Chapter D: Laing Purves (18)

A feast he made unto his lordes all Upon a time, and made them blithe be, And then his officeres gan he call; “Go, bringe forth the vessels,” saide he, “Which that my father in his prosperity Out of the temple of Jerusalem reft, And to our highe goddes thanks we Of honour, that our elders* with us left.” *forefathers

His wife, his lordes, and his concubines Aye dranke, while their appetites did last, Out of these noble vessels sundry wines. And on a wall this king his eyen cast, And saw an hand, armless, that wrote full fast; For fear of which he quaked, and sighed sore. This hand, that Balthasar so sore aghast,* *dismayed Wrote Mane, tekel, phares, and no more.

In all that land magician was there none That could expounde what this letter meant. But Daniel expounded it anon, And said, “O King, God to thy father lent Glory and honour, regne, treasure, rent;* *revenue And he was proud, and nothing God he drad;* *dreaded And therefore God great wreche* upon him sent, *vengeance And him bereft the regne that he had.

“He was cast out of manne’s company; With asses was his habitation And ate hay, as a beast, in wet and dry, Till that he knew by grace and by reason That God of heaven hath domination O’er every regne, and every creature; And then had God of him compassion, And him restor’d his regne and his figure.

“Eke thou, that art his son, art proud also, And knowest all these thinges verily; And art rebel to God, and art his foe. Thou drankest of his vessels boldely; Thy wife eke, and thy wenches, sinfully Drank of the same vessels sundry wines, And heried* false goddes cursedly; *praised Therefore *to thee y-shapen full great pine is.* *great punishment is prepared for thee* “This hand was sent from God, that on the wall Wrote Mane, tekel, phares, truste me; Thy reign is done; thou weighest naught at all; Divided is thy regne, and it shall be To Medes and to Persians giv’n,” quoth he. And thilke same night this king was slaw* *slain And Darius occupied his degree, Though he thereto had neither right nor law.

Lordings, example hereby may ye take, How that in lordship is no sickerness;* *security For when that Fortune will a man forsake, She bears away his regne and his richess, And eke his friendes bothe more and less, For what man that hath friendes through fortune, Mishap will make them enemies, I guess; This proverb is full sooth, and full commune.

ZENOBIA, of Palmyrie the queen, <12> As write Persians of her nobless, So worthy was in armes, and so keen, That no wight passed her in hardiness, Nor in lineage, nor other gentleness.* *noble qualities Of the king’s blood of Perse* is she descended; *Persia I say not that she hadde most fairness, But of her shape she might not he amended.

From her childhood I finde that she fled Office of woman, and to woods she went, And many a wilde harte’s blood she shed With arrows broad that she against them sent; She was so swift, that she anon them hent.* *caught And when that she was older, she would kill Lions, leopards, and beares all to-rent,* *torn to pieces And in her armes wield them at her will.

She durst the wilde beastes’ dennes seek, And runnen in the mountains all the night, And sleep under a bush; and she could eke Wrestle by very force and very might With any young man, were he ne’er so wight;* *active, nimble There mighte nothing in her armes stond. She kept her maidenhood from every wight, To no man deigned she for to be bond.

But at the last her friendes have her married To Odenate, <13> a prince of that country; All were it so, that she them longe tarried. And ye shall understande how that he Hadde such fantasies as hadde she; But natheless, when they were knit in fere,* *together They liv’d in joy, and in felicity, For each of them had other lefe* and dear. *loved

Save one thing, that she never would assent, By no way, that he shoulde by her lie But ones, for it was her plain intent To have a child, the world to multiply; And all so soon as that she might espy That she was not with childe by that deed, Then would she suffer him do his fantasy Eftsoon,* and not but ones, *out of dread.* *again *without doubt*

And if she were with child at thilke* cast, *that No more should he playe thilke game Till fully forty dayes were past; Then would she once suffer him do the same. All* were this Odenatus wild or tame, *whether He got no more of her; for thus she said, It was to wives lechery and shame In other case* if that men with them play’d. on other terms

Two sones, by this Odenate had she, The which she kept in virtue and lettrure.* *learning But now unto our tale turne we; I say, so worshipful a creature, And wise therewith, and large* with measure,** *bountiful **moderation So penible* in the war, and courteous eke, *laborious Nor more labour might in war endure, Was none, though all this worlde men should seek.

Her rich array it mighte not be told, As well in vessel as in her clothing: She was all clad in pierrie* and in gold, *jewellery And eke she *lefte not,* for no hunting, *did not neglect* To have of sundry tongues full knowing, When that she leisure had, and for t’intend* *apply To learne bookes was all her liking, How she in virtue might her life dispend.

And, shortly of this story for to treat, So doughty was her husband and eke she, That they conquered many regnes great In th’Orient, with many a fair city Appertinent unto the majesty Of Rome, and with strong hande held them fast, Nor ever might their foemen do* them flee, *make Aye while that Odenatus’ dayes last’.

Her battles, whoso list them for to read, Against Sapor the king, <14> and other mo’, And how that all this process fell in deed, Why she conquer’d, and what title thereto, And after of her mischief* and her woe, *misfortune How that she was besieged and y-take, Let him unto my master Petrarch go, That writes enough of this, I undertake.

When Odenate was dead, she mightily The regne held, and with her proper hand Against her foes she fought so cruelly, That there n’as* king nor prince in all that land, *was not That was not glad, if be that grace fand That she would not upon his land warray;* *make war With her they maden alliance by bond, To be in peace, and let her ride and play.

