Chapter D: Laing Purves (10)

This friar riseth up full courteously, And her embraceth *in his armes narrow,* *closely And kiss’th her sweet, and chirketh as a sparrow With his lippes: “Dame,” quoth he, “right well, As he that is your servant every deal.* *whit Thanked be God, that gave you soul and life, Yet saw I not this day so fair a wife In all the churche, God so save me,” “Yea, God amend defaultes, Sir,” quoth she; “Algates* welcome be ye, by my fay.” *always “Grand mercy, Dame; that have I found alway. But of your greate goodness, by your leave, I woulde pray you that ye not you grieve, I will with Thomas speak *a little throw:* *a little while* These curates be so negligent and slow To grope tenderly a conscience. In shrift* and preaching is my diligence *confession And study in Peter’s wordes and in Paul’s; I walk and fishe Christian menne’s souls, To yield our Lord Jesus his proper rent; To spread his word is alle mine intent.” “Now by your faith, O deare Sir,” quoth she, “Chide him right well, for sainte charity. He is aye angry as is a pismire,* *ant Though that he have all that he can desire, Though I him wrie* at night, and make him warm, *cover And ov’r him lay my leg and eke mine arm, He groaneth as our boar that lies in sty: Other disport of him right none have I, I may not please him in no manner case.” “O Thomas, *je vous dis,* Thomas, Thomas, *I tell you* This *maketh the fiend,* this must be amended. *is the devil’s work* Ire is a thing that high God hath defended,* *forbidden And thereof will I speak a word or two.” “Now, master,” quoth the wife, “ere that I go, What will ye dine? I will go thereabout.” “Now, Dame,” quoth he, “je vous dis sans doute, <9> Had I not of a capon but the liver, And of your white bread not but a shiver,* *thin slice And after that a roasted pigge’s head, (But I would that for me no beast were dead,) Then had I with you homely suffisance. I am a man of little sustenance. My spirit hath its fost’ring in the Bible. My body is aye so ready and penible* *painstaking To wake,* that my stomach is destroy’d. *watch I pray you, Dame, that ye be not annoy’d, Though I so friendly you my counsel shew; By God, I would have told it but to few.” “Now, Sir,” quoth she, “but one word ere I go; My child is dead within these weeke’s two, Soon after that ye went out of this town.”

“His death saw I by revelatioun,” Said this friar, “at home in our dortour.* *dormitory <10> I dare well say, that less than half an hour Mter his death, I saw him borne to bliss In mine vision, so God me wiss.* *direct So did our sexton, and our fermerere,* *infirmary-keeper That have been true friars fifty year, — They may now, God be thanked of his love, Make their jubilee, and walk above.<12> And up I rose, and all our convent eke, With many a teare trilling on my cheek, Withoute noise or clattering of bells, Te Deum was our song, and nothing else, Save that to Christ I bade an orison, Thanking him of my revelation. For, Sir and Dame, truste me right well, Our orisons be more effectuel, And more we see of Christe’s secret things, Than *borel folk,* although that they be kings. *laymen*<13> We live in povert’, and in abstinence, And borel folk in riches and dispence Of meat and drink, and in their foul delight. We have this worlde’s lust* all in despight** * pleasure **contempt Lazar and Dives lived diversely, And diverse guerdon* hadde they thereby. *reward Whoso will pray, he must fast and be clean, And fat his soul, and keep his body lean We fare as saith th’ apostle; cloth* and food *clothing Suffice us, although they be not full good. The cleanness and the fasting of us freres Maketh that Christ accepteth our prayeres. Lo, Moses forty days and forty night Fasted, ere that the high God full of might Spake with him in the mountain of Sinai: With empty womb* of fasting many a day *stomach Received he the lawe, that was writ With Godde’s finger; and Eli,<14> well ye wit,* *know In Mount Horeb, ere he had any speech With highe God, that is our live’s leech,* *physician, healer He fasted long, and was in contemplance. Aaron, that had the temple in governance, And eke the other priestes every one, Into the temple when they shoulde gon To praye for the people, and do service, They woulde drinken in no manner wise No drinke, which that might them drunken make, But there in abstinence pray and wake, Lest that they died: take heed what I say — But* they be sober that for the people pray — *unless Ware that, I say — no more: for it sufficeth. Our Lord Jesus, as Holy Writ deviseth,* *narrates Gave us example of fasting and prayeres: Therefore we mendicants, we sely* freres, *simple, lowly Be wedded to povert’ and continence, To charity, humbless, and abstinence, To persecution for righteousness, To weeping, misericorde,* and to cleanness. *compassion And therefore may ye see that our prayeres (I speak of us, we mendicants, we freres), Be to the highe God more acceptable Than youres, with your feastes at your table. From Paradise first, if I shall not lie, Was man out chased for his gluttony, And chaste was man in Paradise certain. But hark now, Thomas, what I shall thee sayn; I have no text of it, as I suppose, But I shall find it in *a manner glose;* *a kind of comment* That specially our sweet Lord Jesus Spake this of friars, when he saide thus, ‘Blessed be they that poor in spirit be’ And so forth all the gospel may ye see, Whether it be liker our profession, Or theirs that swimmen in possession; Fy on their pomp, and on their gluttony, And on their lewedness! I them defy. Me thinketh they be like Jovinian,<15> Fat as a whale, and walking as a swan; All vinolent* as bottle in the spence;** *full of wine **store-room Their prayer is of full great reverence; When they for soules say the Psalm of David, Lo, ‘Buf’ they say, Cor meum eructavit.<16> Who follow Christe’s gospel and his lore* *doctrine But we, that humble be, and chaste, and pore,* *poor Workers of Godde’s word, not auditours?* *hearers Therefore right as a hawk *upon a sours* *rising* Up springs into the air, right so prayeres Of charitable and chaste busy freres *Make their sours* to Godde’s eares two. *rise* Thomas, Thomas, so may I ride or go, And by that lord that called is Saint Ive, *N’ere thou our brother, shouldest thou not thrive;* *see note <17>* In our chapiter pray we day and night To Christ, that he thee sende health and might, Thy body for to *wielde hastily.* *soon be able to move freely*

