Chapter III: Act II: TIME: April 19th. The afternoon

SCENE: Garden of the One Nine-pin inn at the little hamlet
of Bob-up-and-down, en route to Canterbury.

_Right, the inn, with door opening into garden. Back, a
wall about chin-high in which is a wicket gate. The wall is
newly greened over with honeysuckle and rose-vines, which
are just beginning to blossom. Left, an arbour of the same.
Right front, a rough table and chair. Behind the garden
wall runs the highway, beyond which stretches a quiet
rolling landscape, dotted with English elms and hedgerows._

_When the curtain rises, the scene is empty. There is no
sound except the singing of birds, and the hum of a loom
inside the inn. Then, away to the left, is heard a bagpipe
playing. It draws nearer. Behind the wall, then, against
the green background of Spring, pass, in pageant, the_
CANTERBURY PILGRIMS _on horseback. Among the last, astride
her ambler, rides the_ WIFE OF BATH, _telling her tale, in
the group with_ CHAUCER _and the_ PRIORESS. _Behind her
follow the Swains, the_ MILLER _playing the bagpipe. Last
rides the_ REEVE.

_Behind the scene, they are heard to stop at the inn and
call for hostlers. The bustle of arrival, horses led
across a stone court, laughter and abuse,--these sounds
are sufficiently remote to add to the reigning sense of
pleasant quietness in the garden. Through the door of the
inn enters_ CHAUCER, _alone; in his hand, some parchments.
He enters with an abandon of glad-heartedness, half reading
from his parchments_.

CHAUCER

“When that April with his sunny showers
Hath from the drought of March the dreamy powers
Awaked, and steeped the world in such sweet wine
As doth engender blossoms of the vine;
When merry Zephirus, with his soft breath,
In every hedge and heath inspireth
The tender greening shoots, and the young Sun
Hath half his course within the Ram y-run,
And little birds all day make melody
That, all night long, sleep with an open ee,
(So Nature stirs ’em with delicious rages)
Then folk they long to go on pilgrimages--”

SQUIRE

[_Comes from the inn._]

Dan Chaucer! Master Chaucer!

CHAUCER

Signorino!

SQUIRE

Sir, what a ride! Was ever such a ride
As ours from London? Hillsides newly greened,
Brooks splashing silver in the small, sweet grass,
Pelt gusts of rain dark’ning the hills, and then
Wide swallowed up in sunshine! And to feel
My snorting jennet stamp the oozy turf
Under my stirrup, whilst from overhead
Sonnets shook down from every bough. Oh, sir,
Rode Cæsar such a triumph from his wars
When Rome’s high walls were garlanded with girls?

CHAUCER

Boy, let me hug thee!

SQUIRE

Noble sir!

CHAUCER

[_Embracing him._]

A hug!
Spring makes us youths together. On such a day
Old age is fuddled and time’s weights run down.
Hark!

[_A cuckoo sounds; they listen._]

The meadow is the cuckoo’s clock, and strikes
The hour at every minute; larks run up
And ring its golden chimes against the sun.

SQUIRE

Sir, only lovers count the time in heaven.
Are you in love, too?

CHAUCER

Over head and heart.

SQUIRE

Since long?

CHAUCER

These forty years.

SQUIRE

Nay, is your mistress
So old?

CHAUCER

She’s still kind.

SQUIRE

Kind, yet old! Nay, what’s
Her name?

CHAUCER

Hush, she will hear thee.

SQUIRE

Hear me?

CHAUCER

[_Mysteriously._]

Hush!
Mine own true mistress is sweet Out-of-doors.
No Whitsun lassie wears so green a kirtle,
Nor sings so clear, nor smiles with such blue eyes,
As bonny April, winking tears away.
Not flowers o’ silk upon an empress’ sleeve
Can match the broidery of an English field.
No lap of amorous lady in the land
Welcomes her gallant, as sweet Mistress Earth
Her lover. Let Eneas have his Dido!
Daffydowndilly is the dame for me.

PRIORESS

[_Within._]

Joannes!

SQUIRE

You are happy, sir, to have
Your mistress always by you. Mine’s afar
Turning the Italian roses pale with envy.

CHAUCER

She dwells in Italy?

SQUIRE

In Padua.

CHAUCER

In Padua? Why, there I knew Dan Petrarch,
Whose sonnets make the world love-sick for Laura.

SQUIRE

Would I could make it sigh once for my lady!
Sir, will you help me?

CHAUCER

Gladly; what’s her name?

SQUIRE

Alas! Her name is not poetical:
Johanna! Who can sonnetize Johanna?

CHAUCER

Invent her one to please you.

SQUIRE

Euphranasia--
How like you Euphranasia, sir?

FRIAR

[_Aside, popping his head from behind the wall._]

Qui la?

[_Dodges down again._]

PRIORESS

[_Within, singing._]

Laudate, pueri, Dominum; laudate nomen Domini! Nay, Paulus, I
_will_ sing: ’tis pretty weather.

SQUIRE

Euridice or Helena?

PRIORESS

[_Sings within._]

A solis ortu usque ad occasum, laudabile nomen Domini.

SQUIRE

Or, Thisbe?

CHAUCER

[_Lifting a sprig of honeysuckle on the wall._]

Nay, boy, this spray shall name her.

[_The Friar peeps over the wall again._]

SQUIRE

Eglantine!
Music itself! Methinks I have an aunt
Named Eglantine. What matter?--Eglantine!

CHAUCER

I’ll match that name against the Muses nine.

[_Takes out his parchments._]

SQUIRE

What! verses?

CHAUCER

Scraps of prologue to a book
I think to call “The Canterbury Tales.”
Good boy, leave me a bit; I have the fit
To rhyme for a time thy Donna Eglantine.
Come back at chapel-bell, or send someone
To fetch the verses.

