Chapter D: Laing Purves (16)

This monk began upon this wife to stare, And said, “Alas! my niece, God forbid That ye for any sorrow, or any dread, Fordo* yourself: but telle me your grief, *destroy Paraventure I may, in your mischief,* *distress Counsel or help; and therefore telle me All your annoy, for it shall be secre. For on my portos* here I make an oath, *breviary That never in my life, *for lief nor loth,* *willing or unwilling* Ne shall I of no counsel you bewray.” “The same again to you,” quoth she, “I say. By God and by this portos I you swear, Though men me woulden all in pieces tear, Ne shall I never, for* to go to hell, *though I should Bewray* one word of thing that ye me tell, *betray For no cousinage, nor alliance, But verily for love and affiance.”* *confidence, promise Thus be they sworn, and thereupon they kiss’d, And each of them told other what them list. “Cousin,” quoth she, “if that I hadde space, As I have none, and namely* in this place, *specially Then would I tell a legend of my life, What I have suffer’d since I was a wife With mine husband, all* be he your cousin. *although “Nay,” quoth this monk, “by God and Saint Martin, He is no more cousin unto me, Than is the leaf that hangeth on the tree; I call him so, by Saint Denis of France, To have the more cause of acquaintance Of you, which I have loved specially Aboven alle women sickerly,* *surely This swear I you *on my professioun;* *by my vows of religion Tell me your grief, lest that he come adown, And hasten you, and go away anon.”

“My deare love,” quoth she, “O my Dan John, Full lief* were me this counsel for to hide, *pleasant But out it must, I may no more abide. My husband is to me the worste man That ever was since that the world began; But since I am a wife, it sits* not me *becomes To telle no wight of our privity, Neither in bed, nor in none other place; God shield* I shoulde tell it for his grace; *forbid A wife shall not say of her husband But all honour, as I can understand; Save unto you thus much I telle shall; As help me God, he is nought worth at all In no degree, the value of a fly. But yet me grieveth most his niggardy.* *stinginess And well ye wot, that women naturally Desire thinges six, as well as I. They woulde that their husbands shoulde be Hardy,* and wise, and rich, and thereto free, *brave And buxom* to his wife, and fresh in bed. *yielding, obedient But, by that ilke* Lord that for us bled, *same For his honour myself for to array, On Sunday next I muste needes pay A hundred francs, or elles am I lorn.* *ruined, undone Yet *were me lever* that I were unborn, *I would rather* Than me were done slander or villainy. And if mine husband eke might it espy, I were but lost; and therefore I you pray, Lend me this sum, or elles must I dey.* *die Dan John, I say, lend me these hundred francs; Pardie, I will not faile you, *my thanks,* *if I can help it* If that you list to do that I you pray; For at a certain day I will you pay, And do to you what pleasance and service That I may do, right as you list devise. And but* I do, God take on me vengeance, *unless As foul as e’er had Ganilion <9> of France.”

This gentle monk answer’d in this mannere; “Now truely, mine owen lady dear, I have,” quoth he, “on you so greate ruth,* *pity That I you swear, and plighte you my truth, That when your husband is to Flanders fare,* *gone I will deliver you out of this care, For I will bringe you a hundred francs.” And with that word he caught her by the flanks, And her embraced hard, and kissed her oft. “Go now your way,” quoth he, “all still and soft, And let us dine as soon as that ye may, For by my cylinder* ’tis prime of day; *portable sundial Go now, and be as true as I shall be .” “Now elles God forbidde, Sir,” quoth she; And forth she went, as jolly as a pie, And bade the cookes that they should them hie,* *make haste So that men mighte dine, and that anon. Up to her husband is this wife gone, And knocked at his contour boldely. *“Qui est la?”* quoth he. “Peter! it am I,” *who is there?* Quoth she; “What, Sir, how longe all will ye fast? How longe time will ye reckon and cast Your summes, and your bookes, and your things? The devil have part of all such reckonings! Ye have enough, pardie, of Godde’s sond.* *sending, gifts Come down to-day, and let your bagges stond.* *stand Ne be ye not ashamed, that Dan John Shall fasting all this day elenge* gon? *see note <10> What? let us hear a mass, and go we dine.” “Wife,” quoth this man, “little canst thou divine The curious businesse that we have; For of us chapmen,* all so God me save, *merchants And by that lord that cleped is Saint Ive, Scarcely amonges twenty, ten shall thrive Continually, lasting unto our age. We may well make cheer and good visage, And drive forth the world as it may be, And keepen our estate in privity, Till we be dead, or elles that we play A pilgrimage, or go out of the way. And therefore have I great necessity Upon this quaint* world to advise** me. *strange **consider For evermore must we stand in dread Of hap and fortune in our chapmanhead.* *trading To Flanders will I go to-morrow at day, And come again as soon as e’er I may: For which, my deare wife, I thee beseek *beseech As be to every wight buxom* and meek, *civil, courteous And for to keep our good be curious, And honestly governe well our house. Thou hast enough, in every manner wise, That to a thrifty household may suffice. Thee lacketh none array, nor no vitail; Of silver in thy purse thou shalt not fail.”