“God wot,” quoth he, “nothing thereof feel I; So help me Christ, as I in fewe years Have spended upon *divers manner freres* *friars of various sorts* Full many a pound, yet fare I ne’er the bet;* *better Certain my good have I almost beset:* *spent Farewell my gold, for it is all ago.”* *gone The friar answer’d, “O Thomas, dost thou so? What needest thou diverse friars to seech?* *seek What needeth him that hath a perfect leech,* *healer To seeken other leeches in the town? Your inconstance is your confusioun. Hold ye then me, or elles our convent, To praye for you insufficient? Thomas, that jape* it is not worth a mite; *jest Your malady is *for we have too lite.* *because we have Ah, give that convent half a quarter oats; too little* And give that convent four and twenty groats; And give that friar a penny, and let him go! Nay, nay, Thomas, it may no thing be so. What is a farthing worth parted on twelve? Lo, each thing that is oned* in himselve *made one, united Is more strong than when it is y-scatter’d. Thomas, of me thou shalt not be y-flatter’d, Thou wouldest have our labour all for nought. The highe God, that all this world hath wrought, Saith, that the workman worthy is his hire Thomas, nought of your treasure I desire As for myself, but that all our convent To pray for you is aye so diligent: And for to builde Christe’s owen church. Thomas, if ye will learne for to wirch,* *work Of building up of churches may ye find If it be good, in Thomas’ life of Ind.<18> Ye lie here full of anger and of ire, With which the devil sets your heart on fire, And chide here this holy innocent Your wife, that is so meek and patient. And therefore trow* me, Thomas, if thee lest,** *believe **please Ne strive not with thy wife, as for the best. And bear this word away now, by thy faith, Touching such thing, lo, what the wise man saith: ‘Within thy house be thou no lion; To thy subjects do none oppression; Nor make thou thine acquaintance for to flee.’ And yet, Thomas, eftsoones* charge I thee, *again Beware from ire that in thy bosom sleeps, Ware from the serpent, that so slily creeps Under the grass, and stingeth subtilly. Beware, my son, and hearken patiently, That twenty thousand men have lost their lives For striving with their lemans* and their wives. *mistresses Now since ye have so holy and meek a wife, What needeth you, Thomas, to make strife? There is, y-wis,* no serpent so cruel, *certainly When men tread on his tail nor half so fell,* *fierce As woman is, when she hath caught an ire; Very* vengeance is then all her desire. *pure, only Ire is a sin, one of the greate seven, Abominable to the God of heaven, And to himself it is destruction. This every lewed* vicar and parson *ignorant Can say, how ire engenders homicide; Ire is in sooth th’ executor* of pride. *executioner I could of ire you say so muche sorrow, My tale shoulde last until to-morrow. And therefore pray I God both day and ight, An irous* man God send him little might. *passionate It is great harm, and certes great pity To set an irous man in high degree.

“Whilom* there was an irous potestate,** *once **judge<19> As saith Senec, that during his estate* *term of office Upon a day out rode knightes two; And, as fortune would that it were so, The one of them came home, the other not. Anon the knight before the judge is brought, That saide thus; ‘Thou hast thy fellow slain, For which I doom thee to the death certain.’ And to another knight commanded he; ‘Go, lead him to the death, I charge thee.’ And happened, as they went by the way Toward the place where as he should dey,* *die The knight came, which men weened* had been dead *thought Then thoughte they it was the beste rede* *counsel To lead them both unto the judge again. They saide, ‘Lord, the knight hath not y-slain His fellow; here he standeth whole alive.’ ‘Ye shall be dead,’ quoth he, ‘so may I thrive, That is to say, both one, and two, and three.’ And to the firste knight right thus spake he: ‘I damned thee, thou must algate* be dead: *at all events And thou also must needes lose thine head, For thou the cause art why thy fellow dieth.’ And to the thirde knight right thus he sayeth, ‘Thou hast not done that I commanded thee.’ And thus he did do slay them alle three.