SQUIRE

Sir, I will.

[_Exit left._]

FRIAR

Me voila!

[_Exit right, behind wall._]

CHAUCER

[_Reading from one of his parchments, crosses over by the
arbour._]

“There was also a nun, a prioress,
That of her smiling was full simple and coy;
The greatest oath she swore was ‘by St. Loy!’
And she was clepèd Madame Eglantine;
Full daintly she sang the psalms divine;
And French she spake (St. Patrick taught her how),
After the school of Stratford-at-the-Bowe.
Full prettily her wimple pinchèd was,
Her nose piquante; her eyes as grey as glass;
Her mouth full small, and thereto soft and red;
In very sooth she had a fair forehead;
And dangling from her dainty wristlet small,
A brooch of gold she wore, and therewithal
Upon it there was writ a crownèd A,
And after--

[_Enter, right, the Prioress, carrying her little hound. Chaucer
sees her._]

Amor vincit omnia.”

[_He enters the arbour._]

PRIORESS

Joannes, stay indoors and tell your beads.

[_To her little hound._]

Jacquette, ma petite, it is a pretty day.
See you those clouds? They are St. Agnes’ sheep;
She hath washed their wool all white and turned ’em loose
To play on heaven’s warm hillside. Smell that rose?
Sweet-sweet! n’est ce pas, ma petite? Hast ever heard
The Romance of the Rose?

CHAUCER

[_Aside._]

Saints!

PRIORESS

’Tis a tale
As lovely as the flower,--writ all in verses
Dan Chaucer made at court. Hush, hush, don’t tell:
I’ve read it. Ah! Jacquette! Jacquette! Jacquette!
When Mary was a girl in Joseph’s garden,
Were there such pretty days in Palestine?

[_Picks a rose._]

CHAUCER

Gods! must I hand her over--to a brother!
Alas! the sands of dreams, how fast they slip
Till Geoffrey lose his Lord-protectorship.

PRIORESS

[_Plucking the rose’s petals till the last petal falls._]

Pater noster (our Father), qui es in cœlis (which art
in heaven), sanctificetur nomen tuum (hallowed be thy
name). Adveniat regnum tuum (thy kingdom come);
fiat voluntas tua--thy will be done!

CHAUCER

Amen! I must resign!

[_He is about to step out from the arbour and discover himself,
but pauses as the Prioress continues._]

PRIORESS

Alas! We must go seek my brother and so
Quit the protection of this noble stranger.
You know, Jacquette, we must be fond of him.
He saved your life--we mustn’t forget that.
And though the wastel-bread was underdone,
He was most kind at table, and inquired
After your health, petite. And though he kissed
The ale-wife--oui, ma pauvre Jacquette!--yet he
Is contrite, and will seek St. Thomas’ shrine
For absolution.

CHAUCER

Forgive us our trespasses!

PRIORESS

He was so courteous, too, upon the road
I’m sure he is a gentleman. Indeed,
I hope my brother proves as true a knight,
When he arrives.

CHAUCER

Deliver us from temptation!

[_A shout from the pilgrims within._]

PRIORESS

Would he were here now.--Nay, I mean--the other.
This April day flowed sweet as a clear brook
Till these hoarse frogs jumped in to rile its silver.

SWAINS

[_Sing, within._]

The Wife of Bath
She’s a good fellow,
A maiden mellow
Of Aftermath.

PRIORESS

Vite, vite, ma petite.

[_She hastens to the arbour, where Chaucer quickly pretends
to be absorbed in writing. As she is withdrawing hastily,
however, he turns round._]

Monsieur, excusez moi!

CHAUCER

Madame, the fault is mine; I crave your pardon.

PRIORESS

What fault, Monsieur?

CHAUCER

[_Breaks a spray from the arbour and hands it to her._]

I trespass in _your_ bower.
Permettez.

PRIORESS

Honeysuckle?

CHAUCER

So ’tis called;
But poets, lady, name it--eglantine.

PRIORESS

M’sieur!

CHAUCER

May I remain and call it so?

PRIORESS

M’sieur--this is Jacquette, my little hound.

[_Chaucer takes the pup; they retire farther into the
arbour, as the_ WIFE OF BATH _enters from the inn. She
is accompanied by the_ FRIAR, MILLER, COOK, SUMMONER,
PARDONER, MANCIPLE, _and_ SHIPMAN, _who enter singing. They
lift her upon the table, and form a circle round her._]

SWAINS

The Wife of Bath
She’s a good fellow,
A maiden mellow
Of Aftermath.

She cuts a swath
Through sere-and-yellow;
No weeping willow
Bestrews her path.

Her voice in wrath
Is a bullock’s bellow;
For every good fellow
Eyes she hath.

She’s a good fellow,
The Wife of Bath!

ALISOUN

Sweethearts, your lungs can blow the buck’s horn.--Robin,
Ye sing like a bittern bumbling in the mire.

MILLER

By Corpus, ’twas a love-toot.

FRIAR

Prithee, sweet dame,
Finish your tale.

ALL

Finish the tale.

[_Other pilgrims enter from the inn._]

ALISOUN

Shut up, lads. Sure, my wits are gone blackberrying.
Where was I?

FRIAR

Where King Arthur’s knight came home,
You said, and--

ALISOUN

Will you let me say it then?

FRIAR

Sweet dame, you said--

ALISOUN

A friar and a fly
Will fall in every dish, that’s what I said.
Lads, will ye hear this church-bell ring, or me?

ALL

You--you--

SUMMONER

I’ll muffle his clapper.

