What I may gete in conseil prively, (140) No maner conscience of that have I; Nere myn extorcioun, I mighte nat liven, 1440 Ne of swiche Iapes wol I nat be shriven. Stomak ne conscience ne knowe I noon; I shrewe thise shrifte-fadres everichoon. Wel be we met, by god and by seint Iame! But, leve brother, tel me than thy name,’ 1445 Quod this Somnour; and in this mene-whyle, This yeman gan a litel for to smyle.

‘Brother,’ quod he, ‘wiltow that I thee telle? (150) I am a feend, my dwelling is in helle. And here I ryde about my purchasing, 1450 To wite wher men wolde yeve me any thing. My purchas is theffect of al my rente. Loke how thou rydest for the same entente, To winne good, thou rekkest never how; Right so fare I, for ryde wolde I now 1455 Un-to the worldes ende for a preye.’

‘A,’ quod this Somnour, ‘benedicite, what sey ye? I wende ye were a yeman trewely. (160) Ye han a mannes shap as wel as I; Han ye figure than determinat 1460 In helle, ther ye been in your estat?’

‘Nay, certeinly,’ quod he, ‘ther have we noon; But whan us lyketh, we can take us oon, Or elles make yow seme we ben shape Som-tyme lyk a man, or lyk an ape; 1465 Or lyk an angel can I ryde or go. It is no wonder thing thogh it be so; A lousy Iogelour can deceyve thee, (170) And pardee, yet can I more craft than he.’ ‘Why,’ quod the Somnour, ‘ryde ye thanne or goon 1470 In sondry shap, and nat alwey in oon?’ ‘For we,’ quod he, ‘wol us swich formes make As most able is our preyes for to take.’

‘What maketh yow to han al this labour?’ ‘Ful many a cause, leve sir Somnour,’ 1475 Seyde this feend, ‘but alle thing hath tyme. The day is short, and it is passed pryme, And yet ne wan I no-thing in this day. (180) I wol entende to winnen, if I may, And nat entende our wittes to declare. 1480 For, brother myn, thy wit is al to bare To understonde, al-thogh I tolde hem thee. But, for thou axest why labouren we; For, som-tyme, we ben goddes instruments, And menes to don his comandements, 1485 Whan that him list, up-on his creatures, In divers art and in divers figures. With-outen him we have no might, certayn, (190) If that him list to stonden ther-agayn. And som-tyme, at our prayere, han we leve 1490 Only the body and nat the soule greve; Witnesse on Iob, whom that we diden wo. And som-tyme han we might of bothe two, This is to seyn, of soule and body eke. And somtyme be we suffred for to seke 1495 Up-on a man, and doon his soule unreste, And nat his body, and al is for the beste. Whan he withstandeth our temptacioun, (200) It is a cause of his savacioun; Al-be-it that it was nat our entente 1500 He sholde be sauf, but that we wolde him hente. And som-tyme be we servant un-to man, As to the erchebisshop Seint Dunstan, And to the apostles servant eek was I.’

‘Yet tel me,’ quod the Somnour, ‘feithfully, 1505 Make ye yow newe bodies thus alway Of elements?’ the feend answerde, ‘nay; Som-tyme we feyne, and som-tyme we aryse (210) With dede bodies in ful sondry wyse, And speke as renably and faire and wel 1510 As to the Phitonissa dide Samuel. And yet wol som men seye it was nat he; I do no fors of your divinitee. But o thing warne I thee, I wol nat Iape, Thou wolt algates wite how we ben shape; 1515 Thou shalt her-afterward, my brother dere, Com ther thee nedeth nat of me to lere. For thou shalt by thyn owene experience (220) Conne in a chayer rede of this sentence Bet than Virgyle, whyl he was on lyve, 1520 Or Dant also; now lat us ryde blyve. For I wol holde companye with thee Til it be so, that thou forsake me.’

‘Nay,’ quod this Somnour, ‘that shal nat bityde; I am a yeman, knowen is ful wyde; 1525 My trouthe wol I holde as in this cas. For though thou were the devel Sathanas, My trouthe wol I holde to my brother, (230) As I am sworn, and ech of us til other For to be trewe brother in this cas; 1530 And bothe we goon abouten our purchas. Tak thou thy part, what that men wol thee yive, And I shal myn; thus may we bothe live. And if that any of us have more than other, Lat him be trewe, and parte it with his brother.’