And with that word his contour door he shet,* *shut And down he went; no longer would he let;* *delay, hinder And hastily a mass was there said, And speedily the tables were laid, And to the dinner faste they them sped, And richely this monk the chapman fed. And after dinner Dan John soberly This chapman took apart, and privily He said him thus: “Cousin, it standeth so, That, well I see, to Bruges ye will go; God and Saint Austin speede you and guide. I pray you, cousin, wisely that ye ride: Governe you also of your diet Attemperly,* and namely** in this heat. *moderately Betwixt us two needeth no *strange fare;* *ado, ceremony* Farewell, cousin, God shielde you from care. If any thing there be, by day or night, If it lie in my power and my might, That ye me will command in any wise, It shall be done, right as ye will devise. But one thing ere ye go, if it may be; I woulde pray you for to lend to me A hundred frankes, for a week or twy, For certain beastes that I muste buy, To store with a place that is ours (God help me so, I would that it were yours); I shall not faile surely of my day, Not for a thousand francs, a mile way. But let this thing be secret, I you pray; For yet to-night these beastes must I buy. And fare now well, mine owen cousin dear; *Grand mercy* of your cost and of your cheer.” *great thanks*

This noble merchant gentilly* anon *like a gentleman Answer’d and said, “O cousin mine, Dan John, Now sickerly this is a small request: My gold is youres, when that it you lest, And not only my gold, but my chaffare;* *merchandise Take what you list, *God shielde that ye spare.* *God forbid that you But one thing is, ye know it well enow should take too little* Of chapmen, that their money is their plough. We may creance* while we have a name, *obtain credit But goldless for to be it is no game. Pay it again when it lies in your ease; After my might full fain would I you please.”

These hundred frankes set he forth anon, And privily he took them to Dan John; No wight in all this world wist of this loan, Saving the merchant and Dan John alone. They drink, and speak, and roam a while, and play, Till that Dan John rode unto his abbay. The morrow came, and forth this merchant rideth To Flanders-ward, his prentice well him guideth, Till he came unto Bruges merrily. Now went this merchant fast and busily About his need, and buyed and creanced;* *got credit He neither played at the dice, nor danced; But as a merchant, shortly for to tell, He led his life; and there I let him dwell.

The Sunday next* the merchant was y-gone, *after To Saint Denis y-comen is Dan John, With crown and beard all fresh and newly shave, In all the house was not so little a knave,* *servant-boy Nor no wight elles that was not full fain For that my lord Dan John was come again. And shortly to the point right for to gon, The faire wife accorded with Dan John, That for these hundred francs he should all night Have her in his armes bolt upright; And this accord performed was in deed. In mirth all night a busy life they lead, Till it was day, that Dan John went his way, And bade the meinie* “Farewell; have good day.” *servants For none of them, nor no wight in the town, Had of Dan John right no suspicioun; And forth he rode home to his abbay, Or where him list; no more of him I say.

The merchant, when that ended was the fair, To Saint Denis he gan for to repair, And with his wife he made feast and cheer, And tolde her that chaffare* was so dear, *merchandise That needes must he make a chevisance;* *loan <11> For he was bound in a recognisance To paye twenty thousand shields* anon. *crowns, ecus For which this merchant is to Paris gone, To borrow of certain friendes that he had A certain francs, and some with him he lad.* *took And when that he was come into the town, For great cherte* and great affectioun *love Unto Dan John he wente first to play; Not for to borrow of him no money, Bat for to weet* and see of his welfare, *know And for to telle him of his chaffare, As friendes do, when they be met in fere.* *company Dan John him made feast and merry cheer; And he him told again full specially, How he had well y-bought and graciously (Thanked be God) all whole his merchandise; Save that he must, in alle manner wise, Maken a chevisance, as for his best; And then he shoulde be in joy and rest. Dan John answered, “Certes, I am fain* *glad That ye in health be come borne again: And if that I were rich, as have I bliss, Of twenty thousand shields should ye not miss, For ye so kindely the other day Lente me gold, and as I can and may I thanke you, by God and by Saint Jame. But natheless I took unto our Dame, Your wife at home, the same gold again, Upon your bench; she wot it well, certain, By certain tokens that I can her tell Now, by your leave, I may no longer dwell; Our abbot will out of this town anon, And in his company I muste gon. Greet well our Dame, mine owen niece sweet, And farewell, deare cousin, till we meet.

This merchant, which that was full ware and wise, *Creanced hath,* and paid eke in Paris *had obtained credit* To certain Lombards ready in their hond The sum of gold, and got of them his bond, And home he went, merry as a popinjay.* *parrot For well he knew he stood in such array That needes must he win in that voyage A thousand francs, above all his costage.* *expenses His wife full ready met him at the gate, As she was wont of old usage algate* *always And all that night in mirthe they beset;* *spent For he was rich, and clearly out of debt. When it was day, the merchant gan embrace His wife all new, and kiss’d her in her face, And up he went, and maked it full tough.

“No more,” quoth she, “by God ye have enough;” And wantonly again with him she play’d, Till at the last this merchant to her said. “By God,” quoth he, “I am a little wroth With you, my wife, although it be me loth; And wot ye why? by God, as that I guess, That ye have made a *manner strangeness* *a kind of estrangement* Betwixte me and my cousin, Dan John. Ye should have warned me, ere I had gone, That he you had a hundred frankes paid By ready token; he *had him evil apaid* *was displeased* For that I to him spake of chevisance,* *borrowing (He seemed so as by his countenance); But natheless, by God of heaven king, I thoughte not to ask of him no thing. I pray thee, wife, do thou no more so. Tell me alway, ere that I from thee go, If any debtor hath in mine absence Y-payed thee, lest through thy negligence I might him ask a thing that he hath paid.”