ALISOUN

Hark my tale:
This knight rode home a-whistlin’ to himself,
Right up the castle-hall, where all the lords
And ladies sat. “Your majesties,” quoth he,
“Though I be hanged, this is my true reply:
Women desire to do their own sweet wills.”

[_The Swains clap._]

“Ho!” cried King Arthur, “that’s the best I’ve heard
Since I was first henpecked by Guinevere.
Depart! Thy neck is free!”
But at that word,
Up sprang an old wife, sitting by the fire,
And says: “Merci, your Majesty, ’twas I
That taught this answer to the knight; and he
Hath sworn to do the next thing I require.
Therefore, sweet knight, before this court I pray
That ye will take me to your wedded wife.
Have I said false?”
“Nay, bury me,” quoth he.
“Then I will be thy love.”
“My love?” quoth he.
“Nay, my damnation!”
“Take your wife to church,”
Cries out the King, “and look ye treat her well,
Or you shall hang.”

MILLER

Ho! What a roast!

PRIORESS

[_Aside._]

Poor man!

ALISOUN

The knight he spake no word, but forth he takes
His grizzly bride to church, and after dark
He leads her home. “Alas! sweet husband mine,
What troubleth you?” quoth she. “Nothing,” quoth he.
“Perchance that I am old?” “Nay, nay,” quoth he.
“Ugly and old,” quoth she, “cures jealousy.”
“It doth indeed,” quoth he. “What then?” quoth she.
“Are ye content?” “More than content,” quoth he;
“And will ye let me do my own sweet will
In everything?” “In everything,” quoth he,
“My lady and my love, do as you please.”
“Why, then, so please me, strike a light,” quoth she.
And when the knight had lit the candle, lo!
His grizzly bride--she was the Fairy Queen.

[_Loud acclamation._]

PRIORESS

[_Aside._]

Praise heaven!

FRIAR

[_Into whose arms Alisoun jumps._]

Bravo, Queen Mab, it was thyself.

COOK

I’ll bet
The knight was her fifth husband.

ALISOUN

Welcome the sixth!
God made me the King Solomon of wives.

SHIPMAN

[_To the Miller, who begins to play his pipes._]

God save thee, Robin! Bust thy pigskin.

ALISOUN

Aye!
Let’s have an elf dance. Come!

[_To the Summoner._]

Thy arm, sweet Puck!

BOTTLEJOHN

[_To Herry Bailey, who is looking on._]

Tarry ye all to-night?

HOST

Aye, till to-morrow.

BOTTLEJOHN

’Twill be a pinch for room.

HOST

[_Laughs._]

But not for reckonings.

[_The Miller, sitting on the wall, plays his bagpipe,
while Alisoun dances with her Swains, each of whom is
jealous of the rest. Chaucer and the Prioress still remain
out of sight in the arbour. As the music grows merrier,
the Prioress begins to click the beads of her rosary
rhythmically._]

CHAUCER

Why do you tell your beads, Madame?

PRIORESS

To keep
The fairies from my feet.

CHAUCER

The fairies?

PRIORESS

Yes,
The bagpipe sets them free. I feel them twitch me.

CHAUCER

Why drive them away?

PRIORESS

Monsieur!

CHAUCER

See you the birds?
St. Francis taught that we should learn of them.

PRIORESS

What do they?

CHAUCER

Sing, and dance from bough to bough.
The Muses sing; and St. Cecilia danced.

PRIORESS

Think you she danced, sir, of her own sweet will?

CHAUCER

Nay, not in April! In April, ’tis God’s will.

PRIORESS

Monsieur--

[_Gives Chaucer her hand shyly._]

’tis April.

[_They dance, in stately fashion, within the arbour.
Forgetting themselves in the dance, however, they come a
little too far forward; Alisoun spies them, and clapping
her hands, the music stops._]

ALISOUN

Caught! Ho, turtle-doves
Come forth, Sir Elvish Knight, Sir Oberon!
Fetch forth thy veilèd nymph, that trips so fair.

[_Chaucer steps forth from the arbour. The Prioress,
within, seizes up her little hound from a settle and hides
her face._]

ALL

Hail!

CHAUCER

Silence, loons! And thou, wife, hold thy tongue
And know thy betters. As for you, ye lummocks,
You need be proud as water in a ditch
To glass this lady’s image even in your eyes,
So, look ye muddy not her sandal-tips.
Begone! And mind when next you laugh the same,
That all the saints, to whom you bumpkins pray,
Dance with the Virgin round the throne of God.
Begone, and do your reverences.

[_Some of the pilgrims retire; others remain staring and
bow as the Prioress, veiled, crosses over to the inn door
with her little hound._]

ALISOUN

[_To the Cook._]

Hist, Roger!
What is the man?

COOK

No cheap dough.

PRIORESS

O Jacquette!

[_Exit._]

ALISOUN

[_Approaches Chaucer tentatively._]

God save thee, man! I ken not who thou art,
But him’s can curry down a ticklish mare
Like me, he hath a backbone in his bolster;
I love thee better for’t.--Ay, gang thy gait;
But, bully Geoffrey, mind, we have a bet:
Yea, if I fry thee not in thine own grease
And cry thee tit for tat, call me a man.
Man lives _for_ wit, but woman lives _by_ it.--
These dancing virgins!

[_Exit, followed by Friar._]

CHAUCER

Clods and bumpkins all!

MILLER

[_Gets in Chaucer’s way defiantly._]

Sir Oberon--

CHAUCER

Stand by!

MILLER

Lord Rim-Ram-Ruff!
He plays the courtier.

[_Bitterly._]

Harkee, Monsieur Courtier,
“When Adam delved and Eve span,
Who was then the gentleman?”

