Geoffrey Chaucer《The Canterbury Tales and Other Poems》2

Other Poems
THE ASSEMBLY OF FOWLS
THE HOUSE OF FAME
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
THE PROLOGUE TO THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN
CHAUCER’S A.B.C.
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS
THE ASSEMBLY OF FOWLS.

[In “The Assembly of Fowls” — which Chaucer’s “Retractation” describes as “The Book of Saint Valentine’s Day, or of the Parliament of Birds” — we are presented with a picture of the mediaeval “Court of Love” far closer to the reality than we find in Chaucer’s poem which bears that express title. We have a regularly constituted conclave or tribunal, under a president whose decisions are final. A difficult question is proposed for the consideration and judgment of the Court — the disputants advancing and vindicating their claims in person. The attendants upon the Court, through specially chosen mouthpieces, deliver their opinions on the cause; and finally a decision is authoritatively pronounced by the president — which, as in many of the cases actually judged before the Courts of Love in France, places the reasonable and modest wish of a sensitive and chaste lady above all the eagerness of her lovers, all the incongruous counsels of representative courtiers. So far, therefore, as the poem reproduces the characteristic features of procedure in those romantic Middle Age halls of amatory justice, Chaucer’s “Assembly of Fowls” is his real “Court of Love;” for although, in the castle and among the courtiers of Admetus and Alcestis, we have all the personages and machinery necessary for one of those erotic contentions, in the present poem we see the personages and the machinery actually at work, upon another scene and under other guises. The allegory which makes the contention arise out of the loves, and proceed in the assembly, of the feathered race, is quite in keeping with the fanciful yet nature-loving spirit of the poetry of Chaucer’s time, in which the influence of the Troubadours was still largely present. It is quite in keeping, also, with the principles that regulated the Courts, the purpose of which was more to discuss and determine the proper conduct of love affairs, than to secure conviction or acquittal, sanction or reprobation, in particular cases — though the jurisdiction and the judgments of such assemblies often closely concerned individuals. Chaucer introduces us to his main theme through the vestibule of a fancied dream — a method which be repeatedly employs with great relish, as for instance in “The House of Fame.” He has spent the whole day over Cicero’s account of the Dream of Scipio (Africanus the Younger); and, having gone to bed, he dreams that Africanus the Elder appears to him — just as in the book he appeared to his namesake — and carries him into a beautiful park, in which is a fair garden by a river-side. Here the poet is led into a splendid temple, through a crowd of courtiers allegorically representing the various instruments, pleasures, emotions, and encouragements of Love; and in the temple Venus herself is found, sporting with her porter Richess. Returning into the garden, he sees the Goddess of Nature seated on a hill of flowers; and before her are assembled all the birds — for it is Saint Valentine’s Day, when every fowl chooses her mate. Having with a graphic touch enumerated and described the principal birds, the poet sees that on her hand Nature bears a female eagle of surpassing loveliness and virtue, for which three male eagles advance contending claims. The disputation lasts all day; and at evening the assembled birds, eager to be gone with their mates, clamour for a decision. The tercelet, the goose, the cuckoo, and the turtle —for birds of prey, waterfowl, worm-fowl, and seed-fowl respectively — pronounce their verdicts on the dispute, in speeches full of character and humour; but Nature refers the decision between the three claimants to the female eagle herself, who prays that she may have a year’s respite. Nature grants the prayer, pronounces judgment accordingly, and dismisses the assembly; and after a chosen choir has sung a roundel in honour of the Goddess, all the birds fly away, and the poet awakes. It is probable that Chaucer derived the idea of the poem from a French source; Mr Bell gives the outline of a fabliau, of which three versions existed, and in which a contention between two ladies regarding the merits of their respective lovers, a knight and a clerk, is decided by Cupid in a Court composed of birds, which assume their sides according to their different natures.

Whatever the source of the idea, its management, and the whole workmanship of the poem, especially in the more humorous passages, are essentially Chaucer’s own.]

THE life so short, the craft so long to learn, Th’assay so hard, so sharp the conquering, The dreadful joy, alway that *flits so yern; fleets so fast*

All this mean I by* Love, that my feeling with reference to Astoneth with his wonderful working, amazes So sore, y-wis, that, when I on him think, Naught wit I well whether I fleet or sink, float For all be* that I know not Love indeed, albeit, although

Nor wot how that he *quiteth folk their hire, rewards folk for Yet happeth me full oft in books to read their service*

Of his miracles, and of his cruel ire; There read I well, he will be lord and sire; I dare not saye, that his strokes be sore; But God save such a lord! I can no more.

Of usage, what for lust and what for lore, On bookes read I oft, as I you told.

But wherefore speak I alle this? Not yore Agone, it happed me for to behold

Upon a book written with letters old;

And thereupon, a certain thing to learn, The longe day full fast I read and yern. eagerly For out of the old fieldes, as men saith, Cometh all this new corn, from year to year; And out of olde bookes, in good faith, Cometh all this new science that men lear. learn But now to purpose as of this mattere: To reade forth it gan me so delight,

That all the day me thought it but a lite. little while This book, of which I make mention,

Entitled was right thus, as I shall tell; “Tullius, of the Dream of Scipion:” <1>

Chapters seven it had, of heav’n, and hell, And earth, and soules that therein do dwell; Of which, as shortly as I can it treat, Of his sentence I will you say the great. important part First telleth it, when Scipio was come To Africa, how he met Massinisse,

That him for joy in armes hath y-nome. taken <2>

Then telleth he their speech, and all the bliss That was between them till the day gan miss. fail And how his ancestor Africane so dear

Gan in his sleep that night to him appear.

Then telleth it, that from a starry place How Africane hath him Carthage y-shew’d, And warned him before of all his grace, <3>

And said him, what man, learned either lewd, ignorant That loveth *common profit,* well y-thew’d, the public advantage

He should unto a blissful place wend, go Where as the joy is without any end.

Then asked he,* if folk that here be dead *i.e. the younger Scipio Have life, and dwelling, in another place?

And Africane said, “Yea, withoute dread;” doubt And how our present worldly lives’ space Meant but a manner death, <4> what way we trace; And rightful folk should go, after they die, To Heav’n; and showed him the galaxy.

Then show’d he him the little earth that here is, *To regard* the heaven’s quantity; *by comparison with And after show’d he him the nine spheres; <5>

And after that the melody heard he,

That cometh of those spheres thrice three, That wells of music be and melody

In this world here, and cause of harmony.

Then said he him, since earthe was so lite, small And full of torment and of *harde grace, evil fortune That he should not him in this world delight.

Then told he him, in certain yeares’ space, That ev’ry star should come into his place, Where it was first; and all should *out of mind, perish from memory*

That in this world is done of all mankind.

Then pray’d him Scipio, to tell him all The way to come into that Heaven’s bliss; And he said: “First know thyself immortal, And look aye busily that thou work and wiss guide affairs To common profit, and thou shalt not miss To come swiftly unto that place dear,

That full of bliss is, and of soules clear. noble <6>

“And breakers of the law, the sooth to sayn, And likerous* folk, after that they be dead, lecherous Shall whirl about the world always in pain, Till many a world be passed, out of dread; without doubt*

And then, forgiven all their wicked deed, They shalle come unto that blissful place, To which to come God thee sende grace!”

The day gan failen, and the darke night, That reaveth* beastes from their business, *taketh away Berefte me my book for lack of light,

And to my bed I gan me for to dress, prepare Full fill’d of thought and busy heaviness; For both I hadde thing which that I n’old, would not And eke I had not that thing that I wo’ld.

But, finally, my spirit at the last,

Forweary* of my labour all that day, utterly wearied Took rest, that made me to sleepe fast; And in my sleep I mette, as that I say, dreamed How Africane, right in the self array same garb*

That Scipio him saw before that tide, time Was come, and stood right at my bedde’s side.

The weary hunter, sleeping in his bed, To wood again his mind goeth anon;

The judge dreameth how his pleas be sped; The carter dreameth how his cartes go’n; The rich of gold, the knight fights with his fone; foes The sicke mette he drinketh of the tun; <7>

The lover mette he hath his lady won.

I cannot say, if that the cause were,

For* I had read of Africane beforn, because That made me to mette that he stood there; But thus said he; “Thou hast thee so well borne In looking of mine old book all to-torn, Of which Macrobius raught not a lite, recked not a little*

That *somedeal of thy labour would I quite.” I would reward you for some of your labour*

Cytherea, thou blissful Lady sweet!

That with thy firebrand dauntest *when thee lest, when you please*

That madest me this sweven* for to mette, *dream Be thou my help in this, for thou may’st best!

As wisly* as I saw the north-north-west, <8> *surely When I began my sweven for to write,

So give me might to rhyme it and endite. write down This foresaid Africane me hent* anon, *took And forth with him unto a gate brought Right of a park, walled with greene stone; And o’er the gate, with letters large y-wrought, There were verses written, as me thought, On either half, of full great difference, Of which I shall you say the plain sentence. meaning “Through me men go into the blissful place <9>

Of hearte’s heal and deadly woundes’ cure; Through me men go unto the well of grace; Where green and lusty May shall ever dure; This is the way to all good adventure; Be glad, thou reader, and thy sorrow off cast; All open am I; pass in and speed thee fast.”

“Through me men go,” thus spake the other side, “Unto the mortal strokes of the spear, Of which disdain and danger is the guide; There never tree shall fruit nor leaves bear; This stream you leadeth to the sorrowful weir, Where as the fish in prison is all dry; <10>

Th’eschewing is the only remedy.”

These verses of gold and azure written were, On which I gan astonish’d to behold;

For with that one increased all my fear, And with that other gan my heart to bold; take courage That one me het,* that other did me cold; heated No wit had I, for error, for to choose *perplexity, confusion To enter or fly, or me to save or lose.

Right as betwixten adamantes* two *magnets Of even weight, a piece of iron set,

Ne hath no might to move to nor fro;

For what the one may hale,* the other let;* attract **restrain So far’d I, that *n’ist whether me was bet knew not whether it was T’ enter or leave, till Africane, my guide, better for me*

Me hent* and shov’d in at the gates wide. caught And said, “It standeth written in thy face, Thine error, though thou tell it not to me; perplexity, confusion But dread thou not to come into this place; For this writing is nothing meant by* thee, does not refer to

Nor by none, but* he Love’s servant be; *unless For thou of Love hast lost thy taste, I guess, As sick man hath of sweet and bitterness.

“But natheless, although that thou be dull, That thou canst not do, yet thou mayest see; For many a man that may not stand a pull, Yet likes it him at wrestling for to be, And deeme* whether he doth bet,** or he; judge *better And, if thou haddest cunning* to endite, skill I shall thee showe matter of to write.” to write about*

With that my hand in his he took anon, Of which I comfort caught,* and went in fast. *took But, Lord! so I was glad and well-begone! fortunate For *over all,* where I my eyen cast, everywhere

Were trees y-clad with leaves that ay shall last, Each in his kind, with colour fresh and green As emerald, that joy it was to see’n.

The builder oak; and eke the hardy ash; The pillar elm, the coffer unto carrain; The box, pipe tree; the holm, to whippe’s lash The sailing fir; the cypress death to plain; The shooter yew; the aspe for shaftes plain; Th’olive of peace, and eke the drunken vine; The victor palm; the laurel, too, divine. <11>

A garden saw I, full of blossom’d boughes,
Upon a river, in a greene mead,
Where as sweetness evermore enow is,
With flowers white, blue, yellow, and red,
And colde welle* streames, nothing dead, *fountain
That swamme full of smalle fishes light,
With finnes red, and scales silver bright.

On ev’ry bough the birdes heard I sing, With voice of angels in their harmony, That busied them their birdes forth to bring; The pretty conies* to their play gan hie; rabbits *haste And further all about I gan espy

The dreadful* roe, the buck, the hart, and hind, *timid Squirrels, and beastes small, of gentle kind. nature Of instruments of stringes in accord

Heard I so play a ravishing sweetness, That God, that Maker is of all and Lord, Ne hearde never better, as I guess:

Therewith a wind, unneth* it might be less, scarcely Made in the leaves green a noise soft, Accordant the fowles’ song on loft.* in keeping with **above Th’air of the place so attemper* was, mild That ne’er was there grievance of hot nor cold; annoyance There was eke ev’ry wholesome spice and grass, Nor no man may there waxe sick nor old: Yet was there more joy a thousand fold *moreover Than I can tell, or ever could or might; There ever is clear day, and never night.

Under a tree, beside a well, I sey saw Cupid our lord his arrows forge and file; polish And at his feet his bow all ready lay; And well his daughter temper’d, all the while, The heades in the well; and with her wile cleverness She couch’d* them after, as they shoulde serve *arranged in order Some for to slay, and some to wound and kerve. carve, cut Then was I ware of Pleasance anon right, And of Array, and Lust, and Courtesy,

And of the Craft, that can and hath the might To do* by force a wight to do folly; make Disfigured was she, I will not lie; *disguised And by himself, under an oak, I guess, Saw I Delight, that stood with Gentleness.

Then saw I Beauty, with a nice attire, And Youthe, full of game and jollity,

Foolhardiness, Flattery, and Desire,

Messagerie, and Meed, and other three; <12>

Their names shall not here be told for me: And upon pillars great of jasper long

I saw a temple of brass y-founded strong.

And [all] about the temple danc’d alway Women enough, of whiche some there were Fair of themselves, and some of them were gay In kirtles* all dishevell’d went they there; tunics That was their office ever, from year to year; *duty, occupation And on the temple saw I, white and fair, Of doves sitting many a thousand pair. <13>

Before the temple door, full soberly,

Dame Peace sat, a curtain in her hand; And her beside, wonder discreetely,

Dame Patience sitting there I fand, found With face pale, upon a hill of sand;

And althernext, within and eke without, Behest,* and Art, and of their folk a rout.* Promise **crowd Within the temple, of sighes hot as fire I heard a swough,* that gan aboute ren,* murmur **run Which sighes were engender’d with desire, That made every hearte for to bren burn Of newe flame; and well espied I then, That all the cause of sorrows that they dree endure Came of the bitter goddess Jealousy.

The God Priapus <14> saw I, as I went

Within the temple, in sov’reign place stand, In such array, as when the ass him shent* <15> *ruined With cry by night, and with sceptre in hand: Full busily men gan assay and fand endeavour Upon his head to set, of sundry hue,

Garlandes full of freshe flowers new.

And in a privy corner, in disport,

Found I Venus and her porter Richess,

That was full noble and hautain* of her port; *haughty <16>

Dark was that place, but afterward lightness I saw a little, unneth* it might be less; *scarcely And on a bed of gold she lay to rest,

Till that the hote sun began to west. decline towards the wesr Her gilded haires with a golden thread Y-bounden were, untressed,* as she lay; *loose And naked from the breast unto the head Men might her see; and, soothly for to say, The remnant cover’d, welle to my pay, satisfaction <17>

Right with a little kerchief of Valence;<18>

There was no thicker clothe of defence.

The place gave a thousand savours swoot; sweet And Bacchus, god of wine, sat her beside; And Ceres next, that *doth of hunger boot;*<19> relieves hunger

And, as I said, amiddes* lay Cypride, <20> *in the midst To whom on knees the younge folke cried To be their help: but thus I let her lie, And farther in the temple gan espy,

<See note 21 for the stories of the lovers in the next two stanzas>

That, in despite of Diana the chaste,

Full many a bowe broke hung on the wall, Of maidens, such as go their time to waste In her service: and painted over all

Of many a story, of which I touche shall A few, as of Calist’, and Atalant’,

And many a maid, of which the name I want. do not have Semiramis, Canace, and Hercules,

Biblis, Dido, Thisbe and Pyramus,

Tristram, Isoude, Paris, and Achilles, Helena, Cleopatra, Troilus,

Scylla, and eke the mother of Romulus; All these were painted on the other side, And all their love, and in what plight they died.

When I was come again into the place

That I of spake, that was so sweet and green, Forth walk’d I then, myselfe to solace: Then was I ware where there sat a queen, That, as of light the summer Sunne sheen Passeth the star, right so *over measure out of all proportion*

She fairer was than any creature.

And in a lawn, upon a hill of flowers, Was set this noble goddess of Nature;

Of branches were her halles and her bowers Y-wrought, after her craft and her measure; Nor was there fowl that comes of engendrure That there ne were prest,* in her presence, *ready <22>

To *take her doom,* and give her audience. receive her decision

For this was on Saint Valentine’s Day, When ev’ry fowl cometh to choose her make, mate Of every kind that men thinken may;

And then so huge a noise gan they make, That earth, and sea, and tree, and ev’ry lake, So full was, that unnethes* there was space *scarcely For me to stand, so full was all the place.

And right as Alain, in his Plaint of Kind, <23>

Deviseth* Nature of such array and face; *describeth In such array men mighte her there find.

This noble Emperess, full of all grace, Bade ev’ry fowle take her owen place,

As they were wont alway, from year to year, On Saint Valentine’s Day to stande there.

That is to say, the *fowles of ravine birds of prey*

Were highest set, and then the fowles smale, That eaten as them Nature would incline; As worme-fowl, of which I tell no tale; But waterfowl sat lowest in the dale,

And fowls that live by seed sat on the green, And that so many, that wonder was to see’n.

There mighte men the royal eagle find, That with his sharpe look pierceth the Sun; And other eagles of a lower kind,

Of which that *clerkes well devise con; which scholars well There was the tyrant with his feathers dun can describe*

And green, I mean the goshawk, that doth pine cause pain To birds, for his outrageous ravine. slaying, hunting The gentle falcon, that with his feet distraineth grasps The kinge’s hand; <24> the hardy* sperhawk eke, pert The quaile’s foe; the merlion <25> that paineth Himself full oft the larke for to seek; There was the dove, with her eyen meek; The jealous swan, against his death that singeth; in anticipation of The owl eke, that of death the bode bringeth. *omen The crane, the giant, with his trumpet soun’; The thief the chough; and eke the chatt’ring pie; The scorning jay; <26> the eel’s foe the heroun; The false lapwing, full of treachery; <27>

The starling, that the counsel can betray; The tame ruddock,* and the coward kite; robin-redbreast The cock, that horologe is of *thorpes lite. clock *little villages*

The sparrow, Venus’ son; <28> the nightingale, That calleth forth the freshe leaves new; <29>

The swallow, murd’rer of the bees smale, That honey make of flowers fresh of hue; The wedded turtle, with his hearte true; The peacock, with his angel feathers bright; <30>

The pheasant, scorner of the cock by night; <31>

The waker goose; <32> the cuckoo ever unkind; <33>

The popinjay,* full of delicacy; *parrot The drake, destroyer of his owen kind; <34>

The stork, the wreaker* of adultery; <35> *avenger The hot cormorant, full of gluttony; <36>

The raven and the crow, with voice of care; <37>

The throstle old;* and the frosty fieldfare.<38> *long-lived What should I say? Of fowls of ev’ry kind That in this world have feathers and stature, Men mighten in that place assembled find, Before that noble goddess of Nature;

And each of them did all his busy cure care, pains Benignely to choose, or for to take,

By her accord,* his formel <39> or his make.* consent **mate But to the point. Nature held on her hand A formel eagle, of shape the gentilest That ever she among her workes fand,

The most benign, and eke the goodliest; In her was ev’ry virtue at its rest, highest point So farforth that Nature herself had bliss To look on her, and oft her beak to kiss.

Nature, the vicar of th’Almighty Lord, —

That hot, cold, heavy, light, and moist, and dry, Hath knit, by even number of accord, —

In easy voice began to speak, and say: “Fowles, take heed of my sentence,”* I pray; *opinion, discourse And for your ease, in furth’ring of your need, As far as I may speak, I will me speed.

“Ye know well how, on Saint Valentine’s Day, By my statute, and through my governance, Ye choose your mates, and after fly away With them, as I you *pricke with pleasance; inspire with pleasure*

But natheless, as by rightful ordinance, May I not let,* for all this world to win, *hinder But he that most is worthy shall begin.

“The tercel eagle, as ye know full weel, well The fowl royal, above you all in degree, The wise and worthy, secret, true as steel, The which I formed have, as ye may see, In ev’ry part, as it best liketh me, —

It needeth not his shape you to devise,* — describe He shall first choose, and speaken in his guise. in his own way*

“And, after him, by order shall ye choose, After your kind, evereach as you liketh; And as your hap* is, shall ye win or lose; *fortune But which of you that love most entriketh, entangles <40>

God send him her that sorest for him siketh.” sigheth And therewithal the tercel gan she call, And said, “My son, the choice is to thee fall.

“But natheless, in this condition

Must be the choice of ev’reach that is here, That she agree to his election,

Whoso he be, that shoulde be her fere; companion This is our usage ay, from year to year; And whoso may at this time have this grace, *In blissful time* he came into this place.” in a happy hour

With head inclin’d, and with full humble cheer, demeanour This royal tercel spake, and tarried not: “Unto my sov’reign lady, and not my fere, companion I chose and choose, with will, and heart, and thought, The formel on your hand, so well y-wrought, Whose I am all, and ever will her serve, Do what her list, to do me live or sterve. die “Beseeching her of mercy and of grace, As she that is my lady sovereign,

Or let me die here present in this place, For certes long may I not live in pain; *For in my heart is carven ev’ry vein: every vein in my heart is Having regard only unto my truth, wounded with love*

My deare heart, have on my woe some ruth. pity “And if that I be found to her untrue, Disobeisant,* or wilful negligent, disobedient Avaunter, or in process love a new, braggart in the course I pray to you, this be my judgement, of time*

That with these fowles I be all to-rent, torn to pieces That ilke* day that she me ever find *same To her untrue, or in my guilt unkind.

“And since none loveth her so well as I, Although she never of love me behet, promised Then ought she to be mine, through her mercy; For *other bond can I none on her knit; I can bind her no other way*

For weal or for woe, never shall I let cease, fail To serve her, how far so that she wend; go Say what you list, my tale is at an end.”

Right as the freshe redde rose new
Against the summer Sunne colour’d is,
Right so, for shame, all waxen gan the hue Of this formel, when she had heard all this; *Neither she answer’d well, nor said amiss, she answered nothing, So sore abashed was she, till Nature either well or ill*

Said, “Daughter, dread you not, I you assure.” confirm, support Another tercel eagle spake anon,

Of lower kind, and said that should not be; “I love her better than ye do, by Saint John!

Or at the least I love her as well as ye, And longer have her serv’d in my degree; And if she should have lov’d for long loving, To me alone had been the guerdoning. reward “I dare eke say, if she me finde false, Unkind, janglere,* rebel in any wise, boastful Or jealous, do me hange by the halse; hang me by the neck*

And but* I beare me in her service *unless As well ay as my wit can me suffice,

From point to point, her honour for to save, Take she my life and all the good I have.”

A thirde tercel eagle answer’d tho: then “Now, Sirs, ye see the little leisure here; For ev’ry fowl cries out to be ago

Forth with his mate, or with his lady dear; And eke Nature herselfe will not hear, For tarrying her, not half that I would say; And but* I speak, I must for sorrow dey.* unless **die Of long service avaunt* I me no thing, *boast But as possible is me to die to-day,

For woe, as he that hath been languishing This twenty winter; and well happen may A man may serve better, and *more to pay, with more satisfaction*

In half a year, although it were no more.

Than some man doth that served hath *full yore. for a long time*

“I say not this by me for that I can

Do no service that may my lady please; But I dare say, I am her truest man, liegeman, servant As to my doom, and fainest would her please; in my judgement At shorte words,* until that death me seize, in one word

I will be hers, whether I wake or wink.
And true in all that hearte may bethink.”

Of all my life, since that day I was born, So gentle plea, in love or other thing, such noble pleading

Ye hearde never no man me beforn;

Whoso that hadde leisure and cunning skill For to rehearse their cheer and their speaking: And from the morrow gan these speeches last, Till downward went the Sunne wonder fast.

The noise of fowles for to be deliver’d set free to depart So loude rang, “Have done and let us wend,” go That well ween’d I the wood had all to-shiver’d: been shaken to “Come off!” they cried; “alas! ye will us shend!* pieces ruin When will your cursed pleading have an end?

How should a judge either party believe, For yea or nay, withouten any preve?” proof The goose, the duck, and the cuckoo also, So cried “keke, keke,” “cuckoo,” “queke queke,” high, That through mine ears the noise wente tho. then The goose said then, “All this n’is worth a fly!

But I can shape hereof a remedy;

And I will say my verdict, fair and swith, speedily For waterfowl, whoso be wroth or blith.” glad “And I for worm-fowl,” said the fool cuckow; For I will, of mine own authority,

For common speed,* take on me the charge now; *advantage For to deliver us is great charity.”

“Ye may abide a while yet, pardie,” by God Quoth then the turtle; “if it be your will A wight may speak, it were as good be still.

“I am a seed-fowl, one th’unworthiest, That know I well, and the least of cunning; But better is, that a wight’s tongue rest, Than *entremette him of* such doing meddle with <41>

Of which he neither rede* can nor sing; *counsel And who it doth, full foul himself accloyeth, embarrasseth For office uncommanded oft annoyeth.”

Nature, which that alway had an ear

To murmur of the lewedness behind,

With facond* voice said, “Hold your tongues there, eloquent, fluent And I shall soon, I hope, a counsel find, You to deliver, and from this noise unbind; I charge of ev’ry flock ye shall one call, *class of fowl To say the verdict of you fowles all.”

The tercelet* said then in this mannere; *male hawk “Full hard it were to prove it by reason, Who loveth best this gentle formel here; For ev’reach hath such replication, reply That by skilles* may none be brought adown; *arguments I cannot see that arguments avail;

Then seemeth it that there must be battaile.”

“All ready!” quoth those eagle tercels tho; then “Nay, Sirs!” quoth he; “if that I durst it say, Ye do me wrong, my tale is not y-do, done For, Sirs, — and *take it not agrief,* I pray, — be not offended

It may not be as ye would, in this way: Ours is the voice that have the charge in hand, And *to the judges’ doom ye muste stand. ye must abide by the judges’ decision*

“And therefore ‘Peace!’ I say; as to my wit, Me woulde think, how that the worthiest Of knighthood, and had longest used it, Most of estate, of blood the gentilest, Were fitting most for her, *if that her lest; if she pleased*

And, of these three she knows herself, I trow, am sure Which that he be; for it is light* to know.” easy The waterfowles have their heades laid Together, and of short advisement, after brief deliberation*

When evereach his verdict had y-said

They saide soothly all by one assent,

How that “The goose with the *facond gent, refined eloquence*

That so desired to pronounce our need,* business Shall tell our tale;” and prayed God her speed.

And for those waterfowles then began

The goose to speak. and in her cackeling She saide, “Peace, now! take keep* ev’ry man, *heed And hearken what reason I shall forth bring; My wit is sharp, I love no tarrying;

I say I rede him, though he were my brother, But* she will love him, let him love another!” *unless “Lo! here a perfect reason of a goose!”

Quoth the sperhawke. “Never may she the! thrive Lo such a thing ‘tis t’have a tongue loose!

Now, pardie: fool, yet were it bet* for thee *better Have held thy peace, than show’d thy nicety; foolishness It lies not in his wit, nor in his will, But sooth is said, a fool cannot be still.”

The laughter rose of gentle fowles all; And right anon the seed-fowls chosen had The turtle true, and gan her to them call, And prayed her to say the *soothe sad serious truth*

Of this mattere, and asked what she rad; counselled And she answer’d, that plainly her intent She woulde show, and soothly what she meant.

“Nay! God forbid a lover shoulde change!”

The turtle said, and wax’d for shame all red: “Though that his lady evermore be strange, disdainful Yet let him serve her ay, till he be dead; For, sooth, I praise not the goose’s rede counsel For, though she died, I would none other make; mate I will be hers till that the death me take.”

*“Well bourded!” quoth the ducke, “by my hat! a pretty joke!*

That men should loven alway causeless, Who can a reason find, or wit, in that?

Danceth he merry, that is mirtheless?