Irous Cambyses was eke dronkelew,* *a drunkard And aye delighted him to be a shrew.* *vicious, ill-tempered And so befell, a lord of his meinie,* *suite That loved virtuous morality, Said on a day betwixt them two right thus: ‘A lord is lost, if he be vicious. [An irous man is like a frantic beast, In which there is of wisdom *none arrest*;] *no control* And drunkenness is eke a foul record Of any man, and namely* of a lord. *especially There is full many an eye and many an ear *Awaiting on* a lord, he knows not where. *watching For Godde’s love, drink more attemperly:* *temperately Wine maketh man to lose wretchedly His mind, and eke his limbes every one.’ ‘The reverse shalt thou see,’ quoth he, ‘anon, And prove it by thine own experience, That wine doth to folk no such offence. There is no wine bereaveth me my might Of hand, nor foot, nor of mine eyen sight.’ And for despite he dranke muche more A hundred part* than he had done before, *times And right anon this cursed irous wretch This knighte’s sone let* before him fetch, *caused Commanding him he should before him stand: And suddenly he took his bow in hand, And up the string he pulled to his ear, And with an arrow slew the child right there. ‘Now whether have I a sicker* hand or non?’** *sure **not Quoth he; ‘Is all my might and mind agone? Hath wine bereaved me mine eyen sight?’ Why should I tell the answer of the knight? His son was slain, there is no more to say. Beware therefore with lordes how ye play,* *use freedom Sing placebo;<20> and I shall if I can, *But if* it be unto a poore man: *unless To a poor man men should his vices tell, But not t’ a lord, though he should go to hell. Lo, irous Cyrus, thilke* Persian, *that How he destroy’d the river of Gisen,<21> For that a horse of his was drowned therein, When that he wente Babylon to win: He made that the river was so small, That women mighte wade it *over all.* *everywhere Lo, what said he, that so well teache can, ‘Be thou no fellow to an irous man, Nor with no wood* man walke by the way, *furious Lest thee repent;’ I will no farther say.

“Now, Thomas, leve* brother, leave thine ire, *dear Thou shalt me find as just as is as squire; Hold not the devil’s knife aye at thine heaat; Thine anger doth thee all too sore smart;* *pain But shew to me all thy confession.” “Nay,” quoth the sicke man, “by Saint Simon I have been shriven* this day of my curate; *confessed I have him told all wholly mine estate. Needeth no more to speak of it, saith he, But if me list of mine humility.” “Give me then of thy good to make our cloister,” Quoth he, “for many a mussel and many an oyster, When other men have been full well at ease, Hath been our food, our cloister for to rese:* *raise, build And yet, God wot, unneth* the foundement** *scarcely **foundation Performed is, nor of our pavement Is not a tile yet within our wones:* *habitation By God, we owe forty pound for stones. Now help, Thomas, for *him that harrow’d hell,* *Christ <22> For elles must we oure bookes sell, And if ye lack our predication, Then goes this world all to destruction. For whoso from this world would us bereave, So God me save, Thomas, by your leave, He would bereave out of this world the sun For who can teach and worken as we conne?* *know how to do And that is not of little time (quoth he), But since Elijah was, and Elisee,* *Elisha Have friars been, that find I of record, In charity, y-thanked be our Lord. Now, Thomas, help for sainte charity.” And down anon he set him on his knee, The sick man waxed well-nigh wood* for ire, *mad He woulde that the friar had been a-fire With his false dissimulation. “Such thing as is in my possession,” Quoth he, “that may I give you and none other: Ye say me thus, how that I am your brother.” “Yea, certes,” quoth this friar, “yea, truste well; I took our Dame the letter of our seal”<23> “Now well,” quoth he, “and somewhat shall I give Unto your holy convent while I live; And in thine hand thou shalt it have anon, On this condition, and other none, That thou depart* it so, my deare brother, *divide That every friar have as much as other: This shalt thou swear on thy profession, Withoute fraud or cavillation.”* *quibbling “I swear it,” quoth the friar, “upon my faith.” And therewithal his hand in his he lay’th; “Lo here my faith, in me shall be no lack.” “Then put thine hand adown right by my back,” Saide this man, “and grope well behind, Beneath my buttock, there thou shalt find A thing, that I have hid in privity.” “Ah,” thought this friar, “that shall go with me.” And down his hand he launched to the clift,* *cleft In hope for to finde there a gift. And when this sicke man felte this frere About his taile groping there and here, Amid his hand he let the friar a fart; There is no capel* drawing in a cart, *horse That might have let a fart of such a soun’. The friar up start, as doth a wood* lioun: *fierce “Ah, false churl,” quoth he, “for Godde’s bones, This hast thou in despite done for the nones:* *on purpose Thou shalt abie* this fart, if that I may.” *suffer for His meinie,* which that heard of this affray, *servants Came leaping in, and chased out the frere, And forth he went with a full angry cheer* *countenance And fetch’d his fellow, there as lay his store: He looked as it were a wilde boar, And grounde with his teeth, so was he wroth. A sturdy pace down to the court he go’th, Where as there wonn’d* a man of great honour, *dwelt To whom that he was always confessour: This worthy man was lord of that village. This friar came, as he were in a rage, Where as this lord sat eating at his board: Unnethes* might the friar speak one word, *with difficulty Till at the last he saide, “God you see.”* *save

This lord gan look, and said, “Ben’dicite! What? Friar John, what manner world is this? I see well that there something is amiss; Ye look as though the wood were full of thieves. Sit down anon, and tell me what your grieve* is, *grievance, grief And it shall be amended, if I may.” “I have,” quoth he, “had a despite to-day, God *yielde you,* adown in your village, *reward you That in this world is none so poor a page, That would not have abominatioun Of that I have received in your town: And yet ne grieveth me nothing so sore, As that the olde churl, with lockes hoar, Blasphemed hath our holy convent eke.” “Now, master,” quoth this lord, “I you beseek” — “No master, Sir,” quoth he, “but servitour, Though I have had in schoole that honour. <24> God liketh not, that men us Rabbi call Neither in market, nor in your large hall.” *“No force,”* quoth he; “but tell me all your grief.” *no matter* Sir,” quoth this friar, “an odious mischief This day betid* is to mine order and me, *befallen And so par consequence to each degree Of holy churche, God amend it soon.” “Sir,” quoth the lord, “ye know what is to doon:* *do *Distemp’r you not,* ye be my confessour. *be not impatient* Ye be the salt of th’ earth, and the savour; For Godde’s love your patience now hold; Tell me your grief.” And he anon him told As ye have heard before, ye know well what. The lady of the house aye stiller sat, Till she had hearde what the friar said, “Hey, Godde’s mother;” quoth she, “blissful maid, Is there ought elles? tell me faithfully.” “Madame,” quoth he, “how thinketh you thereby?” “How thinketh me?” quoth she; “so God me speed, I say, a churl hath done a churlish deed, What should I say? God let him never the;* *thrive His sicke head is full of vanity; I hold him in *a manner phrenesy.”* *a sort of frenzy* “Madame,” quoth he, “by God, I shall not lie, But I in other wise may be awreke,* *revenged I shall defame him *ov’r all there* I speak; *wherever This false blasphemour, that charged me To parte that will not departed be, To every man alike, with mischance.”