This wife was not afeared nor afraid, But boldely she said, and that anon; “Mary! I defy that false monk Dan John, I keep* not of his tokens never a deal:** *care **whit He took me certain gold, I wot it well. — What? evil thedom* on his monke’s snout! — *thriving For, God it wot, I ween’d withoute doubt That he had given it me, because of you, To do therewith mine honour and my prow,* *profit For cousinage, and eke for belle cheer That he hath had full often here. But since I see I stand in such disjoint,* *awkward position I will answer you shortly to the point. Ye have more slacke debtors than am I; For I will pay you well and readily, From day to day, and if so be I fail, I am your wife, score it upon my tail, And I shall pay as soon as ever I may. For, by my troth, I have on mine array, And not in waste, bestow’d it every deal. And, for I have bestowed it so well, For your honour, for Godde’s sake I say, As be not wroth, but let us laugh and play. Ye shall my jolly body have *to wed;* *in pledge* By God, I will not pay you but in bed; Forgive it me, mine owen spouse dear; Turn hitherward, and make better cheer.”

The merchant saw none other remedy; And for to chide, it were but a folly, Since that the thing might not amended be. “Now, wife,” he said, “and I forgive it thee; But by thy life be no more so large;* *liberal, lavish Keep better my good, this give I thee in charge.” Thus endeth now my tale; and God us send Taling enough, until our lives’ end!

Notes to the Shipman’s Tale

1. In this Tale Chaucer seems to have followed an old French story, which also formed the groundwork of the first story in the eighth day of the “Decameron.”

2. “He must us clothe”: So in all the manuscripts and from this and the following lines, it must be inferred that Chaucer had intended to put the Tale in the mouth of a female speaker.

3. Dan: a title bestowed on priests and scholars; from “Dominus,” like the Spanish “Don”.

4. Bruges was in Chaucer’s time the great emporium of European commerce.

5. The monk had been appointed by his abbot to inspect and manage the rural property of the monastery.

6. Malvesie or Malmesy wine derived its name from Malvasia, a region of the Morea near Cape Malea, where it was made, as it also was on Chios and some other Greek islands. Vernage was “vernaccia”, a sweet Italian wine.

7. Contour-house: counting-house; French, “comptoir.”

8. Under the yarde: under the rod; in pupillage; a phrase properly used of children, but employed by the Clerk in the prologue to his tale. See note 1 to the Prologue to the Clerk’s Tale.

9. Genelon, Ganelon, or Ganilion; one of Charlemagne’s officers, whose treachery was the cause of the disastrous defeat of the Christians by the Saracens at Roncevalles; he was torn to pieces by four horses.

10. Elenge: From French, “eloigner,” to remove; it may mean either the lonely, cheerless condition of the priest, or the strange behaviour of the merchant in leaving him to himself.

11. Make a chevisance: raise money by means of a borrowing agreement; from French, “achever,” to finish; the general meaning of the word is a bargain, an agreement.

THE PRIORESS’S TALE.

THE PROLOGUE.

“WELL said, by *corpus Domini,”* quoth our Host; *the Lord’s body* “Now longe may’st thou saile by the coast, Thou gentle Master, gentle Marinere. God give the monk *a thousand last quad year!* *ever so much evil* <1> Aha! fellows, beware of such a jape.* *trick The monk *put in the manne’s hood an ape,* *fooled him* And in his wife’s eke, by Saint Austin. Drawe no monkes more into your inn. But now pass over, and let us seek about, Who shall now telle first of all this rout Another tale;” and with that word he said, As courteously as it had been a maid; “My Lady Prioresse, by your leave, So that I wist I shoulde you not grieve,* *offend I woulde deeme* that ye telle should *judge, decide A tale next, if so were that ye would. Now will ye vouchesafe, my lady dear?” “Gladly,” quoth she; and said as ye shall hear.

Notes to the Prologue to the Prioress’s Tale.

1. A thousand last quad year: ever so much evil. “Last” means a load, “quad,” bad; and literally we may read “a thousand weight of bad years.” The Italians use “mal anno” in the same sense.

THE TALE. <1>

O Lord our Lord! thy name how marvellous Is in this large world y-spread! <2> (quoth she) For not only thy laude* precious *praise Performed is by men of high degree, But by the mouth of children thy bounte* *goodness Performed is, for on the breast sucking Sometimes showe they thy herying.* <3> *glory

Wherefore in laud, as I best can or may Of thee, and of the white lily flow’r Which that thee bare, and is a maid alway, To tell a story I will do my labour; Not that I may increase her honour, For she herselven is honour and root Of bounte, next her son, and soules’ boot.* *help

O mother maid, O maid and mother free!* *bounteous O bush unburnt, burning in Moses’ sight, That ravished’st down from the deity, Through thy humbless, the ghost that in thee light; <4> Of whose virtue, when he thine hearte light,* *lightened, gladdened Conceived was the Father’s sapience; Help me to tell it to thy reverence.

Lady! thy bounty, thy magnificence, Thy virtue, and thy great humility, There may no tongue express in no science: For sometimes, Lady! ere men pray to thee, Thou go’st before, of thy benignity, And gettest us the light, through thy prayere, To guiden us unto thy son so dear.

My conning* is so weak, O blissful queen, *skill, ability For to declare thy great worthiness, That I not may the weight of it sustene; But as a child of twelvemonth old, or less, That can unnethes* any word express, *scarcely Right so fare I; and therefore, I you pray, Guide my song that I shall of you say.

There was in Asia, in a great city, Amonges Christian folk, a Jewery,<5> Sustained by a lord of that country, For foul usure, and lucre of villainy, Hateful to Christ, and to his company; And through the street men mighte ride and wend,* *go, walk For it was free, and open at each end.