CHAUCER

Why, Monsieur Snake; he cherished the family tree
As the apple of his eye. In view of which,
Go drink a pot of cider.

[_Throws the Miller a coin._]

MILLER

[_Ducking._]

’Save your Worship!

[_Exit with Swains._]

CHAUCER

[_Solus._]

“When Adam delved”--who was court-poet then?
Adam. Who was Bob Clodhopper? Why, Adam.
Which, then, in that close body politic
Perked high his chin? Which doffed and ducked the knee?
Which tanned and sweat in the lean furrow? Which
Spat on the spade--and wore it in his crest?
Which was the real Adam? Sly Dame Clay,
If paradox died not in Genesis,
Let me not fancy Richard’s laureate
Alone’s incognito. Incognito
Are all that pass in nature’s pilgrimage,
For thou, with loamy masks and flesh-tint veils,
Dost make us, in this timeless carnival,
Thy dupes and dancers, ushering the courtier
To kiss beneath thy glove the goose-girl’s hand,
Or snub, behind the poor familiar rogue
And clown, some god that hides in Momus’ mask.
Nay, but not she--my gentle Prioress!
Though all the rest, in born disguisements, be
Basted and togg’d with huge discrepancy,
_She_ wears the proper habit of her soul.
Dear God! how harmony like hers unchains
Delight from the lugg’d body of Desire
To sing toward heaven like the meadow-lark,
Till, with her parting, it drops dumb again
In the old quag of flesh.
Flesh, Geoffrey! Fie!
What need to guard from sight the poet in thee
When nature thus hath hoop’d and wadded him
With barracoons of paunch? What say, thou tun?
Will Eglantine mistake thee for Apollo,
Thou jewel in the bloated toad; thou bagpipe
Puff’d by the Muse; thou demijohn of nectar;
Thou grape of Hebe, over-ripe with rhyme;
Thou lump of Clio, mountain of Terpsichore;
Diogenes, that talkest in thy tub!
Fie, Mother Earth!--Cling not about my waist
As if I were a weanling sphere. Fall off!
Ye gods! that kneaded this incongruous dough
With lyric leaven, sweat me to a rake-handle
Or let the Muse grow fat!

[_Exit._]

FRIAR

[_Outside, sings._]

Ye pouting wenches, pretty wives,
That itch at weddings, fairs, and wakes,
For trothal-rings and kissing-cakes,
For wristlets, pins, and pearlèd knives,
Hither trip it!
To peep i’ the friar’s farsèd tippet,
Who gently for sweet sinners’ sakes--

[_Enter the Friar and Alisoun._]

ALISOUN

Hush!

[_Going to the cellar door, she opens it and ponders._]

FRIAR

Ben’cite!
(Thus singeth he.)
Bene--benedicite!

ALISOUN

Hold thy cock-crow! My wit’s working.

FRIAR

Nay,
Thy jealousy, sweet dame.

[_Sings._]

Ye lasses jilted, lovers droopèd,
Rose-lip--

ALISOUN

Shut up!

FRIAR

[_Sings on._]

Rose-lip, White-brow, Blue-eye, Brown-tress,
Confide your pretty hearts! Confess
To the pleasant friar: trust not Cupid--

ALISOUN

By Peter!
I have the plan!

FRIAR

[_Sings._]

Love is a liar,
But lovers love the pleasant friar,
Who, making of their burdens less--

[_Here he approaches Alisoun caressingly, and deftly steals a
gold pin from her head-dress._]

ALISOUN

[_Laughing to herself._]

Ha! that shall win my bet!
What, Huberd!

FRIAR

[_Secreting the pin._]

Ben’cite!
(Thus singeth he.)
Bene--benedicite!

ALISOUN

Wilt thou hear my plan?

FRIAR

Fair Alis,
I would console thy jealousy.

ALISOUN

Me jealous!
Blest be thy breech! Who of?

FRIAR

[_Imitating Chaucer in his former speech._]

“And, thou, wife, hold
Thy tongue and know thy betters.”

ALISOUN

Ho! my betters?
That little snipper-snapper of a saint
He praised for dancing ring-around-the-rose-tree,
When honest wives are damned for showing their ankles?
A fig for her!--What, him! a walking hay-cock
That woos a knitting-needle of a nun!
And me! that when I was to home in Bath
Walked into kirk before the beadle’s wife:
My betters? Wait until I win my bet!

FRIAR

What bet?

ALISOUN

Canst thou be mum?

FRIAR

Dame, I have been
A bishop’s valet, a nun’s confidant,
A wife’s confessor, a maid’s notary;
As coroner, I’ve sat in Cheapside inns
When more than wine flowed. This breast can be dark
As Pharaoh’s chamber in the pyramids.

ALISOUN

List then: Ye wot I made a bet last night
With Geoffrey. This was it: Dame Eglantine,
Here at this inn, expects to meet her brother--

FRIAR

You mean--Dan Roderigo.

ALISOUN

Aye; but as
She hath not seen him since she was a child,
She hath not recognised him. He, ye ken,
Doth wear a ring wi’ a Latin posy in’t.

FRIAR

I know; ’tis “Amor vincit omnia,”
The same as on her brooch.

ALISOUN

There hangs my bet.
For if Dame Eglantine shall give yon brooch
Into the hands of any but her brother,
Then Geoffrey marries me at Canterbury.

FRIAR

Diable! _Marries_ thee?

ALISOUN

What then, dear friend?
Wouldst thou forswear thy celibate sweet vows
To buckle on a wife?

FRIAR

Nay, dame, a sister.

ALISOUN

A sister of St. Venus’ house? Go pray!
A husband is my holy pilgrimage,
And Geoffrey is my shrine.