The lord sat still, as he were in a trance, And in his heart he rolled up and down, “How had this churl imaginatioun To shewe such a problem to the frere. Never ere now heard I of such mattere; I trow* the Devil put it in his mind. *believe In all arsmetrik* shall there no man find, *arithmetic Before this day, of such a question. Who shoulde make a demonstration, That every man should have alike his part As of the sound and savour of a fart? O nice* proude churl, I shrew** his face. *foolish **curse Lo, Sires,” quoth the lord, “with harde grace, Who ever heard of such a thing ere now? To every man alike? tell me how. It is impossible, it may not be. Hey nice* churl, God let him never the.** *foolish **thrive The rumbling of a fart, and every soun’, Is but of air reverberatioun, And ever wasteth lite* and lite* away; *little There is no man can deemen,* by my fay, *judge, decide If that it were departed* equally. *divided What? lo, my churl, lo yet how shrewedly* *impiously, wickedly Unto my confessour to-day he spake; I hold him certain a demoniac. Now eat your meat, and let the churl go play, Let him go hang himself a devil way!”

Now stood the lorde’s squier at the board, That carv’d his meat, and hearde word by word Of all this thing, which that I have you said. “My lord,” quoth he, “be ye not *evil paid,* *displeased* I coulde telle, for a gowne-cloth,* *cloth for a gown* To you, Sir Friar, so that ye be not wrot, How that this fart should even* dealed be *equally Among your convent, if it liked thee.” “Tell,” quoth the lord, “and thou shalt have anon A gowne-cloth, by God and by Saint John.” “My lord,” quoth he, “when that the weather is fair, Withoute wind, or perturbing of air, Let* bring a cart-wheel here into this hall, cause* But looke that it have its spokes all; Twelve spokes hath a cart-wheel commonly; And bring me then twelve friars, know ye why? For thirteen is a convent as I guess;<25> Your confessor here, for his worthiness, Shall *perform up* the number of his convent. *complete* Then shall they kneel adown by one assent, And to each spoke’s end, in this mannere, Full sadly* lay his nose shall a frere; *carefully, steadily Your noble confessor there, God him save, Shall hold his nose upright under the nave. Then shall this churl, with belly stiff and tought* *tight As any tabour,* hither be y-brought; *drum And set him on the wheel right of this cart Upon the nave, and make him let a fart, And ye shall see, on peril of my life, By very proof that is demonstrative, That equally the sound of it will wend,* *go And eke the stink, unto the spokes’ end, Save that this worthy man, your confessour’ (Because he is a man of great honour), Shall have the firste fruit, as reason is; The noble usage of friars yet it is, The worthy men of them shall first be served, And certainly he hath it well deserved; He hath to-day taught us so muche good With preaching in the pulpit where he stood, That I may vouchesafe, I say for me, He had the firste smell of fartes three; And so would all his brethren hardily; He beareth him so fair and holily.”

The lord, the lady, and each man, save the frere, Saide, that Jankin spake in this mattere As well as Euclid, or as Ptolemy. Touching the churl, they said that subtilty And high wit made him speaken as he spake; He is no fool, nor no demoniac. And Jankin hath y-won a newe gown; My tale is done, we are almost at town.

Notes to the Sompnour’s Tale

1. Trentals: The money given to the priests for performing thirty masses for the dead, either in succession or on the anniversaries of their death; also the masses themselves, which were very profitable to the clergy.

2. Possessioners: The regular religious orders, who had lands and fixed revenues; while the friars, by their vows, had to depend on voluntary contributions, though their need suggested many modes of evading the prescription.

3. In Chaucer’s day the most material notions about the tortures of hell prevailed, and were made the most of by the clergy, who preyed on the affection and fear of the survivors, through the ingenious doctrine of purgatory. Old paintings and illuminations represent the dead as torn by hooks, roasted in fires, boiled in pots, and subjected to many other physical torments.

4. Qui cum patre: “Who with the father”; the closing words of the final benediction pronounced at Mass.

5. Askaunce: The word now means sideways or asquint; here it means “as if;” and its force is probably to suggest that the second friar, with an ostentatious stealthiness, noted down the names of the liberal, to make them believe that they would be remembered in the holy beggars’ orisons.

6. A Godde’s kichel/halfpenny: a little cake/halfpenny, given for God’s sake.

7. Harlot: hired servant; from Anglo-Saxon, “hyran,” to hire; the word was commonly applied to males.

8. Potent: staff; French, “potence,” crutch, gibbet.

9. Je vous dis sans doute: French; “I tell you without doubt.”

10. Dortour: dormitory; French, “dortoir.”

12. The Rules of St Benedict granted peculiar honours and immunities to monks who had lived fifty years — the jubilee period — in the order. The usual reading of the words ending the two lines is “loan” or “lone,” and “alone;” but to walk alone does not seem to have been any peculiar privilege of a friar, while the idea of precedence, or higher place at table and in processions, is suggested by the reading in the text.