1535 ‘I graunte,’ quod the devel, ‘by my fey.’ And with that word they ryden forth hir wey. And right at the entring of the tounes ende, (240) To which this Somnour shoop him for to wende, They saugh a cart, that charged was with hey, 1540 Which that a carter droof forth in his wey. Deep was the wey, for which the carte stood. The carter smoot, and cryde, as he were wood, ‘Hayt, Brok! hayt, Scot! what spare ye for the stones? The feend,’ quod he, ‘yow fecche body and bones, 1545 As ferforthly as ever were ye foled! So muche wo as I have with yow tholed! The devel have al, bothe hors and cart and hey!’ (250) This Somnour seyde, ‘heer shal we have a pley;’ And neer the feend he drough, as noght ne were, 1550 Ful prively, and rouned in his ere: ‘Herkne, my brother, herkne, by thy feith; Herestow nat how that the carter seith? Hent it anon, for he hath yeve it thee, Bothe hey and cart, and eek hise caples three.’ 1555 ‘Nay,’ quod the devel, ‘god wot, never a deel; It is nat his entente, trust me weel. Axe him thy-self, if thou nat trowest me, (260) Or elles stint a while, and thou shall see.’

This carter thakketh his hors upon the croupe, 1560 And they bigonne drawen and to-stoupe; ‘Heyt, now!’ quod he, ‘ther Iesu Crist yow blesse, And al his handwerk, bothe more and lesse! That was wel twight, myn owene lyard boy! I pray god save thee and sëynt Loy! 1565 Now is my cart out of the slow, pardee!’

‘Lo! brother,’ quod the feend, ‘what tolde I thee? Heer may ye see, myn owene dere brother, (270) The carl spak oo thing, but he thoghte another. Lat us go forth abouten our viage; 1570 Heer winne I no-thing up-on cariage.’

Whan that they comen som-what out of toune, This Somnour to his brother gan to roune, ‘Brother,’ quod he, ‘heer woneth an old rebekke, That hadde almost as lief to lese hir nekke 1575 As for to yeve a peny of hir good. I wol han twelf pens, though that she be wood, Or I wol sompne hir un-to our offyce; (280) And yet, god woot, of hir knowe I no vyce. But for thou canst nat, as in this contree, 1580 Winne thy cost, tak heer ensample of me.’

This Somnour clappeth at the widwes gate. ‘Com out,’ quod he, ‘thou olde viritrate! I trowe thou hast som frere or preest with thee!’

‘Who clappeth?’ seyde this widwe, ‘benedicite! 1585 God save you, sire, what is your swete wille?’

‘I have,’ quod he, ‘of somonce here a bille; Up peyne of cursing, loke that thou be (290) To-morn bifore the erchedeknes knee Tanswere to the court of certeyn thinges.’

1590 ‘Now, lord,’ quod she, ‘Crist Iesu, king of kinges, So wisly helpe me, as I ne may. I have been syk, and that ful many a day. I may nat go so fer,’ quod she, ‘ne ryde, But I be deed, so priketh it in my syde. 1595 May I nat axe a libel, sir Somnour, And answere there, by my procutour, To swich thing as men wol opposen me?’

(300) ‘Yis,’ quod this Somnour, ‘pay anon, lat se, Twelf pens to me, and I wol thee acquyte. 1600 I shall no profit han ther-by but lyte; My maister hath the profit, and nat I. Com of, and lat me ryden hastily; Yif me twelf pens, I may no lenger tarie.’ ‘Twelf pens,’ quod she, ‘now lady Seinte Marie 1605 So wisly help me out of care and sinne, This wyde world thogh that I sholde winne, Ne have I nat twelf pens with-inne myn hold. (310) Ye knowen wel that I am povre and old; Kythe your almesse on me povre wrecche.’

1610 ‘Nay than,’ quod he, ‘the foule feend me fecche If I thexcuse, though them shul be spilt!’

‘Alas,’ quod she, ‘god woot, I have no gilt.’ ‘Pay me,’ quod he, ‘or by the swete seinte Anne, As I wol bere awey thy newe panne 1615 For dette, which that thou owest me of old, Whan that thou madest thyn housbond cokewold, I payde at hoom for thy correccioun.’ (320) ‘Thou lixt,’ quod she, ‘by my savacioun! Ne was I never er now, widwe ne wyf, 1620 Somoned un-to your court in al my lyf; Ne never I nas but of my body trewe! Un-to the devel blak and rough of hewe Yeve I thy body and my panne also!’ And whan the devel herde hir cursen so 1625 Up-on hir knees, he seyde in this manere, ‘Now Mabely, myn owene moder dere, Is this your wil in ernest, that ye seye?’

(330) ‘The devel,’ quod she, ‘so fecche him er he deye, And panne and al, but he wol him repente!’ 1630 ‘Nay, olde stot, that is nat myn entente,’ Quod this Somnour, ‘for to repente me, For any thing that I have had of thee; I wolde I hadde thy smok and every clooth!’ ‘Now, brother,’ quod the devel, ‘be nat wrooth; 1635 Thy body and this panne ben myne by right. Thou shalt with me to helle yet to-night, Where thou shalt knowen of our privetee (340) More than a maister of divinitee:’ And with that word this foule feend him hente; 1640 Body and soule, he with the devel wente Wher-as that somnours han hir heritage. And god, that maked after his image Mankinde, save and gyde us alle and some; And leve this Somnour good man to bicome!