Who shoulde *reck of that is reckeless? care for one who has Yea! queke yet,” quoth the duck, “full well and fair! no care for him*

There be more starres, God wot, than a pair!” <42>

“Now fy, churl!” quoth the gentle tercelet, “Out of the dunghill came that word aright; Thou canst not see which thing is well beset; Thou far’st by love, as owles do by light,—

The day them blinds, full well they see by night; Thy kind is of so low a wretchedness,

That what love is, thou caust not see nor guess.”

Then gan the cuckoo put him forth in press, in the crowd For fowl that eateth worm, and said belive: quickly “So I,” quoth he, “may have my mate in peace, I recke not how longe that they strive.

Let each of them be solain* all their life; *single <43>

This is my rede,* since they may not accord; *counsel This shorte lesson needeth not record.”

“Yea, have the glutton fill’d enough his paunch, Then are we well!” saide the emerlon; merlin “Thou murd’rer of the heggsugg,* on the branch *hedge-sparrow That brought thee forth, thou most rueful glutton, <44>

Live thou solain, worme’s corruption!

*For no force is to lack of thy nature; the loss of a bird of your Go! lewed be thou, while the world may dare!” depraved nature is no matter of regret.*

“Now peace,” quoth Nature, “I commande here; For I have heard all your opinion,

And in effect yet be we ne’er the nere. nearer But, finally, this is my conclusion, —

That she herself shall have her election Of whom her list, whoso be *wroth or blith; angry or glad*

Him that she chooseth, he shall her have as swith. quickly “For since it may not here discussed be Who loves her best, as said the tercelet, Then will I do this favour t’ her, that she Shall have right him on whom her heart is set, And he her, that his heart hath on her knit: This judge I, Nature, for* I may not lie because To none estate; I have none other eye. can see the matter in no other light*

“But as for counsel for to choose a make, If I were Reason, [certes] then would I Counsaile you the royal tercel take,

As saith the tercelet full skilfully, reasonably As for the gentilest, and most worthy, Which I have wrought so well to my pleasance, That to you it ought be *a suffisance.” to your satisfaction*

With dreadful* voice the formel her answer’d: *frightened “My rightful lady, goddess of Nature,

Sooth is, that I am ever under your yerd, rod, or government As is every other creature,

And must be yours, while that my life may dure; And therefore grante me my firste boon, favour And mine intent you will I say right soon.”

“I grant it you,” said she; and right anon This formel eagle spake in this degree: manner “Almighty queen, until this year be done I aske respite to advise me;

And after that to have my choice all free; This is all and some that I would speak and say; Ye get no more, although ye *do me dey. slay me*

“I will not serve Venus, nor Cupide,

For sooth as yet, by no manner [of] way.”

“Now since it may none other ways betide,” happen Quoth Dame Nature, “there is no more to say; Then would I that these fowles were away, Each with his mate, for longer tarrying here.”

And said them thus, as ye shall after hear.

“To you speak I, ye tercels,” quoth Nature; “Be of good heart, and serve her alle three; A year is not so longe to endure;

And each of you pain him in his degree strive

For to do well, for, God wot, quit is she From you this year, what after so befall; This entremess is dressed for you all.” dish is prepared

And when this work y-brought was to an end, To ev’ry fowle Nature gave his make,

By even accord, and on their way they wend: fair agreement

And, Lord! the bliss and joye that they make!

For each of them gan other in his wings take, And with their neckes each gan other wind, enfold, caress Thanking alway the noble goddess of Kind.

But first were chosen fowles for to sing,—

As year by year was alway their usance,* — *custom To sing a roundel at their departing,

To do to Nature honour and pleasance;

The note, I trowe, maked was in France; The wordes were such as ye may here find The nexte verse, as I have now in mind: Qui bien aime, tard oublie. <45>

“Now welcome summer, with thy sunnes soft, That hast these winter weathers overshake dispersed, overcome Saint Valentine, thou art full high on loft, Which driv’st away the longe nightes blake; black Thus singe smalle fowles for thy sake: Well have they cause for to gladden* oft, *be glad, make mirth Since each of them recover’d hath his make; mate Full blissful may they sing when they awake.”

And with the shouting, when their song was do, done That the fowls maden at their flight away, I woke, and other bookes took me to,
To read upon; and yet I read alway.
I hope, y-wis, to reade so some day,
That I shall meete something for to fare The bet;* and thus to read I will not spare. *better

Explicit. the end Notes to The Assembly of Fowls
1. “The Dream of Scipio” — “Somnium Scipionis” — occupies most of the sixth book of Cicero’s “Republic;” which, indeed, as it has come down to us, is otherwise imperfect. Scipio Africanus Minor is represented as relating a dream which he had when, in B.C. 149, he went to Africa as military tribune to the fourth legion. He had talked long and earnestly of his adoptive grandfather with Massinissa, King of Numidia, the intimate friend of the great Scipio; and at night his illustrious ancestor appeared to him in a vision, foretold the overthrow of Carthage and all his other triumphs, exhorted him to virtue and patriotism by the assurance of rewards in the next world, and discoursed to him concerning the future state and the immortality of the soul. Macrobius, about AD. 500, wrote a Commentary upon the “Somnium Scipionis,” which was a favourite book in the Middle Ages. See note 17 to The Nun’s Priest’s Tale.
2. Y-nome: taken; past participle of “nime,” from Anglo-Saxon, “niman,” to take.
3. His grace: the favour which the gods would show him, in delivering Carthage into his hands.
4. “Vestra vero, quae dicitur, vita mors est.” (“Truly, as is said, your life is a death”)
5. The nine spheres are God, or the highest heaven, constraining and containing all the others; the Earth, around which the planets and the highest heaven revolve; and the seven planets: the revolution of all producing the “music of the spheres.”

6. Clear: illustrious, noble; Latin, “clarus.”

7. The sicke mette he drinketh of the tun: The sick man dreams that he drinks wine, as one in health.

8. The significance of the poet’s looking to the NNW is not plain; his window may have faced that way.

9. The idea of the twin gates, leading to the Paradise and the Hell of lovers, may have been taken from the description of the gates of dreams in the Odyssey and the Aeneid; but the iteration of “Through me men go” far more directly suggests the legend on Dante’s gate of Hell:—
Per me si va nella citta dolente,
Per me si va nell’ eterno dolore;
Per me si va tra la perduta gente.
(“Through me is the way to the city of sorrow, Through me is the way to eternal suffering; Through me is the way of the lost people”) The famous line, “Lasciate ogni speranza, voi che entrate” —“All hope abandon, ye who enter here” — is evidently paraphrased in Chaucer’s words “Th’eschewing is the only remedy;” that is, the sole hope consists in the avoidance of that dismal gate.
10. A powerful though homely description of torment; the sufferers being represented as fish enclosed in a weir from which all the water has been withdrawn.

11. Compare with this catalogue raisonne of trees the ampler list given by Spenser in “The Faerie Queen,” book i. canto i. In several instances, as in “the builder oak” and “the sailing pine,”

the later poet has exactly copied the words of the earlier.

The builder oak: In the Middle Ages the oak was as distinctively the building timber on land, as it subsequently became for the sea.

The pillar elm: Spenser explains this in paraphrasing it into “the vineprop elm” — because it was planted as a pillar or prop to the vine; it is called “the coffer unto carrain,” or “carrion,”

because coffins for the dead were made from it.

The box, pipe tree: the box tree was used for making pipes or horns.

Holm: the holly, used for whip-handles.

The sailing fir: Because ships’ masts and spars were made of its wood.

The cypress death to plain: in Spenser’s imitation, “the cypress funeral.”

The shooter yew: yew wood was used for bows.

The aspe for shaftes plain: of the aspen, or black poplar, arrows were made.

The laurel divine: So called, either because it was Apollo’s tree — Horace says that Pindar is “laurea donandus Apollinari” (“to be given Apollo’s laurel”) — or because the honour which it signified, when placed on the head of a poet or conqueror, lifted a man as it were into the rank of the gods.

12. If Chaucer had any special trio of courtiers in his mind when he excluded so many names, we may suppose them to be Charms, Sorcery, and Leasings who, in The Knight’s Tale, come after Bawdry and Riches — to whom Messagerie (the carrying of messages) and Meed (reward, bribe) may correspond.

13. The dove was the bird sacred to Venus; hence Ovid enumerates the peacock of Juno, Jove’s armour bearing bird, “Cythereiadasque columbas” (“And the Cythereian doves”) —

“Metamorphoses. xv. 386

14. Priapus: fitly endowed with a place in the Temple of Love, as being the embodiment of the principle of fertility in flocks and the fruits of the earth. See note 23 to the Merchant’s Tale.

15. Ovid, in the “Fasti” (i. 433), describes the confusion of Priapus when, in the night following a feast of sylvan and Bacchic deities, the braying of the ass of Silenus wakened the company to detect the god in a furtive amatory expedition.

16. Hautain: haughty, lofty; French, “hautain.”

17. Well to my pay: Well to my satisfaction; from French, “payer,” to pay, satisfy; the same word often occurs, in the phrases “well apaid,” and “evil apaid.”

18. Valentia, in Spain, was famed for the fabrication of fine and transparent stuffs.

19. The obvious reference is to the proverbial “Sine Cerere et Libero friget Venus,” (“Love is frozen without freedom and food”) quoted in Terence, “Eunuchus,” act iv. scene v.

20. Cypride: Venus; called “Cypria,” or “Cypris,” from the island of Cyprus, in which her worship was especially celebrated.

21. Callisto, daughter of Lycaon, was seduced by Jupiter, turned into a bear by Diana, and placed afterwards, with her son, as the Great Bear among the stars.

Atalanta challenged Hippomenes, a Boetian youth, to a race in which the prize was her hand in marriage — the penalty of failure, death by her hand. Venus gave Hippomenes three golden apples, and he won by dropping them one at a time because Atalanta stopped to pick them up.

Semiramis was Queen of Ninus, the mythical founder of Babylon; Ovid mentions her, along with Lais, as a type of voluptuousness, in his “Amores,” 1.5, 11.

Canace, daughter of Aeolus, is named in the prologue to The Man of Law’s Tale as one of the ladies whose “cursed stories”

Chaucer refrained from writing. She loved her brother Macareus, and was slain by her father.

Hercules was conquered by his love for Omphale, and spun wool for her in a woman’s dress, while she wore his lion’s skin.

Biblis vainly pursued her brother Caunus with her love, till she was changed to a fountain; Ovid, “Metamorphoses.” lib. ix.

Thisbe and Pyramus: the Babylonian lovers, whose death, through the error of Pyramus in fancying that a lion had slain his mistress, forms the theme of the interlude in the “Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

Sir Tristram was one of the most famous among the knights of King Arthur, and La Belle Isoude was his mistress. Their story is mixed up with the Arthurian romance; but it was also the subject of separate treatment, being among the most popular of the Middle Age legends.

Achilles is reckoned among Love’s conquests, because, according to some traditions, he loved Polyxena, the daughter of Priam, who was promised to him if he consented to join the Trojans; and, going without arms into Apollo’s temple at Thymbra, he was there slain by Paris.

Scylla: Love-stories are told of two maidens of this name; one the daughter of Nisus, King of Megara, who, falling in love with Minos when he besieged the city, slew her father by pulling out the golden hair which grew on the top of his head, and on which which his life and kingdom depended. Minos won the city, but rejected her love in horror. The other Scylla, from whom the rock opposite Charybdis was named, was a beautiful maiden, beloved by the sea-god Glaucus, but changed into a monster through the jealousy and enchantments of Circe.

The mother of Romulus: Silvia, daughter and only living child of Numitor, whom her uncle Amulius made a vestal virgin, to preclude the possibility that his brother’s descendants could wrest from him the kingdom of Alba Longa. But the maiden was violated by Mars as she went to bring water from a fountain; she bore Romulus and Remus; and she was drowned in the Anio, while the cradle with the children was carried down the stream in safety to the Palatine Hill, where the she-wolf adopted them.

22. Prest: ready; French, “pret.”

23. Alanus de Insulis, a Sicilian poet and orator of the twelfth century, who wrote a book “De Planctu Naturae” — “The Complaint of Nature.”

24. The falcon was borne on the hand by the highest personages, not merely in actual sport, but to be caressed and petted, even on occasions of ceremony, Hence also it is called the “gentle” falcon — as if its high birth and breeding gave it a right to august society.

25. The merlion: elsewhere in the same poem called “emerlon;”

French, “emerillon;” the merlin, a small hawk carried by ladies.

26. The scorning jay: scorning humbler birds, out of pride of his fine plumage.

27. The false lapwing: full of stratagems and pretences to divert approaching danger from the nest where her young ones are.

28. The sparrow, Venus’ son: Because sacred to Venus.

29. Coming with the spring, the nightingale is charmingly said to call forth the new leaves.

30. Many-coloured wings, like those of peacocks, were often given to angels in paintings of the Middle Ages; and in accordance with this fashion Spenser represents the Angel that guarded Sir Guyon (“Faerie Queen,” book ii. canto vii.) as having wings “decked with diverse plumes, like painted jay’s.”

31. The pheasant, scorner of the cock by night: The meaning of this passage is not very plain; it has been supposed, however, to refer to the frequent breeding of pheasants at night with domestic poultry in the farmyard — thus scorning the sway of the cock, its rightful monarch.

32. The waker goose: Chaucer evidently alludes to the passage in Ovid describing the crow of Apollo, which rivalled the spotless doves, “Nec servataris vigili Capitolia voce cederet anseribus” — “nor would it yield (in whiteness) to the geese destined with wakeful or vigilant voice to save the Capitol”

(“Metam.,” ii. 538) when about to be surprised by the Gauls in a night attack.

33. The cuckoo ever unkind: the significance of this epithet is amply explained by the poem of “The Cuckoo and the Nightingale.”

34. The drake, destroyer: of the ducklings — which, if not prevented, he will kill wholesale.

35. The stork is conspicuous for faithfulness to all family obligations, devotion to its young, and care of its parent birds in their old age. Mr Bell quotes from Bishop Stanley’s “History of Birds” a little story which peculiarly justifies the special character Chaucer has given: — “A French surgeon, at Smyrna, wishing to procure a stork, and finding great difficulty, on account of the extreme veneration in which they are held by the Turks, stole all the eggs out of a nest, and replaced them with those of a hen: in process of time the young chickens came forth, much to the astonishment of Mr and Mrs Stork. In a short time Mr S. went off, and was not seen for two or three days, when he returned with an immense crowd of his companions, who all assembled in the place, and formed a circle, taking no notice of the numerous spectators whom so unusual an occurrence had collected. Mrs Stork was brought forward into the midst of the circle, and, after some consultation, the whole flock fell upon her and tore her to pieces; after which they immediately dispersed, and the nest was entirely abandoned.”

36. The cormorant feeds upon fish, so voraciously, that when the stomach is crammed it will often have the gullet and bill likewise full, awaiting the digestion of the rest.

37. So called from the evil omens supposed to be afforded by their harsh cries.

38. The fieldfare visits this country only in hard wintry weather.

39. “Formel,” strictly or originally applied to the female of the eagle and hawk, is here used generally of the female of all birds; “tercel” is the corresponding word applied to the male.

40. Entriketh: entangles, ensnares; french, “intriguer,” to perplex; hence “intricate.”

41. Entremette him of: meddle with; French, ‘ entremettre,” to interfere.

42. The duck exhorts the contending lovers to be of light heart and sing, for abundance of other ladies were at their command.

43. Solain: single, alone; the same word originally as “sullen.”

44. The cuckoo is distinguished by its habit of laying its eggs in the nests of other and smaller birds, such as the hedge-sparrow (“heggsugg”); and its young, when hatched, throw the eggs or nestlings of the true parent bird out of the nest, thus engrossing the mother’s entire care. The crime on which the emerlon comments so sharply, is explained by the migratory habits of the cuckoo, which prevent its bringing up its own young; and nature has provided facilities for the crime, by furnishing the young bird with a peculiarly strong and broad back, indented by a hollow in which the sparrow’s egg is lifted till it is thrown out of the nest.

45. “Who well loves, late forgets;” the refrain of the roundel inculcates the duty of constancy, which has been imposed on the three tercels by the decision of the Court.

THE HOUSE OF FAME

[Thanks partly to Pope’s brief and elegant paraphrase, in his “Temple of Fame,” and partly to the familiar force of the style and the satirical significance of the allegory, “The House of Fame” is among the best known and relished of Chaucer’s minor poems. The octosyllabic measure in which it is written — the same which the author of “Hudibras” used with such admirable effect — is excellently adapted for the vivid descriptions, the lively sallies of humour and sarcasm, with which the poem abounds; and when the poet actually does get to his subject, he treats it with a zest, and a corresponding interest on the part of the reader, which are scarcely surpassed by the best of The Canterbury Tales. The poet, however, tarries long on the way to the House of Fame; as Pope says in his advertisement, the reader who would compare his with Chaucer’s poem, “may begin with [Chaucer’s] third Book of Fame, there being nothing in the two first books that answers to their title.” The first book opens with a kind of prologue (actually so marked and called in earlier editions) in which the author speculates on the causes of dreams; avers that never any man had such a dream as he had on the tenth of December; and prays the God of Sleep to help him to interpret the dream, and the Mover of all things to reward or afflict those readers who take the dream well or ill.

Then he relates that, having fallen asleep, he fancied himself within a temple of glass — the abode of Venus — the walls of which were painted with the story of Aeneas. The paintings are described at length; and then the poet tells us that, coming out of the temple, he found himself on a vast sandy plain, and saw high in heaven an eagle, that began to descend towards him.

With the prologue, the first book numbers 508 lines; of which 192 only — more than are actually concerned with or directly lead towards the real subject of the poem — are given here. The second book, containing 582 lines, of which 176 will be found in this edition, is wholly devoted to the voyage from the Temple of Venus to the House of Fame, which the dreamer accomplishes in the eagle’s claws. The bird has been sent by Jove to do the poet some “solace” in reward of his labours for the cause of Love; and during the transit through the air the messenger discourses obligingly and learnedly with his human burden on the theory of sound, by which all that is spoken must needs reach the House of Fame; and on other matters suggested by their errand and their observations by the way. The third book (of 1080 lines, only a score of which, just at the outset, have been omitted) brings us to the real pith of the poem. It finds the poet close to the House of Fame, built on a rock of ice engraved with names, many of which are half-melted away.

Entering the gorgeous palace, he finds all manner of minstrels and historians; harpers, pipers, and trumpeters of fame; magicians, jugglers, sorcerers, and many others. On a throne of ruby sits the goddess, seeming at one moment of but a cubit’s stature, at the next touching heaven; and at either hand, on pillars, stand the great authors who “bear up the name” of ancient nations. Crowds of people enter the hall from all regions of earth, praying the goddess to give them good or evil fame, with and without their own deserts; and they receive answers favourable, negative, or contrary, according to the caprice of Fame. Pursuing his researches further, out of the region of reputation or fame proper into that of tidings or rumours, the poet is led, by a man who has entered into conversation with him, to a vast whirling house of twigs, ever open to the arrival of tidings, ever full of murmurings, whisperings, and clatterings, coming from the vast crowds that fill it — for every rumour, every piece of news, every false report, appears there in the shape of the person who utters it, or passes it on, down in earth.

Out at the windows innumerable, the tidings pass to Fame, who gives to each report its name and duration; and in the house travellers, pilgrims, pardoners, couriers, lovers, &c., make a huge clamour. But here the poet meets with a man “of great authority,” and, half afraid, awakes; skilfully — whether by intention, fatigue, or accident — leaving the reader disappointed by the nonfulfilment of what seemed to be promises of further disclosures. The poem, not least in the passages the omission of which has been dictated by the exigencies of the present volume, is full of testimony to the vast acquaintance of Chaucer with learning ancient and modern; Ovid, Virgil, Statius, are equally at his command to illustrate his narrative or to furnish the groundwork of his descriptions; while architecture, the Arabic numeration, the theory of sound, and the effects of gunpowder, are only a few among the topics of his own time of which the poet treats with the ease of proficient knowledge.

Not least interesting are the vivid touches in which Chaucer sketches the routine of his laborious and almost recluse daily life; while the strength, individuality, and humour that mark the didactic portion of the poem prove that “The House of Fame”

was one of the poet’s riper productions.]

GOD turn us ev’ry dream to good!

For it is wonder thing, by the Rood, Cross <1>

To my witte, what causeth swevens, dreams Either on morrows or on evens;

And why th’effect followeth of some,

And of some it shall never come;

Why this is an avision

And this a revelation;

Why this a dream, why that a sweven,

And not to ev’ry man *like even;* alike

Why this a phantom, why these oracles, I n’ot; but whoso of these miracles

The causes knoweth bet than I,

Divine* he; for I certainly define Ne can them not,* nor ever think do not know them

To busy my wit for to swink labour To know of their significance

The genders, neither the distance

Of times of them, nor the causes

For why that this more than that cause is; Or if folke’s complexions

Make them dream of reflections;

Or elles thus, as others sayn,

For too great feebleness of the brain

By abstinence, or by sickness,

By prison, strife, or great distress,

Or elles by disordinance derangement Of natural accustomance; mode of life That some men be too curious

In study, or melancholious,

Or thus, so inly full of dread,

That no man may them *boote bede; afford them relief*

Or elles that devotion

Of some, and contemplation,

Causeth to them such dreames oft;

Or that the cruel life unsoft

Of them that unkind loves lead,

That often hope much or dread,

That purely their impressions

Cause them to have visions;

Or if that spirits have the might

To make folk to dream a-night;

Or if the soul, of *proper kind, its own nature*

Be so perfect as men find,

That it forewot* what is to come, *foreknows And that it warneth all and some

Of ev’reach of their adventures,

By visions, or by figures,

But that our fleshe hath no might

To understanden it aright,

For it is warned too darkly;

But why the cause is, not wot I.

Well worth of this thing greate clerks, <2>

That treat of this and other works;

For I of none opinion

Will as now make mention;

But only that the holy Rood

Turn us every dream to good.

For never since that I was born,

Nor no man elles me beforn,

Mette,* as I trowe steadfastly, *dreamed So wonderful a dream as I,

The tenthe day now of December;

The which, as I can it remember,

I will you tellen ev’ry deal. whit But at my beginning, truste weel, well I will make invocation,

With special devotion,

Unto the god of Sleep anon,

That dwelleth in a cave of stone, <3>

Upon a stream that comes from Lete,

That is a flood of hell unsweet,

Beside a folk men call Cimmerie;

There sleepeth ay this god unmerry,

With his sleepy thousand sones,

That alway for to sleep their won* is; wont, custom And to this god, that I of read, tell of*

Pray I, that he will me speed

My sweven for to tell aright,

If ev’ry dream stands in his might.

And he that Mover is of all

That is, and was, and ever shall,

So give them joye that it hear,

Of alle that they dream to-year; this year And for to standen all in grace favour Of their loves, or in what place

That them were liefest* for to stand, *most desired And shield them from povert’ and shand, shame And from ev’ry unhap and disease,

And send them all that may them please, That take it well, and scorn it not,

Nor it misdeemen* in their thought, *misjudge Through malicious intention;

And whoso, through presumption.

Or hate, or scorn, or through envy,

Despite, or jape,* or villainy, *jesting Misdeem it, pray I Jesus God,

That dream he barefoot, dream he shod, That ev’ry harm that any man

Hath had since that the world began,

Befall him thereof, ere he sterve, die And grant that he may it deserve, earn, obtain Lo! with such a conclusion

As had of his avision

Croesus, that was the king of Lyde,<4>

That high upon a gibbet died;

This prayer shall he have of me;

I am *no bet in charity. no more charitable*

Now hearken, as I have you said,

What that I mette ere I abraid, awoke Of December the tenthe day;

When it was night to sleep I lay,

Right as I was wont for to do’n,

And fell asleepe wonder soon,

As he that *weary was for go*<5> was weary from going

On pilgrimage miles two

To the corsaint* Leonard, *relics of <6>

To make lithe that erst was hard.

But, as I slept, me mette I was

Within a temple made of glass;

In which there were more images

Of gold, standing in sundry stages,

And more riche tabernacles,

And with pierrie* more pinnacles, *gems And more curious portraitures,

And *quainte manner* of figures strange kinds

Of golde work, than I saw ever.

But, certainly, I wiste* never *knew Where that it was, but well wist I

It was of Venus readily,

This temple; for in portraiture

I saw anon right her figure

Naked floating in a sea, <7>

And also on her head, pardie,

Her rose garland white and red,

And her comb to comb her head,

Her doves, and Dan Cupido,

Her blinde son, and Vulcano, <8>

That in his face was full brown.

As he “roamed up and down,” the dreamer saw on the wall a tablet of brass inscribed with the opening lines of the Aeneid; while the whole story of Aeneas was told in the “portraitures”

and gold work. About three hundred and fifty lines are devoted to the description; but they merely embody Virgil’s account of Aeneas’ adventures from the destruction of Troy to his arrival in Italy; and the only characteristic passage is the following reflection, suggested by the death of Dido for her perfidious but fate-compelled guest:

Lo! how a woman doth amiss,

To love him that unknowen is!

For, by Christ, lo! thus it fareth,

It is not all gold that glareth. glitters For, all so brook I well my head,

There may be under goodlihead fair appearance Cover’d many a shrewed* vice; *cursed Therefore let no wight be so nice foolish To take a love only for cheer, looks Or speech, or for friendly mannere;

For this shall ev’ry woman find,

That some man, *of his pure kind, by force of his nature Will showen outward the fairest,

Till he have caught that which him lest; pleases And then anon will causes find,

And sweare how she is unkind,

Or false, or privy* double was. secretly All this say I by Aeneas with reference to And Dido, and her nice lest, foolish pleasure*

That loved all too soon a guest;

Therefore I will say a proverb,

That he that fully knows the herb

May safely lay it to his eye;

Withoute dread,* this is no lie. *doubt When the dreamer had seen all the sights in the temple, he became desirous to know who had worked all those wonders, and in what country he was; so he resolved to go out at the wicket, in search of somebody who might tell him.

When I out at the doores came,

I fast aboute me beheld;

Then saw I but a large feld, open country As far as that I mighte see,

WIthoute town, or house, or tree,

Or bush, or grass, or ered* land, *ploughed <9>

For all the field was but of sand,

As small* as men may see it lie *fine In the desert of Libye;

Nor no manner creature

That is formed by Nature,

There saw I, me to *rede or wiss. advise or direct*

“O Christ!” thought I, “that art in bliss, From *phantom and illusion vain fancy and deception*

Me save!” and with devotion

Mine eyen to the heav’n I cast.

Then was I ware at the last

That, faste by the sun on high,

As kennen might I with mine eye, as well as I might discern

Me thought I saw an eagle soar,

But that it seemed muche more larger Than I had any eagle seen;

This is as sooth as death, certain,

It was of gold, and shone so bright,

That never saw men such a sight,

But if* the heaven had y-won, *unless All new from God, another sun;

So shone the eagle’s feathers bright:

And somewhat downward gan it light. descend, alight The Second Book opens with a brief invocation of Venus and of Thought; then it proceeds:

This eagle, of which I have you told,

That shone with feathers as of gold,

Which that so high began to soar,

I gan beholde more and more,

To see her beauty and the wonder;

But never was there dint of thunder,

Nor that thing that men calle foudre, thunderbolt That smote sometimes a town to powder, And in his swifte coming brenn’d, burned That so swithe* gan descend, *rapidly As this fowl, when that it beheld

That I a-roam was in the feld;

And with his grim pawes strong,

Within his sharpe nailes long,

Me, flying, at a swap* he hent,* swoop *seized And with his sours <10> again up went, Me carrying in his clawes stark strong As light as I had been a lark,

How high, I cannot telle you,

For I came up, I wist not how.