A little school of Christian folk there stood Down at the farther end, in which there were Children an heap y-come of Christian blood, That learned in that schoole year by year Such manner doctrine as men used there; This is to say, to singen and to read, As smalle children do in their childhead.

Among these children was a widow’s son, A little clergion,* seven year of age, *young clerk or scholar That day by day to scholay* was his won,** *study **wont And eke also, whereso he saw th’ image Of Christe’s mother, had he in usage, As him was taught, to kneel adown, and say Ave Maria as he went by the way.

Thus had this widow her little son y-taught Our blissful Lady, Christe’s mother dear, To worship aye, and he forgot it not; For sely* child will always soone lear.** *innocent **learn But aye when I remember on this mattere, Saint Nicholas <6> stands ever in my presence; For he so young to Christ did reverence.

This little child his little book learning, As he sat in the school at his primere, He Alma redemptoris <7> hearde sing, As children learned their antiphonere; <8> And as he durst, he drew him nere and nere,* *nearer And hearken’d aye the wordes and the note, Till he the firste verse knew all by rote.

Nought wist he what this Latin was tosay,* *meant For he so young and tender was of age; But on a day his fellow gan he pray To expound him this song in his language, Or tell him why this song was in usage: This pray’d he him to construe and declare, Full oftentime upon his knees bare.

His fellow, which that elder was than he, Answer’d him thus: “This song, I have heard say, Was maked of our blissful Lady free, Her to salute, and eke her to pray To be our help and succour when we dey.* *die I can no more expound in this mattere: I learne song, I know but small grammere.”

“And is this song y-made in reverence Of Christe’s mother?” said this innocent; Now certes I will do my diligence To conne* it all, ere Christemas be went; *learn; con Though that I for my primer shall be shent,* *disgraced And shall be beaten thries in an hour, I will it conne, our Lady to honour.”

His fellow taught him homeward* privily *on the way home From day to day, till he coud* it by rote, *knew And then he sang it well and boldely From word to word according with the note; Twice in a day it passed through his throat; To schoole-ward, and homeward when he went; On Christ’s mother was set all his intent.

As I have said, throughout the Jewery, This little child, as he came to and fro, Full merrily then would he sing and cry, O Alma redemptoris, evermo’; The sweetness hath his hearte pierced so Of Christe’s mother, that to her to pray He cannot stint* of singing by the way. *cease

Our firste foe, the serpent Satanas, That hath in Jewes’ heart his waspe’s nest, Upswell’d and said, “O Hebrew people, alas! Is this to you a thing that is honest,* *creditable, becoming That such a boy shall walken as him lest In your despite, and sing of such sentence, Which is against your lawe’s reverence?”

From thenceforth the Jewes have conspired This innocent out of the world to chase; A homicide thereto have they hired, That in an alley had a privy place, And, as the child gan forth by for to pace, This cursed Jew him hent,* and held him fast *seized And cut his throat, and in a pit him cast.

I say that in a wardrobe* he him threw, *privy Where as the Jewes purged their entrail. O cursed folk! O Herodes all new! What may your evil intente you avail? Murder will out, certain it will not fail, And namely* where th’ honour of God shall spread; *especially The blood out crieth on your cursed deed.

O martyr souded* to virginity, *confirmed <9> Now may’st thou sing, and follow ever-in-one* *continually The white Lamb celestial (quoth she), Of which the great Evangelist Saint John In Patmos wrote, which saith that they that gon Before this Lamb, and sing a song all new, That never fleshly woman they ne knew.<10>

This poore widow waited all that night After her little child, but he came not; For which, as soon as it was daye’s light, With face pale, in dread and busy thought, She hath at school and elleswhere him sought, Till finally she gan so far espy, That he was last seen in the Jewery.

With mother’s pity in her breast enclosed, She went, as she were half out of her mind, To every place, where she hath supposed By likelihood her little child to find: And ever on Christ’s mother meek and kind She cried, and at the laste thus she wrought, Among the cursed Jewes she him sought.

She freined,* and she prayed piteously *asked* <11> To every Jew that dwelled in that place, To tell her, if her childe went thereby; They saide, “Nay;” but Jesus of his grace Gave in her thought, within a little space, That in that place after her son she cried, Where he was cast into a pit beside.

O greate God, that preformest thy laud By mouth of innocents, lo here thy might! This gem of chastity, this emeraud,* *emerald And eke of martyrdom the ruby bright, Where he with throat y-carven* lay upright, *cut He Alma Redemptoris gan to sing So loud, that all the place began to ring.

The Christian folk, that through the streete went, In came, for to wonder on this thing: And hastily they for the provost sent. He came anon withoute tarrying, And heried* Christ, that is of heaven king, *praised And eke his mother, honour of mankind; And after that the Jewes let* he bind. *caused

With torment, and with shameful death each one The provost did* these Jewes for to sterve** *caused **die That of this murder wist, and that anon; He woulde no such cursedness observe* *overlook Evil shall have that evil will deserve; Therefore with horses wild he did them draw, And after that he hung them by the law.

The child, with piteous lamentation, Was taken up, singing his song alway: And with honour and great procession, They crry him unto the next abbay. His mother swooning by the biere lay; Unnethes* might the people that were there *scarcely This newe Rachel bringe from his bier.

Upon his biere lay this innocent Before the altar while the masses last’;* *lasted And, after that, th’ abbot with his convent Have sped them for to bury him full fast; And when they holy water on him cast, Yet spake this child, when sprinkled was the water, And sang, O Alma redemptoris mater!