1645 Lordinges, I coude han told yow, quod this Frere, Hadde I had leyser for this Somnour here, After the text of Crist [and] Poul and Iohn (350) And of our othere doctours many oon, Swiche peynes, that your hertes mighte agryse, 1650 Al-be-it so, no tonge may devyse, Thogh that I mighte a thousand winter telle, The peyne of thilke cursed hous of helle. But, for to kepe us fro that cursed place, Waketh, and preyeth Iesu for his grace 1655 So kepe us fro the temptour Sathanas. Herketh this word, beth war as in this cas; The leoun sit in his await alway (360) To slee the innocent, if that he may. Disposeth ay your hertes to withstonde 1660 The feend, that yow wolde make thral and bonde. He may nat tempten yow over your might; For Crist wol be your champion and knight. And prayeth that thise Somnours hem repente Of hir misdedes, er that the feend hem hente. Here endeth the Freres tale.

The prologe of the Somnours Tale. 1665 This Somnour in his stiropes hye stood; Up-on this Frere his herte was so wood, That lyk an aspen leef he quook for yre.

‘Lordinges,’ quod he, ‘but o thing I desyre; I yow biseke that, of your curteisye, 1670 Sin ye han herd this false Frere lye, As suffereth me I may my tale telle! This Frere bosteth that he knoweth helle, And god it woot, that it is litel wonder; (10) Freres and feendes been but lyte a-sonder. 1675 For pardee, ye han ofte tyme herd telle, How that a frere ravisshed was to helle In spirit ones by a visioun; And as an angel ladde him up and doun, To shewen him the peynes that ther were, 1680 In al the place saugh he nat a frere; Of other folk he saugh y-nowe in wo. Un-to this angel spak the frere tho:

“Now, sir,” quod he, “han freres swich a grace (20) That noon of hem shal come to this place?” 1685 “Yis,” quod this angel, “many a millioun!” And un-to Sathanas he ladde him doun. “And now hath Sathanas,” seith he, “a tayl Brodder than of a carrik is the sayl. Hold up thy tayl, thou Sathanas!” quod he, 1690 “Shewe forth thyn ers, and lat the frere see Wher is the nest of freres in this place!” And, er that half a furlong-wey of space, Right so as bees out swarmen from an hyve, (30) Out of the develes ers ther gonne dryve 1695 Twenty thousand freres in a route, And thurgh-out helle swarmeden aboute; And comen agayn, as faste as they may gon, And in his ers they crepten everichon. He clapte his tayl agayn, and lay ful stille. 1700 This frere, whan he loked hadde his fille Upon the torments of this sory place, His spirit god restored of his grace Un-to his body agayn, and he awook; (40) But natheles, for fere yet he quook, 1705 So was the develes ers ay in his minde, That is his heritage of verray kinde. God save yow alle, save this cursed Frere; My prologe wol I ende in this manere.’ Here endeth the Prologe of the Somnours Tale.

Here biginneth the Somonour his Tale. Lordinges, ther is in Yorkshire, as I gesse, 1710 A mersshy contree called Holdernesse, In which ther wente a limitour aboute, To preche, and eek to begge, it is no doute. And so bifel, that on a day this frere Had preched at a chirche in his manere, 1715 And specially, aboven every thing, Excited he the peple in his preching, To trentals, and to yeve, for goddes sake, (10) Wher-with men mighten holy houses make, Ther as divyne service is honoured, 1720 Nat ther as it is wasted and devoured, Ne ther it nedeth nat for to be yive, As to possessioners, that mowen live, Thanked be god, in wele and habundaunce. ‘Trentals,’ seyde he, ‘deliveren fro penaunce 1725 Hir freendes soules, as wel olde as yonge, Ye, whan that they been hastily y-songe; Nat for to holde a preest Ioly and gay, (20) He singeth nat but o masse in a day; Delivereth out,’ quod he, ‘anon the soules; 1730 Ful hard it is with fleshhook or with oules To been y-clawed, or to brenne or bake; Now spede yow hastily, for Cristes sake.’ And whan this frere had seyd al his entente, With qui cum patre forth his wey he wente.

1735 Whan folk in chirche had yeve him what hem leste, He wente his wey, no lenger wolde he reste, With scrippe and tipped staf, y-tukked hye; (30) In every hous he gan to poure and prye, And beggeth mele, and chese, or elles corn. 1740 His felawe hadde a staf tipped with horn, A peyre of tables al of yvory, And a poyntel polisshed fetisly, And wroot the names alwey, as he stood, Of alle folk that yaf him any good, 1745 Ascaunces that he wolde for hem preye. ‘Yeve us a busshel whete, malt, or reye, A goddes kechil, or a trip of chese, (40) Or elles what yow list, we may nat chese; A goddes halfpeny or a masse-peny, 1750 Or yeve us of your brawn, if ye have eny; A dagon of your blanket, leve dame, Our suster dere, lo! here I write your name; Bacon or beef, or swich thing as ye finde.’