The poet faints through bewilderment and fear; but the eagle, speaking with the voice of a man, recalls him to himself, and comforts him by the assurance that what now befalls him is for his instruction and profit. Answering the poet’s unspoken inquiry whether he is not to die otherwise, or whether Jove will him stellify, the eagle says that he has been sent by Jupiter out of his “great ruth,”

“For that thou hast so truely

So long served ententively with attentive zeal His blinde nephew* Cupido, *grandson And faire Venus also,

Withoute guuerdon ever yet,

And natheless hast set thy wit

(Although that in thy head full lite* is) *little To make bookes, songs, and ditties,

In rhyme or elles in cadence,

As thou best canst, in reverence

Of Love, and of his servants eke,

That have his service sought, and seek, And pained thee to praise his art,

Although thou haddest never part; <11>

Wherefore, all so God me bless,

Jovis holds it great humbless,

And virtue eke, that thou wilt make

A-night full oft thy head to ache,

In thy study so thou writest,

And evermore of love enditest,

In honour of him and praisings,

And in his folke’s furtherings,

And in their matter all devisest, relates And not him nor his folk despisest,

Although thou may’st go in the dance

Of them that him list not advance.

Wherefore, as I said now, y-wis,

Jupiter well considers this;

And also, beausire,* other things; *good sir That is, that thou hast no tidings

Of Love’s folk, if they be glad,

Nor of naught elles that God made;

And not only from far country

That no tidings come to thee,

But of thy very neighebours,

That dwellen almost at thy doors,

Thou hearest neither that nor this.

For when thy labour all done is,

And hast y-made thy reckonings, <12>

Instead of rest and newe things,

Thou go’st home to thy house anon,

And, all so dumb as any stone,

Thou sittest at another book,

Till fully dazed* is thy look; *blinded And livest thus as a hermite

Although thine abstinence is lite.”* <13> *little Therefore has Jove appointed the eagle to take the poet to the House of Fame, to do him some pleasure in recompense for his devotion to Cupid; and he will hear, says the bird, “When we be come there as I say,

More wondrous thinges, dare I lay, bet Of Love’s folke more tidings,

Both *soothe sawes and leasings; true sayings and lies*

And more loves new begun,

And long y-served loves won,

And more loves casually

That be betid,* no man knows why, *happened by chance But as a blind man starts a hare;

And more jollity and welfare,

While that they finde *love of steel, love true as steel*

As thinketh them, and over all weel;

More discords, and more jealousies,

More murmurs, and more novelties,

And more dissimulations,

And feigned reparations;

And more beardes, in two hours,

Withoute razor or scissours

Y-made, <14> than graines be of sands; And eke more holding in hands, embracings And also more renovelances renewings Of old *forleten acquaintances; broken-off acquaintanceships*

More lovedays,<15> and more accords, agreements Than on instruments be chords;

And eke of love more exchanges

Than ever cornes were in granges.” barns The poet can scarcely believe that, though Fame had all the pies [magpies] and all the spies in a kingdom, she should hear so much; but the eagle proceeds to prove that she can.

First shalt thou heare where she dwelleth; And, so as thine own booke telleth, <16>

Her palace stands, as I shall say,

Right ev’n in middes of the way

Betweene heav’n, and earth, and sea,

That whatsoe’er in all these three

Is spoken, *privy or apert, secretly or openly*

The air thereto is so overt, clear And stands eke in so just* a place, *suitable That ev’ry sound must to it pace,

Or whatso comes from any tongue,

Be it rowned,* read, or sung, *whispered Or spoken in surety or dread, doubt Certain *it must thither need.” it must needs go thither*

The eagle, in a long discourse, demonstrates that, as all natural things have a natural place towards which they move by natural inclination, and as sound is only broken air, so every sound must come to Fame’s House, “though it were piped of a mouse”

— on the same principle by which every part of a mass of water is affected by the casting in of a stone. The poet is all the while borne upward, entertained with various information by the bird; which at last cries out —

“Hold up thy head, for all is well!

Saint Julian, lo! bon hostel! <17>

See here the House of Fame, lo

May’st thou not heare that I do?”

“What?” quoth I. “The greate soun’,”

Quoth he, “that rumbleth up and down

In Fame’s House, full of tidings,

Both of fair speech and of chidings,

And of false and sooth compouned; compounded, mingled Hearken well; it is not rowned. whispered Hearest thou not the greate swough?” confused sound “Yes, pardie!” quoth I, “well enough.”

And what sound is it like?” quoth he

“Peter! the beating of the sea,”

Quoth I, “against the rockes hollow,

When tempests do the shippes swallow.

And let a man stand, out of doubt,

A mile thence, and hear it rout. roar Or elles like the last humbling dull low distant noise After the clap of a thund’ring,

When Jovis hath the air y-beat;

But it doth me for feare sweat.”

“Nay, dread thee not thereof,” quoth he; “It is nothing will bite thee,

Thou shalt no harme have, truly.”

And with that word both he and I

As nigh the place arrived were,

As men might caste with a spear.

I wist not how, but in a street

He set me fair upon my feet,

And saide: “Walke forth apace,

And take *thine adventure or case, thy chance of what That thou shalt find in Fame’s place.” may befall*

“Now,” quoth I, “while we have space

To speak, ere that I go from thee,

For the love of God, as telle me,

In sooth, that I will of thee lear, learn If this noise that I hear

Be, as I have heard thee tell,

Of folk that down in earthe dwell,

And cometh here in the same wise

As I thee heard, ere this, devise?

And that there living body n’is is not In all that house that yonder is,

That maketh all this loude fare?” hubbub, ado “No,” answered he, “by Saint Clare,

And all *so wisly God rede me; so surely god But one thing I will warne thee, guide me*

Of the which thou wilt have wonder.

Lo! to the House of Fame yonder,

Thou know’st how cometh ev’ry speech;

It needeth not thee eft* to teach. *again But understand now right well this;

When any speech y-comen is

Up to the palace, anon right

It waxeth* like the same wight* becomes **person Which that the word in earthe spake,

Be he cloth’d in red or black;

And so weareth his likeness,

And speaks the word, that thou wilt guess fancy That it the same body be,

Whether man or woman, he or she.

And is not this a wondrous thing?”

“Yes,” quoth I then, “by Heaven’s king!”

And with this word, “Farewell,” quoth he, And here I will abide* thee, *wait for And God of Heaven send thee grace

Some good to learen* in this place.” *learn And I of him took leave anon,

And gan forth to the palace go’n.

At the opening of the Third Book, Chaucer briefly invokes Apollo’s guidance, and entreats him, because “the rhyme is light and lewd,” to “make it somewhat agreeable, though some verse fail in a syllable.” If the god answers the prayer, the poet promises to kiss the next laurel-tree <18> he sees; and he proceeds:

When I was from this eagle gone,

I gan behold upon this place;

And certain, ere I farther pace,

I will you all the shape devise describe Of house and city; and all the wise

How I gan to this place approach,

That stood upon so high a roche, rock <19>

Higher standeth none in Spain;

But up I climb’d with muche pain,

And though to climbe *grieved me, cost me painful effort*

Yet I ententive* was to see, attentive And for to pore wondrous low, *gaze closely If I could any wise know

What manner stone this rocke was,

For it was like a thing of glass,

But that it shone full more clear

But of what congealed mattere

It was, I wist not readily,

But at the last espied I,

And found that it was *ev’ry deal entirely*

A rock of ice, and not of steel.

Thought I, “By Saint Thomas of Kent, <20>

This were a feeble fundament foundation *To builden* a place so high; on which to build He ought him lite to glorify *little That hereon built, God so me save!”

Then saw I all the half y-grave <21>

With famous folke’s names fele, many That hadde been in muche weal, good fortune And their fames wide y-blow.

But well unnethes* might I know *scarcely Any letters for to read

Their names by; for out of dread doubt They were almost off thawed so,

That of the letters one or two

Were molt* away of ev’ry name, melted So unfamous was wox their fame; *become But men say, “What may ever last?”

Then gan I in my heart to cast conjecture That they were molt away for heat,

And not away with stormes beat;

For on the other side I sey saw Of this hill, that northward lay,

How it was written full of names

Of folke that had greate fames

Of olde times, and yet they were

As fresh as men had writ them there

The selfe day, right ere that hour

That I upon them gan to pore.

But well I wiste what it made; meant It was conserved with the shade,

All the writing which I sigh, saw Of a castle that stood on high;

And stood eke on so cold a place,

That heat might it not deface. injure, destroy Then gan I on this hill to go’n,

And found upon the cop* a won,* summit <22> **house That all the men that be alive

Have not the *cunning to descrive skill to describe*

The beauty of that like place,

Nor coulde *caste no compass find no contrivance*

Such another for to make,

That might of beauty be its make, match, equal Nor one so wondrously y-wrought,

That it astonieth yet my thought,

And maketh all my wit to swink, labour Upon this castle for to think;

So that the greate beauty,

Cast,* craft, and curiosity, *ingenuity Ne can I not to you devise; describe My witte may me not suffice.

But natheless all the substance

I have yet in my remembrance;

For why, me thoughte, by Saint Gile,

Alle was of stone of beryle,

Bothe the castle and the tow’r,

And eke the hall, and ev’ry bow’r, chamber Withoute pieces or joinings,

But many subtile compassings, contrivances As barbicans* and pinnacles, *watch-towers Imageries and tabernacles,

I saw; and eke full of windows,

As flakes fall in greate snows.

And eke in each of the pinnacles

Were sundry habitacles, apartments or niches In which stooden, all without,

Full the castle all about,

Of all manner of minstrales

And gestiours,<23> that telle tales

Both of weeping and of game, mirth Of all that longeth unto Fame.

There heard I play upon a harp,

That sounded bothe well and sharp,

Him, Orpheus, full craftily;

And on this side faste by

Satte the harper Arion,<24>

And eke Aeacides Chiron <25>

And other harpers many a one,

And the great Glasgerion; <26>

And smalle harpers, with their glees, instruments Satten under them in sees, seats And gan on them upward to gape,

And counterfeit them as an ape,

Or as *craft counterfeiteth kind. art counterfeits nature*

Then saw I standing them behind,

Afar from them, all by themselve,

Many thousand times twelve,

That made loude minstrelsies

In cornmuse and eke in shawmies, <27>

And in many another pipe,

That craftily began to pipe,

Both in dulcet <28> and in reed,

That be at feastes with the bride.

And many a flute and lilting horn,

And pipes made of greene corn,

As have these little herde-grooms, shepherd-boys That keepe beastes in the brooms.

There saw I then Dan Citherus,

And of Athens Dan Pronomus, <29>

And Marsyas <30> that lost his skin,

Both in the face, body, and chin,

For that he would envyen, lo!

To pipe better than Apollo.

There saw I famous, old and young,

Pipers of alle Dutche tongue, <31>

To learne love-dances and springs,

Reyes, <32> and these strange things.

Then saw I in another place,

Standing in a large space,

Of them that make bloody* soun’, martial In trumpet, beam, and clarioun; *horn <33>

For in fight and blood-sheddings

Is used gladly clarionings.

There heard I trumpe Messenus. <34>

Of whom speaketh Virgilius.

There heard I Joab trump also, <35>

Theodamas, <36> and other mo’,

And all that used clarion

In Catalogne and Aragon,

That in their times famous were

To learne, saw I trumpe there.

There saw I sit in other sees,

Playing upon sundry glees,

Whiche that I cannot neven, name More than starres be in heaven;

Of which I will not now rhyme,

For ease of you, and loss of time:

For time lost, this knowe ye,

By no way may recover’d be.

There saw I play jongelours, jugglers <37>

Magicians, and tregetours,<38>

And Pythonesses, <39> charmeresses,

And old witches, and sorceresses,

That use exorcisations,

And eke subfumigations; <40>

And clerkes* eke, which knowe well *scholars All this magic naturel,

That craftily do their intents,

To make, in certain ascendents, <41>

Images, lo! through which magic

To make a man be whole or sick.

There saw I the queen Medea, <42>

And Circes <43> eke, and Calypsa.<44>

There saw I Hermes Ballenus, <45>

Limote, <46> and eke Simon Magus. <47>

There saw I, and knew by name,

That by such art do men have fame.

There saw I Colle Tregetour <46>

Upon a table of sycamore

Play an uncouth* thing to tell; *strange, rare I saw him carry a windmell

Under a walnut shell.

Why should I make longer tale

Of all the people I there say, saw From hence even to doomesday?

When I had all this folk behold,

And found me *loose, and not y-hold, at liberty and unrestrained*

And I had mused longe while

Upon these walles of beryle,

That shone lighter than any glass,

And made well more than it was *much greater To seemen ev’rything, y-wis,

As kindly* thing of Fame it is; <48> *natural I gan forth roam until I fand found The castle-gate on my right hand,

Which all so well y-carven was,

That never such another n’as; was not And yet it was by Adventure chance Y-wrought, and not by *subtile cure. careful art*

It needeth not you more to tell,

To make you too longe dwell,

Of these gates’ flourishings,

Nor of compasses,* nor carvings, *devices Nor how they had in masonries,

As corbets, <49> full of imageries.

But, Lord! so fair it was to shew,

For it was all with gold behew. coloured But in I went, and that anon;

There met I crying many a one

“A largess! largess! <50> hold up well!

God save the Lady of this pell, palace Our owen gentle Lady Fame,

And them that will to have name

Of us!” Thus heard I cryen all,

And fast they came out of the hall,

And shooke *nobles and sterlings, coins <51>

And some y-crowned were as kings,

With crownes wrought fall of lozenges; And many ribands, and many fringes,

Were on their clothes truely

Then at the last espied I

That pursuivantes and herauds, heralds That cry riche folke’s lauds, praises They weren all; and ev’ry man

Of them, as I you telle can,

Had on him throwen a vesture

Which that men call a coat-armure, <52>

Embroidered wondrously rich,

As though there were *naught y-lich; nothing like it*

But naught will I, so may I thrive,

*Be aboute to descrive concern myself with describing*

All these armes that there were,

That they thus on their coates bare,

For it to me were impossible;

Men might make of them a bible

Twenty foote thick, I trow.

For, certain, whoso coulde know

Might there all the armes see’n

Of famous folk that have been

In Afric’, Europe, and Asie,

Since first began the chivalry.

Lo! how should I now tell all this?

Nor of the hall eke what need is

To telle you that ev’ry wall

Of it, and floor, and roof, and all,

Was plated half a foote thick

Of gold, and that was nothing wick’, counterfeit But for to prove in alle wise

As fine as ducat of Venise, <53>

Of which too little in my pouch is?

And they were set as thick of nouches ornaments Fine, of the finest stones fair,

That men read in the Lapidaire, <54>

As grasses growen in a mead.

But it were all too long to read declare The names; and therefore I pass.

But in this rich and lusty place,

That Fame’s Hall y-called was,

Full muche press of folk there n’as, was not Nor crowding for too muche press.

But all on high, above a dais,

Set on a see* imperial, <55> *seat That made was of ruby all,

Which that carbuncle is y-call’d,

I saw perpetually install’d

A feminine creature;

That never formed by Nature

Was such another thing y-sey. seen For altherfirst,* sooth to say, *first of all Me thoughte that she was so lite, little That the length of a cubite

Was longer than she seem’d to be;

But thus soon in a while she

Herself then wonderfully stretch’d,

That with her feet the earth she reach’d, And with her head she touched heaven,

Where as shine the starres seven. <56>

And thereto* eke, as to my wit, *moreover I saw a greater wonder yet,

Upon her eyen to behold;

But certes I them never told.

For *as fele eyen* hadde she, as many eyes

As feathers upon fowles be,

Or were on the beastes four

That Godde’s throne gan honour,

As John writ in th’Apocalypse. <57>

Her hair, that *oundy was and crips, wavy <58> and crisp*

As burnish’d gold it shone to see;

And, sooth to tellen, also she

Had all so fele* upstanding ears, *many And tongues, as on beasts be hairs;

And on her feet waxen saw I

Partridges’ winges readily.<59>

But, Lord! the pierrie* and richess *gems, jewellery I saw sitting on this goddess,

And the heavenly melody

Of songes full of harmony,

I heard about her throne y-sung,

That all the palace walles rung!

(So sung the mighty Muse, she

That called is Calliope,

And her eight sisteren* eke, *sisters That in their faces seeme meek);

And evermore eternally

They sang of Fame as then heard I:

“Heried* be thou and thy name, *praised Goddess of Renown and Fame!”

Then was I ware, lo! at the last,

As I mine eyen gan upcast,

That this ilke noble queen

On her shoulders gan sustene sustain Both the armes, and the name

Of those that hadde large fame;

Alexander, and Hercules,

That with a shirt his life lese.* <60> *lost Thus found I sitting this goddess,

In noble honour and richess;

Of which I stint* a while now, *refrain (from speaking) Of other things to telle you.

Then saw I stand on either side,

Straight down unto the doores wide,

From the dais, many a pillere

Of metal, that shone not full clear;

But though they were of no richess,

Yet were they made for great nobless,

And in them greate sentence. significance And folk of digne* reverence, worthy, lofty Of which I will you telle fand, I will try to tell you*

Upon the pillars saw I stand.

Altherfirst, lo! there I sigh saw Upon a pillar stand on high,

That was of lead and iron fine,

Him of the secte Saturnine, <61>

The Hebrew Josephus the old,

That of Jewes’ gestes* told; *deeds of braver And he bare on his shoulders high

All the fame up of Jewry.

And by him stooden other seven,

Full wise and worthy for to neven, name To help him bearen up the charge, burden It was so heavy and so large.

And, for they writen of battailes,

As well as other old marvailes,

Therefore was, lo! this pillere,

Of which that I you telle here,

Of lead and iron both, y-wis;

For iron Marte’s metal is, <62>

Which that god is of battaile;

And eke the lead, withoute fail,

Is, lo! the metal of Saturn,

That hath full large wheel* to turn. *orbit Then stoode forth, on either row,

Of them which I coulde know,

Though I them not by order tell,

To make you too longe dwell.

These, of the which I gin you read,

There saw I standen, out of dread,

Upon an iron pillar strong,

That painted was all endelong from top to bottom*

With tiger’s blood in ev’ry place,

The Tholosan that highte Stace, <63>

That bare of Thebes up the name

Upon his shoulders, and the fame

Also of cruel Achilles.

And by him stood, withoute lease, falsehood Full wondrous high on a pillere

Of iron, he, the great Homere;

And with him Dares and Dytus, <64>

Before, and eke he, Lollius, <65>

And Guido eke de Colempnis, <66>

And English Gaufrid <67> eke, y-wis.

And each of these, as I have joy,

Was busy for to bear up Troy;

So heavy thereof was the fame,

That for to bear it was no game.

But yet I gan full well espy,

Betwixt them was a little envy.

One said that Homer made lies,

Feigning in his poetries,

And was to the Greeks favourable;

Therefore held he it but a fable.

Then saw I stand on a pillere

That was of tinned iron clear,

Him, the Latin poet Virgile,

That borne hath up a longe while

The fame of pious Aeneas.

And next him on a pillar was

Of copper, Venus’ clerk Ovide,

That hath y-sowen wondrous wide

The greate god of Love’s fame.

And there he bare up well his name

Upon this pillar all so high,

As I might see it with mine eye;

For why? this hall whereof I read

Was waxen in height, and length, and bread, breadth Well more by a thousand deal times Than it was erst, that saw I weel.

Then saw I on a pillar by,

Of iron wrought full sternely,

The greate poet, Dan Lucan,

That on his shoulders bare up than,

As high as that I might it see,

The fame of Julius and Pompey; <68>

And by him stood all those clerks

That write of Rome’s mighty works,

That if I would their names tell,

All too longe must I dwell.

And next him on a pillar stood

Of sulphur, like as he were wood, mad Dan Claudian, <69> the sooth to tell,

That bare up all the fame of hell,

Of Pluto, and of Proserpine,

That queen is of *the darke pine the dark realm of pain*

Why should I telle more of this?

The hall was alle fulle, y-wis,

Of them that writen olde gests, histories of great deeds As be on trees rookes’ nests;

But it a full confus’d mattere

Were all these gestes for to hear,

That they of write, and how they hight. are called But while that I beheld this sight,

I heard a noise approache blive, quickly That far’d* as bees do in a hive, *went Against their time of outflying;

Right such a manner murmuring,

For all the world, it seem’d to me.

Then gan I look about, and see

That there came entering the hall

A right great company withal,

And that of sundry regions,

Of all kinds and conditions

That dwell in earth under the moon,

Both poor and rich; and all so soon

As they were come into the hall,

They gan adown on knees to fall,

Before this ilke* noble queen, *same And saide, “Grant us, Lady sheen, bright, lovely Each of us of thy grace a boon.” favour And some of them she granted soon,

And some she warned* well and fair, *refused And some she granted the contrair contrary Of their asking utterly;

But this I say you truely,

What that her cause was, I n’ist; wist not, know not For of these folk full well I wist,

They hadde good fame each deserved,

Although they were diversely served.

Right as her sister, Dame Fortune,

Is wont to serven *in commune. commonly, usually*

Now hearken how she gan to pay

Them that gan of her grace to pray;

And right, lo! all this company

Saide sooth,* and not a lie. *truth “Madame,” thus quoth they, “we be

Folk that here beseeche thee

That thou grant us now good fame,

And let our workes have good name

In full recompensatioun

Of good work, give us good renown

“I warn* it you,” quoth she anon; *refuse “Ye get of me good fame none,

By God! and therefore go your way.”

“Alas,” quoth they, “and wellaway!

Tell us what may your cause be.”

“For that it list* me not,” quoth she, *pleases No wight shall speak of you, y-wis,

Good nor harm, nor that nor this.”

And with that word she gan to call

Her messenger, that was in hall,

And bade that he should faste go’n,

Upon pain to be blind anon,

For Aeolus, the god of wind;

“In Thrace there ye shall him find,

And bid him bring his clarioun,

That is full diverse of his soun’,

And it is called Cleare Laud,

With which he wont is to heraud proclaim Them that me list y-praised be,

And also bid him how that he

Bring eke his other clarioun,

That hight* Slander in ev’ry town, *is called With which he wont is to diffame defame, disparage Them that me list, and do them shame.”

This messenger gan faste go’n,

And found where, in a cave of stone,

In a country that highte Thrace,

This Aeolus, *with harde grace, Evil favour attend him!*

Helde the windes in distress, constraint And gan them under him to press,

That they began as bears to roar,

He bound and pressed them so sore.

This messenger gan fast to cry,

“Rise up,” quoth he, “and fast thee hie, Until thou at my Lady be,

And take thy clarions eke with thee,

And speed thee forth.” And he anon

Took to him one that hight Triton, <70>

His clarions to beare tho, then And let a certain winde go,

That blew so hideously and high,

That it lefte not a sky cloud <71>

In all the welkin* long and broad. *sky This Aeolus nowhere abode delayed Till he was come to Fame’s feet,

And eke the man that Triton hete, is called And there he stood as still as stone.

And therewithal there came anon

Another huge company

Of goode folk, and gan to cry,

“Lady, grant us goode fame,

And let our workes have that name,

Now in honour of gentleness;

And all so God your soule bless;

For we have well deserved it,

Therefore is right we be well quit.” requited “As thrive I,” quoth she, “ye shall fail; Good workes shall you not avail

To have of me good fame as now;

But, wot ye what, I grante you.

That ye shall have a shrewde* fame, evil, cursed And wicked los, and worse name, *reputation <72>

Though ye good los have well deserv’d; Now go your way, for ye be serv’d.

And now, Dan Aeolus,” quoth she,

“Take forth thy trump anon, let see,

That is y-called Slander light,

And blow their los, that ev’ry wight

Speak of them harm and shrewedness, wickedness, malice Instead of good and worthiness;

For thou shalt trump all the contrair

Of that they have done, well and fair.”

Alas! thought I, what adventures (evil) fortunes Have these sorry creatures,

That they, amonges all the press,

Should thus be shamed guilteless?

But what! it muste needes be.

What did this Aeolus, but he

Took out his blacke trump of brass,

That fouler than the Devil was,

And gan this trumpet for to blow,

As all the world ‘t would overthrow.

Throughout every regioun

Went this foule trumpet’s soun’,

As swift as pellet out of gun

When fire is in the powder run.

And such a smoke gan out wend, go Out of this foule trumpet’s end,

Black, blue, greenish, swart,* and red, *black <73>

As doth when that men melt lead,

Lo! all on high from the tewell; chimney <74>

And thereto* one thing saw I well, *also That the farther that it ran,

The greater waxen it began,

As doth the river from a well, fountain And it stank as the pit of hell.

Alas! thus was their shame y-rung,

And guilteless, on ev’ry tongue.

Then came the thirde company,

And gan up to the dais to hie, hasten And down on knees they fell anon,

And saide, “We be ev’ry one

Folk that have full truely

Deserved fame right fully,

And pray you that it may be know

Right as it is, and forth y-blow.”

“I grante,” quoth she, “for me list

That now your goode works be wist; known And yet ye shall have better los,

In despite of all your foes,

Than worthy* is, and that anon. *merited Let now,” quoth she, “thy trumpet go’n, Thou Aeolus, that is so black,

And out thine other trumpet take,

That highte Laud, and blow it so

That through the world their fame may go, Easily and not too fast,

That it be knowen at the last.”

“Full gladly, Lady mine,” he said;

And out his trump of gold he braid pulled forth Anon, and set it to his mouth,

And blew it east, and west, and south, And north, as loud as any thunder,

That ev’ry wight had of it wonder,

So broad it ran ere that it stent. ceased And certes all the breath that went

Out of his trumpet’s mouthe smell’d

As* men a pot of balme held *as if Among a basket full of roses;

This favour did he to their loses. reputations And right with this I gan espy

Where came the fourthe company.

But certain they were wondrous few;

And gan to standen in a rew, row And saide, “Certes, Lady bright,

We have done well with all our might,

But we *not keep* to have fame; *care not Hide our workes and our name,

For Godde’s love! for certes we

Have surely done it for bounty, goodness, virtue And for no manner other thing.”

“I grante you all your asking,”

Quoth she; “let your workes be dead.”

With that I turn’d about my head,

And saw anon the fifthe rout, company That to this Lady gan to lout, bow down And down on knees anon to fall;

And to her then besoughten all

To hide their good workes eke,

And said, they gave* not a leek *cared For no fame, nor such renown;

For they for contemplatioun

And Godde’s love had y-wrought,

Nor of fame would they have aught.

“What!” quoth she, “and be ye wood?

And *weene ye* for to do good, do ye imagine

And for to have of that no fame?

Have ye despite to have my name? do ye despise

Nay, ye shall lie every one!

Blow thy trump, and that anon,”

Quoth she, “thou Aeolus, I hote, command And ring these folkes works by note,

That all the world may of it hear.”

And he gan blow their los* so clear *reputation Within his golden clarioun,

That through the worlde went the soun’, All so kindly, and so soft,

That their fame was blown aloft.

And then came the sixth company,

And gunnen* fast on Fame to cry; *began Right verily in this mannere

They saide; “Mercy, Lady dear!

To telle certain as it is,

We have done neither that nor this,

But idle all our life hath be; been But natheless yet praye we

That we may have as good a fame,

And great renown, and knowen* name, *well-known As they that have done noble gests, feats.

And have achieved all their quests, enterprises; desires As well of Love, as other thing;

All* was us never brooch, nor ring, *although Nor elles aught from women sent,

Nor ones in their hearte meant

To make us only friendly cheer,

But mighte *teem us upon bier; might lay us on our bier Yet let us to the people seem (by their adverse demeanour)*

Such as the world may of us deem, judge That women loven us for wood. madly It shall us do as muche good,

And to our heart as much avail,

The counterpoise,* ease, and travail, *compensation As we had won it with labour;

For that is deare bought honour,

*At the regard of* our great ease. in comparison with

And yet ye must us more please; in addition

Let us be holden eke thereto

Worthy, and wise, and good also,

And rich, and happy unto love,

For Godde’s love, that sits above;

Though we may not the body have

Of women, yet, so God you save,

Let men glue* on us the name; *fasten Sufficeth that we have the fame.”

“I grante,” quoth she, “by my troth;

Now Aeolus, withoute sloth,

Take out thy trump of gold,” quoth she, “And blow as they have asked me,

That ev’ry man ween* them at ease, believe Although they go in full bad leas.” sorry plight*

This Aeolus gan it so blow,

That through the world it was y-know.