This abbot, which that was a holy man, As monkes be, or elles ought to be, This younger child to conjure he began, And said; “O deare child! I halse* thee, *implore <12> In virtue of the holy Trinity; Tell me what is thy cause for to sing, Since that thy throat is cut, to my seeming.”

“My throat is cut unto my necke-bone,” Saide this child, “and, as *by way of kind,* *in course of nature* I should have died, yea long time agone; But Jesus Christ, as ye in bookes find, Will that his glory last and be in mind; And, for the worship* of his mother dear, *glory Yet may I sing O Alma loud and clear.

“This well* of mercy, Christe’s mother sweet, *fountain I loved alway, after my conning:* *knowledge And when that I my life should forlete,* *leave To me she came, and bade me for to sing This anthem verily in my dying, As ye have heard; and, when that I had sung, Me thought she laid a grain upon my tongue.

“Wherefore I sing, and sing I must certain, In honour of that blissful maiden free, Till from my tongue off taken is the grain. And after that thus saide she to me; ‘My little child, then will I fetche thee, When that the grain is from thy tongue take: Be not aghast,* I will thee not forsake.’” *afraid

This holy monk, this abbot him mean I, His tongue out caught, and took away the grain; And he gave up the ghost full softely. And when this abbot had this wonder seen, His salte teares trickled down as rain: And groff* he fell all flat upon the ground, *prostrate, grovelling And still he lay, as he had been y-bound.

The convent* lay eke on the pavement *all the monks Weeping, and herying* Christ’s mother dear. *praising And after that they rose, and forth they went, And took away this martyr from his bier, And in a tomb of marble stones clear Enclosed they his little body sweet; Where he is now, God lene* us for to meet. *grant

O younge Hugh of Lincoln!<13> slain also With cursed Jewes, — as it is notable, For it is but a little while ago, — Pray eke for us, we sinful folk unstable, That, of his mercy, God so merciable* *merciful On us his greate mercy multiply, For reverence of his mother Mary.

Notes to the Prioress’s Tale

1. Tales of the murder of children by Jews were frequent in the Middle Ages, being probably designed to keep up the bitter feeling of the Christians against the Jews. Not a few children were canonised on this account; and the scene of the misdeeds was laid anywhere and everywhere, so that Chaucer could be at no loss for material.

2. This is from Psalm viii. 1, “Domine, dominus noster,quam admirabile est nomen tuum in universa terra.”

3. “Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast Thou ordained strength.” — Psalms viii. 2.

4. The ghost that in thee light: the spirit that on thee alighted; the Holy Ghost through whose power Christ was conceived.

5. Jewery: A quarter which the Jews were permitted to inhabit; the Old Jewry in London got its name in this way.

6. St. Nicholas, even in his swaddling clothes — so says the “Breviarium Romanum” —gave promise of extraordinary virtue and holiness; for, though he sucked freely on other days, on Wednesdays and Fridays he applied to the breast only once, and that not until the evening.

7. “O Alma Redemptoris Mater,” (“O soul mother of the Redeemer”) — the beginning of a hymn to the Virgin.

8. Antiphonere: A book of anthems, or psalms, chanted in the choir by alternate verses.

9. Souded; confirmed; from French, “soulde;” Latin, “solidatus.”

10. “And they sung as it were a new song before the throne, and before the four beasts, and the elders: and no man could learn that song but the hundred and forty and four thousand, which were redeemed from the earth. These are they which were not defiled with women; for they are virgins. These are they which follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth. These were redeemed from among men, being the firstfruits unto God and to the Lamb.” — Revelations xiv. 3, 4.

11. Freined: asked, inquired; from Anglo-Saxon, “frinan,” “fraegnian.” Compare German, “fragen.”

12. Halse: embrace or salute; implore: from Anglo-Saxon “hals,” the neck.

14 A boy said to have been slain by the Jews at Lincoln in 1255, according to Matthew Paris. Many popular ballads were made about the event, which the diligence of the Church doubtless kept fresh in mind at Chaucer’s day.

CHAUCER’S TALE OF SIR THOPAS.

THE PROLOGUE.<1>

WHEN said was this miracle, every man As sober* was, that wonder was to see, *serious Till that our Host to japen* he began, *talk lightly And then *at erst* he looked upon me, *for the first time* And saide thus; “What man art thou?” quoth he; “Thou lookest as thou wouldest find an hare, For ever on the ground I see thee stare.

“Approache near, and look up merrily. Now ware you, Sirs, and let this man have place. He in the waist is shapen as well as I; <2> This were a puppet in an arm t’embrace For any woman small and fair of face. He seemeth elvish* by his countenance, *surly, morose For unto no wight doth he dalliance.

“Say now somewhat, since other folk have said; Tell us a tale of mirth, and that anon.” “Hoste,” quoth I, “be not evil apaid,* *dissatisfied For other tale certes can* I none, *know Eut of a rhyme I learned yore* agone.” *long “Yea, that is good,” quoth he; “now shall we hear Some dainty thing, me thinketh by thy cheer.”* *expression, mien

Notes to the Prologue to Chaucer’s Tale of Sir Thopas

1. This prologue is interesting, for the picture which it gives of Chaucer himself; riding apart from and indifferent to the rest of the pilgrims, with eyes fixed on the ground, and an “elvish”, morose, or rather self-absorbed air; portly, if not actually stout, in body; and evidently a man out of the common, as the closing words of the Host imply.

2. Referring to the poet’s corpulency.

THE TALE <1>

The First Fit* *part

Listen, lordings, in good intent, And I will tell you verrament* *truly Of mirth and of solas,* *delight, solace All of a knight was fair and gent,* *gentle In battle and in tournament, His name was Sir Thopas.