13. Borel folk: laymen, people who are not learned; “borel” was a kind of coarse cloth.

14. Eli: Elijah (1 Kings, xix.)

15. An emperor Jovinian was famous in the mediaeval legends for his pride and luxury

16. Cor meum eructavit: literally, “My heart has belched forth;” in our translation, (i.e. the Authorised “King James” Version - Transcriber) “My heart is inditing a goodly matter.” (Ps. xlv. 1.). “Buf” is meant to represent the sound of an eructation, and to show the “great reverence” with which “those in possession,” the monks of the rich monasteries, performed divine service,

17. N’ere thou our brother, shouldest thou not thrive: if thou wert not of our brotherhood, thou shouldst have no hope of recovery.

18. Thomas’ life of Ind: The life of Thomas of India - i.e. St. Thomas the Apostle, who was said to have travelled to India.

19. Potestate: chief magistrate or judge; Latin, “potestas;” Italian, “podesta.” Seneca relates the story of Cornelius Piso; “De Ira,” i. 16.

20. Placebo: An anthem of the Roman Church, from Psalm cxvi. 9, which in the Vulgate reads, “Placebo Domino in regione vivorum” — “I will please the Lord in the land of the living”

21. The Gysen: Seneca calls it the Gyndes; Sir John Mandeville tells the story of the Euphrates. “Gihon,” was the name of one of the four rivers of Eden (Gen. ii, 13).

22. Him that harrowed Hell: Christ. See note 14 to the Reeve’s Tale.

23. Mr. Wright says that “it was a common practice to grant under the conventual seal to benefactors and others a brotherly participation in the spiritual good works of the convent, and in their expected reward after death.”

24. The friar had received a master’s degree.

25. The regular number of monks or friars in a convent was fixed at twelve, with a superior, in imitation of the apostles and their Master; and large religious houses were held to consist of so many convents.

THE CLERK’S TALE.

THE PROLOGUE.

“SIR Clerk of Oxenford,” our Hoste said, “Ye ride as still and coy, as doth a maid That were new spoused, sitting at the board: This day I heard not of your tongue a word. I trow ye study about some sophime:* *sophism But Solomon saith, every thing hath time. For Godde’s sake, be of *better cheer,* *livelier mien* It is no time for to study here. Tell us some merry tale, by your fay;* *faith For what man that is entered in a play, He needes must unto that play assent. But preache not, as friars do in Lent, To make us for our olde sinnes weep, Nor that thy tale make us not to sleep. Tell us some merry thing of aventures. Your terms, your coloures, and your figures, Keep them in store, till so be ye indite High style, as when that men to kinges write. Speake so plain at this time, I you pray, That we may understande what ye say.”

This worthy Clerk benignely answer’d; “Hoste,” quoth he, “I am under your yerd,* *rod <1> Ye have of us as now the governance, And therefore would I do you obeisance, As far as reason asketh, hardily:* *boldly, truly I will you tell a tale, which that I Learn’d at Padova of a worthy clerk, As proved by his wordes and his werk. He is now dead, and nailed in his chest, I pray to God to give his soul good rest. Francis Petrarc’, the laureate poet,<2> Highte* this clerk, whose rhetoric so sweet *was called Illumin’d all Itale of poetry, As Linian <3> did of philosophy, Or law, or other art particulere: But death, that will not suffer us dwell here But as it were a twinkling of an eye, Them both hath slain, and alle we shall die.

“But forth to tellen of this worthy man, That taughte me this tale, as I began, I say that first he with high style inditeth (Ere he the body of his tale writeth) A proem, in the which describeth he Piedmont, and of Saluces <4> the country, And speaketh of the Pennine hilles high, That be the bounds of all West Lombardy: And of Mount Vesulus in special, Where as the Po out of a welle small Taketh his firste springing and his source, That eastward aye increaseth in his course T’Emilia-ward, <5> to Ferraro, and Venice, The which a long thing were to devise.* *narrate And truely, as to my judgement, Me thinketh it a thing impertinent,* *irrelevant Save that he would conveye his mattere: But this is the tale, which that ye shall hear.”

Notes to the Prologue to the Clerk’s Tale

1. Under your yerd: under your rod; as the emblem of government or direction.

2. Francesco Petrarca, born 1304, died 1374; for his Latin epic poem on the carer of Scipio, called “Africa,” he was solemnly crowned with the poetic laurel in the Capitol of Rome, on Easter-day of 1341.

3. Linian: An eminent jurist and philosopher, now almost forgotten, who died four or five years after Petrarch.

4. Saluces: Saluzzo, a district of Savoy; its marquises were celebrated during the Middle Ages.

5. Emilia: The region called Aemilia, across which ran the Via Aemilia — made by M. Aemilius Lepidus, who was consul at Rome B.C. 187. It continued the Flaminian Way from Ariminum (Rimini) across the Po at Placentia (Piacenza) to Mediolanum (Milan), traversing Cisalpine Gaul.

THE TALE.<1>

*Pars Prima.* *First Part*

There is, right at the west side of Itale, Down at the root of Vesulus<2> the cold, A lusty* plain, abundant of vitaille;* *pleasant **victuals There many a town and tow’r thou may’st behold, That founded were in time of fathers old, And many another delectable sight; And Saluces this noble country hight.