Then came the seventh rout anon,

And fell on knees ev’ry one,

And saide, “Lady, grant us soon

The same thing, the same boon,

Which this next folk you have done.” the people just before us

“Fy on you,” quoth she, “ev’ry one!

Ye nasty swine, ye idle wretches,

Full fill’d of rotten slowe tetches! blemishes <75>

What? false thieves! ere ye would

*Be famous good,* and nothing n’ould have good fame

Deserve why, nor never raught, recked, cared (to do so) Men rather you to hangen ought.

For ye be like the sleepy cat,

That would have fish; but, know’st thou what?

He woulde no thing wet his claws.

Evil thrift come to your jaws,

And eke to mine, if I it grant,

Or do favour you to avaunt. boast your deeds Thou Aeolus, thou King of Thrace,

Go, blow this folk a *sorry grace,” disgrace Quoth she, “anon; and know’st thou how?

As I shall telle thee right now,

Say, these be they that would honour

Have, and do no kind of labour,

Nor do no good, and yet have laud,

And that men ween’d that Belle Isaude <76>

*Could them not of love wern; could not refuse them her love*

And yet she that grinds at the quern mill <77>

Is all too good to ease their heart.”

This Aeolus anon upstart,

And with his blacke clarioun

He gan to blazen out a soun’

As loud as bellows wind in hell;

And eke therewith, the sooth to tell,

This sounde was so full of japes, jests As ever were mows* in apes; *grimaces And that went all the world about,

That ev’ry wight gan on them shout,

And for to laugh as they were wood; mad *Such game found they in their hood.* <78> so were they ridiculed

Then came another company,

That hadde done the treachery,

The harm, and the great wickedness,

That any hearte coulde guess;

And prayed her to have good fame,

And that she would do them no shame,

But give them los and good renown,

And do it blow in clarioun. cause it to be blown

“Nay, wis!” quoth she, “it were a vice; All be there in me no justice,

Me liste not to do it now,

Nor this will I grant to you.”

Then came there leaping in a rout, crowd And gan to clappen* all about *strike, knock Every man upon the crown,

That all the hall began to soun’;

And saide; “Lady lefe* and dear, *loved We be such folk as ye may hear.

To tellen all the tale aright,

We be shrewes* every wight, *wicked, impious people And have delight in wickedness,

As goode folk have in goodness,

And joy to be y-knowen shrews,

And full of vice and *wicked thews; evil qualities*

Wherefore we pray you *on a row, all together*

That our fame be such y-know

In all things right as it is.”

“I grant it you,” quoth she, “y-wis.

But what art thou that say’st this tale, That wearest on thy hose a pale, vertical stripe And on thy tippet such a bell?”

“Madame,” quoth he, “sooth to tell,

I am *that ilke shrew,* y-wis, the same wretch

That burnt the temple of Isidis,

In Athenes, lo! that city.” <79>

“And wherefore didst thou so?” quoth she.

“By my thrift!” quoth he, “Madame,

I woulde fain have had a name

As other folk had in the town;

Although they were of great renown

For their virtue and their thews, good qualities Thought I, as great fame have shrews

(Though it be naught) for shrewdeness, As good folk have for goodeness;

And since I may not have the one,

The other will I not forgo’n.

So for to gette *fame’s hire, the reward of fame*

The temple set I all afire.

*Now do our los be blowen swithe,

As wisly be thou ever blithe.” see note <80>

“Gladly,” quoth she; “thou Aeolus,

Hear’st thou what these folk prayen us?”

“Madame, I hear full well,” quoth he,

“And I will trumpen it, pardie!”

And took his blacke trumpet fast,

And gan to puffen and to blast,

Till it was at the worlde’s end.

With that I gan *aboute wend, turn*

For one that stood right at my back

Me thought full goodly* to me spake, *courteously, fairly And saide, “Friend, what is thy name?

Art thou come hither to have fame?”

“Nay, *for soothe,* friend!” quoth I; surely

“I came not hither, *grand mercy, great thanks*

For no such cause, by my head!

Sufficeth me, as I were dead,

That no wight have my name in hand.

I wot myself best how I stand,

For what I dree,* or what I think, *suffer I will myself it alle drink,

Certain, for the more part,

As far forth as I know mine art.”

“What doest thou here, then,” quoth he.

Quoth I, “That will I telle thee;

The cause why I stande here,

Is some new tidings for to lear, learn Some newe thing, I know not what,

Tidings either this or that,

Of love, or suche thinges glad.

For, certainly, he that me made

To come hither, said to me

I shoulde bothe hear and see

In this place wondrous things;

But these be not such tidings

As I meant of.” “No?” quoth he.

And I answered, “No, pardie!

For well I wot ever yet,

Since that first I hadde wit,

That some folk have desired fame

Diversely, and los, and name;

But certainly I knew not how

Nor where that Fame dwelled, ere now

Nor eke of her description,

Nor also her condition,

Nor *the order of her doom, the principle of her judgments*

Knew I not till I hither come.”

“Why, then, lo! be these tidings,

That thou nowe hither brings,

That thou hast heard?” quoth he to me.

“But now no force, for well I see no matter

What thou desirest for to lear.”

Come forth, and stand no longer here.

And I will thee, withoute dread, doubt Into another place lead,

Where thou shalt hear many a one.”

Then gan I forth with him to go’n

Out of the castle, sooth to say.

Then saw I stand in a vally,

Under the castle faste by,

A house, that domus Daedali,

That Labyrinthus <81> called is,

N’as* made so wondrously, y-wis, was not Nor half so quaintly was y-wrought. *strangely And evermore, as swift as thought,

This quainte* house aboute went, strange That nevermore it stille stent; ceased to move*

And thereout came so great a noise,

That had it stooden upon Oise, <82>

Men might have heard it easily

To Rome, I *trowe sickerly. confidently believe*

And the noise which I heard,

For all the world right so it far’d

As doth the routing* of the stone rushing noise

That from the engine<83> is let go’n.

And all this house of which I read tell you Was made of twigges sallow,* red, *willow And green eke, and some were white,

Such as men *to the cages twight, pull to make cages*

Or maken of these panniers,

Or elles hutches or dossers; back-baskets That, for the swough* and for the twigs, *rushing noise This house was all so full of gigs, sounds of wind And all so full eke of chirkings, creakings And of many other workings;

And eke this house had of entries

As many as leaves be on trees,

In summer when that they be green,

And on the roof men may yet see’n

A thousand holes, and well mo’,

To let the soundes oute go.

And by day *in ev’ry tide continually*

Be all the doores open wide,

And by night each one unshet; unshut, open Nor porter there is none to let hinder No manner tidings in to pace;

Nor ever rest is in that place,

That it n’is* fill’d full of tidings, *is not Either loud, or of whisperings;

And ever all the house’s angles

Are full of *rownings and of jangles, whisperings and chatterings*

Of wars, of peace, of marriages,

Of rests, of labour, of voyages,

Of abode, of death, of life,

Of love, of hate, accord, of strife,

Of loss, of lore, and of winnings,

Of health, of sickness, of buildings,

Of faire weather and tempests,

Of qualm* of folkes and of beasts; *sickness Of divers transmutations

Of estates and of regions;

Of trust, of dread,* of jealousy, *doubt Of wit, of cunning, of folly,

Of plenty, and of great famine,

Of *cheap, of dearth,* and of ruin; cheapness & dearness (of food)

Of good or of misgovernment,

Of fire, and diverse accident.

And lo! this house of which I write,

Sicker be ye, it was not lite; be assured small For it was sixty mile of length,

All* was the timber of no strength; *although Yet it is founded to endure,

*While that it list to Adventure, while fortune pleases*

That is the mother of tidings,

As is the sea of wells and springs;

And it was shapen like a cage.

“Certes,” quoth I, “in all mine age, life Ne’er saw I such a house as this.”

And as I wonder’d me, y-wis,

Upon this house, then ware was I

How that mine eagle, faste by,

Was perched high upon a stone;

And I gan straighte to him go’n,

And saide thus; “I praye thee

That thou a while abide* me, *wait for For Godde’s love, and let me see

What wonders in this place be;

For yet parauntre* I may lear* peradventure **learn Some good thereon, or somewhat hear,

That lefe me were, ere that I went.” were pleasing to me

“Peter! that is mine intent,”

Quoth he to me; “therefore I dwell; tarry But, certain, one thing I thee tell,

That, but* I bringe thee therein, unless Thou shalt never can begin be able*

To come into it, out of doubt,

So fast it whirleth, lo! about.

But since that Jovis, of his grace,

As I have said, will thee solace

Finally with these ilke* things, *same These uncouth sightes and tidings,

To pass away thy heaviness,

Such ruth* hath he of thy distress *compassion That thou suff’rest debonairly, gently And know’st thyselven utterly

Desperate of alle bliss,

Since that Fortune hath made amiss

The fruit of all thy hearte’s rest

Languish, and eke *in point to brest; on the point of breaking*

But he, through his mighty merite,

Will do thee ease, all be it lite, little And gave express commandement,

To which I am obedient,

To further thee with all my might,

And wiss* and teache thee aright, *direct Where thou may’st moste tidings hear,

Shalt thou anon many one lear.”

And with this word he right anon

Hent* me up betwixt his tone,* caught **toes And at a window in me brought,

That in this house was, as me thought; And therewithal me thought it stent, stopped And nothing it aboute went;

And set me in the floore down.

But such a congregatioun

Of folk, as I saw roam about,

Some within and some without,

Was never seen, nor shall be eft, again, hereafter That, certes, in the world n’ is* left *is not So many formed by Nature,

Nor dead so many a creature,

That well unnethes* in that place *scarcely Had I a foote breadth of space;

And ev’ry wight that I saw there

Rown’d* evereach in other’s ear *whispered A newe tiding privily,

Or elles told all openly

Right thus, and saide, “Know’st not thou What is betid,* lo! righte now?” *happened “No,” quoth he; “telle me what.”

And then he told him this and that,

And swore thereto, that it was sooth;

“Thus hath he said,” and “Thus he do’th,”

And “Thus shall ‘t be,” and “Thus heard I say “That shall be found, that dare I lay;” wager That all the folk that is alive

Have not the cunning to descrive describe The thinges that I hearde there,

What aloud, and what in th’ear.

But all the wonder most was this;

When one had heard a thing, y-wis,

He came straight to another wight,

And gan him tellen anon right

The same tale that to him was told,

Or it a furlong way was old, <84>

And gan somewhat for to eche eke, add To this tiding in his speech,

More than it ever spoken was.

And not so soon departed n’as was He from him, than that he met

With the third; and *ere he let

Any stound,* he told him als’; without delaying a momen

Were the tidings true or false,

Yet would he tell it natheless,

And evermore with more increase

Than it was erst.* Thus north and south *at first Went ev’ry tiding from mouth to mouth, And that increasing evermo’,

As fire is wont to *quick and go become alive, and spread*

From a spark y-sprung amiss,

Till all a city burnt up is.

And when that it was full up-sprung,

And waxen* more on ev’ry tongue *increased Than e’er it was, it went anon

Up to a window out to go’n;

Or, but it mighte thereout pass,

It gan creep out at some crevass, crevice, chink And fly forth faste for the nonce.

And sometimes saw I there at once

*A leasing, and a sad sooth saw, a falsehood and an earnest That gan *of adventure* draw true saying by chance Out at a window for to pace;

And when they metten in that place,

They were checked both the two,

And neither of them might out go;

For other so they gan *to crowd, push, squeeze, each other*

Till each of them gan cryen loud,

“Let me go first!” — “Nay, but let me!

And here I will ensure thee,

With vowes, if thou wilt do so,

That I shall never from thee go,

But be thine owen sworen brother!

We will us medle* each with other, *mingle That no man, be he ne’er so wroth,

Shall have one of us two, but both

At ones, as *beside his leave, despite his desire*

Come we at morning or at eve,

Be we cried or *still y-rowned.” quietly whispered*

Thus saw I false and sooth, compouned, compounded Together fly for one tiding.

Then out at holes gan to wring squeeze, struggle Every tiding straight to Fame;

And she gan give to each his name

After her disposition,

And gave them eke duration,

Some to wax and wane soon,

As doth the faire white moon;

And let them go. There might I see

Winged wonders full fast flee,

Twenty thousand in a rout, company As Aeolus them blew about.

And, Lord! this House in alle times

Was full of shipmen and pilgrimes, <85>

With *scrippes bretfull of leasings, wallets brimful of falsehoods*

Entremedled with tidings true stories And eke alone by themselve.

And many thousand times twelve

Saw I eke of these pardoners,<86>

Couriers, and eke messengers,

With boistes* crammed full of lies *boxes As ever vessel was with lyes. lees of wine And as I altherfaste* went *with all speed About, and did all mine intent

Me *for to play and for to lear, to amuse and instruct myself*

And eke a tiding for to hear

That I had heard of some country,

That shall not now be told for me; —

For it no need is, readily;

Folk can sing it better than I.

For all must out, or late or rath, soon All the sheaves in the lath; barn <87>

I heard a greate noise withal

In a corner of the hall,

Where men of love tidings told;

And I gan thitherward behold,

For I saw running ev’ry wight

As fast as that they hadde might,

And ev’reach cried, “What thing is that?”

And some said, “I know never what.”

And when they were all on a heap,

Those behinde gan up leap,

And clomb* upon each other fast, <88> *climbed And up the noise on high they cast,

And trodden fast on others’ heels,

And stamp’d, as men do after eels.

But at the last I saw a man,

Which that I not describe can;

But that he seemed for to be

A man of great authority.

And therewith I anon abraid awoke Out of my sleepe, half afraid;

Rememb’ring well what I had seen,

And how high and far I had been

In my ghost; and had great wonder

Of what the mighty god of thunder

Had let me know; and gan to write

Like as ye have me heard endite.

Wherefore to study and read alway

I purpose to do day by day.

And thus, in dreaming and in game,

Endeth this little book of Fame.

Here endeth the Book of Fame

Notes to The House of Fame

1. Rood: the cross on which Christ was crucified; Anglo-Saxon, “Rode.”

2. Well worth of this thing greate clerks: Great scholars set much worth upon this thing — that is, devote much labour, attach much importance, to the subject of dreams.

3. The poet briefly refers to the description of the House of Somnus, in Ovid’s “Metamorphoses,” 1. xi. 592, et seqq.; where the cave of Somnus is said to be “prope Cimmerios,” (“near the Cimmerians”) and “Saxo tamen exit ab imo Rivus aquae Lethes.” (“A stream of Lethe’s water issues from the base of the rock”)

4. See the account of the vision of Croesus in The Monk’s Tale.

5. The meaning of the allusion is not clear; but the story of the pilgrims and the peas is perhaps suggested by the line following — “to make lithe [soft] what erst was hard.” St Leonard was the patron of captives.

5. Corsaint: The “corpus sanctum” — the holy body, or relics, preserved in the shrine.

7. So, in the Temple of Venus described in The Knight’s Tale, the Goddess is represented as “naked floating in the large sea”.

8. Vulcano: Vulcan, the husband of Venus.

9. Ered: ploughed; Latin, “arare,” Anglo-Saxon, “erean,”

plough.

10. Sours: Soaring ascent; a hawk was said to be “on the soar”

when he mounted, “on the sours” or “souse” when he descended on the prey, and took it in flight.

11. This is only one among many instances in which Chaucer disclaims the pursuits of love; and the description of his manner of life which follows is sufficient to show that the disclaimer was no mere mock-humble affectation of a gallant.

12. This reference, approximately fixing the date at which the poem was composed, points clearly to Chaucer’s daily work as Comptroller of the Customs — a post which he held from 1374

to 1386.

13. This is a frank enough admission that the poet was fond of good cheer; and the effect of his “little abstinence” on his corporeal appearance is humorously described in the Prologue to the Tale of Sir Thopas, where the Host compliments Chaucer on being as well shapen in the waist as himself.

14. “To make the beard” means to befool or deceive. See note 15 to the Reeve’s Tale. Precisely the same idea is conveyed in the modern slang word “shave” — meaning a trick or fraud.

15. Lovedays: see note 21 to the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales.

16. If this reference is to any book of Chaucer’s in which the House of Fame was mentioned, the book has not come down to us. It has been reasonably supposed, however, that Chaucer means by “his own book” Ovid’s “Metamorphoses,” of which he was evidently very fond; and in the twelfth book of that poem the Temple of Fame is described.

17. Saint Julian was the patron of hospitality; so the Franklin, in the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales is said to be “Saint Julian in his country,” for his open house and liberal cheer. The eagle, at sight of the House of Fame, cries out “bon hostel!” — “a fair lodging, a glorious house, by St Julian!”

18. The laurel-tree is sacred to Apollo. See note 11 to The Assembly of Fowls.

19. French, “roche,” a rock.

20. St. Thomas of Kent: Thomas a Beckett, whose shrine was at Canterbury.

21. The half or side of the rock which was towards the poet, was inscribed with, etc.

22. Cop: summit; German, “kopf”; the head.

23. Gestiours: tellers of stories; reciters of brave feats or “gests.”

24. Arion: the celebrated Greek bard and citharist, who, in the seventh century before Christ, lived at the court of Periander, tyrant of Corinth. The story of his preservation by the dolphin, when the covetous sailors forced him to leap into the sea, is well known.

25. Chiron the Centaur was renowned for skill in music and the arts, which he owed to the teaching of Apollo and Artemis. He became in turn the instructor of Peleus, Achilles, and other descendants of Aeacus; hence he is called “Aeacides” — because tutor to the Aeacides, and thus, so to speak, of that “family.”

26. Glasgerion is the subject of a ballad given in “Percy’s Reliques,” where we are told that

“Glasgerion was a king’s own son,

And a harper he was good;

He harped in the king’s chamber,

Where cup and candle stood.”

27. Cornemuse: bagpipe; French, “cornemuse.” Shawmies: shalms or psalteries; an instrument resembling a harp.

28. Dulcet: a kind of pipe, probably corresponding with the “dulcimer;” the idea of sweet — French, “doux;” Latin, “dulcis”

— is at the root of both words.

29. In the early printed editions of Chaucer, the two names are “Citherus” and “Proserus;” in the manuscript which Mr Bell followed (No. 16 in the Fairfax collection) they are “Atileris”

and “Pseustis.” But neither alternative gives more than the slightest clue to identification. “Citherus” has been retained in the text; it may have been employed as an appellative of Apollo, derived from “cithara,” the instrument on which he played; and it is not easy to suggest a better substitute for it than “Clonas” –

– an early Greek poet and musician who flourished six hundred years before Christ. For “Proserus,” however, has been substituted “Pronomus,” the name of a celebrated Grecian player on the pipe, who taught Alcibiades the flute, and who therefore, although Theban by birth, might naturally be said by the poet to be “of Athens.”

30. Marsyas: The Phrygian, who, having found the flute of Athena, which played of itself most exquisite music, challenged Apollo to a contest, the victor in which was to do with the vanquished as he pleased. Marsyas was beaten, and Apollo flayed him alive.

31. The German (Deutsche) language, in Chaucer’s time, had not undergone that marked literary division into German and Dutch which was largely accomplished through the influence of the works of Luther and the other Reformers. Even now, the flute is the favourite musical instrument of the Fatherland; and the devotion of the Germans to poetry and music has been celebrated since the days of Tacitus.

32. Reyes: a kind of dance, or song to be accompanied with dancing.

33. Beam: horn, trumpet; Anglo-Saxon, “bema.”

34. Messenus: Misenus, son of Aeolus, the companion and trumpeter of Aeneas, was drowned near the Campanian headland called Misenum after his name. (Aeneid, vi. 162 et seqq.)

35. Joab’s fame as a trumpeter is founded on two verses in 2

Samuel (ii. 28, xx. 22), where we are told that he “blew a trumpet,” which all the people of Israel obeyed, in the one case desisting from a pursuit, in the other raising a siege.

36. Theodamas or Thiodamas, king of the Dryopes, plays a prominent part in the tenth book of Statius’ “Thebaid.” Both he and Joab are also mentioned as great trumpeters in The Merchant’s Tale.

37. Jongelours: jugglers; French, “jongleur.”

38. Tregetours: tricksters, jugglers. For explanation of this word, see note 14 to the Franklin’s tale.

39. Pythonesses: women who, like the Pythia in Apollo’s temple at Delphi, were possessed with a spirit of divination or prophecy. The barbarous Latin form of the word was “Pythonissa” or “Phitonissa.” See note 9 to the Friar’s Tale.

40. Subfumigations: a ceremony employed to drive away evil spirits by burning incense; the practice of smoking cattle, corn, &c., has not died out in some country districts.

41. In certain ascendents: under certain planetary influences.

The next lines recall the alleged malpractices of witches, who tortured little images of wax, in the design of causing the same torments to the person represented — or, vice versa, treated these images for the cure of hurts or sickness.

42. Medea: celebrated for her magical power, through which she restored to youth Aeson, the father of Jason; and caused the death of Jason’s wife, Creusa, by sending her a poisoned garment which consumed her to ashes.

43. Circes: the sorceress Circe, who changed the companions of Ulysses into swine.

44. Calypsa: Calypso, on whose island of Ogygia Ulysses was wrecked. The goddess promised the hero immortality if he remained with her; but he refused, and, after a detention of seven years, she had to let him go.

45. Hermes Ballenus: this is supposed to mean Hermes Trismegistus (of whom see note 19 to the Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale); but the explanation of the word “Ballenus” is not quite obvious. The god Hermes of the Greeks (Mercurius of the Romans) had the surname “Cyllenius,” from the mountain where he was born — Mount Cyllene, in Arcadia; and the alteration into “Ballenus” would be quite within the range of a copyist’s capabilities, while we find in the mythological character of Hermes enough to warrant his being classed with jugglers and magicians.

46. Limote and Colle Tregetour seem to have been famous sorcerers or jugglers, but nothing is now known of either.

47. Simon Magus: of whom we read in Acts viii. 9, et seqq.

48. “And made well more than it was

To seemen ev’rything, y-wis,

As kindly thing of Fame it is;”

i.e. It is in the nature of fame to exaggerate everything.

49. Corbets: the corbels, or capitals of pillars in a Gothic building; they were often carved with fantastic figures and devices.

50. A largess!: the cry with which heralds and pursuivants at a tournament acknowledged the gifts or largesses of the knights whose achievements they celebrated.

51. Nobles: gold coins of exceptional fineness. Sterlings: sterling coins; not “luxemburgs”, but stamped and authorised money. See note 9 to the Miller’s Tale and note 6 to the Prologue to the Monk’s tale.

52. Coat-armure: the sleeveless coat or “tabard,” on which the arms of the wearer or his lord were emblazoned.

53. “But for to prove in alle wise

As fine as ducat of Venise”

i.e. In whatever way it might be proved or tested, it would be found as fine as a Venetian ducat.

54. Lapidaire: a treatise on precious stones.

55. See imperial: a seat placed on the dais, or elevated portion of the hall at the upper end, where the lord and the honoured guests sat.

56. The starres seven: Septentrion; the Great Bear or Northern Wain, which in this country appears to be at the top of heaven.

57. The Apocalypse: The last book of the New Testament, also called Revelations. The four beasts are in chapter iv. 6.

58. “Oundy” is the French “ondoye,” from “ondoyer,” to undulate or wave.

59. Partridges’ wings: denoting swiftness.

60. Hercules lost his life with the poisoned shirt of Nessus, sent to him by the jealous Dejanira.

61. Of the secte Saturnine: Of the Saturnine school; so called because his history of the Jewish wars narrated many horrors, cruelties, and sufferings, over which Saturn was the presiding deity. See note 71 to the Knight’s tale.

62. Compare the account of the “bodies seven” given by the Canon’s Yeoman:

“Sol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe; Mars iron, Mercury quicksilver we clepe; Saturnus lead, and Jupiter is tin,

And Venus copper, by my father’s kin.”

63. Statius is called a “Tholosan,” because by some, among them Dante, he was believed to have been a native of Tolosa, now Toulouse. He wrote the “Thebais,” in twelve books, and the “Achilleis,” of which only two were finished.

64. Dares Phrygius and Dictys Cretensis were the names attached to histories of the Trojan War pretended to have been written immediately after the fall of Troy.

65. Lollius: The unrecognisable author whom Chaucer professes to follow in his “Troilus and Cressida,” and who has been thought to mean Boccaccio.

66. Guido de Colonna, or de Colempnis, was a native of Messina, who lived about the end of the thirteenth century, and wrote in Latin prose a history including the war of Troy.

67. English Gaufrid: Geoffrey of Monmouth, who drew from Troy the original of the British race. See Spenser’s “Faerie Queen,” book ii. canto x.

68. Lucan, in his “Pharsalia,” a poem in ten books, recounted the incidents of the war between Caesar and Pompey.

69. Claudian of Alexandria, “the most modern of the ancient poets,” lived some three centuries after Christ, and among other works wrote three books on “The Rape of Proserpine.”

70. Triton was a son of Poseidon or Neptune, and represented usually as blowing a trumpet made of a conch or shell; he is therefore introduced by Chaucer as the squire of Aeolus.

71. Sky: cloud; Anglo-Saxon, “scua;” Greek, “skia.”

72. Los: reputation. See note 5 to Chaucer’s Tale of Meliboeus.

73. Swart: black; German, “schwarz.”

74. Tewell: the pipe, chimney, of the furnace; French “tuyau.”

In the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales, the Monk’s head is described as steaming like a lead furnace.

75. Tetches: blemishes, spots; French, “tache.”

76. For the story of Belle Isaude see note 21 to the Assembly of Fowls.

77. Quern: mill. See note 6 to the Monk’s Tale.

78. To put an ape into one’s hood, upon his head, is to befool him; see the prologue to the Prioresses’s Tale, l.6.

79. Obviously Chaucer should have said the temple of Diana, or Artemis (to whom, as Goddess of the Moon, the Egyptian Isis corresponded), at Ephesus. The building, famous for its splendour, was set on fire, in B.C. 356, by Erostatus, merely that he might perpetuate his name.

80. “Now do our los be blowen swithe,

As wisly be thou ever blithe.” i.e.

Cause our renown to be blown abroad quickly, as surely as you wish to be glad.

81. The Labyrinth at Cnossus in Crete, constructed by Dedalus for the safe keeping of the Minotaur, the fruit of Pasiphae’s unnatural love.

82. The river Oise, an affluent of the Seine, in France.

83. The engine: The machines for casting stones, which in Chaucer time served the purpose of great artillery; they were called “mangonells,” “springolds,” &c.; and resembled in construction the “ballistae” and “catapultae” of the ancients.

84. Or it a furlong way was old: before it was older than the space of time during which one might walk a furlong; a measure of time often employed by Chaucer.

85. Shipmen and pilgrimes: sailors and pilgrims, who seem to have in Chaucer’s time amply warranted the proverbial imputation against “travellers’ tales.”

86. Pardoners: of whom Chaucer, in the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales, has given us no flattering typical portrait 87. Lath: barn; still used in Lincolnshire and some parts of the north. The meaning is, that the poet need not tell what tidings he wanted to hear, since everything of the kind must some day come out — as sooner or later every sheaf in the barn must be brought forth (to be threshed).

88. A somewhat similar heaping-up of people is de scribed in Spenser’s account of the procession of Lucifera (“The Faerie Queen,” book i. canto iv.), where, as the royal dame passes to her coach,

“The heaps of people, thronging in the hall, Do ride each other, upon her to gaze.”