The emperor of Rome, Claudius, Nor, him before, the Roman Gallien, Durste never be so courageous, Nor no Armenian, nor Egyptien, Nor Syrian, nor no Arabien, Within the fielde durste with her fight, Lest that she would them with her handes slen,* *slay Or with her meinie* putte them to flight. *troops

In kinges’ habit went her sones two, As heires of their father’s regnes all; And Heremanno and Timolao Their names were, as Persians them call But aye Fortune hath in her honey gall; This mighty queene may no while endure; Fortune out of her regne made her fall To wretchedness and to misadventure.

Aurelian, when that the governance Of Rome came into his handes tway, <15> He shope* upon this queen to do vengeance; *prepared And with his legions he took his way Toward Zenobie, and, shortly for to say, He made her flee, and at the last her hent,* *took And fetter’d her, and eke her children tway, And won the land, and home to Rome he went.

Amonges other thinges that he wan, Her car, that was with gold wrought and pierrie,* *jewels This greate Roman, this Aurelian Hath with him led, for that men should it see. Before in his triumphe walked she With gilte chains upon her neck hanging; Crowned she was, as after* her degree, *according to And full of pierrie her clothing.

Alas, Fortune! she that whilom was Dreadful to kinges and to emperours, Now galeth* all the people on her, alas! *yelleth And she that *helmed was in starke stowres,* *wore a helmet in And won by force townes strong and tow’rs, obstinate battles* Shall on her head now wear a vitremite; <16> And she that bare the sceptre full of flow’rs Shall bear a distaff, *her cost for to quite.* * to make her living*

Although that NERO were so vicious As any fiend that lies full low adown, Yet he, as telleth us Suetonius,<17> This wide world had in subjectioun, Both East and West, South and Septentrioun. Of rubies, sapphires, and of pearles white Were all his clothes embroider’d up and down, For he in gemmes greatly gan delight.

More delicate, more pompous of array, More proud, was never emperor than he; That *ilke cloth* that he had worn one day, *same robe* After that time he would it never see; Nettes of gold thread had he great plenty, To fish in Tiber, when him list to play; His lustes* were as law, in his degree, *pleasures For Fortune as his friend would him obey.

He Rome burnt for his delicacy;* *pleasure The senators he slew upon a day, To heare how that men would weep and cry; And slew his brother, and by his sister lay. His mother made he in piteous array; For he her wombe slitte, to behold Where he conceived was; so well-away! That he so little of his mother told.* *valued

No tear out of his eyen for that sight Came; but he said, a fair woman was she. Great wonder is, how that he could or might Be doomesman* of her deade beauty: *judge The wine to bringe him commanded he, And drank anon; none other woe he made, When might is joined unto cruelty, Alas! too deepe will the venom wade.

In youth a master had this emperour, To teache him lettrure* and courtesy; *literature, learning For of morality he was the flow’r, As in his time, *but if* bookes lie. *unless And while this master had of him mast’ry, He made him so conning and so souple,* *subtle That longe time it was ere tyranny, Or any vice, durst in him uncouple.* *be let loose

This Seneca, of which that I devise,* *tell Because Nero had of him suche dread, For he from vices would him aye chastise Discreetly, as by word, and not by deed; “Sir,” he would say, “an emperor must need Be virtuous, and hate tyranny.” For which he made him in a bath to bleed On both his armes, till he muste die.

This Nero had eke of a custumance* *habit In youth against his master for to rise;* *stand in his presence Which afterward he thought a great grievance; Therefore he made him dien in this wise. But natheless this Seneca the wise Chose in a bath to die in this mannere, Rather than have another tormentise;* *torture And thus hath Nero slain his master dear.

Now fell it so, that Fortune list no longer The highe pride of Nero to cherice;* *cherish For though he were strong, yet was she stronger. She thoughte thus; “By God, I am too nice* *foolish To set a man, that is full fill’d of vice, In high degree, and emperor him call! By God, out of his seat I will him trice!* *thrust <18> When he least weeneth,* soonest shall he fall.” *expecteth

The people rose upon him on a night, For his default; and when he it espied, Out of his doors anon he hath him dight* *betaken himself Alone, and where he ween’d t’have been allied,* *regarded with He knocked fast, and aye the more he cried friendship The faster shutte they their doores all; Then wist he well he had himself misgied,* *misled And went his way, no longer durst he call.

The people cried and rumbled up and down, That with his eares heard he how they said; “Where is this false tyrant, this Neroun?” For fear almost out of his wit he braid,* *went And to his goddes piteously he pray’d For succour, but it mighte not betide For dread of this he thoughte that died, And ran into a garden him to hide.

And in this garden found he churles tway, That satte by a fire great and red; And to these churles two he gan to pray To slay him, and to girdon* off his head, *strike That to his body, when that he were dead, Were no despite done for his defame.* *infamy Himself he slew, *he coud no better rede;* *he knew no better Of which Fortune laugh’d and hadde game. counsel*

Was never capitain under a king, That regnes more put in subjectioun, Nor stronger was in field of alle thing As in his time, nor greater of renown, Nor more pompous in high presumptioun, Than HOLOFERNES, whom Fortune aye kiss’d So lik’rously, and led him up and down, Till that his head was off *ere that he wist.* *before he knew it*

Not only that this world had of him awe, For losing of richess and liberty; But he made every man *reny his law.* *renounce his religion <19> Nabuchodonosor was God, said he; None other Godde should honoured be. Against his hest* there dare no wight trespace, *command Save in Bethulia, a strong city, Where Eliachim priest was of that place.