A marquis whilom lord was of that land, As were his worthy elders* him before, *ancestors And obedient, aye ready to his hand, Were all his lieges, bothe less and more: Thus in delight he liv’d, and had done yore,* *long Belov’d and drad,* through favour of fortune, *held in reverence Both of his lordes and of his commune.* *commonalty

Therewith he was, to speak of lineage, The gentilest y-born of Lombardy, A fair person, and strong, and young of age, And full of honour and of courtesy: Discreet enough his country for to gie,* *guide, rule Saving in some things that he was to blame; And Walter was this younge lordes name.

I blame him thus, that he consider’d not In time coming what might him betide, But on his present lust* was all his thought, *pleasure And for to hawk and hunt on every side; Well nigh all other cares let he slide, And eke he would (that was the worst of all) Wedde no wife for aught that might befall.

Only that point his people bare so sore, That flockmel* on a day to him they went, *in a body And one of them, that wisest was of lore (Or elles that the lord would best assent That he should tell him what the people meant, Or elles could he well shew such mattere), He to the marquis said as ye shall hear.

“O noble Marquis! your humanity Assureth us and gives us hardiness, As oft as time is of necessity, That we to you may tell our heaviness: Accepte, Lord, now of your gentleness, What we with piteous heart unto you plain,* *complain of And let your ears my voice not disdain.

“All* have I nought to do in this mattere *although More than another man hath in this place, Yet forasmuch as ye, my Lord so dear, Have always shewed me favour and grace, I dare the better ask of you a space Of audience, to shewen our request, And ye, my Lord, to do right *as you lest.* *as pleaseth you*

“For certes, Lord, so well us like you And all your work, and ev’r have done, that we Ne coulde not ourselves devise how We mighte live in more felicity: Save one thing, Lord, if that your will it be, That for to be a wedded man you lest; Then were your people *in sovereign hearte’s rest.* *completely

“Bowe your neck under the blissful yoke Of sovereignty, and not of service, Which that men call espousal or wedlock: And thinke, Lord, among your thoughtes wise, How that our dayes pass in sundry wise; For though we sleep, or wake, or roam, or ride, Aye fleeth time, it will no man abide.

“And though your greene youthe flow’r as yet, In creepeth age always as still as stone, And death menaceth every age, and smit* *smiteth In each estate, for there escapeth none: And all so certain as we know each one That we shall die, as uncertain we all Be of that day when death shall on us fall.

“Accepte then of us the true intent,* *mind, desire That never yet refused youre hest,* *command And we will, Lord, if that ye will assent, Choose you a wife, in short time at the lest,* *least Born of the gentilest and of the best Of all this land, so that it ought to seem Honour to God and you, as we can deem.

“Deliver us out of all this busy dread,* *doubt And take a wife, for highe Godde’s sake: For if it so befell, as God forbid, That through your death your lineage should slake,* *become extinct And that a strange successor shoulde take Your heritage, oh! woe were us on live:* *alive Wherefore we pray you hastily to wive.”

Their meeke prayer and their piteous cheer Made the marquis for to have pity. “Ye will,” quoth he, “mine owen people dear, To that I ne’er ere* thought constraine me. *before I me rejoiced of my liberty, That seldom time is found in rnarriage; Where I was free, I must be in servage!* *servitude

“But natheless I see your true intent, And trust upon your wit, and have done aye: Wherefore of my free will I will assent To wedde me, as soon as e’er I may. But whereas ye have proffer’d me to-day To choose me a wife, I you release That choice, and pray you of that proffer cease.

“For God it wot, that children often been Unlike their worthy elders them before, Bounte* comes all of God, not of the strene** *goodness Of which they be engender’d and y-bore: **stock, race I trust in Godde’s bounte, and therefore My marriage, and mine estate and rest, I *him betake;* he may do as him lest. *commend to him

“Let me alone in choosing of my wife; That charge upon my back I will endure: But I you pray, and charge upon your life, That what wife that I take, ye me assure To worship* her, while that her life may dure, *honour In word and work both here and elleswhere, As she an emperore’s daughter were.

“And farthermore this shall ye swear, that ye Against my choice shall never grudge* nor strive. *murmur For since I shall forego my liberty At your request, as ever may I thrive, Where as mine heart is set, there will I live And but* ye will assent in such mannere, *unless I pray you speak no more of this mattere.”

With heartly will they sworen and assent To all this thing, there said not one wight nay: Beseeching him of grace, ere that they went, That he would grante them a certain day Of his espousal, soon as e’er he rnay, For yet always the people somewhat dread* *were in fear or doubt Lest that the marquis woulde no wife wed.

He granted them a day, such as him lest, On which he would be wedded sickerly,* *certainly And said he did all this at their request; And they with humble heart full buxomly,* *obediently <3> Kneeling upon their knees full reverently, Him thanked all; and thus they have an end Of their intent, and home again they wend.

And hereupon he to his officers Commanded for the feaste to purvey.* *provide And to his privy knightes and squiers Such charge he gave, as him list on them lay: And they to his commandement obey, And each of them doth all his diligence To do unto the feast all reverence.

*Pars Secunda* *Second Part*

Not far from thilke* palace honourable, *that Where as this marquis shope* his marriage, *prepared; resolved on There stood a thorp,* of sighte delectable, *hamlet In which the poore folk of that village Hadde their beastes and their harbourage,* *dwelling And of their labour took their sustenance, After the earthe gave them abundance.

Among this poore folk there dwelt a man Which that was holden poorest of them all; But highe God sometimes sende can His grace unto a little ox’s stall; Janicola men of that thorp him call. A daughter had he, fair enough to sight, And Griseldis this younge maiden hight.