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

[In several respects, the story of “Troilus and Cressida” may be regarded as Chaucer’s noblest poem. Larger in scale than any other of his individual works — numbering nearly half as many lines as The Canterbury Tales contain, without reckoning the two in prose — the conception of the poem is yet so closely and harmoniously worked out, that all the parts are perfectly balanced, and from first to last scarcely a single line is superfluous or misplaced. The finish and beauty of the poem as a work of art, are not more conspicuous than the knowledge of human nature displayed in the portraits of the principal characters. The result is, that the poem is more modern, in form and in spirit, than almost any other work of its author; the chaste style and sedulous polish of the stanzas admit of easy change into the forms of speech now current in England; while the analytical and subjective character of the work gives it, for the nineteenth century reader, an interest of the same kind as that inspired, say, by George Eliot’s wonderful study of character in “Romola.” Then, above all, “Troilus and Cressida”

is distinguished by a purity and elevation of moral tone, that may surprise those who judge of Chaucer only by the coarse traits of his time preserved in The Canterbury Tales, or who may expect to find here the Troilus, the Cressida, and the Pandarus of Shakspeare’s play. It is to no trivial gallant, no woman of coarse mind and easy virtue, no malignantly subservient and utterly debased procurer, that Chaucer introduces us. His Troilus is a noble, sensitive, generous, pure-souled, manly, magnanimous hero, who is only confirmed and stimulated in all virtue by his love, who lives for his lady, and dies for her falsehood, in a lofty and chivalrous fashion. His Cressida is a stately, self-contained, virtuous, tender-hearted woman, who loves with all the pure strength and trustful abandonment of a generous and exalted nature, and who is driven to infidelity perhaps even less by pressure of circumstances, than by the sheer force of her love, which will go on loving — loving what it can have, when that which it would rather have is for the time unattainable. His Pandarus is a gentleman, though a gentleman with a flaw in him; a man who, in his courtier-like good-nature, places the claims of comradeship above those of honour, and plots away the virtue of his niece, that he may appease the love-sorrow of his friend; all the time conscious that he is not acting as a gentleman should, and desirous that others should give him that justification which he can get but feebly and diffidently in himself. In fact, the “Troilus and Cressida” of Chaucer is the “Troilus and Cressida” of Shakespeare transfigured; the atmosphere, the colour, the spirit, are wholly different; the older poet presents us in the chief characters to noble natures, the younger to ignoble natures in all the characters; and the poem with which we have now to do stands at this day among the noblest expositions of love’s workings in the human heart and life. It is divided into five books, containing altogether 8246

lines. The First Book (1092 lines) tells how Calchas, priest of Apollo, quitting beleaguered Troy, left there his only daughter Cressida; how Troilus, the youngest brother of Hector and son of King Priam, fell in love with her at first sight, at a festival in the temple of Pallas, and sorrowed bitterly for her love; and how his friend, Cressida’s uncle, Pandarus, comforted him by the promise of aid in his suit. The Second Book (1757 lines) relates the subtle manoeuvres of Pandarus to induce Cressida to return the love of Troilus; which he accomplishes mainly by touching at once the lady’s admiration for his heroism, and her pity for his love-sorrow on her account. The Third Book (1827

lines) opens with an account of the first interview between the lovers; ere it closes, the skilful stratagems of Pandarus have placed the pair in each other’s arms under his roof, and the lovers are happy in perfect enjoyment of each other’s love and trust. In the Fourth Book (1701 lines) the course of true love ceases to run smooth; Cressida is compelled to quit the city, in ransom for Antenor, captured in a skirmish; and she sadly departs to the camp of the Greeks, vowing that she will make her escape, and return to Troy and Troilus within ten days. The Fifth Book (1869 lines) sets out by describing the court which Diomedes, appointed to escort her, pays to Cressida on the way to the camp; it traces her gradual progress from indifference to her new suitor, to incontinence with him, and it leaves the deserted Troilus dead on the field of battle, where he has sought an eternal refuge from the new grief provoked by clear proof of his mistress’s infidelity. The polish, elegance, and power of the style, and the acuteness of insight into character, which mark the poem, seem to claim for it a date considerably later than that adopted by those who assign its composition to Chaucer’s youth: and the literary allusions and proverbial expressions with which it abounds, give ample evidence that, if Chaucer really wrote it at an early age, his youth must have been precocious beyond all actual record. Throughout the poem there are repeated references to the old authors of Trojan histories who are named in “The House of Fame”; but Chaucer especially mentions one Lollius as the author from whom he takes the groundwork of the poem. Lydgate is responsible for the assertion that Lollius meant Boccaccio; and though there is no authority for supposing that the English really meant to designate the Italian poet under that name, there is abundant internal proof that the poem was really founded on the “Filostrato” of Boccaccio. But the tone of Chaucer’s work is much higher than that of his Italian “auctour;” and while in some passages the imitation is very close, in all that is characteristic in “Troilus and Cressida,” Chaucer has fairly thrust his models out of sight. In the present edition, it has been possible to give no more than about one-fourth of the poem —

274 out of the 1178 seven-line stanzas that compose it; but pains have been taken to convey, in the connecting prose passages, a faithful idea of what is perforce omitted.]

THE FIRST BOOK.

THE double sorrow <1> of Troilus to tell, That was the King Priamus’ son of Troy, In loving how his adventures* fell fortunes From woe to weal, and after out of joy, *afterwards My purpose is, ere I you parte froy. from Tisiphone,<2> thou help me to indite

These woeful words, that weep as I do write.

To thee I call, thou goddess of torment!

Thou cruel wight, that sorrowest ever in pain; Help me, that am the sorry instrument

That helpeth lovers, as I can, to plain. complain For well it sits,* the soothe for to sayn, *befits Unto a woeful wight a dreary fere, companion And to a sorry tale a sorry cheer. countenance For I, that God of Love’s servants serve, Nor dare to love for mine unlikeliness,* <3> unsuitableness Praye for speed, although I shoulde sterve,* success **die So far I am from his help in darkness; But natheless, might I do yet gladness To any lover, or any love avail, advance Have thou the thank, and mine be the travail.

But ye lovers that bathen in gladness, If any drop of pity in you be,

Remember you for old past heaviness,

For Godde’s love, and on adversity

That others suffer; think how sometime ye Founde how Love durste you displease;

Or elles ye have won it with great ease.

And pray for them that been in the case Of Troilus, as ye may after hear,

That Love them bring in heaven to solace; delight, comfort And for me pray also, that God so dear May give me might to show, in some mannere, Such pain or woe as Love’s folk endure, In Troilus’ *unseely adventure unhappy fortune*

And pray for them that eke be despair’d In love, that never will recover’d be; And eke for them that falsely be appair’d slandered Through wicked tongues, be it he or she: Or thus bid* God, for his benignity, *pray To grant them soon out of this world to pace, pass, go That be despaired of their love’s grace.

And bid also for them that be at ease

In love, that God them grant perseverance, And send them might their loves so to please, That it to them be *worship and pleasance; honour and pleasure*

For so hope I my soul best to advance, To pray for them that Love’s servants be, And write their woe, and live in charity; And for to have of them compassion,

As though I were their owen brother dear.

Now listen all with good entention, attention For I will now go straight to my mattere, In which ye shall the double sorrow hear Of Troilus, in loving of Cresside,

And how that she forsook him ere she died.

In Troy, during the siege, dwelt “a lord of great authority, a great divine,” named Calchas; who, through the oracle of Apollo, knew that Troy should be destroyed. He stole away secretly to the Greek camp, where he was gladly received, and honoured for his skill in divining, of which the besiegers hoped to make use. Within the city there was great anger at the treason of Calchas; and the people declared that he and all his kin were worthy to be burnt. His daughter, whom he had left in the city, a widow and alone, was in great fear for her life.

Cressida was this lady’s name aright;

As to my doom, in alle Troy city in my judgment

So fair was none, for over ev’ry wight So angelic was her native beauty,

That like a thing immortal seemed she, As sooth a perfect heav’nly creature,

That down seem’d sent in scorning of Nature.

In her distress, “well nigh out of her wit for pure fear,” she appealed for protection to Hector; who, “piteous of nature,”

and touched by her sorrow and her beauty, assured her of safety, so long as she pleased to dwell in Troy. The siege went on; but they of Troy did not neglect the honour and worship of their deities; most of all of “the relic hight Palladion, <4> that was their trust aboven ev’ry one.” In April, “when clothed is the mead with newe green, of jolly Ver [Spring] the prime,” the Trojans went to hold the festival of Palladion — crowding to the temple, “in all their beste guise,” lusty knights, fresh ladies, and maidens bright.

Among the which was this Cresseida,

In widow’s habit black; but natheless, Right as our firste letter is now A,

In beauty first so stood she makeless; matchless Her goodly looking gladded all the press; crowd Was never seen thing to be praised derre, dearer, more worthy Nor under blacke cloud so bright a sterre, star As she was, as they saiden, ev’ry one

That her behelden in her blacke weed; garment And yet she stood, full low and still, alone, Behind all other folk, *in little brede, inconspicuously*

And nigh the door, ay *under shame’s drede; for dread of shame*

Simple of bearing, debonair* of cheer, gracious With a full sure looking and mannere. *assured Dan Troilus, as he was wont to guide

His younge knightes, led them up and down In that large temple upon ev’ry side,

Beholding ay the ladies of the town;

Now here, now there, for no devotioun

Had he to none, to *reave him* his rest, deprive him of

But gan to *praise and lacke whom him lest; praise and disparage whom he pleased*

And in his walk full fast he gan to wait watch, observe If knight or squier of his company

Gan for to sigh, or let his eyen bait feed On any woman that he could espy;

Then he would smile, and hold it a folly, And say him thus: “Ah, Lord, she sleepeth soft For love of thee, when as thou turnest oft.

“I have heard told, pardie, of your living, Ye lovers, and your lewed* observance, *ignorant, foolish And what a labour folk have in winning Of love, and in it keeping with doubtance; doubt And when your prey is lost, woe and penance; suffering Oh, very fooles! may ye no thing see?

Can none of you aware by other be?”

But the God of Love vowed vengeance on Troilus for that despite, and, showing that his bow was not broken, “hit him at the full.”

Within the temple went he forth playing, This Troilus, with ev’ry wight about,

On this lady and now on that looking,

Whether she were of town, or *of without; from beyond the walls*

And upon cas befell, that through the rout by chance crowd His eye pierced, and so deep it went,

Till on Cresside it smote, and there it stent; stayed And suddenly wax’d wonder sore astoned, amazed And gan her bet* behold in busy wise: *better “Oh, very god!” <5> thought he; “where hast thou woned dwelt That art so fair and goodly to devise? describe Therewith his heart began to spread and rise; And soft he sighed, lest men might him hear, And caught again his former *playing cheer. jesting demeanour*

*She was not with the least of her stature, she was tall*

But all her limbes so well answering

Were to womanhood, that creature

Was never lesse mannish in seeming.

And eke *the pure wise of her moving by very the way She showed well, that men might in her guess she moved*

Honour, estate,* and womanly nobless. *dignity Then Troilus right wonder well withal

Began to like her moving and her cheer, countenance Which somedeal dainous* was, for she let fall disdainful Her look a little aside, in such mannere Ascaunce “What! may I not stande here?” *as if to say <6>

And after that *her looking gan she light, her expression became That never thought him see so good a sight. more pleasant*

And of her look in him there gan to quicken So great desire, and strong affection, That in his hearte’s bottom gan to sticken Of her the fix’d and deep impression;

And though he erst* had pored** up and down, previously *looked Then was he glad his hornes in to shrink; Unnethes* wist he how to look or wink. *scarcely Lo! he that held himselfe so cunning,

And scorned them that Love’s paines drien, suffer Was full unware that love had his dwelling Within the subtile streames* of her eyen; *rays, glances That suddenly he thought he felte dien, Right with her look, the spirit in his heart; Blessed be Love, that thus can folk convert!

She thus, in black, looking to Troilus, Over all things he stoode to behold;

But his desire, nor wherefore he stood thus, He neither *cheere made,* nor worde told; showed by his countenance

But from afar, *his manner for to hold, to observe due courtesy*

On other things sometimes his look he cast, And eft* <7> on her, while that the service last.* again **lasted And after this, not fully all awhaped, daunted Out of the temple all easily be went,

Repenting him that ever he had japed jested Of Love’s folk, lest fully the descent Of scorn fell on himself; but what he meant, Lest it were wist on any manner side,

His woe he gan dissemble and eke hide.

Returning to his palace, he begins hypocritically to smile and jest at Love’s servants and their pains; but by and by he has to dismiss his attendants, feigning “other busy needs.” Then, alone in his chamber, he begins to groan and sigh, and call up again Cressida’s form as he saw her in the temple — “making a mirror of his mind, in which he saw all wholly her figure.” He thinks no travail or sorrow too high a price for the love of such a goodly woman; and, “full unadvised of his woe coming,”

Thus took he purpose Love’s craft to sue, follow And thought that he would work all privily, First for to hide his desire all *in mew in a cage, secretly From every wight y-born, all utterly,

*But he might aught recover’d be thereby; unless he gained by it*

Rememb’ring him, that love *too wide y-blow too much spoken of*

Yields bitter fruit, although sweet seed be sow.

And, over all this, muche more he thought What thing to speak, and what to holden in; And what to arten* her to love, he sought; *constrain <8>

And on a song anon right to begin,

And gan loud on his sorrow for to win; overcome For with good hope he gan thus to assent resolve Cressida for to love, and not repent.

The Song of Troilus. <9>

“If no love is, O God! why feel I so?

And if love is, what thing and which is he?

If love be good, from whence cometh my woe?

If it be wick’, a wonder thinketh me

Whence ev’ry torment and adversity

That comes of love *may to me savoury think: seem acceptable to me*

For more I thirst the more that I drink.

“And if I *at mine owen luste bren burn by my own will*

From whence cometh my wailing and my plaint?

If maugre me,<10> whereto plain I then? to what avail do I complain?

I wot ner* why, unweary, that I faint. *neither O quicke death! O sweete harm so quaint! strange How may I see in me such quantity,

But if that I consent that so it be?

“And if that I consent, I wrongfully

Complain y-wis: thus pushed to and fro, All starreless within a boat am I,

Middes the sea, betwixte windes two,

That in contrary standen evermo’.

Alas! what wonder is this malady! —

For heat of cold, for cold of heat, I die!”

Devoting himself wholly to the thought of Cressida — though he yet knew not whether she was woman or goddess — Troilus, in spite of his royal blood, became the very slave of love. He set at naught every other charge, but to gaze on her as often as he could; thinking so to appease his hot fire, which thereby only burned the hotter. He wrought marvellous feats of arms against the Greeks, that she might like him the better for his renown; then love deprived him of sleep, and made his food his foe; till he had to “borrow a title of other sickness,” that men might not know he was consumed with love. Meantime, Cressida gave no sign that she heeded his devotion, or even knew of it; and he was now consumed with a new fear — lest she loved some other man. Bewailing his sad lot — ensnared, exposed to the scorn of those whose love he had ridiculed, wishing himself arrived at the port of death, and praying ever that his lady might glad him with some kind look — Troilus is surprised in his chamber by his friend Pandarus, the uncle of Cressida. Pandarus, seeking to divert his sorrow by making him angry, jeeringly asks whether remorse of conscience, or devotion, or fear of the Greeks, has caused all this ado. Troilus pitifully beseeches his friend to leave him to die alone, for die he must, from a cause which he must keep hidden; but Pandarus argues against Troilus’ cruelty in hiding from a friend such a sorrow, and Troilus at last confesses that his malady is love. Pandarus suggests that the beloved object may be such that his counsel might advance his friend’s desires; but Troilus scouts the suggestion, saying that Pandarus could never govern himself in love.

“Yea, Troilus, hearken to me,” quoth Pandare, “Though I be nice;* it happens often so, foolish That one that access doth full evil fare, *in an access of fever By good counsel can keep his friend therefro’.

I have my selfe seen a blind man go

Where as he fell that looke could full wide; A fool may eke a wise man often guide.

“A whetstone is no carving instrument, But yet it maketh sharpe carving tooles; And, if thou know’st that I have aught miswent, erred, failed Eschew thou that, for such thing to thee school* is. *schooling, lesson Thus oughte wise men to beware by fooles; If so thou do, thy wit is well bewared; By its contrary is everything declared.

“For how might ever sweetness have been know To him that never tasted bitterness?

And no man knows what gladness is, I trow, That never was in sorrow or distress:

Eke white by black, by shame eke worthiness, Each set by other, *more for other seemeth, its quality is made As men may see; and so the wise man deemeth.” more obvious by the contrast*

Troilus, however, still begs his friend to leave him to mourn in peace, for all his proverbs can avail nothing. But Pandarus insists on plying the lover with wise saws, arguments, reproaches; hints that, if he should die of love, his lady may impute his death to fear of the Greeks; and finally induces Troilus to admit that the well of all his woe, his sweetest foe, is called Cressida. Pandarus breaks into praises of the lady, and congratulations of his friend for so well fixing his heart; he makes Troilus utter a formal confession of his sin in jesting at lovers and bids him think well that she of whom rises all his woe, hereafter may his comfort be also.

“For thilke* ground, that bears the weedes wick’ that same Bears eke the wholesome herbes, and full oft Next to the foule nettle, rough and thick, The lily waxeth, white, and smooth, and soft; grows And next the valley is the hill aloft, And next the darke night is the glad morrow, And also joy is next the fine of sorrow.” *end, border Pandarus holds out to Troilus good hope of achieving his desire; and tells him that, since he has been converted from his wicked rebellion against Love, he shall be made the best post of all Love’s law, and most grieve Love’s enemies. Troilus gives utterance to a hint of fear; but he is silenced by Pandarus with another proverb — “Thou hast full great care, lest that the carl should fall out of the moon.” Then the lovesick youth breaks into a joyous boast that some of the Greeks shall smart; he mounts his horse, and plays the lion in the field; while Pandarus retires to consider how he may best recommend to his niece the suit of Troilus.

THE SECOND BOOK.

IN the Proem to the Second Book, the poet hails the clear weather that enables him to sail out of those black waves in which his boat so laboured that he could scarcely steer — that is, “the tempestuous matter of despair, that Troilus was in; but now of hope the kalendes begin.” He invokes the aid of Clio; excuses himself to every lover for what may be found amiss in a book which he only translates; and, obviating any lover’s objection to the way in which Troilus obtained his lady’s grace –

– through Pandarus’ mediation — says it seems to him no wonderful thing:

“For ev’ry wighte that to Rome went

Held not one path, nor alway one mannere; Eke in some lands were all the game y-shent If that men far’d in love as men do here, As thus, in open dealing and in cheer, In visiting, in form, or saying their saws; speeches For thus men say: Each country hath its laws.

“Eke scarcely be there in this place three That have in love done or said *like in all;” alike in all respects*

And so that which the poem relates may not please the reader —

but it actually was done, or it shall yet be done. The Book sets out with the visit of Pandarus to Cressida:—

In May, that mother is of monthes glade, glad When all the freshe flowers, green and red, Be quick* again, that winter deade made, *alive And full of balm is floating ev’ry mead; When Phoebus doth his brighte beames spread Right in the white Bull, so it betid happened As I shall sing, on Maye’s day the thrid, <11>

That Pandarus, for all his wise speech, Felt eke his part of Love’s shottes keen, That, could he ne’er so well of Love preach, It made yet his hue all day full green; pale So *shope it,* that him fell that day a teen it happened access In love, for which full woe to bed he went, And made ere it were day full many a went. turning <12>

The swallow Progne, <13> with a sorrowful lay, When morrow came, gan make her waimenting, lamenting Why she foshapen* was; and ever lay *transformed Pandare a-bed, half in a slumbering,

Till she so nigh him made her chittering, How Tereus gan forth her sister take,

That with the noise of her he did awake, And gan to call, and dress* him to arise, prepare Rememb’ring him his errand was to do’n From Troilus, and eke his great emprise; And cast, and knew in good plight* was the Moon favourable aspect

To do voyage, and took his way full soon Unto his niece’s palace there beside

Now Janus, god of entry, thou him guide!

Pandarus finds his niece, with two other ladies, in a paved parlour, listening to a maiden who reads aloud the story of the Siege of Thebes. Greeting the company, he is welcomed by Cressida, who tells him that for three nights she has dreamed of him. After some lively talk about the book they had been reading, Pandarus asks his niece to do away her hood, to show her face bare, to lay aside the book, to rise up and dance, “and let us do to May some observance.” Cressida cries out, “God forbid!” and asks if he is mad — if that is a widow’s life, whom it better becomes to sit in a cave and read of holy saints’ lives.

Pandarus intimates that he could tell her something which could make her merry; but he refuses to gratify her curiosity; and, by way of the siege and of Hector, “that was the towne’s wall, and Greekes’ yerd” or scourging-rod, the conversation is brought round to Troilus, whom Pandarus highly extols as “the wise worthy Hector the second.” She has, she says, already heard Troilus praised for his bravery “of them that her were liefest praised be” [by whom it would be most welcome to her to be praised].

“Ye say right sooth, y-wis,” quoth Pandarus; For yesterday, who so had with him been, Might have wonder’d upon Troilus;

For never yet so thick a swarm of been bees Ne flew, as did of Greekes from him flee’n; And through the field, in ev’ry wighte’s ear, There was no cry but ‘Troilus is here.’

“Now here, now there, he hunted them so fast, There was but Greekes’ blood; and Troilus Now him he hurt, now him adown he cast; Ay where he went it was arrayed thus:

He was their death, and shield of life for us, That as that day there durst him none withstand, While that he held his bloody sword in hand.”

Pandarus makes now a show of taking leave, but Cressida detains him, to speak of her affairs; then, the business talked over, he would again go, but first again asks his niece to arise and dance, and cast her widow’s garments to mischance, because of the glad fortune that has befallen her. More curious than ever, she seeks to find out Pandarus’ secret; but he still parries her curiosity, skilfully hinting all the time at her good fortune, and the wisdom of seizing on it when offered. In the end he tells her that the noble Troilus so loves her, that with her it lies to make him live or die — but if Troilus dies, Pandarus shall die with him; and then she will have “fished fair.” <14> He beseeches mercy for his friend:

“*Woe worth* the faire gemme virtueless! <15> evil befall!

Woe worth the herb also that *doth no boot! has no remedial power*

Woe worth the beauty that is rutheless! merciless Woe worth that wight that treads each under foot!

And ye that be of beauty *crop and root perfection <16>

If therewithal in you there be no ruth, pity Then is it harm ye live, by my truth!”

Pandarus makes only the slight request that she will show Troilus somewhat better cheer, and receive visits from him, that his life may be saved; urging that, although a man be soon going to the temple, nobody will think that he eats the images; and that “such love of friends reigneth in all this town.”

Cressida, which that heard him in this wise, Thought: “I shall feele* what he means, y-wis;” test “Now, eme quoth she, “what would ye me devise? uncle What is your rede that I should do of this?” counsel, opinion “That is well said,” quoth he;” certain best it is That ye him love again for his loving, As love for love is skilful guerdoning. reasonable recompense*

“Think eke how elde* wasteth ev’ry hour *age In each of you a part of your beauty;

And therefore, ere that age do you devour, Go love, for, old, there will no wight love thee Let this proverb a lore* unto you be: lesson ‘“Too late I was ware,” quoth beauty when it past; And elde daunteth danger* at the last.’ old age overcomes disdain

“The kinge’s fool is wont to cry aloud, When that he thinks a woman bears her high, ‘So longe may ye liven, and all proud, Till crowes’ feet be wox* under your eye! grown And send you then a mirror in to pry to look in*

In which ye may your face see a-morrow! in the morning *I keep then wishe you no more sorrow.’” I care to wish you nothing worse*

Weeping, Cressida reproaches her uncle for giving her such counsel; whereupon Pandarus, starting up, threatens to kill himself, and would fain depart, but that his niece detains him, and, with much reluctance, promises to “make Troilus good cheer in honour.” Invited by Cressida to tell how first he know her lover’s woe, Pandarus then relates two soliloquies which he had accidentally overheard, and in which Troilus had poured out all the sorrow of his passion.

With this he took his leave, and home he went Ah! Lord, so was he glad and well-begone! happy Cresside arose, no longer would she stent, stay But straight into her chamber went anon, And sat her down, as still as any stone, And ev’ry word gan up and down to wind That he had said, as it came to her mind.

And wax’d somedeal astonish’d in her thought, Right for the newe case; but when that she *Was full advised,* then she found right naught had fully considered

Of peril, why she should afeared be:

For a man may love, of possibility,

A woman so, that his heart may to-brest, break utterly And she not love again, *but if her lest. unless it so please her*

But as she sat alone, and thoughte thus, In field arose a skirmish all without; And men cried in the street then:”

Troilus hath right now put to flight the Greekes’ rout.” host With that gan all the meinie* for to shout: *(Cressida’s) household “Ah! go we see, cast up the lattice wide, For through this street he must to palace ride; “For other way is from the gates none, Of Dardanus,<18> where open is the chain.” <19>

With that came he, and all his folk anon, An easy pace riding, in *routes twain, two troops*

Right as his happy day was, sooth to sayn: good fortune <20>

For which men say may not disturbed be What shall betiden* of necessity. *happen This Troilus sat upon his bay steed

All armed, save his head, full richely, And wounded was his horse, and gan to bleed, For which he rode a pace full softely

But such a knightly sighte* truly *aspect As was on him, was not, withoute fail, To look on Mars, that god is of Battaile.

So like a man of armes, and a knight,

He was to see, full fill’d of high prowess; For both he had a body, and a might

To do that thing, as well as hardiness; courage And eke to see him in his gear* him dress, armour So fresh, so young, so wieldy seemed he, *active It was a heaven on him for to see. look His helmet was to-hewn in twenty places, That by a tissue* hung his back behind; riband His shield to-dashed was with swords and maces, In which men might many an arrow find, That thirled had both horn, and nerve, and rind; <21> *pierced And ay the people cried, “Here comes our joy, And, next his brother, <22> holder up of Troy.”

For which he wax’d a little red for shame, When he so heard the people on him cryen That to behold it was a noble game,

How soberly he cast adown his eyen:

Cresside anon gan all his cheer espien, And let it in her heart so softly sink, That to herself she said, “Who gives me drink?”<23>

For of her owen thought she wax’d all red, Rememb’ring her right thus: “Lo! this is he Which that mine uncle swears he might be dead, But* I on him have mercy and pity:” *unless And with that thought for pure shame she Gan in her head to pull, and that full fast, While he and all the people forth by pass’d.

And gan to cast,* and rollen up and down *ponder Within her thought his excellent prowess, And his estate, and also his renown,

His wit, his shape, and eke his gentleness But most her favour was, for his distress Was all for her, and thought it were ruth To slay such one, if that he meant but truth.

… … … .

And, Lord! so gan she in her heart argue Of this mattere, of which I have you told And what to do best were, and what t’eschew, That plaited she full oft in many a fold.<24>

Now was her hearte warm, now was it cold.

And what she thought of, somewhat shall I write, As to mine author listeth to endite.

She thoughte first, that Troilus’ person She knew by sight, and eke his gentleness; And saide thus: *“All were it not to do’n,’ although it were To grant him love, yet for the worthiness impossible*

It were honour, with play* and with gladness, *pleasing entertainment In honesty with such a lord to deal,

For mine estate,* and also for his heal.* reputation **health “Eke well I wot* my kinge’s son is he; *know And, since he hath to see me such delight, If I would utterly his sighte flee,

Parauntre* he might have me in despite, *peradventure Through which I mighte stand in worse plight. <25>

Now were I fool, me hate to purchase obtain for myself Withoute need, where I may stand in grace, favour “In ev’rything, I wot, there lies measure; a happy medium For though a man forbidde drunkenness, He not forbids that ev’ry creature

Be drinkeless for alway, as I guess;

Eke, since I know for me is his distress, I oughte not for that thing him despise, Since it is so he meaneth in good wise.

“Now set a case, that hardest is, y-wis, Men mighte deeme* that he loveth me; *believe What dishonour were it unto me, this?

May I *him let of* that? Why, nay, pardie! prevent him from

I know also, and alway hear and see,

Men love women all this town about;

Be they the worse? Why, nay, withoute doubt!

“Nor me to love a wonder is it not;

For well wot I myself, so God me speed! —

All would I that no man wist of this thought — although I would

I am one of the fairest, without drede, doubt And goodlieste, who so taketh heed;

And so men say in all the town of Troy; What wonder is, though he on me have joy?