But take keep* of the death of Holofern; *notice Amid his host he drunken lay at night Within his tente, large as is a bern;* *barn And yet, for all his pomp and all his might, Judith, a woman, as he lay upright Sleeping, his head off smote, and from his tent Full privily she stole from every wight, And with his head unto her town she went.

What needeth it of king ANTIOCHUS <20> To tell his high and royal majesty, His great pride, and his workes venomous? For such another was there none as he; Reade what that he was in Maccabee. And read the proude wordes that he said, And why he fell from his prosperity, And in an hill how wretchedly he died.

Fortune him had enhanced so in pride, That verily he ween’d he might attain Unto the starres upon every side, And in a balance weighen each mountain, And all the floodes of the sea restrain. And Godde’s people had he most in hate Them would he slay in torment and in pain, Weening that God might not his pride abate.

And for that Nicanor and Timothee With Jewes were vanquish’d mightily, <21> Unto the Jewes such an hate had he, That he bade *graith his car* full hastily, *prepare his chariot* And swore and saide full dispiteously, Unto Jerusalem he would eftsoon,* *immediately To wreak his ire on it full cruelly But of his purpose was he let* full soon. *prevented

God for his menace him so sore smote, With invisible wound incurable, That in his guttes carf* it so and bote,** *cut **gnawed Till that his paines were importable;* *unendurable And certainly the wreche* was reasonable, *vengeance For many a manne’s guttes did he pain; But from his purpose, curs’d* and damnable, *impious For all his smart he would him not restrain; But bade anon apparaile* his host. *prepare

And suddenly, ere he was of it ware, God daunted all his pride, and all his boast For he so sore fell out of his chare,* *chariot That it his limbes and his skin to-tare, So that he neither mighte go nor ride But in a chaire men about him bare, Alle forbruised bothe back and side.

The wreche* of God him smote so cruelly, *vengeance That through his body wicked wormes crept, And therewithal he stank so horribly That none of all his meinie* that him kept, *servants Whether so that he woke or elles slept, Ne mighte not of him the stink endure. In this mischief he wailed and eke wept, And knew God Lord of every creature.

To all his host, and to himself also, Full wlatsem* was the stink of his carrain;** *loathsome **body No manne might him beare to and fro. And in this stink, and this horrible pain, He starf* full wretchedly in a mountain. *dies Thus hath this robber, and this homicide, That many a manne made to weep and plain, Such guerdon* as belongeth unto pride. *reward

The story of ALEXANDER is so commune, That ev’ry wight that hath discretion Hath heard somewhat or all of his fortune. This wide world, as in conclusion, He won by strength; or, for his high renown, They were glad for peace to him to send. The pride and boast of man he laid adown, Whereso he came, unto the worlde’s end.

Comparison yet never might be maked Between him and another conqueror; For all this world for dread of him had quaked He was of knighthood and of freedom flow’r: Fortune him made the heir of her honour. Save wine and women, nothing might assuage His high intent in arms and labour, So was he full of leonine courage.

What praise were it to him, though I you told Of Darius, and a hundred thousand mo’, Of kinges, princes, dukes, and earles bold, Which he conquer’d, and brought them into woe? I say, as far as man may ride or go, The world was his, why should I more devise?* *tell For, though I wrote or told you evermo’, Of his knighthood it mighte not suffice.

Twelve years he reigned, as saith Maccabee Philippe’s son of Macedon he was, That first was king in Greece the country. O worthy gentle* Alexander, alas *noble That ever should thee falle such a case! Empoison’d of thine owen folk thou were; Thy six <22> fortune hath turn’d into an ace, And yet for thee she wepte never a tear.

Who shall me give teares to complain The death of gentiless, and of franchise,* *generosity That all this worlde had in his demaine,* *dominion And yet he thought it mighte not suffice, So full was his corage* of high emprise? *spirit Alas! who shall me helpe to indite False Fortune, and poison to despise? The whiche two of all this woe I wite.* *blame

By wisdom, manhood, and by great labour, From humbleness to royal majesty Up rose he, JULIUS the Conquerour, That won all th’ Occident,* by land and sea, *West By strength of hand or elles by treaty, And unto Rome made them tributary; And since* of Rome the emperor was he, *afterwards Till that Fortune wax’d his adversary.

O mighty Caesar, that in Thessaly Against POMPEIUS, father thine in law, <23> That of th’ Orient had all the chivalry, As far as that the day begins to daw, That through thy knighthood hast them take and slaw,* slain* Save fewe folk that with Pompeius fled; Through which thou put all th’ Orient in awe; <24> Thanke Fortune that so well thee sped.