But for to speak of virtuous beauty, Then was she one the fairest under sun: Full poorely y-foster’d up was she; No *likerous lust* was in her heart y-run; *luxurious pleasure* Well ofter of the well than of the tun She drank, <4> and, for* she woulde virtue please *because She knew well labour, but no idle ease.

But though this maiden tender were of age; Yet in the breast of her virginity There was inclos’d a *sad and ripe corage;* *steadfast and mature And in great reverence and charity spirit* Her olde poore father foster’d she. A few sheep, spinning, on the field she kept, She woulde not be idle till she slept.

And when she homeward came, she would bring Wortes,* and other herbes, times oft, *plants, cabbages The which she shred and seeth’d for her living, And made her bed full hard, and nothing soft: And aye she kept her father’s life on loft* *up, aloft With ev’ry obeisance and diligence, That child may do to father’s reverence.

Upon Griselda, this poor creature, Full often sithes* this marquis set his eye, *times As he on hunting rode, paraventure:* *by chance And when it fell that he might her espy, He not with wanton looking of folly His eyen cast on her, but in sad* wise *serious Upon her cheer* he would him oft advise;** *countenance **consider

Commending in his heart her womanhead, And eke her virtue, passing any wight Of so young age, as well in cheer as deed. For though the people have no great insight In virtue, he considered full right Her bounte,* and disposed that he would *goodness Wed only her, if ever wed he should.

The day of wedding came, but no wight can Telle what woman that it shoulde be; For which marvail wonder’d many a man, And saide, when they were in privity, “Will not our lord yet leave his vanity? Will he not wed? Alas, alas the while! Why will he thus himself and us beguile?”

But natheless this marquis had *done make* *caused to be made* Of gemmes, set in gold and in azure, Brooches and ringes, for Griselda’s sake, And of her clothing took he the measure Of a maiden like unto her stature, And eke of other ornamentes all That unto such a wedding shoulde fall.* *befit

The time of undern* of the same day *evening <5> Approached, that this wedding shoulde be, And all the palace put was in array, Both hall and chamber, each in its degree, Houses of office stuffed with plenty There may’st thou see of dainteous vitaille,* *victuals, provisions That may be found, as far as lasts Itale.

This royal marquis, richely array’d, Lordes and ladies in his company, The which unto the feaste were pray’d, And of his retinue the bach’lery, With many a sound of sundry melody, Unto the village, of the which I told, In this array the right way did they hold.

Griseld’ of this (God wot) full innocent, That for her shapen* was all this array, *prepared To fetche water at a well is went, And home she came as soon as e’er she may. For well she had heard say, that on that day The marquis shoulde wed, and, if she might, She fain would have seen somewhat of that sight.

She thought, “I will with other maidens stand, That be my fellows, in our door, and see The marchioness; and therefore will I fand* *strive To do at home, as soon as it may be, The labour which belongeth unto me, And then I may at leisure her behold, If she this way unto the castle hold.”

And as she would over the threshold gon, The marquis came and gan for her to call, And she set down her water-pot anon Beside the threshold, in an ox’s stall, And down upon her knees she gan to fall, And with sad* countenance kneeled still, *steady Till she had heard what was the lorde’s will.

The thoughtful marquis spake unto the maid Full soberly, and said in this mannere: “Where is your father, Griseldis?” he said. And she with reverence, *in humble cheer,* *with humble air* Answered, “Lord, he is all ready here.” And in she went withoute longer let* *delay And to the marquis she her father fet.* *fetched

He by the hand then took the poore man, And saide thus, when he him had aside: “Janicola, I neither may nor can Longer the pleasance of mine hearte hide; If that thou vouchesafe, whatso betide, Thy daughter will I take, ere that I wend,* *go As for my wife, unto her life’s end.

“Thou lovest me, that know I well certain, And art my faithful liegeman y-bore,* *born And all that liketh me, I dare well sayn It liketh thee; and specially therefore Tell me that point, that I have said before, — If that thou wilt unto this purpose draw, To take me as for thy son-in-law.”

This sudden case* the man astonied so, *event That red he wax’d, abash’d,* and all quaking *amazed He stood; unnethes* said he wordes mo’, *scarcely But only thus; “Lord,” quoth he, “my willing Is as ye will, nor against your liking I will no thing, mine owen lord so dear; Right as you list governe this mattere.”

“Then will I,” quoth the marquis softely, “That in thy chamber I, and thou, and she, Have a collation;* and know’st thou why? *conference For I will ask her, if her will it be To be my wife, and rule her after me: And all this shall be done in thy presence, I will not speak out of thine audience.”* *hearing

And in the chamber while they were about The treaty, which ye shall hereafter hear, The people came into the house without, And wonder’d them in how honest mannere And tenderly she kept her father dear; But utterly Griseldis wonder might, For never erst* ne saw she such a sight. *before

No wonder is though that she be astoned,* *astonished To see so great a guest come in that place, She never was to no such guestes woned;* *accustomed, wont For which she looked with full pale face. But shortly forth this matter for to chase,* *push on, pursue These are the wordes that the marquis said To this benigne, very,* faithful maid. *true <6>

“Griseld’,” he said, “ye shall well understand, It liketh to your father and to me That I you wed, and eke it may so stand, As I suppose ye will that it so be: But these demandes ask I first,” quoth he, “Since that it shall be done in hasty wise; Will ye assent, or elles you advise?* *consider

“I say this, be ye ready with good heart To all my lust,* and that I freely may, *pleasure As me best thinketh, *do you* laugh or smart, *cause you to* And never ye to grudge,* night nor day, *murmur And eke when I say Yea, ye say not Nay, Neither by word, nor frowning countenance? Swear this, and here I swear our alliance.”