A sturdy harlot wente ay hem bihinde, 1755 That was hir hostes man, and bar a sak, And what men yaf hem, leyde it on his bak. And whan that he was out at dore anon, (50) He planed awey the names everichon That he biforn had writen in his tables; 1760 He served hem with nyfles and with fables. ‘Nay, ther thou lixt, thou Somnour,’ quod the Frere. ‘Pees,’ quod our Host, ‘for Cristes moder dere; Tel forth thy tale and spare it nat at al.’ So thryve I, quod this Somnour, so I shal.— 1765 So longe he wente hous by hous, til he Cam til an hous ther he was wont to be Refresshed more than in an hundred placis. (60) Sik lay the gode man, whos that the place is; Bedrede up-on a couche lowe he lay. 1770 ‘Deus hic,’ quod he, ‘O Thomas, freend, good day,’ Seyde this frere curteisly and softe. ‘Thomas,’ quod he, ‘god yelde yow! ful ofte Have I up-on this bench faren ful weel. Here have I eten many a mery meel’; 1775 And fro the bench he droof awey the cat, And leyde adoun his potente and his hat, And eek his scrippe, and sette him softe adoun. (70) His felawe was go walked in-to toun, Forth with his knave, in-to that hostelrye 1780 Wher-as he shoop him thilke night to lye.

‘O dere maister,’ quod this syke man, ‘How han ye fare sith that March bigan? I saugh yow noght this fourtenight or more.’ ‘God woot,’ quod he, ‘laboured have I ful sore; 1785 And specially, for thy savacioun Have I seyd many a precious orisoun, And for our othere frendes, god hem blesse! (80) I have to-day been at your chirche at messe, And seyd a sermon after my simple wit, 1790 Nat al after the text of holy writ; For it is hard to yow, as I suppose, And therfore wol I teche yow al the glose. Glosinge is a glorious thing, certeyn, For lettre sleeth, so as we clerkes seyn. 1795 Ther have I taught hem to be charitable, And spende hir good ther it is resonable, And ther I saugh our dame; a! wher is she?’

(90) ‘Yond in the yerd I trowe that she be,’ Seyde this man, ‘and she wol come anon.’ 1800 ‘Ey, maister! wel-come be ye, by seint Iohn!’ Seyde this wyf, ‘how fare ye hertely?’ The frere aryseth up ful curteisly, And hir embraceth in his armes narwe, And kiste hir swete, and chirketh as a sparwe 1805 With his lippes: ‘dame,’ quod he, ‘right weel, As he that is your servant every deel. Thanked be god, that yow yaf soule and lyf, (100) Yet saugh I nat this day so fair a wyf In al the chirche, god so save me!’

1810 ‘Ye, god amende defautes, sir,’ quod she, ‘Algates wel-come be ye, by my fey!’ ‘Graunt mercy, dame, this have I founde alwey. But of your grete goodnesse, by your leve, I wolde prey yow that ye nat yow greve, 1815 I wol with Thomas speke a litel throwe. Thise curats been ful necligent and slowe To grope tendrely a conscience. (110) In shrift, in preching is my diligence, And studie in Petres wordes, and in Poules. 1820 I walke, and fisshe Cristen mennes soules, To yelden Iesu Crist his propre rente; To sprede his word is set al myn entente.’ ‘Now, by your leve, o dere sir,’ quod she, ‘Chydeth him weel, for seinte Trinitee. 1825 He is as angry as a pissemyre, Though that he have al that he can desyre. Though I him wrye a-night and make him warm, (120) And on hym leye my leg outher myn arm, He groneth lyk our boor, lyth in our sty. 1830 Other desport right noon of him have I; I may nat plese him in no maner cas.’

‘O Thomas! Ie vous dy, Thomas! Thomas! This maketh the feend, this moste ben amended. Ire is a thing that hye god defended, 1835 And ther-of wol I speke a word or two.’

‘Now maister,’ quod the wyf, ‘er that I go, What wol ye dyne? I wol go ther-aboute.’ (130) ‘Now dame,’ quod he, ‘Ie vous dy sanz doute, Have I nat of a capon but the livere, 1840 And of your softe breed nat but a shivere, And after that a rosted pigges heed, (But that I nolde no beest for me were deed), Thanne hadde I with yow hoomly suffisaunce. I am a man of litel sustenaunce. 1845 My spirit hath his fostring in the Bible. The body is ay so redy and penyble To wake, that my stomak is destroyed. (140) I prey yow, dame, ye be nat anoyed, Though I so freendly yow my conseil shewe; 1850 By god, I wolde nat telle it but a fewe.’