But now a little while I will bewail This Pompeius, this noble governor Of Rome, which that fled at this battaile I say, one of his men, a false traitor, His head off smote, to winne him favor Of Julius, and him the head he brought; Alas! Pompey, of th’ Orient conqueror, That Fortune unto such a fine* thee brought! *end

To Rome again repaired Julius, With his triumphe laureate full high; But on a time Brutus and Cassius, That ever had of his estate envy, Full privily have made conspiracy Against this Julius in subtle wise And cast* the place in which he shoulde die, *arranged With bodekins,* as I shall you devise.** *daggers **tell

This Julius to the Capitole went Upon a day, as he was wont to gon; And in the Capitol anon him hent* *seized This false Brutus, and his other fone,* *foes And sticked him with bodekins anon With many a wound, and thus they let him lie. But never groan’d he at no stroke but one, Or else at two, *but if* the story lie. *unless

So manly was this Julius of heart, And so well loved *estately honesty *dignified propriety* That, though his deadly woundes sore smart,* *pained him His mantle o’er his hippes caste he, That ne man shoulde see his privity And as he lay a-dying in a trance, And wiste verily that dead was he, Of honesty yet had he remembrance.

Lucan, to thee this story I recommend, And to Sueton’, and Valerie also, That of this story write *word and end* *the whole* <25> How that to these great conquerores two Fortune was first a friend, and since* a foe. *afterwards No manne trust upon her favour long, But *have her in await for evermo’;* *ever be watchful against her* Witness on all these conquerores strong.

The riche CROESUS, <26> whilom king of Lyde, — Of which Croesus Cyrus him sore drad,* — *dreaded Yet was he caught amiddes all his pride, And to be burnt men to the fire him lad; But such a rain down *from the welkin shad,* *poured from the sky* That slew the fire, and made him to escape: But to beware no grace yet he had, Till fortune on the gallows made him gape.

When he escaped was, he could not stint* *refrain For to begin a newe war again; He weened well, for that Fortune him sent Such hap, that he escaped through the rain, That of his foes he mighte not be slain. And eke a sweven* on a night he mette,** *dream **dreamed Of which he was so proud, and eke so fain,* *glad That he in vengeance all his hearte set.

Upon a tree he was set, as he thought, Where Jupiter him wash’d, both back and side, And Phoebus eke a fair towel him brought To dry him with; and therefore wax’d his pride. And to his daughter that stood him beside, Which he knew in high science to abound, He bade her tell him what it signified; And she his dream began right thus expound.

“The tree,” quoth she, “the gallows is to mean, And Jupiter betokens snow and rain, And Phoebus, with his towel clear and clean, These be the sunne’s streames* sooth to sayn; *rays Thou shalt y-hangeth be, father, certain; Rain shall thee wash, and sunne shall thee dry.” Thus warned him full plat and eke full plain His daughter, which that called was Phanie.

And hanged was Croesus the proude king; His royal throne might him not avail. Tragedy is none other manner thing, Nor can in singing crien nor bewail, But for that Fortune all day will assail With unware stroke the regnes* that be proud:<27> *kingdoms For when men truste her, then will she fail, And cover her bright face with a cloud.

O noble, O worthy PEDRO, <28> glory OF SPAIN, Whem Fortune held so high in majesty, Well oughte men thy piteous death complain. Out of thy land thy brother made thee flee, And after, at a siege, by subtlety, Thou wert betray’d, and led unto his tent, Where as he with his owen hand slew thee, Succeeding in thy regne* and in thy rent.** *kingdom *revenues

The field of snow, with th’ eagle of black therein, Caught with the lion, red-colour’d as the glede,* *burning coal He brew’d this cursedness,* and all this sin; *wickedness, villainy The wicked nest was worker of this deed; Not Charles’ Oliver, <29> that took aye heed Of truth and honour, but of Armorike Ganilien Oliver, corrupt for meed,* *reward, bribe Broughte this worthy king in such a brike.* *breach, ruin

O worthy PETRO, King of CYPRE <30> also, That Alexandre won by high mast’ry, Full many a heathnen wroughtest thou full woe, Of which thine owen lieges had envy; And, for no thing but for thy chivalry, They in thy bed have slain thee by the morrow; Thus can Fortune her wheel govern and gie,* *guide And out of joy bringe men into sorrow.

Of Milan greate BARNABO VISCOUNT,<30> God of delight, and scourge of Lombardy, Why should I not thine clomben* wert so high? *climbed Thy brother’s son, that was thy double ally, For he thy nephew was and son-in-law, Within his prison made thee to die, But why, nor how, *n’ot I* that thou were slaw.* *I know not* *slain*

Of th’ Earl HUGOLIN OF PISE the languour* *agony There may no tongue telle for pity. But little out of Pisa stands a tow’r, In whiche tow’r in prison put was he, Aud with him be his little children three; The eldest scarcely five years was of age; Alas! Fortune, it was great cruelty Such birdes for to put in such a cage.

Damned was he to die in that prison; For Roger, which that bishop was of Pise, Had on him made a false suggestion, Through which the people gan upon him rise, And put him in prison, in such a wise As ye have heard; and meat and drink he had So small, that well unneth* it might suffice, *scarcely And therewithal it was full poor and bad.

And on a day befell, that in that hour When that his meate wont was to be brought, The jailor shut the doores of the tow’r; He heard it right well, but he spake nought. And in his heart anon there fell a thought, That they for hunger woulde *do him dien;* *cause him to die* “Alas!” quoth he, “alas that I was wrought!”* *made, born Therewith the teares fell from his eyen.