“I am mine owen woman, well at ease,

I thank it God, as after mine estate,

Right young, and stand untied in *lusty leas, pleasant leash Withoute jealousy, or such debate: (of love)*

Shall none husband say to me checkmate; For either they be full of jealousy,

Or masterful, or love novelty.

“What shall I do? to what fine* live I thus? *end Shall I not love, in case if that me lest?

What? pardie! I am not religious;<26>

And though that I mine hearte set at rest And keep alway mine honour and my name, By all right I may do to me no shame.”

But right as when the sunne shineth bright In March, that changeth oftentime his face, And that a cloud is put with wind to flight, Which overspreads the sun as for a space; A cloudy thought gan through her hearte pace, pass That overspread her brighte thoughtes all, So that for fear almost she gan to fall.

The cloudy thought is of the loss of liberty and security, the stormy life, and the malice of wicked tongues, that love entails: [But] after that her thought began to clear, And saide, “He that nothing undertakes Nothing achieveth, be him *loth or dear.” unwilling or desirous*

And with another thought her hearte quakes; Then sleepeth hope, and after dread awakes, Now hot, now cold; but thus betwixt the tway two She rist* her up, and wente forth to play.* rose **take recreation Adown the stair anon right then she went Into a garden, with her nieces three,

And up and down they made many a went, winding, turn <12>

Flexippe and she, Tarke, Antigone,

To playe, that it joy was for to see;

And other of her women, a great rout, troop Her follow’d in the garden all about.

This yard was large, and railed the alleys, And shadow’d well with blossomy boughes green, And benched new, and sanded all the ways, In which she walked arm and arm between; Till at the last Antigone the sheen bright, lovely Gan on a Trojan lay to singe clear,

That it a heaven was her voice to hear.

Antigone’s song is of virtuous love for a noble object; and it is singularly fitted to deepen the impression made on the mind of Cressida by the brave aspect of Troilus, and by her own cogitations. The singer, having praised the lover and rebuked the revilers of love, proceeds:

“What is the Sunne worse of his *kind right, true nature*

Though that a man, for feebleness of eyen, May not endure to see on it for bright? <27>

Or Love the worse, tho’ wretches on it cryen?

No weal* is worth, that may no sorrow drien;** <28> happiness *endure And forthy,* who that hath a head of verre,* therefore **glass <29>

From cast of stones ware him in the werre. <30>

“But I, with all my heart and all my might, As I have lov’d, will love unto my last My deare heart, and all my owen knight, In which my heart y-growen is so fast, And his in me, that it shall ever last All dread I first to love him begin, although I feared

Now wot I well there is no pain therein.”

Cressida sighs, and asks Antigone whether there is such bliss among these lovers, as they can fair endite; Antigone replies confidently in the affirmative; and Cressida answers nothing, “but every worde which she heard she gan to printen in her hearte fast.” Night draws on:

The daye’s honour, and the heaven’s eye, The nighte’s foe, — all this call I the Sun, —

Gan westren* fast, and downward for to wry,* go west <31> **turn As he that had his daye’s course y-run; And white thinges gan to waxe dun

For lack of light, and starres to appear; Then she and all her folk went home in fere. in company So, when it liked her to go to rest,

And voided* were those that voiden ought, *gone out (of the house) She saide, that to sleepe well her lest. pleased Her women soon unto her bed her brought; When all was shut, then lay she still and thought Of all these things the manner and the wise; Rehearse it needeth not, for ye be wise.

A nightingale upon a cedar green,

Under the chamber wall where as she lay, Full loude sang against the moone sheen, Parauntre,* in his birde’s wise, a lay perchance Of love, that made her hearte fresh and gay; Hereat hark’d she so long in good intent, *listened Till at the last the deade sleep her hent. seized And as she slept, anon right then *her mette she dreamed*

How that an eagle, feather’d white as bone, Under her breast his longe clawes set, And out her heart he rent, and that anon, And did* his heart into her breast to go’n, caused Of which no thing she was abash’d nor smert; amazed nor hurt*

And forth he flew, with hearte left for heart.

Leaving Cressida to sleep, the poet returns to Troilus and his zealous friend — with whose stratagems to bring the two lovers together the remainder of the Second Book is occupied.

Pandarus counsels Troilus to write a letter to his mistress, telling her how he “fares amiss,” and “beseeching her of ruth;”

he will bear the letter to his niece; and, if Troilus will ride past Cressida’s house, he will find his mistress and his friend sitting at a window. Saluting Pandarus, and not tarrying, his passage will give occasion for some talk of him, which may make his ears glow. With respect to the letter, Pandarus gives some shrewd hints:

“Touching thy letter, thou art wise enough, I wot thou *n’ilt it dignely endite wilt not write it haughtily*

Or make it with these argumentes tough, Nor scrivener-like, nor craftily it write; Beblot it with thy tears also a lite; little And if thou write a goodly word all soft, Though it be good, rehearse it not too oft.

“For though the beste harper *pon live alive Would on the best y-sounded jolly harp That ever was, with all his fingers five Touch ay one string, or *ay one warble harp, always play one tune*

Were his nailes pointed ne’er so sharp, He shoulde maken ev’ry wight to dull to grow bored To hear his glee, and of his strokes full.

“Nor jompre* eke no discordant thing y-fere,* jumble **together As thus, to use termes of physic;

In love’s termes hold of thy mattere

The form alway, and *do that it be like; make it consistent*

For if a painter woulde paint a pike

With ass’s feet, and head it as an ape,<32>

It ‘cordeth not, so were it but a jape.” is not harmonious

Troilus writes the letter, and next morning Pandarus bears it to Cressida. She refuses to receive “scrip or bill that toucheth such mattere;” but he thrusts it into her bosom, challenging her to throw it away. She retains it, takes the first opportunity of escaping to her chamber to read it, finds it wholly good, and, under her uncle’s dictation, endites a reply telling her lover that she will not make herself bound in love; “but as his sister, him to please, she would aye fain [be glad] to do his heart an ease.”

Pandarus, under pretext of inquiring who is the owner of the house opposite, has gone to the window; Cressida takes her letter to him there, and tells him that she never did a thing with more pain than write the words to which he had constrained her. As they sit side by side, on a stone of jasper, on a cushion of beaten gold, Troilus rides by, in all his goodliness. Cressida waxes “as red as rose,” as she sees him salute humbly, “with dreadful cheer, and oft his hues mue [change];” she likes “all y-fere, his person, his array, his look, his cheer, his goodly manner, and his gentleness;” so that, however she may have been before, “to goode hope now hath she caught a thorn, she shall not pull it out this nexte week.” Pandarus, striking the iron when it is hot, asks his niece to grant Troilus an interview; but she strenuously declines, for fear of scandal, and because it is all too soon to allow him so great a liberty — her purpose being to love him unknown of all, “and guerdon [reward] him with nothing but with sight.” Pandarus has other intentions; and, while Troilus writes daily letters with increasing love, he contrives the means of an interview. Seeking out Deiphobus, the brother of Troilus, he tells him that Cressida is in danger of violence from Polyphete, and asks protection for her.

Deiphobus gladly complies, promises the protection of Hector and Helen, and goes to invite Cressida to dinner on the morrow.

Meantime Pandarus instructs Troilus to go to the house of Deiphobus, plead an access of his fever for remaining all night, and keep his chamber next day. “Lo,” says the crafty promoter of love, borrowing a phrase from the hunting-field; “Lo, hold thee at thy tristre [tryst <33>] close, and I shall well the deer unto thy bowe drive.” Unsuspicious of stratagem, Cressida comes to dinner; and at table, Helen, Pandarus, and others, praise the absent Troilus, until “her heart laughs” for very pride that she has the love of such a knight. After dinner they speak of Cressida’s business; all confirm Deiphobus’ assurances of protection and aid; and Pandarus suggests that, since Troilus is there, Cressida shall herself tell him her case. Helen and Deiphobus alone accompany Pandarus to Troilus’ chamber; there Troilus produces some documents relating to the public weal, which Hector has sent for his opinion; Helen and Deiphobus, engrossed in perusal and discussion, roam out of the chamber, by a stair, into the garden; while Pandarus goes down to the hall, and, pretending that his brother and Helen are still with Troilus, brings Cressida to her lover. The Second Book leaves Pandarus whispering in his niece’s ear counsel to be merciful and kind to her lover, that hath for her such pain; while Troilus lies “in a kankerdort,” <34> hearing the whispering without, and wondering what he shall say for this “was the first time that he should her pray of love; O! mighty God! what shall he say?”

THE THIRD BOOK.

To the Third Book is prefixed a beautiful invocation of Venus, under the character of light:

O Blissful light, of which the beames clear Adornen all the thirde heaven fair!

O Sunne’s love, O Jove’s daughter dear!

Pleasance of love, O goodly debonair, lovely and gracious*

In gentle heart ay* ready to repair!** always *enter and abide O very* cause of heal** and of gladness, true *welfare Y-heried* be thy might and thy goodness! *praised In heav’n and hell, in earth and salte sea.

Is felt thy might, if that I well discern; As man, bird, beast, fish, herb, and greene tree, They feel in times, with vapour etern, <35>

God loveth, and to love he will not wern forbid And in this world no living creature

Withoute love is worth, or may endure. <36>

Ye Jove first to those effectes glad,

Through which that thinges alle live and be, Commended; and him amorous y-made

Of mortal thing; and as ye list,* ay ye pleased Gave him, in love, ease or adversity, pleasure And in a thousand formes down him sent For love in earth; and whom ye list he hent. he seized whom you wished*

Ye fierce Mars appeasen of his ire,

And as you list ye make heartes dign* <37> worthy Algates them that ye will set afire, at all events They dreade shame, and vices they resign Ye do him courteous to be, and benign; make, cause And high or low, after a wight intendeth, *according as The joyes that he hath your might him sendeth.

Ye holde realm and house in unity;

Ye soothfast* cause of friendship be also; true Ye know all thilke cover’d quality secret power*

Of thinges which that folk on wonder so, When they may not construe how it may go She loveth him, or why he loveth her,

As why this fish, not that, comes to the weir.*<38> *fish-trap Knowing that Venus has set a law in the universe, that whoso strives with her shall have the worse, the poet prays to be taught to describe some of the joy that is felt in her service; and the Third Book opens with an account of the scene between Troilus and Cressida:

Lay all this meane while Troilus

Recording* his lesson in this mannere; memorizing “My fay!” thought he, “thus will I say, and thus; by my faith!*

Thus will I plain* unto my lady dear; *make my plaint That word is good; and this shall be my cheer This will I not forgetten in no wise;”

God let him worken as he can devise.

And, Lord! so as his heart began to quap, quake, pant Hearing her coming, and *short for to sike; make short sighs*

And Pandarus, that led her by the lap, skirt Came near, and gan in at the curtain pick, peep And saide: “God do boot* alle sick! *afford a remedy to See who is here you coming to visite;

Lo! here is she that is *your death to wite!”      to blame for your death*

Therewith it seemed as he wept almost.

“Ah! ah! God help!” quoth Troilus ruefully; “Whe’er* me be woe, O mighty God, thou know’st! *whether Who is there? for I see not truely.”

“Sir,” quoth Cresside, “it is Pandare and I; “Yea, sweete heart? alas, I may not rise To kneel and do you honour in some wise.”

And dressed him upward, and she right tho then Gan both her handes soft upon him lay.

“O! for the love of God, do ye not so

To me,” quoth she; “ey! what is this to say?

For come I am to you for causes tway; two First you to thank, and of your lordship eke Continuance* I woulde you beseek.”* protection **beseech This Troilus, that heard his lady pray Him of lordship, wax’d neither quick nor dead; Nor might one word for shame to it say, <39>

Although men shoulde smiten off his head.

But, Lord! how he wax’d suddenly all red!

And, Sir, his lesson, that he *ween’d have con, thought he knew To praye her, was through his wit y-run. by heart*

Cresside all this espied well enow, —

For she was wise, — and lov’d him ne’er the less, All n’ere he malapert, nor made avow,

Nor was so bold to sing a foole’s mass;<40>

But, when his shame began somewhat to pass, His wordes, as I may my rhymes hold,

I will you tell, as teache bookes old.

In changed voice, right for his very dread, Which voice eke quak’d, and also his mannere Goodly* abash’d, and now his hue is red, becomingly Now pale, unto Cresside, his lady dear, With look downcast, and humble yielden cheer, submissive face*

Lo! *altherfirste word that him astert, the first word he said*

Was twice: “Mercy, mercy, my dear heart!”

And stent* a while; and when he might *out bring, stopped *speak*

The nexte was: “God wote, for I have,

*As farforthly as I have conning, as far as I am able*

Been youres all, God so my soule save, And shall, till that I, woeful wight, *be grave; die*

And though I dare not, cannot, to you plain, Y-wis, I suffer not the lesse pain.

“This much as now, O womanlike wife!

I may out bring, and if it you displease, speak out

That shall I wreak* upon mine owne life, avenge Right soon, I trow, and do your heart an ease, If with my death your heart I may appease: But, since that ye have heard somewhat say, Now reck I never how soon that I dey.” die Therewith his manly sorrow to behold

It might have made a heart of stone to rue; And Pandare wept as he to water wo’ld, <41>

And saide, “Woebegone* be heartes true,” in woeful plight And procur’d his niece ever new and new, urged “For love of Godde, make of him an end, put him out of pain*

Or slay us both at ones, ere we wend.” go “Ey! what?” quoth she; “by God and by my truth, I know not what ye woulde that I say;”

“Ey! what?” quoth he; “that ye have on him ruth, pity For Godde’s love, and do him not to dey.” *die “Now thenne thus,” quoth she, “I would him pray To telle me the *fine of his intent; end of his desire*

Yet wist* I never well what that he meant.” *knew “What that I meane, sweete hearte dear?”

Quoth Troilus, “O goodly, fresh, and free!

That, with the streames* of your eyne so clear, beams, glances Ye woulde sometimes on me rue and see, take pity and look on me*

And then agreen* that I may be he, *take in good part Withoute branch of vice, in any wise,

In truth alway to do you my service,

“As to my lady chief, and right resort, With all my wit and all my diligence;

And for to have, right as you list, comfort; Under your yerd,* equal to mine offence, rod, chastisement As death, if that I breake your defence; do what you And that ye deigne me so much honour, forbid <42>*

Me to commanden aught in any hour.

“And I to be your very humble, true,

Secret, and in my paines patient,

And evermore desire, freshly new,

To serven, and be alike diligent,

And, with good heart, all wholly your talent Receive in gree,* how sore that me smart; *gladness Lo, this mean I, mine owen sweete heart.”

… … … .

With that she gan her eyen on him* cast, <43> *Pandarus Full easily and full debonairly, graciously *Advising her,* and hied* not too fast, *considering *went With ne’er a word, but said him softely, “Mine honour safe, I will well truely, And in such form as ye can now devise, Receive him* fully to my service; *Troilus “Beseeching him, for Godde’s love, that he Would, in honour of truth and gentleness, As I well mean, eke meane well to me;

And mine honour, with *wit and business, wisdom and zeal*

Aye keep; and if I may do him gladness, From henceforth, y-wis I will not feign: Now be all whole, no longer do ye plain.

“But, natheless, this warn I you,” quoth she, “A kinge’s son although ye be, y-wis,

Ye shall no more have sovereignety

Of me in love, than right in this case is; Nor will I forbear, if ye do amiss,

To wrathe* you, and, while that ye me serve, be angry with, chide To cherish you, right after ye deserve. as you deserve*

“And shortly, deare heart, and all my knight, Be glad, and drawe you to lustiness, pleasure And I shall truely, with all my might, Your bitter turnen all to sweeteness;

If I be she that may do you gladness,

For ev’ry woe ye shall recover a bliss:”

And him in armes took, and gan him kiss.

Pandarus, almost beside himself for joy, falls on his knees to thank Venus and Cupid, declaring that for this miracle he hears all the bells ring; then, with a warning to be ready at his call to meet at his house, he parts the lovers, and attends Cressida while she takes leave of the household — Troilus all the time groaning at the deceit practised on his brother and Helen. When he has got rid of them by feigning weariness, Pandarus returns to the chamber, and spends the night with him in converse. The zealous friend begins to speak “in a sober wise” to Troilus, reminding him of his love-pains now all at an end.

“So that through me thou standest now in way To fare well; I say it for no boast;

And know’st thou why? For, shame it is to say, For thee have I begun a game to play,

Which that I never shall do eft* for other,* again **another Although he were a thousand fold my brother.

“That is to say, for thee I am become, Betwixte game and earnest, such a mean means, instrument As make women unto men to come;

Thou know’st thyselfe what that woulde mean; For thee have I my niece, of vices clean, pure, devoid So fully made thy gentleness* to trust, nobility of nature That all shall be right as thyselfe lust. as you please*

“But God, that all wot, take I to witness, knows everything

That never this for covetise* I wrought, greed of gain But only to abridge thy distress, *abate For which well nigh thou diedst, as me thought; But, goode brother, do now as thee ought, For Godde’s love, and keep her out of blame; Since thou art wise, so save thou her name.

“For, well thou know’st, the name yet of her, Among the people, as who saith hallow’d is; For that man is unborn, I dare well swear, That ever yet wist* that she did amiss; *knew But woe is me, that I, that cause all this, May thinke that she is my niece dear,

And I her eme,* and traitor eke y-fere.* uncle <17> **as well “And were it wist that I, through mine engine, arts, contrivance Had in my niece put this fantasy fancy To do thy lust,* and wholly to be thine, *pleasure Why, all the people would upon it cry, And say, that I the worste treachery

Did in this case, that ever was begun, And she fordone,* and thou right naught y-won.” *ruined Therefore, ere going a step further, Pandarus prays Troilus to give him pledges of secrecy, and impresses on his mind the mischiefs that flow from vaunting in affairs of love. “Of kind,”[by his very nature] he says, no vaunter is to be believed: “For a vaunter and a liar all is one;

As thus: I pose* a woman granteth me *suppose, assume Her love, and saith that other will she none, And I am sworn to holden it secre,

And, after, I go tell it two or three; Y-wis, I am a vaunter, at the least,

And eke a liar, for I break my hest.*<44> *promise “Now looke then, if they be not to blame, Such manner folk; what shall I call them, what?

That them avaunt of women, and by name, That never yet behight* them this nor that, *promised (much Nor knowe them no more than mine old hat? less granted) No wonder is, so God me sende heal, prosperity Though women dreade with us men to deal!

“I say not this for no mistrust of you, Nor for no wise men, but for fooles nice; silly <45>

And for the harm that in the world is now, As well for folly oft as for malice;

For well wot I, that in wise folk that vice No woman dreads, if she be well advised; For wise men be by fooles’ harm chastised.” corrected, instructed So Pandarus begs Troilus to keep silent, promises to be true all his days, and assures him that he shall have all that he will in the love of Cressida: “thou knowest what thy lady granted thee; and day is set the charters up to make.”

Who mighte telle half the joy and feast Which that the soul of Troilus then felt, Hearing th’effect of Pandarus’ behest?

His olde woe, that made his hearte swelt, faint, die Gan then for joy to wasten and to melt, And all the reheating <46> of his sighes sore At ones fled, he felt of them no more.

But right so as these *holtes and these hayes, woods and hedges*

That have in winter deade been and dry, Reveste them in greene, when that May is, When ev’ry lusty listeth best to play; pleasant (one) wishes

Right in that selfe wise, sooth to say, Wax’d suddenly his hearte full of joy, That gladder was there never man in Troy.

Troilus solemnly swears that never, “for all the good that God made under sun,” will he reveal what Pandarus asks him to keep secret; offering to die a thousand times, if need were, and to follow his friend as a slave all his life, in proof of his gratitude.

“But here, with all my heart, I thee beseech, That never in me thou deeme* such folly *judge As I shall say; me thoughte, by thy speech, That this which thou me dost for company, friendship I shoulde ween it were a bawdery; a bawd’s action *I am not wood, all if I lewed be; I am not mad, though It is not one, that wot I well, pardie! I be unlearned*

“But he that goes for gold, or for richess, On such messages, call him *as thee lust; what you please*

And this that thou dost, call it gentleness, Compassion, and fellowship, and trust; Depart it so, for widewhere is wist

How that there is diversity requer’d

Betwixte thinges like, as I have lear’d. <47>

“And that thou know I think it not nor ween, suppose That this service a shame be or a jape, *subject for jeering I have my faire sister Polyxene,

Cassandr’, Helene, or any of the frape; set <48>

Be she never so fair, or well y-shape, Telle me which thou wilt of ev’ry one, To have for thine, and let me then alone.”

Then, beseeching Pandarus soon to perform out the great enterprise of crowning his love for Cressida, Troilus bade his friend good night. On the morrow Troilus burned as the fire, for hope and pleasure; yet “he not forgot his wise governance [self-control];”

But in himself with manhood gan restrain Each rakel* deed, and each unbridled cheer,* rash **demeanour That alle those that live, sooth to sayn, Should not have wist,* by word or by mannere, *suspicion What that he meant, as touching this mattere; From ev’ry wight as far as is the cloud He was, so well dissimulate he could.

And all the while that I now devise describe, narrate This was his life: with all his fulle might, By day he was in Marte’s high service, That is to say, in armes as a knight;

And, for the moste part, the longe night He lay, and thought how that he mighte serve His lady best, her thank* for to deserve. *gratitude I will not swear, although he laye soft, That in his thought he n’as somewhat diseas’d; troubled Nor that he turned on his pillows oft, And would of that him missed have been seis’d; possessed But in such case men be not alway pleas’d, For aught I wot, no more than was he;

That can I deem* of possibility. *judge But certain is, to purpose for to go,

That in this while, as written is in gest, the history of He saw his lady sometimes, and also these events She with him spake, when that she *durst and lest; dared and pleased*

And, by their both advice,* as was the best, consultation Appointed full warily* in this need, made careful preparations

So as they durst, how far they would proceed.

But it was spoken in so short a wise, so briefly, and always in such In such await alway, and in such fear, vigilance and fear of being Lest any wight divinen or devise* found out by anyone*

Would of their speech, or to it lay an ear, *That all this world them not so lefe were, they wanted more than As that Cupido would them grace send anything in the world*

To maken of their speeches right an end.

But thilke little that they spake or wrought, His wise ghost* took ay of all such heed, *spirit It seemed her he wiste what she thought Withoute word, so that it was no need

To bid him aught to do, nor aught forbid; For which she thought that love, all* came it late, *although Of alle joy had open’d her the gate.

Troilus, by his discretion, his secrecy, and his devotion, made ever a deeper lodgment in Cressida’s heart; so that she thanked God twenty thousand times that she had met with a man who, as she felt, “was to her a wall of steel, and shield from ev’ry displeasance;” while Pandarus ever actively fanned the fire. So passed a “time sweet” of tranquil and harmonious love the only drawback being, that the lovers might not often meet, “nor leisure have, their speeches to fulfil.” At last Pandarus found an occasion for bringing them together at his house unknown to anybody, and put his plan in execution.

For he, with great deliberation,

Had ev’ry thing that hereto might avail be of service Forecast, and put in execution,

And neither left for cost nor for travail; effort Come if them list, them shoulde nothing fail, *Nor for to be in aught espied there,

That wiste he an impossible were. he knew it was impossible*

that they could be discovered there*

And dreadeless* it clear was in the wind *without doubt Of ev’ry pie, and every let-game; <49>

Now all is well, for all this world is blind, In this mattere, bothe fremd* and tame; <50> wild This timber is all ready for to frame; Us lacketh naught, but that we weete wo’ld *know A certain hour in which we come sho’ld. <51>

Troilus had informed his household, that if at any time he was missing, he had gone to worship at a certain temple of Apollo, “and first to see the holy laurel quake, or that the godde spake out of the tree.” So, at the changing of the moon, when “the welkin shope him for to rain,” [when the sky was preparing to rain] Pandarus went to invite his niece to supper; solemnly assuring her that Troilus was out of the town — though all the time he was safely shut up, till midnight, in “a little stew,”

whence through a hole he joyously watched the arrival of his mistress and her fair niece Antigone, with half a score of her women. After supper Pandaras did everything to amuse his niece; “he sung, he play’d, he told a tale of Wade;” <52> at last she would take her leave; but

The bente Moone with her hornes pale,

Saturn, and Jove, in Cancer joined were, <53>

That made such a rain from heav’n avail, descend That ev’ry manner woman that was there Had of this smoky rain <54> a very fear; At which Pandarus laugh’d, and saide then “Now were it time a lady to go hen!” hence He therefore presses Cressida to remain all night; she complies with a good grace; and after the sleeping cup has gone round, all retire to their chambers — Cressida, that she may not be disturbed by the rain and thunder, being lodged in the “inner closet” of Pandarus, who, to lull suspicion, occupies the outer chamber, his niece’s women sleeping in the intermediate apartment. When all is quiet, Pandarus liberates Troilus, and by a secret passage brings him to the chamber of Cressida; then, going forward alone to his niece, after calming her fears of discovery, he tells her that her lover has “through a gutter, by a privy went,” [a secret passage] come to his house in all this rain, mad with grief because a friend has told him that she loves Horastes. Suddenly cold about her heart, Cressida promises that on the morrow she will reassure her lover; but Pandarus scouts the notion of delay, laughs to scorn her proposal to send her ring in pledge of her truth, and finally, by pitiable accounts of Troilus’ grief, induces her to receive him and reassure him at once with her own lips.

This Troilus full soon on knees him set, Full soberly, right by her bedde’s head, And in his beste wise his lady gret greeted But Lord! how she wax’d suddenly all red, And thought anon how that she would be dead; She coulde not one word aright out bring, So suddenly for his sudden coming.

Cressida, though thinking that her servant and her knight should not have doubted her truth, yet sought to remove his jealousy, and offered to submit to any ordeal or oath he might impose; then, weeping, she covered her face, and lay silent. “But now,”

exclaims the poet —

But now help, God, to quenchen all this sorrow!

So hope I that he shall, for he best may; For I have seen, of a full misty morrow, morn Followen oft a merry summer’s day,

And after winter cometh greene May;

Folk see all day, and eke men read in stories, That after sharpe stoures* be victories. *conflicts, struggles Believing his mistress to be angry, Troilus felt the cramp of death seize on his heart, “and down he fell all suddenly in swoon.” Pandarus “into bed him cast,” and called on his niece to pull out the thorn that stuck in his heart, by promising that she would “all forgive.” She whispered in his ear the assurance that she was not wroth; and at last, under her caresses, he recovered consciousness, to find her arm laid over him, to hear the assurance of her forgiveness, and receive her frequent kisses.

Fresh vows and explanations passed; and Cressida implored forgiveness of “her own sweet heart,” for the pain she had caused him. Surprised with sudden bliss, Troilus put all in God’s hand, and strained his lady fast in his arms. “What might or may the seely [innocent] larke say, when that the sperhawk [sparrowhawk] hath him in his foot?”

Cressida, which that felt her thus y-take, As write clerkes in their bookes old,

Right as an aspen leaf began to quake, When she him felt her in his armes fold; But Troilus, all *whole of cares cold, cured of painful sorrows*<55>

Gan thanke then the blissful goddes seven. <56>

Thus sundry paines bringe folk to heaven.

This Troilus her gan in armes strain,

And said, “O sweet, as ever may I go’n, prosper Now be ye caught, now here is but we twain, Now yielde you, for other boot* is none.” *remedy To that Cresside answered thus anon,

“N’ had I ere now, my sweete hearte dear, *Been yolden,* y-wis, I were now not here!” yielded myself

O sooth is said, that healed for to be Of a fever, or other great sickness,

Men muste drink, as we may often see,

Full bitter drink; and for to have gladness Men drinken often pain and great distress!

I mean it here, as for this adventure, That thorough pain hath founden all his cure.

And now sweetnesse seemeth far more sweet, That bitterness assayed* was beforn; *tasted <57>

For out of woe in blisse now they fleet, float, swim None such they felte since that they were born; Now is it better than both two were lorn! <58>

For love of God, take ev’ry woman heed To worke thus, if it come to the need!