Wond’ring upon this word, quaking for dread, She saide; “Lord, indigne and unworthy Am I to this honour that ye me bede,* *offer But as ye will yourself, right so will I: And here I swear, that never willingly In word or thought I will you disobey, For to be dead; though me were loth to dey.”* *die

“This is enough, Griselda mine,” quoth he. And forth he went with a full sober cheer, Out at the door, and after then came she, And to the people he said in this mannere: “This is my wife,” quoth he, “that standeth here. Honoure her, and love her, I you pray, Whoso me loves; there is no more to say.”

And, for that nothing of her olde gear She shoulde bring into his house, he bade That women should despoile* her right there; *strip Of which these ladies were nothing glad To handle her clothes wherein she was clad: But natheless this maiden bright of hue From foot to head they clothed have all new.

Her haires have they comb’d that lay untress’d* *loose Full rudely, and with their fingers small A crown upon her head they have dress’d, And set her full of nouches <7> great and small: Of her array why should I make a tale? Unneth* the people her knew for her fairness, *scarcely When she transmuted was in such richess.

The marquis hath her spoused with a ring Brought for the same cause, and then her set Upon a horse snow-white, and well ambling, And to his palace, ere he longer let* *delayed With joyful people, that her led and met, Conveyed her; and thus the day they spend In revel, till the sunne gan descend.

And, shortly forth this tale for to chase, I say, that to this newe marchioness God hath such favour sent her of his grace, That it ne seemed not by likeliness That she was born and fed in rudeness, — As in a cot, or in an ox’s stall, — But nourish’d in an emperore’s hall.

To every wight she waxen* is so dear *grown And worshipful, that folk where she was born, That from her birthe knew her year by year, *Unnethes trowed* they, but durst have sworn, *scarcely believed* That to Janicol’ of whom I spake before, She was not daughter, for by conjecture Them thought she was another creature.

For though that ever virtuous was she, She was increased in such excellence Of thewes* good, y-set in high bounte, *qualities And so discreet, and fair of eloquence, So benign, and so digne* of reverence, *worthy And coulde so the people’s heart embrace, That each her lov’d that looked on her face.

Not only of Saluces in the town Published was the bounte of her name, But eke besides in many a regioun; If one said well, another said the same: So spread of here high bounte the fame, That men and women, young as well as old, Went to Saluces, her for to behold.

Thus Walter lowly, — nay, but royally,- Wedded with fortn’ate honestete,* *virtue In Godde’s peace lived full easily At home, and outward grace enough had he: And, for he saw that under low degree Was honest virtue hid, the people him held A prudent man, and that is seen full seld’.* *seldom

Not only this Griseldis through her wit *Couth all the feat* of wifely homeliness, *knew all the duties* But eke, when that the case required it, The common profit coulde she redress: There n’as discord, rancour, nor heaviness In all the land, that she could not appease, And wisely bring them all in rest and ease

Though that her husband absent were or non,* *not If gentlemen or other of that country, Were wroth,* she woulde bringe them at one, *at feud So wise and ripe wordes hadde she, And judgement of so great equity, That she from heaven sent was, as men wend,* *weened, imagined People to save, and every wrong t’amend

Not longe time after that this Griseld’ Was wedded, she a daughter had y-bore; All she had lever* borne a knave** child, *rather **boy Glad was the marquis and his folk therefore; For, though a maiden child came all before, She may unto a knave child attain By likelihood, since she is not barren.

*Pars Tertia.* *Third Part*

There fell, as falleth many times mo’, When that his child had sucked but a throw,* little while This marquis in his hearte longed so To tempt his wife, her sadness* for to know, *steadfastness That he might not out of his hearte throw This marvellous desire his wife t’asssay;* *try Needless,* God wot, he thought her to affray.** *without cause **alarm, disturb He had assayed her anough before, And found her ever good; what needed it Her for to tempt, and always more and more? Though some men praise it for a subtle wit, But as for me, I say that *evil it sit* *it ill became him* T’assay a wife when that it is no need, And putte her in anguish and in dread.

For which this marquis wrought in this mannere: He came at night alone there as she lay, With sterne face and with full troubled cheer, And saide thus; “Griseld’,” quoth he “that day That I you took out of your poor array, And put you in estate of high nobless, Ye have it not forgotten, as I guess.

“I say, Griseld’, this present dignity, In which that I have put you, as I trow* *believe Maketh you not forgetful for to be That I you took in poor estate full low, For any weal you must yourselfe know. Take heed of every word that I you say, There is no wight that hears it but we tway.* *two

“Ye know yourself well how that ye came here Into this house, it is not long ago; And though to me ye be right lefe* and dear, *loved Unto my gentles* ye be nothing so: *nobles, gentlefolk They say, to them it is great shame and woe For to be subject, and be in servage, To thee, that born art of small lineage.

“And namely* since thy daughter was y-bore *especially These wordes have they spoken doubteless; But I desire, as I have done before, To live my life with them in rest and peace: I may not in this case be reckeless; I must do with thy daughter for the best, Not as I would, but as my gentles lest.* *please

“And yet, God wot, this is full loth* to me: *odious But natheless withoute your weeting* *knowing I will nought do; but this will I,” quoth he, “That ye to me assenten in this thing. Shew now your patience in your working, That ye me hight* and swore in your village *promised The day that maked was our marriage.”