His youngest son, that three years was of age, Unto him said, “Father, why do ye weep? When will the jailor bringen our pottage? Is there no morsel bread that ye do keep? I am so hungry, that I may not sleep. Now woulde God that I might sleepen ever! Then should not hunger in my wombe* creep; *stomach There is no thing, save bread, that one were lever.”* *dearer

Thus day by day this child begun to cry, Till in his father’s barme* adown he lay, *lap And saide, “Farewell, father, I must die;” And kiss’d his father, and died the same day. And when the woeful father did it sey,* *see For woe his armes two he gan to bite, And said, “Alas! Fortune, and well-away! To thy false wheel my woe all may I wite.”* *blame

His children ween’d that it for hunger was That he his armes gnaw’d, and not for woe, And saide, “Father, do not so, alas! But rather eat the flesh upon us two. Our flesh thou gave us, our flesh take us fro’, And eat enough;” right thus they to him said. And after that, within a day or two, They laid them in his lap adown, and died.

Himself, despaired, eke for hunger starf.* *died Thus ended is this Earl of Pise; From high estate Fortune away him carf.* *cut off Of this tragedy it ought enough suffice Whoso will hear it *in a longer wise,* *at greater length* Reade the greate poet of ltale, That Dante hight, for he can it devise <32> From point to point, not one word will he fail.

Notes to the Monk’s Tale

1. The Monk’s Tale is founded in its main features on Bocccacio’s work, “De Casibus Virorum Illustrium;” (“Stories of Illustrious Men”) but Chaucer has taken the separate stories of which it is composed from different authors, and dealt with them after his own fashion.

2. Boccaccio opens his book with Adam, whose story is told at much greater length than here. Lydgate, in his translation from Boccaccio, speaks of Adam and Eve as made “of slime of the erth in Damascene the felde.”

3. Judges xiii. 3. Boccaccio also tells the story of Samson; but Chaucer seems, by his quotation a few lines below, to have taken his version direct from the sacred book.

4. Oliveres: olive trees; French, “oliviers.”

5. “Liber Judicum,” the Book of Judges; chap. xv.

6. Querne: mill; from Anglo-Saxon, “cyrran,” to turn, “cweorn,” a mill,

7.Harpies: the Stymphalian Birds, which fed on human flesh.

8. Busiris, king of Egypt, was wont to sacrifice all foreigners coming to his dominions. Hercules was seized, bound, and led to the altar by his orders, but the hero broke his bonds and slew the tyrant.

9. The feats of Hercules here recorded are not all these known as the “twelve labours;” for instance, the cleansing of the Augean stables, and the capture of Hippolyte’s girdle are not in this list — other and less famous deeds of the hero taking their place. For this, however, we must accuse not Chaucer, but Boethius, whom he has almost literally translated, though with some change of order.

10. Trophee: One of the manuscripts has a marginal reference to “Tropheus vates Chaldaeorum” (“Tropheus the prophet of the Chaldees”); but it is not known what author Chaucer meant — unless the reference is to a passage in the “Filostrato” of Boccaccio, on which Chaucer founded his “Troilus and Cressida,” and which Lydgate mentions, under the name of “Trophe,” as having been translated by Chaucer.

11. Pres: near; French, “pres;” the meaning seems to be, this nearer, lower world.

12 Chaucer has taken the story of Zenobia from Boccaccio’s work “De Claris Mulieribus.” (“Of Illustrious Women”)

13. Odenatus, who, for his services to the Romans, received from Gallienus the title of “Augustus;” he was assassinated in A.D. 266 — not, it was believed, without the connivance of Zenobia, who succeeded him on the throne.

14. Sapor was king of Persia, who made the Emperor Valerian prisoner, conquered Syria, and was pressing triumphantly westward when he was met and defeated by Odenatus and Zenobia.

15. Aurelain became Emperor in A.D. 270.

16. Vitremite: The signification of this word, which is spelled in several ways, is not known. Skinner’s explanation, “another attire,” founded on the spelling “autremite,” is obviously insufficient.

17. Great part of this “tragedy” of Nero is really borrowed, however, from the “Romance of the Rose.”

18. Trice: thrust; from Anglo-Saxon, “thriccan.”

19. So, in the Man of Law’s Tale, the Sultaness promises her son that she will “reny her lay.”

20. As the “tragedy” of Holofernes is founded on the book of Judith, so is that of Antiochus on the Second Book of the Maccabees, chap. ix.

21. By the insurgents under the leadership of Judas Maccabeus; 2 Macc. chap. viii.

22. Six: the highest cast on a dicing-cube; here representing the highest favour of fortune.

23. Pompey had married his daughter Julia to Caesar; but she died six years before Pompey’s final overthrow.

24. At the battle of Pharsalia, B.C. 48.

25. Word and end: apparently a corruption of the Anglo-Saxon phrase, “ord and end,” meaning the whole, the beginning and the end.

26. At the opening of the story of Croesus, Chaucer has copied from his own translation of Boethius; but the story is mainly taken from the “Romance of the Rose”

27. “This reflection,” says Tyrwhttt, “seems to have been suggested by one which follows soon after the mention of Croesus in the passage just cited from Boethius. ‘What other thing bewail the cryings of tragedies but only the deeds of fortune, that with an awkward stroke, overturneth the realms of great nobley?’” — in some manuscripts the four “tragedies” that follow are placed between those of Zenobia and Nero; but although the general reflection with which the “tragedy” of Croesus closes might most appropriately wind up the whole series, the general chronological arrangement which is observed in the other cases recommends the order followed in the text. Besides, since, like several other Tales, the Monk’s tragedies were cut short by the impatience of the auditors, it is more natural that the Tale should close abruptly, than by such a rhetorical finish as these lines afford.