Y-born he was in far country, In Flanders, all beyond the sea, At Popering <2> in the place; His father was a man full free, And lord he was of that country, As it was Godde’s grace. <3>

Sir Thopas was a doughty swain, White was his face as paindemain, <4> His lippes red as rose. His rode* is like scarlet in grain, *complexion And I you tell in good certain He had a seemly nose.

His hair, his beard, was like saffroun, That to his girdle reach’d adown, His shoes of cordewane:<5> Of Bruges were his hosen brown; His robe was of ciclatoun,<6> That coste many a jane.<7>

He coulde hunt at the wild deer, And ride on hawking *for rivere* *by the river* With gray goshawk on hand: <8> Thereto he was a good archere, Of wrestling was there none his peer, Where any ram <9> should stand.

Full many a maiden bright in bow’r They mourned for him par amour, When them were better sleep; But he was chaste, and no lechour, And sweet as is the bramble flow’r That beareth the red heep.* *hip

And so it fell upon a day, For sooth as I you telle may, Sir Thopas would out ride; He worth* upon his steede gray, *mounted And in his hand a launcegay,* *spear <10> A long sword by his side.

He pricked through a fair forest, Wherein is many a wilde beast, Yea, bothe buck and hare; And as he pricked north and east, I tell it you, him had almest *almost Betid* a sorry care. *befallen

There sprange herbes great and small, The liquorice and the setewall,* *valerian And many a clove-gilofre, <12> And nutemeg to put in ale, Whether it be moist* or stale, *new Or for to lay in coffer.

The birdes sang, it is no nay, The sperhawk* and the popinjay,** *sparrowhawk **parrot <13> That joy it was to hear; The throstle-cock made eke his lay, The woode-dove upon the spray She sang full loud and clear.

Sir Thopas fell in love-longing All when he heard the throstle sing, And *prick’d as he were wood;* *rode as if he His faire steed in his pricking were mad* So sweated, that men might him wring, His sides were all blood.

Sir Thopas eke so weary was For pricking on the softe grass, So fierce was his corage,* *inclination, spirit That down he laid him in that place, To make his steed some solace, And gave him good forage.

“Ah, Saint Mary, ben’dicite, What aileth thilke* love at me *this To binde me so sore? Me dreamed all this night, pardie, An elf-queen shall my leman* be, *mistress And sleep under my gore.* *shirt

An elf-queen will I love, y-wis,* *assuredly For in this world no woman is Worthy to be my make* *mate In town; All other women I forsake, And to an elf-queen I me take By dale and eke by down.” <14>

Into his saddle he clomb anon, And pricked over stile and stone An elf-queen for to spy, Till he so long had ridden and gone, That he found in a privy wonne* *haunt The country of Faery, So wild; For in that country was there none That to him durste ride or gon, Neither wife nor child.

Till that there came a great giaunt, His name was Sir Oliphaunt,<15> A perilous man of deed; He saide, “Child,* by Termagaunt, <16> *young man *But if* thou prick out of mine haunt, *unless Anon I slay thy steed With mace. Here is the Queen of Faery, With harp, and pipe, and symphony, Dwelling in this place.”

The Child said, “All so may I the,* *thrive To-morrow will I meete thee, When I have mine armor; And yet I hope, *par ma fay,* *by my faith* That thou shalt with this launcegay Abyen* it full sore; *suffer for Thy maw* *belly Shall I pierce, if I may, Ere it be fully prime of day, For here thou shalt be slaw.”* *slain

Sir Thopas drew aback full fast; This giant at him stones cast Out of a fell staff sling: But fair escaped Child Thopas, And all it was through Godde’s grace, And through his fair bearing. <17>

Yet listen, lordings, to my tale, Merrier than the nightingale, For now I will you rown,* *whisper How Sir Thopas, with sides smale,* *small <18> Pricking over hill and dale, Is come again to town.

His merry men commanded he To make him both game and glee; For needes must he fight With a giant with heades three, For paramour and jollity Of one that shone full bright.

“*Do come,*” he saide, “my minstrales *summon* And gestours* for to telle tales. *story-tellers Anon in mine arming, Of romances that be royales, <19> Of popes and of cardinales, And eke of love-longing.”

They fetch’d him first the sweete wine, And mead eke in a maseline,* *drinking-bowl And royal spicery; of maple wood <20> Of ginger-bread that was full fine, And liquorice and eke cumin, With sugar that is trie.* *refined

He didde,* next his white lere,** *put on **skin Of cloth of lake* fine and clear, *fine linen A breech and eke a shirt; And next his shirt an haketon,* *cassock And over that an habergeon,* *coat of mail For piercing of his heart;

And over that a fine hauberk,* *plate-armour Was all y-wrought of Jewes’* werk, *magicians’ Full strong it was of plate; And over that his coat-armour,* *knight’s surcoat As white as is the lily flow’r, <21> In which he would debate.* *fight

His shield was all of gold so red And therein was a boare’s head, A charboucle* beside; *carbuncle <22> And there he swore on ale and bread, How that the giant should be dead, Betide whatso betide.

His jambeaux* were of cuirbouly, <23> *boots His sworde’s sheath of ivory, His helm of latoun* bright, *brass His saddle was of rewel <24> bone, His bridle as the sunne shone, Or as the moonelight.

His speare was of fine cypress, That bodeth war, and nothing peace; The head full sharp y-ground. His steede was all dapple gray, It went an amble in the way Full softely and round In land.