FRIAR

Et moi?

ALISOUN

“Et moi?”
Thou art a jolly incubus. Thou shalt
Help me to catch my bird.

[_Enter the Miller by the wicket gate._]

FRIAR

Et donc?

ALISOUN

“Et donc?”
Why, then, I’ll give a farthing to the friars.

FRIAR

Nay, dame, the coin of Cupid is a kiss.

[_Pleading._]

One kiss pour moi.--At Canterbury--un baiser!

MILLER

[_Seizing the Friar._]

One pasty, eh? thou shorn ape!

FRIAR

[_Screams._]

Alisoun!

MILLER

By Corpus bones, I’ll baste thee!

ALISOUN

Let him be!
Shame! Wouldst thou violate a modest friar?

MILLER

He asked thee for a--

ALISOUN

Baiser. Baiser means
In Latin tongue a blessing. Not so, Huberd?

FRIAR

Dame, from thy lips, it meaneth Paradise.

MILLER

[_Imitating him._]

Doth it in thooth, thweet thir?--Thou lisping jay!
Thou lousy petticoats!

ALISOUN

[_Suddenly embracing the Miller; whispers to him._]

Whist! Robin, thou
Art just in the nick. I have a plan. Run fast;
Fetch here the other lads, and bring a gag.

MILLER

A gag? For him?

ALISOUN

Run quick.

MILLER

[_Going._]

By Corpus arms!

FRIAR

[_Taunting._]

Mealy miller, moth-miller,
Fly away!
If Dame Butterfly doth say thee nay,
Go and court a caterpillar!

MILLER

[_Laughing, shakes his fist._]

Ha, ha! By Corpus bones!

[_Exit at gate._]

ALISOUN

Now, bird; the plot.
I’ve sent him for a gag.

FRIAR

A gag? What for?

ALISOUN

To win my bet, of course. ’Tis for this knight.

FRIAR

Thou wilt not gag a knight--the Prioress’
Brother!

ALISOUN

Hast thou forgot I bet with Geoffrey
The man that wears the ring will prove to be
Dame Virtue’s lover?

FRIAR

He that wears the ring?
Methinks I smell: but who’s your man?

ALISOUN

Sweet owl,
The sunlight hurts thine eyes, thou starest too hard.

[_Blindfolding his eyes with her hands, she whirls him thrice
round._]

Behold him.

FRIAR

[_Dizzily._]

Where?

[_Alisoun slaps her own shoulder._]

What, thou? O ecce homo!
Thou wilt enact the lover and the knight
And woo Dame Eglantine?

ALISOUN

Who else? Forsooth,
I am a shapely crusader. This leg
Hath strode a palfrey thrice to Palestine.
I’ve won my spurs.

FRIAR

Thou wit of Aristotle.
O Helen of Troy! O Amazon! I catch:
Thou gaggest the _real_ knight and bear’st him off
Where thou mayst steal his ring and togs.

ALISOUN

And borrow
A false beard from thy tippet. Thou shalt be
My valet, and retouch the Wife of Bath
To play the Devil in the Mystery.

FRIAR

But where’ll be thy boudoir?

ALISOUN

The cellar yonder.
Bob Miller and the other lads shall gag
And tie him there.

FRIAR

Why, this is merrier than
Nine wenches ducking in a Hallow-een bowl.

[_Doubling over with laughter, he almost knocks against
Chaucer, who enters, left, meditative._]

Whist! Geoffrey! Come away.

CHAUCER

[_Reads from a parchment._]

“April, May,
Cannot stay;
We be pilgrims--so are they,
And our shrine,
Far away--”

[_A bell sounds outside; Chaucer pauses, and draws out a
pocket sun-dial._]

The chapel bell!
Four, by my cylinder. My signorino
Will claim his verses!

[_Reads on._]

“And our shrine,
Far away,
Is the heart of Eglantine.”

[_Pauses and writes._]

ALISOUN

[_Aside to Friar._]

Eglantine! What’s this?

FRIAR

Love verses. He hath writ them for the Squire
To give unto his lady-love Johanna.

ALISOUN

But he said “Eglantine.”

FRIAR

Aye, dame; he dubs
Her Eglantine to be poetical.

ALISOUN

A poet! Him?

FRIAR

Why not? Jack Straw himself
Could ring a rhyme, God wot, till his neck was wrung.

CHAUCER

[_Reads._]

“Eglantine,
O to be
There with thee,
Over sea,
In olive-shaded Italy.”

Too rough. “Shaded” is harsh. H’m! “Olive-silvered.”
“In olive-silvered Italy.”--That’s better.

FRIAR

[_To Alisoun._]

Hide there!

ALISOUN

What now?

FRIAR

Watch.

[_The Friar approaches Chaucer obsequiously._]

CHAUCER

[_Reads._]

“There to pray
At thy shrine--”

FRIAR

Benedicite!
The blissful martyr save you, sir.

CHAUCER

And you.

FRIAR

The gentle Squire sent me for--

CHAUCER

His verses? They are just finished.

[_Folds them up._]

FRIAR

Sir, you see, he hailed me
Passing upon the road. He lies out yonder
Along a brookside, sighing for his lady.

CHAUCER

[_Handing the parchment to the Friar._]

Bid him despatch her these. Here, wait; this spray
Of eglantine goes with them.

FRIAR

Save you, sir.

[_The Friar starts for the wicket gate. Chaucer,
absent-minded, passes on to the inn door. As he does so,
the Friar, treading tip-toe behind him, steals another
parchment, which is sticking from his pouch._]

CHAUCER

“April, May,
Cannot stay;
We be pilgrims--so are they.”