28. Pedro the Cruel, King of Aragon, against whom his brother Henry rebelled. He was by false pretences inveigled into his brother’s tent, and treacherously slain. Mr Wright has remarked that “the cause of Pedro, though he was no better than a cruel and reckless tyrant, was popular in England from the very circumstance that Prince Edward (the Black Prince) had embarked in it.”

29. Not the Oliver of Charlemagne — but a traitorous Oliver of Armorica, corrupted by a bribe. Ganilion was the betrayer of the Christian army at Roncevalles (see note 9 to the Shipman’s Tale); and his name appears to have been for a long time used in France to denote a traitor. Duguesclin, who betrayed Pedro into his brother’s tent, seems to be intended by the term “Ganilion Oliver,” but if so, Chaucer has mistaken his name, which was Bertrand — perhaps confounding him, as Tyrwhttt suggests, with Oliver du Clisson, another illustrious Breton of those times, who was also Constable of France, after Duguesclin. The arms of the latter are supposed to be described a little above

30. Pierre de Lusignan, King of Cyprus, who captured Alexandria in 1363 (see note 6 to the Prologue to the Tales). He was assassinated in 1369.

31. Bernabo Visconti, Duke of Milan, was deposed and imprisoned by his nephew, and died a captive in 1385. His death is the latest historical fact mentioned in the Tales; and thus it throws the date of their composition to about the sixtieth year of Chaucer’s age.

32. The story of Ugolino is told in the 33rd Canto of the “Inferno.”

THE NUN’S PRIEST’S TALE.

THE PROLOGUE.

“Ho!” quoth the Knight, “good sir, no more of this; That ye have said is right enough, y-wis,* *of a surety And muche more; for little heaviness Is right enough to muche folk, I guess. I say for me, it is a great disease,* *source of distress, annoyance Where as men have been in great wealth and ease, To hearen of their sudden fall, alas! And the contrary is joy and great solas,* *delight, comfort As when a man hath been in poor estate, And climbeth up, and waxeth fortunate, And there abideth in prosperity; Such thing is gladsome, as it thinketh me, And of such thing were goodly for to tell.”

“Yea,” quoth our Hoste, “by Saint Paule’s bell. Ye say right sooth; this monk hath clapped* loud; *talked He spake how Fortune cover’d with a cloud I wot not what, and als’ of a tragedy Right now ye heard: and pardie no remedy It is for to bewaile, nor complain That that is done, and also it is pain, As ye have said, to hear of heaviness. Sir Monk, no more of this, so God you bless; Your tale annoyeth all this company; Such talking is not worth a butterfly, For therein is there no sport nor game; Therefore, Sir Monke, Dan Piers by your name, I pray you heart’ly, tell us somewhat else, For sickerly, n’ere* clinking of your bells, *were it not for the That on your bridle hang on every side, By heaven’s king, that for us alle died, I should ere this have fallen down for sleep, Although the slough had been never so deep; Then had your tale been all told in vain. For certainly, as these clerkes sayn, Where as a man may have no audience, Nought helpeth it to telle his sentence. And well I wot the substance is in me, If anything shall well reported be. Sir, say somewhat of hunting, <1> I you pray.”

“Nay,” quoth the Monk, “I have *no lust to play;* *no fondness for Now let another tell, as I have told.” jesting* Then spake our Host with rude speech and bold, And said unto the Nunne’s Priest anon, “Come near, thou Priest, come hither, thou Sir John, <2> Tell us such thing as may our heartes glade.* *gladden Be blithe, although thou ride upon a jade. What though thine horse be bothe foul and lean? If he will serve thee, reck thou not a bean; Look that thine heart be merry evermo’.”

“Yes, Host,” quoth he, “so may I ride or go, But* I be merry, y-wis I will be blamed.” *unless And right anon his tale he hath attamed* *commenced <3> And thus he said unto us every one, This sweete priest, this goodly man, Sir John.

Notes to the Prologue to the Nun’s Priest’s Tale

1. The request is justified by the description of Monk in the Prologue as “an out-rider, that loved venery.”

2. On this Tyrwhitt remarks; “I know not how it has happened, that in the principal modern languages, John, or its equivalent, is a name of contempt or at least of slight. So the Italians use ‘Gianni,’ from whence ‘Zani;’ the Spaniards ‘Juan,’ as ‘Bobo Juan,’ a foolish John; the French ‘Jean,’ with various additions; and in English, when we call a man ‘a John,’ we do not mean it as a title of honour.” The title of “Sir” was usually given by courtesy to priests.