Lo, Lordes mine, here is a fytt; If ye will any more of it, To tell it will I fand.* *try

The Second Fit

Now hold your mouth for charity, Bothe knight and lady free, And hearken to my spell;* *tale <25> Of battle and of chivalry, Of ladies’ love and druerie,* *gallantry Anon I will you tell.

Men speak of romances of price* * worth, esteem Of Horn Child, and of Ipotis, Of Bevis, and Sir Guy, <26> Of Sir Libeux, <27> and Pleindamour, But Sir Thopas, he bears the flow’r Of royal chivalry.

His goode steed he all bestrode, And forth upon his way he glode,* *shone As sparkle out of brand;* *torch Upon his crest he bare a tow’r, And therein stick’d a lily flow’r; <28> God shield his corse* from shand!** *body **harm

And, for he was a knight auntrous,* *adventurous He woulde sleepen in none house, But liggen* in his hood, *lie His brighte helm was his wanger,* *pillow <29> And by him baited* his destrer** *fed **horse <30> Of herbes fine and good.

Himself drank water of the well, As did the knight Sir Percivel, <31> So worthy under weed; Till on a day - . . .

Notes to Chaucer’s Tale of Sir Thopas

1. “The Rhyme of Sir Thopas,” as it is generally called, is introduced by Chaucer as a satire on the dull, pompous, and prolix metrical romances then in vogue. It is full of phrases taken from the popular rhymesters in the vein which he holds up to ridicule; if, indeed — though of that there is no evidence — it be not actually part of an old romance which Chaucer selected and reproduced to point his assault on the prevailing taste in literature. Transcriber’s note: The Tale is full of incongruities of every kind, which Purves does not refer to; I point some of them out in the notes which follow - marked TN.

2. Poppering, or Poppeling, a parish in the marches of Calais of which the famous antiquary Leland was once Rector. TN: The inhabitants of Popering had a reputation for stupidity.

3. TN: The lord of Popering was the abbot of the local monastery - who could, of course, have no legitimate children.

4. Paindemain: Either “pain de matin,” morning bread, or “pain de Maine,” because it was made best in that province; a kind of fine white bread.

5. Cordewane: Cordovan; fine Spanish leather, so called from the name of the city where it was prepared

6. Ciclatoun: A rich Oriental stuff of silk and gold, of which was made the circular robe of state called a “ciclaton,” from the Latin, “cyclas.” The word is French.

7. Jane: a Genoese coin, of small value; in our old statutes called “gallihalpens,” or galley half-pence.

8. TN: In Mediaeval falconry the goshawk was not regarded as a fit bird for a knight. It was the yeoman’s bird.

9. A ram was the usual prize of wrestling contests. TN: Wrestling and archery were sports of the common people, not knightly accomplishments.

10. Launcegay: spear; “azagay” is the name of a Moorish weapon, and the identity of termination is singular.

12. Clove-gilofre: clove-gilliflower; “Caryophyllus hortensis.”

13. TN: The sparrowhawk and parrot can only squawk unpleasantly.

14. TN: The sudden and pointless changes in the stanza form are of course part of Chaucer’s parody.

15. Sir Oliphaunt: literally, “Sir Elephant;” Sir John Mandeville calls those animals “Olyfauntes.”

16. Termagaunt: A pagan or Saracen deity, otherwise named Tervagan, and often mentioned in Middle Age literature. His name has passed into our language, to denote a ranter or blusterer, as be was represented to be.

17. TN: His “fair bearing” would not have been much defence against a sling-stone.

18. TN: “Sides small”: a conventional description for a woman, not a man.

19. Romances that be royal: so called because they related to Charlemagne and his family.

20. TN: A knight would be expected to have a gold or silver drinking vessel.

21. TN: The coat-armour or coat of arms should have had his heraldic emblems on it, not been pure white

22. Charboucle: Carbuncle; French, “escarboucle;” a heraldic device resembling a jewel.

23. Cuirbouly: “Cuir boulli,” French, boiled or prepared leather; also used to cover shields, &c.

24. Rewel bone: No satisfactory explanation has been furnished of this word, used to describe some material from which rich saddles were made. TN: The OED defines it as narwhal ivory.

25. Spell: Tale, discourse, from Anglo-Saxon, “spellian,” to declare, tell a story.

26. Sir Bevis of Hampton, and Sir Guy of Warwick, two knights of great renown.

27. Libeux: One of Arthur’s knights, called “Ly beau desconus,” “the fair unknown.”

28. TN: The crest was a small emblem worn on top of a knight’s helmet. A tower with a lily stuck in it would have been unwieldy and absurd.

29. Wanger: pillow; from Anglo-Saxon, “wangere,” because the “wanges;” or cheeks, rested on it.

30. Destrer: “destrier,” French, a war-horse; in Latin, “dextrarius,” as if led by the right hand.

31. Sir Percival de Galois, whose adventures were written in more than 60,000 verses by Chretien de Troyes, one of the oldest and best French romancers, in 1191.

CHAUCER’S TALE OF MELIBŒUS.

THE PROLOGUE.