Cresside, all quit from ev’ry dread and teen, pain As she that juste cause had him to trust, Made him such feast,<59> it joy was for to see’n, When she his truth and *intent cleane wist; knew the purity And as about a tree, with many a twist, of his purpose*

Bitrent and writhen is the sweet woodbind, plaited and wreathed

Gan each of them in armes other wind. embrace, encircle And as the *new abashed* nightingale, newly-arrived and timid

That stinteth,* first when she beginneth sing, stops When that she heareth any herde’s tale, the talking of a shepherd*

Or in the hedges any wight stirring;

And, after, sicker* out her voice doth ring; confidently Right so Cressida, when her dreade stent, her doubt ceased*

Open’d her heart, and told him her intent. mind And might as he that sees his death y-shapen, prepared And dien must, *in aught that he may guess, for all he can tell*

And suddenly *rescouse doth him escapen, he is rescued and escapes*

And from his death is brought *in sickerness; to safety*

For all the world, in such present gladness Was Troilus, and had his lady sweet;

With worse hap God let us never meet!

Her armes small, her straighte back and soft, Her sides longe, fleshly, smooth, and white, He gan to stroke; and good thrift* bade full oft *blessing On her snow-white throat, her breastes round and lite; small Thus in this heaven he gan him delight, And therewithal a thousand times her kist, That what to do for joy *unneth he wist. he hardly knew*

The lovers exchanged vows, and kisses, and embraces, and speeches of exalted love, and rings; Cressida gave to Troilus a brooch of gold and azure, “in which a ruby set was like a heart;”

and the too short night passed.

“When that the cock, commune astrologer, <60>

Gan on his breast to beat, and after crow, And Lucifer, the daye’s messenger,

Gan for to rise, and out his beames throw; And eastward rose, to him that could it know, Fortuna Major, <61> then anon Cresseide, With hearte sore, to Troilus thus said: “My hearte’s life, my trust, and my pleasance!

That I was born, alas! that me is woe, That day of us must make disseverance!

For time it is to rise, and hence to go, Or else I am but lost for evermo’.

O Night! alas! why n’ilt thou o’er us hove, hover As long as when Alcmena lay by Jove? <62>

“O blacke Night! as folk in bookes read That shapen* art by God, this world to hide, *appointed At certain times, with thy darke weed, robe That under it men might in rest abide, Well oughte beastes plain, and folke chide, That where as Day with labour would us brest, burst, overcome There thou right flee’st, and deignest* not us rest. grantest “Thou dost, alas! so shortly thine office, duty Thou rakel* Night! that God, maker of kind, *rash, hasty Thee for thy haste and thine unkinde vice, So fast ay to our hemisphere bind,

That never more under the ground thou wind; turn, revolve For through thy rakel hieing* out of Troy hasting Have I forgone thus hastily my joy!” *lost This Troilus, that with these wordes felt, As thought him then, for piteous distress, The bloody teares from his hearte melt, As he that never yet such heaviness

Assayed had out of so great gladness,

Gan therewithal Cresside, his lady dear, In armes strain, and said in this mannere: “O cruel Day! accuser of the joy

That Night and Love have stol’n, and *fast y-wrien! closely Accursed be thy coming into Troy! concealed*

For ev’ry bow’r* hath one of thy bright eyen: *chamber Envious Day! Why list thee to espyen?

What hast thou lost? Why seekest thou this place?

There God thy light so quenche, for his grace!

“Alas! what have these lovers thee aguilt? offended, sinned against Dispiteous* Day, thine be the pains of hell! *cruel, spiteful For many a lover hast thou slain, and wilt; Thy peering in will nowhere let them dwell: What! proff’rest thou thy light here for to sell?

Go sell it them that smalle seales grave! cut devices on We will thee not, us needs no day to have.”

And eke the Sunne, Titan, gan he chide, And said, “O fool! well may men thee despise!

That hast the Dawning <63> all night thee beside, And suff’rest her so soon up from thee rise, For to disease* us lovers in this wise! annoy What! hold thy bed, both thou, and eke thy Morrow! keep I bidde God so give you bothe sorrow!” *pray The lovers part with many sighs and protestations of unswerving and undying love; Cressida responding to the vows of Troilus with the assurance —

“That first shall Phoebus* falle from his sphere, *the sun And heaven’s eagle be the dove’s fere, And ev’ry rock out of his place start, Ere Troilus out of Cressida’s heart.”

When Pandarus visits Troilus in his palace later in the day, he warns him not to mar his bliss by any fault of his own: “For, of Fortune’s sharp adversity,

The worste kind of infortune is this,

A man to have been in prosperity,

And it remember when it passed is.<64>

Thou art wise enough; forthy,*” do not amiss; therefore Be not too rakel, though thou sitte warm; *rash, over-hasty For if thou be, certain it will thee harm.

“Thou art at ease, and hold thee well therein; For, all so sure as red is ev’ry fire, As great a craft is to keep weal as win; <65>

Bridle alway thy speech and thy desire, For worldly joy holds not but by a wire; That proveth well, it breaks all day so oft, Forthy need is to worke with it soft.”

Troilus sedulously observes the counsel; and the lovers have many renewals of their pleasure, and of their bitter chidings of the Day. The effects of love on Troilus are altogether refining and ennobling; as may be inferred from the song which he sung often to Pandarus:

The Second Song of Troilus.

“Love, that of Earth and Sea hath governance!

Love, that his hestes* hath in Heaven high! *commandments Love, that with a right wholesome alliance Holds people joined, as him list them guy! guide Love, that knitteth law and company,

And couples doth in virtue for to dwell, Bind this accord, that I have told, and tell!

“That the worlde, with faith which that is stable, Diverseth so, his *stoundes according; according to its seasons*

That elementes, that be discordable, discordant Holden a bond perpetually during;

That Phoebus may his rosy day forth bring; And that the Moon hath lordship o’er the night; —

All this doth Love, ay heried* be his might! praised “That the sea, which that greedy is to flowen, Constraineth to a certain ende so limit His floodes, that so fiercely they not growen To drenchen earth and all for evermo’; drown And if that Love aught let his bridle go, All that now loves asunder shoulde leap, And lost were all that Love holds now to heap. together <66>*

“So woulde God, that author is of kind, That with his bond Love of his virtue list To cherish heartes, and all fast to bind, That from his bond no wight the way out wist!

And heartes cold, them would I that he twist, turned To make them love; and that him list ay rue have pity On heartes sore, and keep them that be true.”

But Troilus’ love had higher fruits than singing: In alle needes for the towne’s werre war He was, and ay the first in armes dight, equipped, prepared And certainly, but if that bookes err, Save Hector, most y-dread* of any wight; dreaded And this increase of hardiness and might *courage Came him of love, his lady’s grace to win, That altered his spirit so within.

In time of truce, a-hawking would he ride, Or elles hunt the boare, bear, lioun;

The smalle beastes let he go beside;<67>

And when he came riding into the town, Full oft his lady, from her window down, As fresh as falcon coming out of mew, cage <68>

Full ready was him goodly to salue. salute And most of love and virtue was his speech, And *in despite he had all wretchedness he held in scorn all And doubtless no need was him to beseech despicable actions*

To honour them that hadde worthiness,

And ease them that weren in distress;

And glad was he, if any wight well far’d, That lover was, when he it wist or heard.

For he held every man lost unless he were in Love’s service; and, so did the power of Love work within him, that he was ay [always] humble and benign, and “pride, envy, ire, and avarice, he gan to flee, and ev’ry other vice.”

THE FOURTH BOOK

A BRIEF Proem to the Fourth Book prepares us for the treachery of Fortune to Troilus; from whom she turned away her bright face, and took of him no heed, “and cast him clean out of his lady’s grace, and on her wheel she set up Diomede.”

Then the narrative describes a skirmish in which the Trojans were worsted, and Antenor, with many of less note, remained in the hands of the Greeks. A truce was proclaimed for the exchange of prisoners; and as soon as Calchas heard the news, he came to the assembly of the Greeks, to “bid a boon.” Having gained audience, he reminded the besiegers how he had come from Troy to aid and encourage them in their enterprise; willing to lose all that he had in the city, except his daughter Cressida, whom he bitterly reproached himself for leaving behind. And now, with streaming tears and pitiful prayer, he besought them to exchange Antenor for Cressida; assuring them that the day was at hand when they should have both town and people. The soothsayer’s petition was granted; and the ambassadors charged to negotiate the exchange, entering the city, told their errand to King Priam and his parliament.

This Troilus was present in the place

When asked was for Antenor Cresside;

For which to change soon began his face, As he that with the wordes well nigh died; But natheless he no word to it seid; said Lest men should his affection espy,

With manne’s heart he gan his sorrows drie; endure And, full of anguish and of grisly dread, Abode what other lords would to it say, And if they woulde grant, — as God forbid! —

Th’exchange of her, then thought he thinges tway: two First, for to save her honour; and what way He mighte best th’exchange of her withstand; This cast he then how all this mighte stand.

Love made him alle *prest to do her bide, eager to make her stay*

And rather die than that she shoulde go; But Reason said him, on the other side, “Without th’assent of her, do thou not so, Lest for thy worke she would be thy foe; And say, that through thy meddling is y-blow divulged, blown abroad Your bothe love, where it was *erst unknow.” previously unknown*

For which he gan deliberate for the best, That though the lordes woulde that she went, He woulde suffer them grant what *them lest, they pleased*

And tell his lady first what that they meant; And, when that she had told him her intent, Thereafter would he worken all so blive, speedily Though all the world against it woulde strive.

Hector, which that full well the Greekes heard, For Antenor how they would have Cresseide, Gan it withstand, and soberly answer’d; “Sirs, she is no prisoner,” he said;

“I know not on you who this charge laid; But, for my part, ye may well soon him tell, We use* here no women for to sell.” are accustomed The noise of the people then upstart at once, As breme as blaze of straw y-set on fire violent, furious For Infortune woulde for the nonce *Misfortune They shoulde their confusion desire

“Hector,” quoth they, “what ghost* may you inspire spirit This woman thus to shield, and do us* lose cause us to

Dan Antenor? — a wrong way now ye choose, —

“That is so wise, and eke so bold baroun; And we have need of folk, as men may see He eke is one the greatest of this town; O Hector! lette such fantasies be!

O King Priam!” quoth they, “lo! thus say we, That all our will is to forego Cresseide;”

And to deliver Antenor they pray’d.

Though Hector often prayed them “nay,” it was resolved that Cressida should be given up for Antenor; then the parliament dispersed. Troilus hastened home to his chamber, shut himself up alone, and threw himself on his bed.

And as in winter leaves be bereft,

Each after other, till the tree be bare, So that there is but bark and branch y-left, Lay Troilus, bereft of each welfare,

Y-bounden in the blacke bark of care,

Disposed *wood out of his wit to braid, to go out of his senses*

So sore him sat the changing of Cresseide. so ill did he bear

He rose him up, and ev’ry door he shet, shut And window eke; and then this sorrowful man Upon his bedde’s side adown him set,

Full like a dead image, pale and wan,

And in his breast the heaped woe began Out burst, and he to worken in this wise, In his woodness,* as I shall you devise.* madness **relate Right as the wilde bull begins to spring, Now here, now there, y-darted* to the heart, *pierced with a dart And of his death roareth in complaining; Right so gan he about the chamber start, Smiting his breast aye with his fistes smart; painfully, cruelly His head to the wall, his body to the ground, Full oft he swapt,* himselfe to confound. *struck, dashed His eyen then, for pity of his heart,

Out streameden as swifte welles* tway; fountains The highe sobbes of his sorrow’s smart His speech him reft; unnethes might he say, scarcely “O Death, alas! why n’ilt thou do me dey? why will you not Accursed be that day which that Nature make me die?*

Shope* me to be a living creature!” *shaped Bitterly reviling Fortune, and calling on Love to explain why his happiness with Cressicla should be thus repealed, Troilus declares that, while he lives, he will bewail his misfortune in solitude, and will never see it shine or rain, but will end his sorrowful life in darkness, and die in distress.

“O weary ghost, that errest to and fro!

Why n’ilt* thou fly out of the woefulest *wilt not Body that ever might on grounde go?

O soule, lurking in this woeful nest!

Flee forth out of my heart, and let it brest, burst And follow alway Cresside, thy lady dear!

Thy righte place is now no longer here.

“O woeful eyen two! since your disport delight Was all to see Cressida’s eyen bright, What shall ye do, but, for my discomfort, Stande for naught, and weepen out your sight, Since she is quench’d, that wont was you to light?

In vain, from this forth, have I eyen tway Y-formed, since your virtue is away!

“O my Cresside! O lady sovereign

Of thilke* woeful soule that now cryeth! *this Who shall now give comfort to thy pain?

Alas! no wight; but, when my hearte dieth, My spirit, which that so unto you hieth, hasteneth Receive *in gree,* for that shall ay you serve; with favour

Forthy no force is though the body sterve. therefore no matter*

*die “O ye lovers, that high upon the wheel Be set of Fortune, in good adventure,

God lene* that ye find ay** love of steel,<69> grant *always And longe may your life in joy endure!

But when ye come by my sepulture, sepulchre Remember that your fellow resteth there; For I lov’d eke, though I unworthy were.

“O old, unwholesome, and mislived man, Calchas I mean, alas! what ailed thee

To be a Greek, since thou wert born Trojan?

O Calchas! which that will my bane* be, *destruction In cursed time wert thou born for me!

As woulde blissful Jove, for his joy,

That I thee hadde where I would in Troy!”

Soon Troilus, through excess of grief, fell into a trance; in which he was found by Pandarus, who had gone almost distracted at the news that Cressida was to be exchanged for Antenor. At his friend’s arrival, Troilus “gan as the snow against the sun to melt;” the two mingled their tears a while; then Pandarus strove to comfort the woeful lover. He admitted that never had a stranger ruin than this been wrought by Fortune: “But tell me this, why thou art now so mad To sorrow thus? Why li’st thou in this wise, Since thy desire all wholly hast thou had, So that by right it ought enough suffice?

But I, that never felt in my service

A friendly cheer or looking of an eye, Let me thus weep and wail until I die. <70>

“And over all this, as thou well wost* thy selve, knowest This town is full of ladies all about, And, to my doom,* fairer than suche twelve in my judgment

As ever she was, shall I find in some rout, company Yea! one or two, withouten any doubt:

Forthy* be glad, mine owen deare brother! *therefore If she be lost, we shall recover another.

“What! God forbid alway that each pleasance In one thing were, and in none other wight; If one can sing, another can well dance; If this be goodly, she is glad and light; And this is fair, and that can good aright; Each for his virtue holden is full dear, Both heroner, and falcon for rivere. <71>

“And eke as writ Zausis,<72> that was full wise, The newe love out chaseth oft the old, And upon new case lieth new advice; <73>

Think eke thy life to save thou art hold; bound Such fire *by process shall of kinde cold; shall grow cold by For, since it is but casual pleasance, process of nature*

Some case* shall put it out of remembrance. *chance “For, all so sure as day comes after night, The newe love, labour, or other woe,

Or elles seldom seeing of a wight,

Do old affections all *over go; overcome*

And for thy part, thou shalt have one of tho those T’abridge with thy bitter paine’s smart; Absence of her shall drive her out of heart.”

These wordes said he *for the nones all, only for the nonce*

To help his friend, lest he for sorrow died; For, doubteless, to do his woe to fall, make his woe subside*

He raughte* not what unthrift** that he said; cared *folly But Troilus, that nigh for sorrow died, Took little heed of all that ever he meant; One ear it heard, at th’other out it went.

But, at the last, he answer’d and said, “Friend, This leachcraft, or y-healed thus to be, Were well sitting* if that I were a fiend, recked To traisen her that true is unto me: *betray I pray God, let this counsel never the, thrive But do me rather sterve* anon right here, *die Ere I thus do, as thou me wouldest lear!” teach Troilus protests that his lady shall have him wholly hers till death; and, debating the counsels of his friend, declares that even if he would, he could not love another. Then he points out the folly of not lamenting the loss of Cressida because she had been his in ease and felicity — while Pandarus himself, though he thought it so light to change to and fro in love, had not done busily his might to change her that wrought him all the woe of his unprosperous suit.

“If thou hast had in love ay yet mischance, And canst it not out of thine hearte drive, I that lived in lust* and in pleasance *delight With her, as much as creature alive,

How should I that forget, and that so blive? quickly O where hast thou been so long hid in mew,*<74> *cage That canst so well and formally argue!”

The lover condemns the whole discourse of his friend as unworthy, and calls on Death, the ender of all sorrows, to come to him and quench his heart with his cold stroke. Then he distils anew in tears, “as liquor out of alembic;” and Pandarus is silent for a while, till he bethinks him to recommend to Troilus the carrying off of Cressida. “Art thou in Troy, and hast no hardiment [daring, boldness] to take a woman which that loveth thee?” But Troilus reminds his counsellor that all the war had come from the ravishing of a woman by might (the abduction of Helen by Paris); and that it would not beseem him to withstand his father’s grant, since the lady was to be changed for the town’s good. He has dismissed the thought of asking Cressida from his father, because that would be to injure her fair fame, to no purpose, for Priam could not overthrow the decision of “so high a place as parliament;” while most of all he fears to perturb her heart with violence, to the slander of her name — for he must hold her honour dearer than himself in every case, as lovers ought of right:

“Thus am I in desire and reason twight: twisted Desire, for to disturbe her, me redeth; counseleth And Reason will not, so my hearte dreadeth.” is in doubt Thus weeping, that he coulde never cease He said, “Alas! how shall I, wretche, fare?

For well feel I alway my love increase, And hope is less and less alway, Pandare!

Increasen eke the causes of my care;

So wellaway! *why n’ ill my hearte brest? why will not For us in love there is but little rest.” my heart break?*

Pandare answered, “Friend, thou may’st for me Do as thee list;* but had I it so hot, please And thine estate, she shoulde go with me! rank Though all this town cried on this thing by note, I would not set all that noise a groat; *value For when men have well cried, then will they rown, whisper Eke wonder lasts but nine nights ne’er in town.

“Divine not in reason ay so deep,

Nor courteously, but help thyself anon; Bet* is that others than thyselfe weep; *better And namely, since ye two be all one,

Rise up, for, by my head, she shall not go’n!

And rather be in blame a little found, Than sterve* here as a gnat withoute wound! die “It is no shame unto you, nor no vice, Her to withholde, that ye loveth most; Parauntre she might holde thee for nice,* peradventure **foolish To let her go thus unto the Greeks’ host; Think eke, Fortune, as well thyselfe wost, Helpeth the hardy man to his emprise,

And weiveth* wretches for their cowardice. forsaketh “And though thy lady would a lite her grieve, *little Thou shalt thyself thy peace thereafter make; But, as to me, certain I cannot ‘lieve That she would it as now for evil take: Why shoulde then for fear thine hearte quake?

Think eke how Paris hath, that is thy brother, A love; and why shalt thou not have another?

“And, Troilus, one thing I dare thee swear, That if Cressida, which that is thy lief, love Now loveth thee as well as thou dost her, God help me so, she will not take agrief amiss Though thou *anon do boot in* this mischief; provide a remedy And if she willeth from thee for to pass, immediately

Then is she false, so love her well the lass. less “Forthy,* take heart, and think, right as a knight, therefore Through love is broken all day ev’ry law; Kithe now somewhat thy courage and thy might; show Have mercy on thyself, for any awe; in spite of any fear*

Let not this wretched woe thine hearte gnaw; But, manly, set the world on six and seven, <75>

And, if thou die a martyr, go to heaven.”

Pandarus promises his friend all aid in the enterprise; it is agreed that Cressida shall be carried off, but only with her own consent; and Pandarus sets out for his niece’s house, to arrange an interview. Meantime Cressida has heard the news; and, caring nothing for her father, but everything for Troilus, she burns in love and fear, unable to tell what she shall do.

But, as men see in town, and all about, That women use* friendes to visite, *are accustomed So to Cresside of women came a rout, troop For piteous joy, and *weened her delight, thought to please her*

And with their tales, *dear enough a mite, not worth a mite*

These women, which that in the city dwell, They set them down, and said as I shall tell.

Quoth first that one, “I am glad, truely, Because of you, that shall your father see;”

Another said, “Y-wis, so am not I,

For all too little hath she with us be.” been Quoth then the third, “I hope, y-wis, that she Shall bringen us the peace on ev’ry side; Then, when she goes, Almighty God her guide!”

Those wordes, and those womanishe thinges, She heard them right as though she thennes* were, thence; in some For, God it wot, her heart on other thing is; other place Although the body sat among them there, Her advertence is always elleswhere; *attention For Troilus full fast her soule sought; Withoute word, on him alway she thought.

These women that thus weened her to please, Aboute naught gan all their tales spend; Such vanity ne can do her no ease,

As she that all this meane while brenn’d Of other passion than that they wend; weened, supposed So that she felt almost her hearte die For woe, and weary* of that company. *weariness For whiche she no longer might restrain Her teares, they began so up to well,

That gave signes of her bitter pain,

In which her spirit was, and muste dwell, Rememb’ring her from heav’n into which hell She fallen was, since she forwent* the sight *lost Of Troilus; and sorrowfully she sight. sighed And thilke fooles, sitting her about,

Weened that she had wept and siked* sore, *sighed Because that she should out of that rout company Depart, and never playe with them more; And they that hadde knowen her of yore Saw her so weep, and thought it kindeness, And each of them wept eke for her distress.

And busily they gonnen* her comfort *began Of thing, God wot, on which she little thought; And with their tales weened her disport, And to be glad they her besought;

But such an ease therewith they in her wrought, Right as a man is eased for to feel,

For ache of head, to claw him on his heel.

But, after all this nice* vanity, *silly They took their leave, and home they wenten all; Cressida, full of sorrowful pity,

Into her chamber up went out of the hall, And on her bed she gan for dead to fall, In purpose never thennes for to rise;

And thus she wrought, as I shall you devise. narrate She rent her sunny hair, wrung her hands, wept, and bewailed her fate; vowing that, since, “for the cruelty,” she could handle neither sword nor dart, she would abstain from meat and drink until she died. As she lamented, Pandarus entered, making her complain a thousand times more at the thought of all the joy which he had given her with her lover; but he somewhat soothed her by the prospect of Troilus’s visit, and by the counsel to contain her grief when he should come. Then Pandarus went in search of Troilus, whom he found solitary in a temple, as one that had ceased to care for life: For right thus was his argument alway: He said he was but lorne,* wellaway! lost, ruined “For all that comes, comes by necessity; Thus, to be lorn, it is my destiny. *lost, ruined “For certainly this wot I well,” he said, “That foresight of the divine purveyance providence Hath seen alway me to forgo* Cresseide, lose Since God sees ev’ry thing, out of doubtance, without doubt*

And them disposeth, through his ordinance, In their merites soothly for to be,

As they should come by predestiny.

“But natheless, alas! whom shall I ‘lieve?

For there be greate clerkes* many one scholars That destiny through argumentes preve, prove And some say that needly* there is none, *necessarily But that free choice is giv’n us ev’ry one; O wellaway! so sly are clerkes old,

That I n’ot* whose opinion I may hold. <76> *know not “For some men say, if God sees all beforn, Godde may not deceived be, pardie!

Then must it fallen,* though men had it sworn, befall, happen That purveyance hath seen before to be; Wherefore I say, that from etern if he eternity Hath wist before our thought eke as our deed, *known We have no free choice, as these clerkes read. maintain “For other thought, nor other deed also, Might never be, but such as purveyance, Which may not be deceived never mo’,

Hath feeled* before, without ignorance; *perceived For if there mighte be a variance,

To writhen out from Godde’s purveying, There were no prescience of thing coming, “But it were rather an opinion

Uncertain, and no steadfast foreseeing; And, certes, that were an abusion, illusion That God should have no perfect clear weeting, knowledge More than we men, that have *doubtous weening; dubious opinion*

But such an error *upon God to guess, to impute to God*

Were false, and foul, and wicked cursedness. impiety “Eke this is an opinion of some

That have their top full high and smooth y-shore, <77>

They say right thus, that thing is not to come, For* that the prescience hath seen before *because That it shall come; but they say, that therefore That it shall come, therefore the purveyance Wot it before, withouten ignorance.

“And, in this manner, this necessity

*Returneth in his part contrary again; reacts in the opposite For needfully behoves it not to be, direction*

That thilke thinges *fallen in certain, certainly happen*

That be purvey’d; but needly, as they sayn, Behoveth it that thinges, which that fall, That they in certain be purveyed all.

“I mean as though I labour’d me in this To inquire which thing cause of which thing be; As, whether that the prescience of God is The certain cause of the necessity

Of thinges that to come be, pardie!

Or if necessity of thing coming

Be cause certain of the purveying.

“But now enforce I me not in shewing I do not lay stress

How th’order of causes stands; but well wot I, That it behoveth, that the befalling

Of thinges wiste* before certainly, known Be necessary, all seem it not* thereby, though it does not appear

That prescience put falling necessair

To thing to come, all fall it foul or fair.

“For, if there sit a man yond on a see, seat Then by necessity behoveth it

That certes thine opinion sooth be,

That weenest, or conjectest,* that he sit; *conjecturest And, furtherover, now againward yet,

Lo! right so is it on the part contrary; As thus, — now hearken, for I will not tarry; —

“I say that if th’opinion of thee

Be sooth, for that he sits, then say I this, That he must sitte by necessity;

And thus necessity in either is,

For in him need of sitting is, y-wis,

And, in thee, need of sooth; and thus forsooth There must necessity be in you both.

“But thou may’st say he sits not therefore That thine opinion of his sitting sooth But rather, for the man sat there before, Therefore is thine opinion sooth, y-wis; And I say, though the cause of sooth of this Comes of his sitting, yet necessity

Is interchanged both in him and thee.

“Thus in the same wise, out of doubtance, I may well maken, as it seemeth me,

My reasoning of Godde’s purveyance,

And of the thinges that to come be;

By whiche reason men may well y-see

That thilke* thinges that in earthe fall,* those **happen That by necessity they comen all.

“For although that a thing should come, y-wis, Therefore it is purveyed certainly,

Not that it comes for it purveyed is;

Yet, natheless, behoveth needfully

That thing to come be purvey’d truely; Or elles thinges that purveyed be,

That they betide* by necessity. happen “And this sufficeth right enough, certain, For to destroy our free choice ev’ry deal; But now is this abusion, to sayn *illusion, self-deception That falling of the thinges temporel

Is cause of Godde’s prescience eternel; Now truely that is a false sentence, opinion, judgment That thing to come should cause his prescience.

“What might I ween, an’* I had such a thought, *if But that God purveys thing that is to come, For that it is to come, and elles nought?

So might I ween that thinges, all and some, That *whilom be befall and overcome, have happened Be cause of thilke sov’reign purveyance, in times past*

That foreknows all, withouten ignorance.

“And over all this, yet say I more thereto, —

That right as when I wot there is a thing, Y-wis, that thing must needfully be so; Eke right so, when I wot a thing coming, So must it come; and thus the befalling Of thinges that be wist before the tide, time They may not be eschew’d* on any side.” *avoided While Troilus was in all this heaviness, disputing with himself in this matter, Pandarus joined him, and told him the result of the interview with Cressida; and at night the lovers met, with what sighs and tears may be imagined. Cressida swooned away, so that Troilus took her for dead; and, having tenderly laid out her limbs, as one preparing a corpse for the bier, he drew his sword to slay himself upon her body. But, as God would, just at that moment she awoke out of her swoon; and by and by the pair began to talk of their prospects. Cressida declared the opinion, supporting it at great length and with many reasons, that there was no cause for half so much woe on either part. Her surrender, decreed by the parliament, could not be resisted; it was quite easy for them soon to meet again; she would bring things about that she should be back in Troy within a week or two; she would take advantage of the constant coming and going while the truce lasted; and the issue would be, that the Trojans would have both her and Antenor; while, to facilitate her return, she had devised a stratagem by which, working on her father’s avarice, she might tempt him to desert from the Greek camp back to the city. “And truly,” says the poet, having fully reported her plausible speech,

And truely, as written well I find,

That all this thing was said *of good intent, sincerely*

And that her hearte true was and kind

Towardes him, and spake right as she meant, And that she starf* for woe nigh when she went, *died And was in purpose ever to be true;

Thus write they that of her workes knew.