‘Now, sir,’ quod she, ‘but o word er I go; My child is deed with-inne thise wykes two, Sone after that ye wente out of this toun.’ ‘His deeth saugh I by revelacioun,’ 1855 Seith this frere, ‘at hoom in our dortour. I dar wel seyn that, er that half an hour After his deeth, I saugh him born to blisse (150) In myn avisioun, so god me wisse! So dide our sexteyn and our fermerer, 1860 That han been trewe freres fifty yeer; They may now, god be thanked of his lone, Maken hir Iubilee and walke allone. And up I roos, and al our covent eke, With many a tere trikling on my cheke, 1865 Withouten noyse or clateringe of belles; Te deum was our song and no-thing elles, Save that to Crist I seyde an orisoun, (160) Thankinge him of his revelacioun. For sir and dame, trusteth me right weel, 1870 Our orisons been more effectueel, And more we seen of Cristes secree thinges Than burel folk, al-though they weren kinges. We live in povert and in abstinence, And burel folk in richesse and despence 1875 Of mete and drinke, and in hir foul delyt. We han this worldes lust al in despyt. Lazar and Dives liveden diversly, (170) And diverse guerdon hadden they ther-by. Who-so wol preye, he moot faste and be clene, 1880 And fatte his soule and make his body lene. We fare as seith thapostle; cloth and fode Suffysen us, though they be nat ful gode. The clennesse and the fastinge of us freres Maketh that Crist accepteth our preyeres.

1885 Lo, Moyses fourty dayes and fourty night Fasted, er that the heighe god of might Spak with him in the mountain of Sinay. (180) With empty wombe, fastinge many a day, Receyved he the lawe that was writen 1890 With goddes finger; and Elie, wel ye witen, In mount Oreb, er he hadde any speche With hye god, that is our lyves leche, He fasted longe and was in contemplaunce.

Aaron, that hadde the temple in governaunce, 1895 And eek the othere preestes everichon, In-to the temple whan they sholde gon To preye for the peple, and do servyse, (190) They nolden drinken, in no maner wyse, No drinke, which that mighte hem dronke make, 1900 But there in abstinence preye and wake, Lest that they deyden; tak heed what I seye. But they be sobre that for the peple preye, War that I seye,—namore! for it suffyseth. Our lord Iesu, as holy writ devyseth, 1905 Yaf us ensample of fastinge and preyeres. Therfor we mendinants, we sely freres, Been wedded to poverte and continence, (200) To charitee, humblesse, and abstinence, To persecucion for rightwisnesse, 1910 To wepinge, misericorde, and clennesse. And therfor may ye see that our preyeres— I speke of us, we mendinants, we freres— Ben to the hye god more acceptable Than youres, with your festes at the table. 1915 Fro Paradys first, if I shal nat lye, Was man out chaced for his glotonye; And chaast was man in Paradys, certeyn.

(210) But herkne now, Thomas, what I shal seyn. I ne have no text of it, as I suppose, 1930 But I shall finde it in a maner glose, That specially our swete lord Iesus Spak this by freres, whan he seyde thus: “Blessed be they that povre in spirit been.” And so forth al the gospel may ye seen, 1925 Wher it be lyker our professioun, Or hirs that swimmen in possessioun. Fy on hir pompe and on hir glotonye! (220) And for hir lewednesse I hem diffye.

Me thinketh they ben lyk Iovinian, 1930 Fat as a whale, and walkinge as a swan; Al vinolent as botel in the spence. Hir preyer is of ful gret reverence; Whan they for soules seye the psalm of Davit, Lo, “buf!” they seye, “cor meum eructavit!” 1935 Who folweth Cristes gospel and his fore, But we that humble been and chast and pore, Werkers of goddes word, not auditours? (230) Therfore, right as an hauk up, at a sours, Up springeth in-to their, right so prayeres 1940 Of charitable and chaste bisy freres Maken hir sours to goddes eres two. Thomas! Thomas! so mote I ryde or go, And by that lord that clepid is seint Yve, Nere thou our brother, sholdestou nat thryve! 1945 In our chapitre praye we day and night To Crist, that he thee sende hele and might, Thy body for to welden hastily.’

(240) ‘God woot,’ quod he, ‘no-thing ther-of fele I; As help me Crist, as I, in fewe yeres, 1950 Han spended, up-on dyvers maner freres, Ful many a pound; yet fare I never the bet. Certeyn, my good have I almost biset. Farwel, my gold! for it is al ago!’