“No more of this, for Godde’s dignity!” Quoth oure Hoste; “for thou makest me So weary of thy very lewedness,* *stupidity, ignorance <1> That, all so wisly* God my soule bless, *surely Mine eares ache for thy drafty* speech. *worthless <2> Now such a rhyme the devil I beteche:* *commend to This may well be rhyme doggerel,” quoth he. “Why so?” quoth I; “why wilt thou lette* me *prevent More of my tale than any other man, Since that it is the best rhyme that I can?”* *know “By God!” quoth he, “for, plainly at one word, Thy drafty rhyming is not worth a tord: Thou dost naught elles but dispendest* time. *wastest Sir, at one word, thou shalt no longer rhyme. Let see whether thou canst tellen aught *in gest,* *by way of Or tell in prose somewhat, at the least, narrative* In which there be some mirth or some doctrine.” “Gladly,” quoth I, “by Godde’s sweete pine,* *suffering I will you tell a little thing in prose, That oughte like* you, as I suppose, *please Or else certes ye be too dangerous.* *fastidious It is a moral tale virtuous, *All be it* told sometimes in sundry wise *although it be* By sundry folk, as I shall you devise. As thus, ye wot that ev’ry Evangelist, That telleth us the pain* of Jesus Christ, *passion He saith not all thing as his fellow doth; But natheless their sentence is all soth,* *true And all accorden as in their sentence,* *meaning All be there in their telling difference; For some of them say more, and some say less, When they his piteous passion express; I mean of Mark and Matthew, Luke and John; But doubteless their sentence is all one. Therefore, lordinges all, I you beseech, If that ye think I vary in my speech, As thus, though that I telle somedeal more Of proverbes, than ye have heard before Comprehended in this little treatise here, *T’enforce with* the effect of my mattere, *with which to And though I not the same wordes say enforce* As ye have heard, yet to you all I pray Blame me not; for as in my sentence Shall ye nowhere finde no difference From the sentence of thilke* treatise lite,** *this **little After the which this merry tale I write. And therefore hearken to what I shall say, And let me tellen all my tale, I pray.”

Notes to the Prologue to Chaucer’s Tale of Melibœus.

1. Chaucer crowns the satire on the romanticists by making the very landlord of the Tabard cry out in indignant disgust against the stuff which he had heard recited — the good Host ascribing to sheer ignorance the string of pompous platitudes and prosaic details which Chaucer had uttered.

2. Drafty: worthless, vile; no better than draff or dregs; from the Anglo-Saxon, “drifan” to drive away, expel.

THE TALE.<1>

A young man called Melibœus, mighty and rich, begat upon his wife, that called was Prudence, a daughter which that called was Sophia. Upon a day befell, that he for his disport went into the fields him to play. His wife and eke his daughter hath he left within his house, of which the doors were fast shut. Three of his old foes have it espied, and set ladders to the walls of his house, and by the windows be entered, and beaten his wife, and wounded his daughter with five mortal wounds, in five sundry places; that is to say, in her feet, in her hands, in her ears, in her nose, and in her mouth; and left her for dead, and went away. When Melibœus returned was into his house, and saw all this mischief, he, like a man mad, rending his clothes, gan weep and cry. Prudence his wife, as farforth as she durst, besought him of his weeping for to stint: but not forthy [notwithstanding] he gan to weep and cry ever longer the more.

This noble wife Prudence remembered her upon the sentence of Ovid, in his book that called is the “Remedy of Love,” <2> where he saith: He is a fool that disturbeth the mother to weep in the death of her child, till she have wept her fill, as for a certain time; and then shall a man do his diligence with amiable words her to recomfort and pray her of her weeping for to stint [cease]. For which reason this noble wife Prudence suffered her husband for to weep and cry, as for a certain space; and when she saw her time, she said to him in this wise: “Alas! my lord,” quoth she, “why make ye yourself for to be like a fool? For sooth it appertaineth not to a wise man to make such a sorrow. Your daughter, with the grace of God, shall warish [be cured] and escape. And all [although] were it so that she right now were dead, ye ought not for her death yourself to destroy. Seneca saith, ‘The wise man shall not take too great discomfort for the death of his children, but certes he should suffer it in patience, as well as he abideth the death of his own proper person.’”

Melibœus answered anon and said: “What man,” quoth he, “should of his weeping stint, that hath so great a cause to weep? Jesus Christ, our Lord, himself wept for the death of Lazarus his friend.” Prudence answered, “Certes, well I wot, attempered [moderate] weeping is nothing defended [forbidden] to him that sorrowful is, among folk in sorrow but it is rather granted him to weep. The Apostle Paul unto the Romans writeth, ‘Man shall rejoice with them that make joy, and weep with such folk as weep.’ But though temperate weeping be granted, outrageous weeping certes is defended. Measure of weeping should be conserved, after the lore [doctrine] that teacheth us Seneca. ‘When that thy friend is dead,’ quoth he, ‘let not thine eyes too moist be of tears, nor too much dry: although the tears come to thine eyes, let them not fall. And when thou hast forgone [lost] thy friend, do diligence to get again another friend: and this is more wisdom than to weep for thy friend which that thou hast lorn [lost] for therein is no boot [advantage]. And therefore if ye govern you by sapience, put away sorrow out of your heart. Remember you that Jesus Sirach saith, ‘A man that is joyous and glad in heart, it him conserveth flourishing in his age: but soothly a sorrowful heart maketh his bones dry.’ He said eke thus, ‘that sorrow in heart slayth full many a man.’ Solomon saith ‘that right as moths in the sheep’s fleece annoy [do injury] to the clothes, and the small worms to the tree, right so annoyeth sorrow to the heart of man.’ Wherefore us ought as well in the death of our children, as in the loss of our goods temporal, have patience. Remember you upon the patient Job, when he had lost his children and his temporal substance, and in his body endured and received full many a grievous tribulation, yet said he thus: ‘Our Lord hath given it to me, our Lord hath bereft it me; right as our Lord would, right so be it done; blessed be the name of our Lord.”’