3. Attamed: commenced, broached. Compare French, “entamer”, to cut the first piece off a joint; thence to begin.

THE TALE. <1>

A poor widow, *somedeal y-stept* in age, *somewhat advanced* Was whilom dwelling in a poor cottage, Beside a grove, standing in a dale. This widow, of which I telle you my tale, Since thilke day that she was last a wife, In patience led a full simple life, For little was *her chattel and her rent.* *her goods and her income* By husbandry* of such as God her sent, *thrifty management She found* herself, and eke her daughters two. *maintained Three large sowes had she, and no mo’; Three kine, and eke a sheep that highte Mall. Full sooty was her bow’r,* and eke her hall, *chamber In which she ate full many a slender meal. Of poignant sauce knew she never a deal.* *whit No dainty morsel passed through her throat; Her diet was *accordant to her cote.* *in keeping with her cottage* Repletion her made never sick; Attemper* diet was all her physic, *moderate And exercise, and *hearte’s suffisance.* *contentment of heart* The goute *let her nothing for to dance,* *did not prevent her Nor apoplexy shente* not her head. from dancing* *hurt No wine drank she, neither white nor red: Her board was served most with white and black, Milk and brown bread, in which she found no lack, Seind* bacon, and sometimes an egg or tway; *singed For she was as it were *a manner dey.* *kind of day labourer* <2> A yard she had, enclosed all about With stickes, and a drye ditch without, In which she had a cock, hight Chanticleer; In all the land of crowing *n’as his peer.* *was not his equal* His voice was merrier than the merry orgon,* *organ <3> On masse days that in the churches gon. Well sickerer* was his crowing in his lodge, *more punctual* Than is a clock, or an abbay horloge.* *clock <4> By nature he knew each ascension Of th’ equinoctial in thilke town; For when degrees fiftene were ascended, Then crew he, that it might not be amended. His comb was redder than the fine coral, Embattell’d <5> as it were a castle wall. His bill was black, and as the jet it shone; Like azure were his legges and his tone;* *toes His nailes whiter than the lily flow’r, And like the burnish’d gold was his colour, This gentle cock had in his governance Sev’n hennes, for to do all his pleasance, Which were his sisters and his paramours, And wondrous like to him as of colours. Of which the fairest-hued in the throat Was called Damoselle Partelote, Courteous she was, discreet, and debonair, And companiable,* and bare herself so fair, *sociable Since the day that she sev’n night was old, That truely she had the heart in hold Of Chanticleer, locked in every lith;* *limb He lov’d her so, that well was him therewith, But such a joy it was to hear them sing, When that the brighte sunne gan to spring, In sweet accord, *“My lefe is fare in land.”* <6> *my love is For, at that time, as I have understand, gone abroad* Beastes and birdes coulde speak and sing.

And so befell, that in a dawening, As Chanticleer among his wives all Sat on his perche, that was in the hall, And next him sat this faire Partelote, This Chanticleer gan groanen in his throat, As man that in his dream is dretched* sore, *oppressed And when that Partelote thus heard him roar, She was aghast,* and saide, “Hearte dear, *afraid What aileth you to groan in this mannere? Ye be a very sleeper, fy for shame!” And he answer’d and saide thus; “Madame, I pray you that ye take it not agrief;* *amiss, in umbrage By God, *me mette* I was in such mischief,** *I dreamed* **trouble Right now, that yet mine heart is sore affright’. Now God,” quoth he, “my sweven* read aright *dream, vision. And keep my body out of foul prisoun. *Me mette,* how that I roamed up and down *I dreamed* Within our yard, where as I saw a beast Was like an hound, and would have *made arrest* *siezed* Upon my body, and would have had me dead. His colour was betwixt yellow and red; And tipped was his tail, and both his ears, With black, unlike the remnant of his hairs. His snout was small, with glowing eyen tway; Yet of his look almost for fear I dey;* *died This caused me my groaning, doubteless.”

“Away,” <7> quoth she, “fy on you, hearteless!* *coward Alas!” quoth she, “for, by that God above! Now have ye lost my heart and all my love; I cannot love a coward, by my faith. For certes, what so any woman saith, We all desiren, if it mighte be, To have husbandes hardy, wise, and free, And secret,* and no niggard nor no fool, *discreet Nor him that is aghast* of every tool,** *afraid **rag, trifle Nor no avantour,* by that God above! *braggart How durste ye for shame say to your love That anything might make you afear’d? Have ye no manne’s heart, and have a beard? Alas! and can ye be aghast of swevenes?* *dreams Nothing but vanity, God wot, in sweven is, Swevens *engender of repletions,* *are caused by over-eating* And oft of fume,* and of complexions, *drunkenness When humours be too abundant in a wight. Certes this dream, which ye have mette tonight, Cometh of the great supefluity Of youre rede cholera,* pardie, *bile Which causeth folk to dreaden in their dreams Of arrows, and of fire with redde beams, Of redde beastes, that they will them bite, Of conteke,* and of whelpes great and lite;** *contention **little Right as the humour of melancholy Causeth full many a man in sleep to cry, For fear of bulles, or of beares blake, Or elles that black devils will them take, Of other humours could I tell also, That worke many a man in sleep much woe; That I will pass as lightly as I can. Lo, Cato, which that was so wise a man, Said he not thus, *‘Ne do no force of* dreams,’<8> *attach no weight to* Now, Sir,” quoth she, “when we fly from these beams, For Godde’s love, as take some laxatife; On peril of my soul, and of my life, I counsel you the best, I will not lie, That both of choler, and melancholy, Ye purge you; and, for ye shall not tarry, Though in this town is no apothecary, I shall myself two herbes teache you, That shall be for your health, and for your prow;* *profit And in our yard the herbes shall I find, The which have of their property by kind* *nature To purge you beneath, and eke above. Sire, forget not this for Godde’s love; Ye be full choleric of complexion; Ware that the sun, in his ascension, You finde not replete of humours hot; And if it do, I dare well lay a groat, That ye shall have a fever tertiane, Or else an ague, that may be your bane, A day or two ye shall have digestives Of wormes, ere ye take your laxatives, Of laurel, centaury, <9> and fumeterere, <10> Or else of elder-berry, that groweth there, Of catapuce, <11> or of the gaitre-berries, <12> Or herb ivy growing in our yard, that merry is: Pick them right as they grow, and eat them in, Be merry, husband, for your father’s kin; Dreade no dream; I can say you no more.”