The frere answerde, ‘O Thomas, dostow so? 1955 What nedeth yow diverse freres seche? What nedeth him that hath a parfit leche To sechen othere leches in the toun? (250) Your inconstance is your confusioun. Holde ye than me, or elles our covent, 1960 To praye for yow ben insufficient? Thomas, that Iape nis nat worth a myte; Your maladye is for we han to lyte. “A! yif that covent half a quarter otes!” “A! yif that covent four and twenty grotes!” 1965 “A! yif that frere a peny, and lat him go!” Nay, nay, Thomas! it may no-thing be so. What is a ferthing worth parted in twelve? (260) Lo, ech thing that is oned in him-selve Is more strong than whan it is to-scatered. 1970 Thomas, of me thou shalt nat been y-flatered; Thou woldest han our labour al for noght. The hye god, that al this world hath wroght, Seith that the werkman worthy is his hyre. Thomas! noght of your tresor I desyre 1975 As for my-self, but that al our covent To preye for yow is ay so diligent, And for to builden Cristes owene chirche. (270) Thomas! if ye wol lernen for to wirche, Of buildinge up of chirches may ye finde 1980 If it be good, in Thomas lyf of Inde. Ye lye heer, ful of anger and of yre, With which the devel set your herte a-fyre, And chyden heer this sely innocent, Your wyf, that is so meke and pacient. 1985 And therfor, Thomas, trowe me if thee leste, Ne stryve nat with thy wyf, as for thy beste; And ber this word awey now, by thy feith, (280) Touchinge this thing, lo, what the wyse seith: “With-in thyn hous ne be thou no leoun; 1990 To thy subgits do noon oppressioun; Ne make thyne aqueyntances nat to flee.” And Thomas, yet eft-sones I charge thee, Be war from hir that in thy bosom slepeth; War fro the serpent that so slyly crepeth 1995 Under the gras, and stingeth subtilly. Be war, my sone, and herkne paciently, That twenty thousand men han lost hir lyves, (290) For stryving with hir lemmans and hir wyves. Now sith ye han so holy and meke a wyf, 2000 What nedeth yow, Thomas, to maken stryf? Ther nis, y-wis, no serpent so cruel, Whan man tret on his tayl, ne half so fel, As womman is, whan she hath caught an ire; Vengeance is thanne al that they desyre. 2005 Ire is a sinne, oon of the grete of sevene, Abhominable un-to the god of hevene; And to him-self it is destruccion. (300) This every lewed viker or person Can seye, how Ire engendreth homicyde. 2010 Ire is, in sooth, executour of pryde. I coude of Ire seye so muche sorwe, My tale sholde laste til to-morwe. And therfor preye I god bothe day and night, An irous man, god sende him litel might! 2015 It is greet harm and, certes, gret pitee, To sette an irous man in heigh degree.

Whilom ther was an irous potestat, (310) As seith Senek, that, duringe his estaat, Up-on a day out riden knightes two, 2020 And as fortune wolde that it were so, That oon of hem cam hoom, that other noght. Anon the knight bifore the Iuge is broght, That seyde thus, ‘thou hast thy felawe slayn, For which I deme thee to the deeth, certayn.’ 2025 And to another knight comanded he, ‘Go lede him to the deeth, I charge thee.’ And happed, as they wente by the weye (320) Toward the place ther he sholde deye, The knight cam, which men wenden had be deed. 2030 Thanne thoughte they, it was the beste reed, To lede hem bothe to the Iuge agayn. They seiden, ‘lord, the knight ne hath nat slayn His felawe; here he standeth hool alyve.’ ‘Ye shul be deed,’ quod he, ‘so moot I thryve! 2035 That is to seyn, bothe oon, and two, and three!’ And to the firste knight right thus spak he, ‘I dampned thee, thou most algate be deed. (330) And thou also most nedes lese thyn heed, For thou art cause why thy felawe deyth.’ 2040 And to the thridde knight right thus he seyth, ‘Thou hast nat doon that I comanded thee.’ And thus he dide don sleen hem alle three.

Irous Cambyses was eek dronkelewe, And ay delyted him to been a shrewe. 2045 And so bifel, a lord of his meynee, That lovede vertuous moralitee, Seyde on a day bitwix hem two right thus: (340) ‘A lord is lost, if he be vicious; And dronkenesse is eek a foul record 2050 Of any man, and namely in a lord. Ther is ful many an eye and many an ere Awaiting on a lord, and he noot where. For goddes love, drink more attemprely; Wyn maketh man to lesen wrecchedly 2055 His minde, and eek his limes everichon.’

‘The revers shaltou se,’ quod he, ‘anon; And preve it, by thyn owene experience, (350) That wyn ne dooth to folk no swich offence. Ther is no wyn bireveth me my might 2060 Of hand ne foot, ne of myn eyen sight’— And, for despyt, he drank ful muchel more An hondred part than he had doon bifore; And right anon, this irous cursed wrecche Leet this knightes sone bifore him fecche, 2065 Comandinge him he sholde bifore him stonde. And sodeynly he took his bowe in honde, And up the streng he pulled to his ere, (360) And with an arwe he slow the child right there: ‘Now whether have I a siker hand or noon?’ 2070 Quod he, ‘is al my might and minde agoon? Hath wyn bireved me myn eyen sight?’

What sholde I telle thanswere of the knight? His sone was slayn, ther is na-more to seye. Beth war therfor with lordes how ye pleye. 2075 Singeth Placebo, and I shal, if I can, But if it be un-to a povre man. To a povre man men sholde hise vyces telle, (370) But nat to a lord, thogh he sholde go to helle. Lo irous Cirus, thilke Percien, 2080 How he destroyed the river of Gysen, For that an hors of his was dreynt ther-inne, Whan that he wente Babiloigne to winne. He made that the river was so smal, That wommen mighte wade it over al. 2085 Lo, what seyde he, that so wel teche can? “Ne be no felawe to an irous man, Ne with no wood man walke by the weye, (380) Lest thee repente;” ther is na-more to seye. Now Thomas, leve brother, lef thyn ire; 2090 Thou shall me finde as Iust as is a squire. Hold nat the develes knyf ay at thyn herte; Thyn angre dooth thee al to sore smerte; But shewe to me al thy confessioun.’