[_Exit._]

FRIAR

[_Stands holding the second parchment, from which he reads._]

“There was also a nun, a prioress,
That of her smiling was full simple and coy;
The greatest oath she swore--”

Blessed be larceny!
This rhyme is slicker to have up my sleeve
Than five aces of trumps.

ALISOUN

[_Joining him._]

What’s up?

FRIAR

List, dame!
Of human hearts I am an alchemist.
To stir them in the crucible of love
Is all my research and experiment;
And but to find a new amalgam makes
My mouth to water like a dilettante’s.

ALISOUN

Well?

FRIAR

Geoffrey wrote these verses for the Squire
To give his lady; therefore, _I_ will give them
To Eglantine, and watch the _tertium quid_;
That is to say, whether the resultant be
A mantling _coleur rose_, or--an explosion.

ALISOUN

What’s in the verses? Nay, man, read ’em out;
I am no clerk.

FRIAR

_I_ am a master-reader.

“Sigh, Spring, sigh,
Repine
Amid the moon-kissed eglantine,
For so do I.”

[_The Friar sighs._]

ALISOUN

No more o’ that.

FRIAR

Sweet Alis, ’tis the art.
When I look thus,--’tis moonlight. When I sigh
Thus,--’tis a zephyr wooing apple blossoms.

ALISOUN

Wooing a sick goat! Read ahead.

FRIAR

Ahem!

[_Reads._]

“April, May,
Cannot--”

[_Enter, from the inn, the Knight; from the wicket gate, the Swains, with ropes and a gag._]

ALISOUN

Quit; here’s our knight. Go find the Prioress.
And when you’ve given her the verses, join
Me and the other fellows in the cellar.

[_Jerking her thumb at the Knight._]

_He_’ll be with us.

FRIAR

Thy valet comprehends.

KNIGHT

[_To Friar._]

Good fellow, have you seen my son, the Squire?

FRIAR

My lord, that dame can tell you.

[_Throwing a kiss to Alisoun._]

Au revoir!

[_Then throwing another to the Miller, he sings as he skips out._]

Ma douce gazelle,
Ma gazelle belle,
Bon soir!

MILLER

[_To the Shipman._]

Quick! Head him off, Jack!

[_Exit Friar into inn._]

ALISOUN

Let him go.

[_To the Miller._]

Thine ear!

MILLER

But--

ALISOUN

Shh!

[_Draws him aside and whispers._]

Art thou afeard?

MILLER

Nay, dame, but ’tis
A lord. Mayhap we’d catch the whipping-post.

ALISOUN

But mayhap me along with it, sweet Bob.

[_They whisper aside._]

KNIGHT

This woman tell me of my son! ’Tis strange.

ALISOUN

[_Aside to Miller._]

Ye ken!

MILLER

Aye, aye.

[_Looking pleased, he speaks to the others aside. During
the following scene, all of them approach the Knight
cautiously with the ropes and gag, while Alisoun,
distracting the Knight, warns or urges them in pantomime._]

KNIGHT

Good woman, have you seen--

ALISOUN

And do mine eyes behold him once again?
O sir! The blissful saints requite you, sir!

KNIGHT

For what, good dame?

ALISOUN

His voice! That I should hear
His voice once more! The vision bursts again
Upon my brain: the swords, the sweated horse,
The lifted battle-mace, and then his arms,
His arms around me--saved!

[_Falling at his feet._]

Oh, can it be?

KNIGHT

Madame, arise. We met last night, methinks,
At Master Bailey’s inn, in Southwark, but
Never before.

ALISOUN

[_Rising._]

Hold! Gallop not so fast,
Ye steeds of Memory!--Was it perchance
A lonely damsel by the Coal Black Sea,
Forsaken save by him; or was it by
The walls of old Granada, at the siege,
When, dazzled by the white star of my beauty,
He raised his cross to smite the lustful Moor,
And cried, “Don Roderigo dies for thee!”

KNIGHT

[_To the Miller._]

The woman is ill. You had best call a leach.

ALISOUN

Call no one, sir. Forgive my sentiment.
Small wonder is it, though the lordly falcon
Forget the dove he succoured from the crows.
But ah! how can the tender dove conceal
The flutterings of her snow-white breast to meet
Her lord once more?

KNIGHT

[_Going._]

Madame, I wish you better.

ALISOUN

Dear lord, when last we met at Algezir--

KNIGHT

Pray to the Virgin!

ALISOUN

Sweet lord!--

KNIGHT

By St. George,
I know you not.

ALISOUN

Alas! Alas! The faithless!
Was this the chivalry ye promised me
That night ye kissed me by the soldan’s tent?

KNIGHT

Off me, thou wife of Satan!

ALISOUN

Heard ye that?
Lads, to the rescue!

KNIGHT

Sorcery!

[_The Miller and Alisoun gag the Knight, while the others
assist in binding him._]

ALISOUN

Quick, Roger!
Take off his finger-ring. Mum, sweethearts! In, now!

[_Exeunt omnes, carrying the Knight into the inn cellar._]

[_Enter the Squire and Johanna. Passing along behind the
wall, they enter the garden by the wicket gate._]

SQUIRE

Lady, I cannot yet believe my eyes
That you are here, and not in Padua.

JOHANNA

’Tis sweet to hear your voice discredit mine,
And yet I pray you, sir, believe in me;
I would not prove a rich Lombardian dream
To be more fair--even than I am.

SQUIRE

You could not.

JOHANNA

Grazie!

SQUIRE

For you authenticise yourself
With beauty’s passport. This alone is you;
But how come hither?

JOHANNA

Like the Spring, because
I heard the snows had thawed in Merry England.

SQUIRE

As ever, you’re fellow-travellers, dear lady;
I might have guessed it from the little birds,
Your gossipy outriders. But with what
Less winged chaperones came you?