“Madame,” quoth he, “grand mercy of your lore, But natheless, as touching *Dan Catoun,* *Cato That hath of wisdom such a great renown, Though that he bade no dreames for to dread, By God, men may in olde bookes read Of many a man more of authority Than ever Cato was, so may I the,* *thrive That all the reverse say of his sentence,* *opinion And have well founden by experience That dreames be significations As well of joy, as tribulations That folk enduren in this life present. There needeth make of this no argument; The very preve* sheweth it indeed. *trial, experience One of the greatest authors that men read <13> Saith thus, that whilom two fellowes went On pilgrimage in a full good intent; And happen’d so, they came into a town Where there was such a congregatioun Of people, and eke so *strait of herbergage,* *without lodging* That they found not as much as one cottage In which they bothe might y-lodged be: Wherefore they musten of necessity, As for that night, departe company; And each of them went to his hostelry,* *inn And took his lodging as it woulde fall. The one of them was lodged in a stall, Far in a yard, with oxen of the plough; That other man was lodged well enow, As was his aventure, or his fortune, That us governeth all, as in commune. And so befell, that, long ere it were day, This man mette* in his bed, there: as he lay, *dreamed How that his fellow gan upon him call, And said, ‘Alas! for in an ox’s stall This night shall I be murder’d, where I lie Now help me, deare brother, or I die; In alle haste come to me,’ he said. This man out of his sleep for fear abraid;* *started But when that he was wak’d out of his sleep, He turned him, and *took of this no keep;* *paid this no attention* He thought his dream was but a vanity. Thus twies* in his sleeping dreamed he, *twice And at the thirde time yet his fellaw again Came, as he thought, and said, ‘I am now slaw;* *slain Behold my bloody woundes, deep and wide. Arise up early, in the morning, tide, And at the west gate of the town,’ quoth he, ‘A carte full of dung there shalt: thou see, In which my body is hid privily. Do thilke cart arroste* boldely. *stop My gold caused my murder, sooth to sayn.’ And told him every point how he was slain, With a full piteous face, and pale of hue.

“And, truste well, his dream he found full true; For on the morrow, as soon as it was day, To his fellowes inn he took his way; And when that he came to this ox’s stall, After his fellow he began to call. The hostelere answered him anon, And saide, ‘Sir, your fellow is y-gone, As soon as day he went out of the town.’ This man gan fallen in suspicioun, Rememb’ring on his dreames that he mette,* *dreamed And forth he went, no longer would he let,* *delay Unto the west gate of the town, and fand* *found A dung cart, as it went for to dung land, That was arrayed in the same wise As ye have heard the deade man devise;* *describe And with an hardy heart he gan to cry, ‘Vengeance and justice of this felony: My fellow murder’d in this same night And in this cart he lies, gaping upright. I cry out on the ministers,’ quoth he. ‘That shoulde keep and rule this city; Harow! alas! here lies my fellow slain.’ What should I more unto this tale sayn? The people out start, and cast the cart to ground And in the middle of the dung they found The deade man, that murder’d was all new. O blissful God! that art so good and true, Lo, how that thou bewray’st murder alway. Murder will out, that see we day by day. Murder is so wlatsom* and abominable *loathsome To God, that is so just and reasonable, That he will not suffer it heled* be; *concealed <14> Though it abide a year, or two, or three, Murder will out, this is my conclusioun, And right anon, the ministers of the town Have hent* the carter, and so sore him pined,** *seized **tortured And eke the hostelere so sore engined,* *racked That they beknew* their wickedness anon, *confessed And were hanged by the necke bone.

“Here may ye see that dreames be to dread. And certes in the same book I read, Right in the nexte chapter after this (I gabbe* not, so have I joy and bliss), *talk idly Two men that would, have passed over sea, For certain cause, into a far country, If that the wind not hadde been contrary, That made them in a city for to tarry, That stood full merry upon an haven side; But on a day, against the even-tide, The wind gan change, and blew right *as them lest.* *as they wished* Jolly and glad they wente to their rest, And caste* them full early for to sail. *resolved But to the one man fell a great marvail That one of them, in sleeping as he lay, He mette* a wondrous dream, against the day: *dreamed He thought a man stood by his bedde’s side, And him commanded that he should abide; And said him thus; ‘If thou to-morrow wend, Thou shalt be drown’d; my tale is at an end.’ He woke, and told his follow what he mette, And prayed him his voyage for to let;* *delay As for that day, he pray’d him to abide. His fellow, that lay by his bedde’s side, Gan for to laugh, and scorned him full fast. ‘No dream,’ quoth he,’may so my heart aghast,* *frighten That I will lette* for to do my things.* *delay I sette not a straw by thy dreamings, For swevens* be but vanities and japes.** *dreams **jokes,deceits Men dream all day of owles and of apes, And eke of many a maze* therewithal; *wild imagining Men dream of thing that never was, nor shall. But since I see, that thou wilt here abide, And thus forslothe* wilfully thy tide,** *idle away **time God wot, *it rueth me;* and have good day.’ *I am sorry for it* And thus he took his leave, and went his way. But, ere that he had half his course sail’d, I know not why, nor what mischance it ail’d, But casually* the ship’s bottom rent, *by accident And ship and man under the water went, In sight of other shippes there beside That with him sailed at the same tide.