‘Nay,’ quod the syke man, ‘by Seint Simoun! 2095 I have be shriven this day at my curat; I have him told al hoolly myn estat; Nedeth na-more to speke of it,’ seith he, (390) ‘But if me list of myn humilitee.’

‘Yif me thanne of thy gold, to make our cloistre,’ 2100 Quod he, ‘for many a muscle and many an oistre, Whan other men han ben ful wel at eyse, Hath been our fode, our cloistre for to reyse. And yet, god woot, unnethe the fundement Parfourned is, ne of our pavement 2105 Nis nat a tyle yet with-inne our wones; By god, we owen fourty pound for stones! Now help, Thomas, for him that harwed helle! (400) For elles moste we our bokes selle. And if ye lakke our predicacioun, 2110 Than gooth the world al to destruccioun. For who-so wolde us fro this world bireve, So god me save, Thomas, by your leve, He wolde bireve out of this world the sonne. For who can teche and werchen as we conne? 2115 And that is nat of litel tyme,’ quod he; ‘But sith that Elie was, or Elisee, Han freres been, that finde I of record, (410) In charitee, y-thanked be our lord. Now Thomas, help, for seinte charitee!’ 2120 And doun anon he sette him on his knee.

This syke man wex wel ny wood for ire; He wolde that the frere had been on-fire With his false dissimulacioun. ‘Swich thing as is in my possessioun,’ 2125 Quod he, ‘that may I yeven, and non other. Ye sey me thus, how that I am your brother?’

‘Ye, certes,’ quod the frere, ‘trusteth weel; (420) I took our dame our lettre with our seel.’

‘Now wel,’ quod he, ‘and som-what shal I yive 2130 Un-to your holy covent whyl I live, And in thyn hand thou shalt it have anoon; On this condicioun, and other noon, That thou departe it so, my dere brother, That every frere have also muche as other. 2135 This shaltou swere on thy professioun, With-outen fraude or cavillacioun.’

‘I swere it,’ quod this frere, ‘upon my feith!’ (430) And ther-with-al his hand in his he leith: ‘Lo, heer my feith! in me shal be no lak.’

2140 ‘Now thanne, put thyn hand doun by my bak,’ Seyde this man, ‘and grope wel bihinde; Bynethe my buttok ther shaltow finde A thing that I have hid in privetee.’

‘A!’ thoghte this frere, ‘this shal go with me!’ 2145 And doun his hand he launcheth to the clifte, In hope for to finde ther a yifte. And whan this syke man felte this frere (440) Aboute his tuwel grope there and here, Amidde his hand he leet the frere a fart. 2150 Ther nis no capul, drawinge in a cart, That mighte have lete a fart of swich a soun.

‘The frere up stirte as doth a wood leoun: ‘A! false cherl,’ quod he, ‘for goddes bones, This hastow for despyt doon, for the nones! 2155 Thou shalt abye this fart, if that I may!’

His meynee, whiche that herden this affray, Cam lepinge in, and chaced out the frere; (450) And forth he gooth, with a ful angry chere, And fette his felawe, ther-as lay his stoor. 2160 He looked as it were a wilde boor; He grinte with his teeth, so was he wrooth. A sturdy pas doun to the court he gooth, Wher-as ther woned a man of greet honour, To whom that he was alwey confessour; 2165 This worthy man was lord of that village. This frere cam, as he were in a rage, Wher-as this lord sat eting at his bord. (460) Unnethes mighte the frere speke a word, Til atte laste he seyde: ‘god yow see!’

2170 This lord gan loke, and seide, ‘benedicite! What, frere Iohn, what maner world is this? I see wel that som thing ther is amis. Ye loken as the wode were ful of thevis, Sit doun anon, and tel me what your greef is, 2175 And it shal been amended, if I may.’

‘I have,’ quod he, ‘had a despyt this day, God yelde yow! adoun in your village, (470) That in this world is noon so povre a page, That he nolde have abhominacioun 2180 Of that I have receyved in your toun. And yet ne greveth me no-thing so sore, As that this olde cherl, with lokkes hore, Blasphemed hath our holy covent eke.’

‘Now, maister,’ quod this lord, ‘I yow biseke.’ 2185 ‘No maister, sire,’ quod he, ‘but servitour, Thogh I have had in scole swich honour. God lyketh nat that “Raby” men us calle, (480) Neither in market ne in your large halle.’

‘No fors,’ quod he, ‘but tel me al your grief.’ 2190 ‘Sire,’ quod this frere, ‘an odious meschief This day bitid is to myn ordre and me, And so per consequens to ech degree Of holy chirche, god amende it sone!’