JOHANNA

Nay, with none!
Some flighty ladies of King Richard’s court
That oped their beaks--but not like nightingales--
To prate of love. For my part when I saw them
This morning trot away toward Canterbury
With that dull Gaunt and silly Duke of Ireland,
I sighed “sweet riddance.” True, the king is different,
But he is married.

SQUIRE

You are not alone?

JOHANNA

No, sir. I travel with a world-stormed priest,
Whom all who love him call “Good Master Wycliffe”;
And those who love him not, “Old Nick,” for writing
The gospels in dear English.

SQUIRE

You--a Lollard!

JOHANNA

Wait till you know him. He rides now to assist
High mass at the Cathedral, for Duke John
Who sails to claim his kingdom in Castile.
But I ride with him, not so much to absolve
My sins,--which frankly, since they are so few
And serviceable, I hate to part with--as
I go to look on one shall grace that service--
The man I best admire.

SQUIRE

Sweet lady, whom?

JOHANNA

Dan Chaucer--laureate of chivalry.

SQUIRE

Chaucer! Why he--

[_Checks himself._]

Alas!

JOHANNA

Scarce do I wonder
To see you bite your lip at that great name:
You, sir, who once, unless my memory fail,
Did promise me some verses of your own.

SQUIRE

Nay, you shall have them.

JOHANNA

What? The verses?

SQUIRE

Yes.

JOHANNA

Prithee, what are they? Rondeaux, amoretti,
Ballads? Why did you send them not? Odes? Sonnets?
Which?

SQUIRE

Nay, I know not.

JOHANNA

Know not?

SQUIRE

Not as yet.

JOHANNA

Know not as yet!

SQUIRE

I mean--O Donna mine!
I have a friend, whom but to call my friend
Sets all my thoughts on fire, and makes the world
A pent-up secret burning to be told.
Whose slave to be, I would roll Sisyphus’ stone;
Whom to clasp hands withal, I’d fight Apollyon;
For whom but to be Pythias, I would die.

JOHANNA

What amorous Platonics! Pythias?
Sure, Troilus were an apter choice. Well, sir,
Who is this paragon?

[_Aside._]

Heaven send her freckles.

SQUIRE

Nay, if it were allowed me but to name--
If you could guess the Olympian pedigree--

[_Enter Chaucer from the inn._]

Ah! Here he comes!

JOHANNA

Pray, sir, _who_ comes?

SQUIRE

My friend.

CHAUCER

[_Scanning the ground._]

I would not for good twenty pound have lost it.

JOHANNA

Is this your Damon?

SQUIRE

Lady, ’tis my friend.

CHAUCER

[_To himself._]

If Madame Eglantine should find it, read it!
Nay, not for forty pound.

SQUIRE

He does not see us.
May I present him?

JOHANNA

[_Nods carelessly, then aside._]

Saints! Must I essay
To circumvent a rival of such scope?

SQUIRE

Great sir!

JOHANNA

“Great sir” ’s a proper epithet.

SQUIRE

[_Touching Chaucer’s sleeve._]

I prithee--

CHAUCER

Ah, boy, well met! Did I perchance--

[_Seeing Johanna._]

Pardon!

SQUIRE

[_Whispers to Chaucer, then aloud to Johanna._]

Permit me to present to you--
Lady Johanna, Marchioness of Kent--
This gentleman, my friend.

JOHANNA

[_Bows slightly._]

A nameless knight?

SQUIRE

[_Embarrassed._]

His name--ah!

CHAUCER

Master Geoffrey, and your servant.

JOHANNA

[_To Chaucer._]

We saw you searching. Was it for a sur-name?

SQUIRE

Have you lost something? Let us help you find it.
A purse?

JOHANNA

I trust your loss was not in pounds.

CHAUCER

Sooth, I have lost what fair your ladyship
Could least, methinks, supply--a piece of wit
Without a tongue; that is, a piece of parchment
Writ o’er with verses.

SQUIRE

Verses! Sir, a word.

[_Draws Chaucer aside to the arbour and whispers._]

JOHANNA

A clever rogue! He’d make an apt court-fool.

CHAUCER

[_Aside to Squire._]

No; these lost verses were a mere description--
To fit my prologue--of a dainty nun,
Poking some gentle mirth at her; of use
To none save me; but faith! I grudge ’em dearly.

SQUIRE

Did you find time to write--the other verses?

CHAUCER

The others?

SQUIRE

To my lady.

CHAUCER

Those you sent for?
Did not you like them?

SQUIRE

I? I sent for none, sir.

JOHANNA

[_Aside._]

Still whispering? Faith! Hath my Aubrey lost
Both heart and manners to this tavern rhymester?
I will not have it.

SQUIRE

[_To Chaucer._]

But I sent no friar!

CHAUCER

He took your mistress’s verses, saying you
Had sent for them by him.

JOHANNA

Excuse me, sirs:
That arbour-seat has room for two to sit,
Providing we choose wisely from us three.

CHAUCER

Your choice is fate.

SQUIRE

[_Aside to Chaucer as they enter the arbour._]

The friar must have stolen them.

[_Johanna and the Squire sit; Chaucer stands talking with
them, his back toward the arbour’s entrance._]

[_Enter, right, from inn, the Prioress and Friar, the former
reading a parchment._]

PRIORESS

The verse is very beautiful.

FRIAR

Is’t not
Enough to make the Muse weep amber? Zipp!
’Tis honey’d moonbeams stored in lachrymals.

PRIORESS

[_Reads._]

“Eglantine,
O to be
There with thee,
Over sea;
In olive-silvered Italy.”

But, gentle friar, why in Italy
When I’m in England?

FRIAR

Dame, ’tis poetry.
In poetry, all ladies have blue eyes
And live in Italy.

PRIORESS

And is this truly
For me?

FRIAR

He bade me give it with this spray.

PRIORESS

[_Taking the sprig of eglantine._]

He is so chivalrous! But I must finish.

“In olive-silvered Italy.

There to pray
At thy shrine,
There to lay
This green spray
Of our English eglantine.
At thy feet.

Lady mine,
Then wouldst thou say:
‘Pilgrim sweet
In Padua,
Take it; it is thine.’”

Is Padua short for Bob-up-and-down?

FRIAR

Yes, dame.

[_Aside._]

And now to watch my experiment
Precipitate rose-colour.

PRIORESS

[_Sighs._]

Almost finished!

[_Reads._]

“Say not nay!
Fairest, dearest, far away,
Donna Eglantine.”

FRIAR

Alas, Madame, I did but do my duty.
He bade me bring them.

PRIORESS

From my heart, I thank you.
They’re very beautiful.

FRIAR

But amorous,
I fear; they are _love_-verses.

PRIORESS

Are they? Sure,
I thought them sweet. He is so chivalrous.

FRIAR

[_Aside, takes out his stolen parchment._]

Soft, then, I’ll try the other. This should bring
The explosion.

[_Rattles the parchment._]

PRIORESS

[_Eagerly, laying the first parchment on the table._]

Did he send more verses?

FRIAR

Nay,
He sent no more, though from his pouch there fell
This parchment; but methinks he would desire you
Not to peruse it.

[_Turning as if to leave, he discovers the three conversing in
the arbour._]

PRIORESS

Me!

FRIAR

Yes, dame, for it
Describes you.

PRIORESS

How?

FRIAR

Alas! In different vein
From the other.

PRIORESS

Different?

[_Demanding it with a gesture._]

Quickly!

FRIAR

’Tis my duty.

[_Hands her the manuscript._]

PRIORESS

[_Snatching it; reads._]

“There was also a nun, a prioress,
That of her smiling was full simple and coy;
The greatest oath she swore was ‘by St. Loy!’”
O ciel! O quel outrage!

[_While she reads on to herself, changing visibly to pique
and tears, the Friar, purloining the first parchment from
the table, trips over to the arbour’s entrance and bows._]

FRIAR

Diner est servi!
Messieurs, you are awaited by a lady.

[_Runs off._]

CHAUCER

[_To Squire._]

Quick! Catch him!

JOHANNA

[_To Squire._]

Stay! “A lady?”

[_Pursued, the Friar drops his parchment, and, as the Squire
stops to pick it up, escapes at the garden gate._]

PRIORESS

[_Holding her parchment, confronts Chaucer._]

Stay, Monsieur.

[_Reads._]

“And French she spake (St. Patrick taught her how!)”
You hear, Monsieur--“St. Patrick taught her how!”
Oh, where is my Jacquette!

SQUIRE

[_Joyfully; glancing at the other parchment._]

These are the verses!

[_Hands the parchment eagerly to Johanna._]

CHAUCER

Madame, be calm. I will explain.

PRIORESS

Non, non.

JOHANNA

[_Reads._]

“Eglantine,
O to be
There with thee--”

[_To Squire._]

Wrote you these verses, sir? Who’s Eglantine?

SQUIRE

Why, lady, she--

PRIORESS

[_To Chaucer._]

How could you write them?

CHAUCER

Patience,
Dear Madame Eglantine--

JOHANNA

Ha! Eglantine!

CHAUCER

[_To Prioress, distracted._]

Which verses do you mean? I wrote them not
To you!

PRIORESS

What, not to me? Those gracious lines,
So exquisite?

CHAUCER

Good God!

SQUIRE

[_To Johanna._]

Upon my truth,
These verses are for you. Let me explain--

JOHANNA

Nay, let your friend.

[_Showing her parchment to Chaucer._]

Sir, did you write these verses?

CHAUCER

I did!

PRIORESS

[_Showing her parchment._]

And these, Monsieur?

CHAUCER

I did.

JOHANNA

And pray,
To whom did you write _these_?

CHAUCER

To you.

JOHANNA

O Heaven!

PRIORESS

To her!

[_Unseen, save by the audience, the cellar door is opened,
part way, and Alisoun peers out, dressed in the Knight’s
clothes, but still without a make-up. She winks to Huberd,
whose head bobs up a moment from behind the wall._]

SQUIRE

[_To Johanna._]

Sweet mistress--

JOHANNA

I demand to know
Who is this rhyming man? Who was his father?

CHAUCER

My father was a vintner, dame, in London.

PRIORESS

A vintner?

SQUIRE

[_With pleading deprecation._]

Sir--

JOHANNA

Small marvel that his son
Should be a cask.

ALISOUN

[_Aside, jubilantly._]

God save my betters!

JOHANNA

[_To Squire._]

“If
You could but guess the Olympian pedigree--”
Saints! Take me to my guardian, sir.

PRIORESS

[_To Chaucer._]

Ah! bring
Me to my brother! O Monsieur! How false!

FRIAR

[_From behind the wall, sings._]

Love is a liar,
But lovers love the pleasant friar,
Who, making of their burdens less--

CHAUCER AND SQUIRE

That friar!

FRIAR

[_Popping his head above the wall with a mock gesture of benediction,
sings._]

Ben’cite!
(Thus singeth he.)
Bene--benedicite!

Explicit pars secunda.

ACT THIRD

“Wite ye nat wher ther stant a litel toun
Which that y-clepèd is Bob-up-and-doun,
Under the Blee, in Caunterbury weye?”