‘Sir,’ quod the lord, ‘ye woot what is to done. 2195 Distempre yow noght, ye be my confessour; Ye been the salt of the erthe and the savour. For goddes love your pacience ye holde; (490) Tel me your grief:’ and he anon him tolde, As ye han herd biforn, ye woot wel what. 2200 The lady of the hous ay stille sat, Til she had herd al what the frere sayde: ‘Ey, goddes moder,’ quod she, ‘blisful mayde! Is ther oght elles? telle me faithfully.’

‘Madame,’ quod he, ‘how thinketh yow her-by?’

‘How that me thinketh?’ quod she; ‘so god me speede, I seye, a cherl hath doon a cherles dede. What shold I seye? god lat him never thee! (500) His syke heed is ful of vanitee, I hold him in a maner frenesye.’

2210 ‘Madame,’ quod he, ‘by god I shal nat lye; But I on other weyes may be wreke, I shal diffame him over-al ther I speke, This false blasphemour, that charged me To parte that wol nat departed be, 2215 To every man y-liche, with meschaunce!’

The lord sat stille as he were in a traunce, And in his herte he rolled up and doun, (510) ‘How hadde this cherl imaginacioun To shewe swich a probleme to the frere? 2220 Never erst er now herde I of swich matere; I trowe the devel putte it in his minde. In ars-metryke shal ther no man finde, Biforn this day, of swich a questioun. Who sholde make a demonstracioun, 2225 That every man sholde have y-liche his part As of the soun or savour of a fart? O nyce proude cherl, I shrewe his face! (520) Lo, sires,’ quod the lord, with harde grace, ‘Who ever herde of swich a thing er now? 2230 To every man y-lyke? tel me how? It is an inpossible, it may nat be! Ey, nyce cherl, god lete him never thee! The rumblinge of a fart, and every soun, Nis but of eir reverberacioun, 2235 And ever it wasteth lyte and lyte awey. Ther is no man can demen, by my fey, If that it were departed equally. (530) What, lo, my cherl, lo, yet how shrewedly Un-to my confessour to-day he spak! 2240 I holde him certeyn a demoniak! Now ete your mete, and lat the cherl go pleye, Lat him go honge himself a devel weye!’

Now stood the lordes squyer at the bord, That carf his mete, and herde, word by word, 2245 Of alle thinges of which I have yow sayd. ‘My lord,’ quod he, ‘be ye nat yvel apayd; I coude telle, for a goune-clooth, (540) To yow, sir frere, so ye be nat wrooth, How that this fart sholde even deled be 2250 Among your covent, if it lyked me.’

‘Tel,’ quod the lord, ‘and thou shall have anon A goune-cloth, by god and by Seint Iohn!’ ‘My lord,’ quod he, ‘whan that the weder is fair, With-outen wind or perturbinge of air, 2255 Lat bringe a cartwheel here in-to this halle, But loke that it have his spokes alle. Twelf spokes hath a cartwheel comunly. (550) And bring me than twelf freres, woot ye why? For thrittene is a covent, as I gesse. 2260 The confessour heer, for his worthinesse, Shal parfourne up the nombre of his covent. Than shal they knele doun, by oon assent, And to every spokes ende, in this manere, Ful sadly leye his nose shal a frere. 2265 Your noble confessour, ther god him save, Shal holde his nose upright, under the nave. Than shal this cherl, with bely stif and toght (560) As any tabour, hider been y-broght; And sette him on the wheel right of this cart, 2270 Upon the nave, and make him lete a fart. And ye shul seen, up peril of my lyf, By preve which that is demonstratif, That equally the soun of it wol wende, And eek the stink, un-to the spokes ende; 2275 Save that this worthy man, your confessour, By-cause he is a man of greet honour, Shal have the firste fruit, as reson is; (570) The noble usage of freres yet is this, The worthy men of hem shul first be served; 2280 And certeinly, he hath it weel deserved. He hath to-day taught us so muchel good With preching in the pulpit ther he stood, That I may vouche-sauf, I sey for me, He hadde the firste smel of fartes three, 2285 And so wolde al his covent hardily; He bereth him so faire and holily.’

The lord, the lady, and ech man, save the frere, (580) Seyde that Iankin spak, in this matere, As wel as Euclide or [as] Ptholomee. 2290 Touchinge this cherl, they seyde, subtiltee And heigh wit made him speken as he spak; He nis no fool, ne no demoniak. And Iankin hath y-wonne a newe goune.— 2294 My tale is doon; we been almost at toune. Here endeth the Somnours Tale.

Here folweth the Prologe of the Clerkes Tale of Oxenford. ‘Sir clerk of Oxenford,’ our hoste sayde, ‘Ye ryde as coy and stille as dooth a mayde, Were newe spoused, sitting at the bord; This day ne herde I of your tonge a word. 5 I trowe ye studie aboute som sophyme, But Salomon seith, “every thing hath tyme.”