This Troilus, with heart and ears y-sprad, all open Heard all this thing devised to and fro, And verily it seemed that he had

*The selfe wit;* but yet to let her go the same opinion

His hearte misforgave* him evermo’; *misgave But, finally, he gan his hearte wrest compel To truste her, and took it for the best.

For which the great fury of his penance suffering Was quench’d with hope, and therewith them between Began for joy the amorouse dance;

And as the birdes, when the sun is sheen, *bright Delighten in their song, in leaves green, Right so the wordes that they spake y-fere together Delighten them, and make their heartes cheer. glad Yet Troilus was not so well at ease, that he did not earnestly entreat Cressida to observe her promise; for, if she came not into Troy at the set day, he should never have health, honour, or joy; and he feared that the stratagem by which she would try to lure her father back would fail, so that she might be compelled to remain among the Greeks. He would rather have them steal away together, with sufficient treasure to maintain them all their lives; and even if they went in their bare shirt, he had kin and friends elsewhere, who would welcome and honour them.

Cressida, with a sigh, right in this wise Answer’d; “Y-wis, my deare hearte true, We may well steal away, as ye devise,

And finde such unthrifty wayes new;

But afterward full sore *it will us rue; we will regret it*

And help me God so at my moste need

As causeless ye suffer all this dread!

“For thilke* day that I for cherishing that same Or dread of father, or of other wight, Or for estate, delight, or for wedding, Be false to you, my Troilus, my knight, Saturne’s daughter Juno, through her might, As wood as Athamante <78> do me dwell *mad Eternally in Styx the pit of hell!

“And this, on ev’ry god celestial

I swear it you, and eke on each goddess, On ev’ry nymph, and deity infernal,

On Satyrs and on Faunes more or less,

That *halfe goddes* be of wilderness; *demigods And Atropos my thread of life to-brest, break utterly If I be false! now trow* me if you lest.* believe **please “And thou Simois, <79> that as an arrow clear Through Troy ay runnest downward to the sea, Bear witness of this word that said is here!

That thilke day that I untrue be

To Troilus, mine owen hearte free,

That thou returne backward to thy well, And I with body and soul sink in hell!”

Even yet Troilus was not wholly content, and urged anew his plan of secret flight; but Cressida turned upon him with the charge that he mistrusted her causelessly, and demanded of him that he should be faithful in her absence, else she must die at her return. Troilus promised faithfulness in far simpler and briefer words than Cressida had used.

“Grand mercy, good heart mine, y-wis,” quoth she; “And blissful Venus let me never sterve, die Ere I may stand *of pleasance in degree in a position to reward To quite him* that so well can deserve; him well with pleasure*

And while that God my wit will me conserve, I shall so do; so true I have you found, That ay honour to me-ward shall rebound.

“For truste well that your estate* royal, *rank Nor vain delight, nor only worthiness

Of you in war or tourney martial,

Nor pomp, array, nobley, nor eke richess, Ne made me to rue* on your distress; *take pity But moral virtue, grounded upon truth, That was the cause I first had on you ruth. pity “Eke gentle heart, and manhood that ye had, And that ye had, — as me thought, — in despite Every thing that *sounded unto* bad, tended unto, accorded with

As rudeness, and peoplish* appetite, *vulgar And that your reason bridled your delight; This made, aboven ev’ry creature,

That I was yours, and shall while I may dure.

“And this may length of yeares not fordo, destroy, do away Nor remuable* Fortune deface; *unstable But Jupiter, that of his might may do

The sorrowful to be glad, so give us grace, Ere nightes ten to meeten in this place, So that it may your heart and mine suffice!

And fare now well, for time is that ye rise.”

The lovers took a heart-rending adieu; and Troilus, suffering unimaginable anguish, “withoute more, out of the chamber went.”

THE FIFTH BOOK.

APPROACHE gan the fatal destiny

That Jovis hath in disposition,

And to you angry Parcae,* Sisters three, *The Fates Committeth to do execution;

For which Cressida must out of the town, And Troilus shall dwelle forth in pine, pain Till Lachesis his thread no longer twine. twist The golden-tressed Phoebus, high aloft, Thries* had alle, with his beames clear, thrice The snowes molt, and Zephyrus as oft melted Y-brought again the tender leaves green, Since that the son of Hecuba the queen Troilus <80>*

Began to love her first, for whom his sorrow Was all, that she depart should on the morrow In the morning, Diomede was ready to escort Cressida to the Greek host; and Troilus, seeing him mount his horse, could with difficulty resist an impulse to slay him — but restrained himself, lest his lady should be also slain in the tumult. When Cressida was ready to go,

This Troilus, in guise of courtesy,

With hawk on hand, and with a huge rout retinue, crowd Of knightes, rode, and did her company, Passing alle the valley far without;

And farther would have ridden, out of doubt, Full fain,* and woe was him to go so soon, *gladly But turn he must, and it was eke to do’n.

And right with that was Antenor y-come Out of the Greekes’ host, and ev’ry wight Was of it glad, and said he was welcome; And Troilus, *all n’ere his hearte light, although his heart He pained him, with all his fulle might, was not light*

Him to withhold from weeping at the least; And Antenor he kiss’d and made feast.

And therewithal he must his leave take, And cast his eye upon her piteously,

And near he rode, his cause* for to make *excuse, occasion To take her by the hand all soberly;

And, Lord! so she gan weepe tenderly!

And he full soft and slily gan her say, “Now hold your day, and *do me not to dey.” do not make me die*

With that his courser turned he about, With face pale, and unto Diomede

No word he spake, nor none of all his rout; Of which the son of Tydeus <81> tooke heed, As he that couthe* more than the creed <82> *knew In such a craft, and by the rein her hent; took And Troilus to Troye homeward went.

This Diomede, that led her by the bridle, When that he saw the folk of Troy away, Thought, “All my labour shall not be *on idle, in vain*

If that I may, for somewhat shall I say; For, at the worst, it may yet short our way; I have heard say eke, times twice twelve, He is a fool that will forget himselve.”

But natheless, this thought he well enough, That “Certainly I am aboute naught,

If that I speak of love, or *make it tough; make any violent For, doubteless, if she have in her thought immediate effort*

Him that I guess, he may not be y-brought So soon away; but I shall find a mean, That she not wit as yet shall what I mean.” shall not yet know

So he began a general conversation, assured her of not less friendship and honour among the Greeks than she had enjoyed in Troy, and requested of her earnestly to treat him as a brother and accept his service — for, at last he said, “I am and shall be ay, while that my life may dure, your own, aboven ev’ry creature.

“Thus said I never e’er now to woman born; For, God mine heart as wisly* gladden so! *surely I loved never woman herebeforn,

As paramours, nor ever shall no mo’;

And for the love of God be not my foe, All* can I not to you, my lady dear, *although Complain aright, for I am yet to lear. teach “And wonder not, mine owen lady bright, Though that I speak of love to you thus blive; soon For I have heard ere this of many a wight That loved thing he ne’er saw in his live; Eke I am not of power for to strive

Against the god of Love, but him obey

I will alway, and mercy I you pray.”

Cressida answered his discourses as though she scarcely heard them; yet she thanked him for his trouble and courtesy, and accepted his offered friendship — promising to trust him, as well she might. Then she alighted from her steed, and, with her heart nigh breaking, was welcomed to the embrace of her father.

Meanwhile Troilus, back in Troy, was lamenting with tears the loss of his love, despairing of his or her ability to survive the ten days, and spending the night in wailing, sleepless tossing, and troublous dreams. In the morning he was visited by Pandarus, to whom he gave directions for his funeral; desiring that the powder into which his heart was burned should be kept in a golden urn, and given to Cressida. Pandarus renewed his old counsels and consolations, reminded his friend that ten days were a short time to wait, argued against his faith in evil dreams, and urged him to take advantage of the truce, and beguile the time by a visit to King Sarpedon (a Lycian Prince who had come to aid the Trojans). Sarpedon entertained them splendidly; but no feasting, no pomp, no music of instruments, no singing of fair ladies, could make up for the absence of Cressida to the desolate Troilus, who was for ever poring upon her old letters, and recalling her loved form. Thus he “drove to an end” the fourth day, and would have then returned to Troy, but for the remonstrances of Pandarus, who asked if they had visited Sarpedon only to fetch fire? At last, at the end of a week, they returned to Troy; Troilus hoping to find Cressida again in the city, Pandarus entertaining a scepticism which he concealed from his friend. The morning after their return, Troilus was impatient till he had gone to the palace of Cressida; but when he found her doors all closed, “well nigh for sorrow adown he gan to fall.”

Therewith, when he was ware, and gan behold How shut was ev’ry window of the place, As frost him thought his hearte *gan to cold; began to grow cold*

For which, with changed deadly pale face, Withoute word, he forth began to pace; And, as God would, he gan so faste ride, That no wight of his countenance espied.

Then said he thus: “O palace desolate!

O house of houses, *whilom beste hight! formerly called best*

O palace empty and disconsolate!

O thou lantern, of which quench’d is the light!

O palace, whilom day, that now art night!

Well oughtest thou to fall, and I to die, Since she is gone that wont was us to guy! guide, rule “O palace, whilom crown of houses all, Illumined with sun of alle bliss!

O ring, from which the ruby is out fall!

O cause of woe, that cause hast been of bliss!

Yet, since I may no bet, fain would I kiss Thy colde doores, durst I for this rout; And farewell shrine, of which the saint is out!”

… … … . .

From thence forth he rideth up and down, And ev’ry thing came him to remembrance, As he rode by the places of the town,

In which he whilom had all his pleasance; “Lo! yonder saw I mine own lady dance; And in that temple, with her eyen clear, Me caughte first my righte lady dear.

“And yonder have I heard full lustily

My deare hearte laugh; and yonder play: Saw I her ones eke full blissfully;

And yonder ones to me gan she say,

‘Now, goode sweete! love me well, I pray;’

And yond so gladly gan she me behold,

That to the death my heart is to her hold. holden, bound “And at that corner, in the yonder house, Heard I mine allerlevest* lady dear, *dearest of all So womanly, with voice melodious,

Singe so well, so goodly and so clear, That in my soule yet me thinks I hear

The blissful sound; and in that yonder place My lady first me took unto her grace.”

Then he went to the gates, and gazed along the way by which he had attended Cressida at her departure; then he fancied that all the passers-by pitied him; and thus he drove forth a day or two more, singing a song, of few words, which he had made to lighten his heart:

“O star, of which I lost have all the light, With hearte sore well ought I to bewail, That ever dark in torment, night by night, Toward my death, with wind I steer and sail; For which, the tenthe night, if that I fail miss; be left without The guiding of thy beames bright an hour, My ship and me Charybdis will devour.”

By night he prayed the moon to run fast about her sphere; by day he reproached the tardy sun — dreading that Phaethon had come to life again, and was driving the chariot of Apollo out of its straight course. Meanwhile Cressida, among the Greeks, was bewailing the refusal of her father to let her return, the certainty that her lover would think her false, and the hopelessness of any attempt to steal away by night. Her bright face waxed pale, her limbs lean, as she stood all day looking toward Troy; thinking on her love and all her past delights, regretting that she had not followed the counsel of Troilus to steal away with him, and finally vowing that she would at all hazards return to the city.

But she was fated, ere two months, to be full far from any such intention; for Diomede now brought all his skill into play, to entice Cressida into his net. On the tenth day, Diomede, “as fresh as branch in May,” came to the tent of Cressida, feigning business with Calchas.

Cresside, at shorte wordes for to tell, Welcomed him, and down by her him set, And he was *eath enough to make dwell; easily persuaded to stay*

And after this, withoute longe let, delay The spices and the wine men forth him fet, fetched And forth they speak of this and that y-fere, together As friendes do, of which some shall ye hear.

He gan first fallen of the war in speech Between them and the folk of Troye town, And of the siege he gan eke her beseech To tell him what was her opinioun;

From that demand he so descended down

To aske her, if that her strange thought The Greekes’ guise,* and workes that they wrought. fashion And why her father tarried so long *delayed To wedde her unto some worthy wight.

Cressida, that was in her paines strong For love of Troilus, her owen knight,

So farforth as she cunning* had or might, *ability Answer’d him then; but, as for his intent, purpose It seemed not she wiste* what he meant. knew But natheless this ilke Diomede same Gan in himself assure,* and thus he said; grow confident

“If I aright have *taken on you heed, observed you*

Me thinketh thus, O lady mine Cresside, That since I first hand on your bridle laid, When ye out came of Troye by the morrow, Ne might I never see you but in sorrow.

“I cannot say what may the cause be,

But if for love of some Trojan it were; *The which right sore would a-thinke me which it would much That ye for any wight that dwelleth there pain me to think*

Should [ever] spill* a quarter of a tear, *shed Or piteously yourselfe so beguile; deceive For dreadeless* it is not worth the while. *undoubtedly “The folk of Troy, as who saith, all and some In prison be, as ye yourselfe see;

From thence shall not one alive come

For all the gold betwixte sun and sea; Truste this well, and understande me;

There shall not one to mercy go alive, All* were he lord of worldes twice five. *although … … … …

“What will ye more, lovesome lady dear?

Let Troy and Trojan from your hearte pace; Drive out that bitter hope, and make good cheer, And call again the beauty of your face, That ye with salte teares so deface;

For Troy is brought into such jeopardy, That it to save is now no remedy.

“And thinke well, ye shall in Greekes find A love more perfect, ere that it be night, Than any Trojan is, and more kind,

And better you to serve will do his might; And, if ye vouchesafe, my lady bright, I will be he, to serve you, myselve, —

Yea, lever* than be a lord of Greekes twelve!” *rather And with that word he gan to waxe red, And in his speech a little while he quoke, quaked; trembled And cast aside a little with his head, And stint a while; and afterward he woke, And soberly on her he threw his look,

And said, “I am, albeit to you no joy, As gentle* man as any wight in Troy. *high-born “But, hearte mine! since that I am your man, leigeman, subject And [you] be the first of whom I seeke grace, (in love) To serve you as heartily as I can,

And ever shall, while I to live have space, So, ere that I depart out of this place, Ye will me grante that I may, to-morrow, At better leisure, telle you my sorrow.”

Why should I tell his wordes that he said?

He spake enough for one day at the mest; most It proveth well he spake so, that Cresseide Granted upon the morrow, at his request, Farther to speake with him, at the least, So that he would not speak of such mattere; And thus she said to him, as ye may hear: As she that had her heart on Troilus

So faste set, that none might it arace; uproot <83>

And strangely* she spake, and saide thus; *distantly, unfriendlily “O Diomede! I love that ilke place

Where I was born; and Jovis, for his grace, Deliver it soon of all that doth it care! afflict God, for thy might, so *leave it* well to fare!” grant it

She knows that the Greeks would fain wreak their wrath on Troy, if they might; but that shall never befall: she knows that there are Greeks of high condition — though as worthy men would be found in Troy: and she knows that Diomede could serve his lady well.

“But, as to speak of love, y-wis,” she said, “I had a lord, to whom I wedded was, <84>

He whose mine heart was all, until he died; And other love, as help me now Pallas, There in my heart nor is, nor ever was; And that ye be of noble and high kindred, I have well heard it tellen, out of dread. doubt “And that doth* me to have so great a wonder *causeth That ye will scornen any woman so;

Eke, God wot, love and I be far asunder; I am disposed bet, so may I go, fare or prosper Unto my death to plain and make woe;

What I shall after do I cannot say,

But truely as yet *me list not play. I am not disposed *for sport “Mine heart is now in tribulatioun;

And ye in armes busy be by day;

Hereafter, when ye wonnen have the town, Parauntre* then, so as it happen may, peradventure That when I see that I never ere sey, saw before*

Then will I work that I never ere wrought; This word to you enough sufficen ought.

“To-morrow eke will I speak with you fain, willingly So that ye touche naught of this mattere; And when you list, ye may come here again, And ere ye go, thus much I say you here: As help me Pallas, with her haires clear, If that I should of any Greek have ruth, It shoulde be yourselfe, by my truth!

“I say not therefore that I will you love; *Nor say not nay;* but, in conclusioun, nor say I that I meane well, by God that sits above!” I will not

And therewithal she cast her eyen down, And gan to sigh, and said; “O Troye town!

Yet bid* I God, in quiet and in rest pray I may you see, or do my hearte brest!” cause my heart to break*

But in effect, and shortly for to say, This Diomede all freshly new again

Gan pressen on, and fast her mercy pray; And after this, the soothe for to sayn, Her glove he took, of which he was full fain, And finally, when it was waxen eve,

And all was well, he rose and took his leave.

Cressida retired to rest:

Returning in her soul ay up and down

The wordes of this sudden Diomede,<85>

His great estate,* the peril of the town, *rank And that she was alone, and hadde need Of friendes’ help; and thus began to dread The causes why, the soothe for to tell, That she took fully the purpose for to dwell. remain (with the Greeks) The morrow came, and, ghostly* for to speak, *plainly This Diomede is come unto Cresseide;

And shortly, lest that ye my tale break, So well he for himselfe spake and said, That all her sighes sore adown he laid; And finally, the soothe for to sayn,

He refte* her the great** of all her pain. took away *the greater part of And after this, the story telleth us

That she him gave the faire baye steed The which she ones won of Troilus;

And eke a brooch (and that was little need) That Troilus’ was, she gave this Diomede; And eke, the bet from sorrow him to relieve, She made him wear a pensel* of her sleeve. *pendant <86>

I find eke in the story elleswhere,

When through the body hurt was Diomede By Troilus, she wept many a tear,

When that she saw his wide woundes bleed, And that she took to keepe* him good heed, tend, care for And, for to heal him of his sorrow’s smart, Men say, I n’ot, that she gave him her heart. *know not And yet, when pity had thus completed the triumph of inconstancy, she made bitter moan over her falseness to one of the noblest and worthiest men that ever was; but it was now too late to repent, and at all events she resolved that she would be true to Diomede — all the while weeping for pity of the absent Troilus, to whom she wished every happiness. The tenth day, meantime, had barely dawned, when Troilus, accompanied by Pandarus, took his stand on the walls, to watch for the return of Cressida. Till noon they stood, thinking that every corner from afar was she; then Troilus said that doubtless her old father bore the parting ill, and had detained her till after dinner; so they went to dine, and returned to their vain observation on the walls. Troilus invented all kinds of explanations for his mistress’s delay; now, her father would not let her go till eve; now, she would ride quietly into the town after nightfall, not to be observed; now, he must have mistaken the day. For five or six days he watched, still in vain, and with decreasing hope.

Gradually his strength decayed, until he could walk only with a staff; answering the wondering inquiries of his friends, by saying that he had a grievous malady about his heart. One day he dreamed that in a forest he saw Cressida in the embrace of a boar; and he had no longer doubt of her falsehood. Pandarus, however, explained away the dream to mean merely that Cressida was detained by her father, who might be at the point of death; and he counselled the disconsolate lover to write a letter, by which he might perhaps get at the truth. Troilus complied, entreating from his mistress, at the least, a “letter of hope;” and the lady answered, that she could not come now, but would so soon as she might; at the same time “making him great feast,” and swearing that she loved him best — “of which he found but bottomless behest [which he found but groundless promises].” Day by day increased the woe of Troilus; he laid himself in bed, neither eating, nor drinking, nor sleeping, nor speaking, almost distracted by the thought of Cressida’s unkindness. He related his dream to his sister Cassandra, who told him that the boar betokened Diomede, and that, wheresoever his lady was, Diornede certainly had her heart, and she was his: “weep if thou wilt, or leave, for, out of doubt, this Diomede is in, and thou art out.” Troilus, enraged, refused to believe Cassandra’s interpretation; as well, he cried, might such a story be credited of Alcestis, who devoted her life for her husband; and in his wrath he started from bed, “as though all whole had him y-made a leach [physician],” resolving to find out the truth at all hazards. The death of Hector meanwhile enhanced the sorrow which he endured; but he found time to write often to Cressida, beseeching her to come again and hold her truth; till one day his false mistress, out of pity, wrote him again, in these terms:

“Cupide’s son, ensample of goodlihead, beauty, excellence O sword of knighthood, source of gentleness!

How might a wight in torment and in dread, And healeless,* you send as yet gladness? *devoid of health I hearteless, I sick, I in distress?

Since ye with me, nor I with you, may deal, You neither send I may nor heart nor heal.

“Your letters full, the paper all y-plainted, covered with Commoved have mine heart’s pitt; complainings I have eke seen with teares all depainted Your letter, and how ye require me

To come again; the which yet may not be; But why, lest that this letter founden were, No mention I make now for fear.

“Grievous to me, God wot, is your unrest, Your haste,* and that the goddes’ ordinance impatience It seemeth not ye take as for the best; Nor other thing is in your remembrance, As thinketh me, but only your pleasance; But be not wroth, and that I you beseech, For that I tarry is all for wicked speech. to avoid malicious gossip*

“For I have heard well more than I wend weened, thought Touching us two, how thinges have stood, Which I shall with dissimuling amend;

And, be not wroth, I have eke understood How ye ne do but holde me on hand; <87>

But now no force, I cannot in you guess no matter

But alle truth and alle gentleness.

“Comen I will, but yet in such disjoint jeopardy, critical I stande now, that what year or what day position That this shall be, that can I not appoint; But in effect I pray you, as I may,

For your good word and for your friendship ay; For truely, while that my life may dure, As for a friend, ye may *in me assure. depend on me*

“Yet pray I you, *on evil ye not take do not take it ill*

That it is short, which that I to you write; I dare not, where I am, well letters make; Nor never yet ne could I well endite;

Eke *great effect men write in place lite; men write great matter Th’ intent is all, and not the letter’s space; in little space*

And fare now well, God have you in his grace!

“La Vostre C.”

Though he found this letter “all strange,” and thought it like “a kalendes of change,” <88> Troilus could not believe his lady so cruel as to forsake him; but he was put out of all doubt, one day that, as he stood in suspicion and melancholy, he saw a “coat-armour” borne along the street, in token of victory, before Deiphobus his brother. Deiphobus had won it from Diomede in battle that day; and Troilus, examining it out of curiosity, found within the collar a brooch which he had given to Cressida on the morning she left Troy, and which she had pledged her faith to keep for ever in remembrance of his sorrow and of him. At this fatal discovery of his lady’s untruth, Great was the sorrow and plaint of Troilus; But forth her course Fortune ay gan to hold; Cressida lov’d the son of Tydeus,

And Troilus must weep in cares cold.

Such is the world, whoso it can behold!

In each estate is little hearte’s rest; God lend* us each to take it for the best! *grant In many a cruel battle Troilus wrought havoc among the Greeks, and often he exchanged blows and bitter words with Diomede, whom he always specially sought; but it was not their lot that either should fall by the other’s hand. The poet’s purpose, however, he tells us, is to relate, not the warlike deeds of Troilus, which Dares has fully told, but his love-fortunes: Beseeching ev’ry lady bright of hue,

And ev’ry gentle woman, *what she be, whatsoever she be*

Albeit that Cressida was untrue,

That for that guilt ye be not wroth with me; Ye may her guilt in other bookes see;

And gladder I would writen, if you lest, Of Penelope’s truth, and good Alceste.

Nor say I not this only all for men,

But most for women that betrayed be

Through false folk (God give them sorrow, Amen!) That with their greate wit and subtilty Betraye you; and this commoveth me

To speak; and in effect you all I pray, Beware of men, and hearken what I say.

Go, little book, go, little tragedy!

There God my maker, yet ere that I die, So send me might to make some comedy!

But, little book, *no making thou envy, be envious of no poetry* <89>

But subject be unto all poesy;

And kiss the steps, where as thou seest space, Of Virgil, Ovid, Homer, Lucan, Stace.

And, for there is so great diversity

In English, and in writing of our tongue, So pray I God, that none miswrite thee, Nor thee mismetre for default of tongue!

And read whereso thou be, or elles sung, That thou be understanden, God I ‘seech! beseech But yet to purpose of my *rather speech. earlier subject* <90>

The wrath, as I began you for to say,

Of Troilus the Greekes boughte dear;

For thousandes his handes *made dey, made to die*

As he that was withouten any peer,

Save in his time Hector, as I can hear; But, wellaway! save only Godde’s will, Dispiteously him slew the fierce Achill’.

And when that he was slain in this mannere, His lighte ghost* full blissfully is went *spirit Up to the hollowness of the seventh sphere <91>

In converse leaving ev’ry element;

And there he saw, with full advisement, observation, understanding Th’ erratic starres heark’ning harmony, With soundes full of heav’nly melody.

And down from thennes fast he gan advise consider, look on This little spot of earth, that with the sea Embraced is; and fully gan despise

This wretched world, and held all vanity, *To respect of the plein felicity in comparison with That is in heav’n above; and, at the last, the full felicity*

Where he was slain his looking down he cast.

And in himself he laugh’d right at the woe Of them that wepte for his death so fast; And damned* all our works, that follow so condemned The blinde lust, the which that may not last, And shoulden all our heart on heaven cast; while we should And forth he wente, shortly for to tell, Where as Mercury sorted him to dwell. *allotted <92>

Such fine* hath, lo! this Troilus for love! end Such fine hath all his greate worthiness! exalted royal rank*

Such fine hath his estate royal above!

Such fine his lust,* such fine hath his nobless! *pleasure Such fine hath false worlde’s brittleness! fickleness, instability And thus began his loving of Cresside, As I have told; and in this wise he died.

O young and freshe folke, *he or she, of either sex*

In which that love upgroweth with your age, Repaire home from worldly vanity,

And *of your heart upcaste the visage “lift up the countenance To thilke God, that after his image of your heart.”*

You made, and think that all is but a fair, This world that passeth soon, as flowers fair!

And love Him, the which that, right for love, Upon a cross, our soules for to bey, buy, redeem First starf,* and rose, and sits in heav’n above; died For he will false no wight, dare I say, *deceive, fail That will his heart all wholly on him lay; And since he best to love is, and most meek, What needeth feigned loves for to seek?

Lo! here of paynims* cursed olde rites! *pagans Lo! here what all their goddes may avail!

Lo! here this wretched worlde’s appetites! *end and reward Lo! here the fine and guerdon for travail, of labour*

Of Jove, Apollo, Mars, and such rascaille rabble <93>

Lo! here the form of olde clerkes’ speech, In poetry, if ye their bookes seech! seek, search L’Envoy of Chaucer.

O moral Gower! <94> this book I direct.

To thee, and to the philosophical Strode, <95>

To vouchesafe, where need is, to correct, Of your benignities and zeales good.

And to that soothfast Christ that *starf on rood died on the cross*

With all my heart, of mercy ever I pray, And to the Lord right thus I speak and say: “Thou One, and Two, and Three, *etern on live, eternally living*

That reignest ay in Three, and Two, and One, Uncircumscrib’d, and all may’st circumscrive, comprehend From visible and invisible fone foes Defend us in thy mercy ev’ry one;

So make us, Jesus, *for thy mercy dign, worthy of thy mercy*

For love of Maid and Mother thine benign!”

Explicit Liber Troili et Cresseidis. <96>

Notes to Troilus and Cressida

1. The double sorrow: First his suffering before his love was successful; and then his grief after his lady had been separated from him, and had proved unfaithful.

2. Tisiphone: one of the Eumenides, or Furies, who avenged on men in the next world the crimes committed on earth. Chaucer makes this grim invocation most fitly, since the Trojans were under the curse of the Eumenides, for their part in the offence of Paris in carrying off Helen, the wife of his host Menelaus, and thus impiously sinning against the laws of hospitality.

3. See Chaucer’s description of himself in “The House Of Fame,” and note 11 to that poem.

4. The Palladium, or image of Pallas (daughter of Triton and foster-sister of Athena), was said to have fallen from heaven at Troy, where Ilus was just beginning to found the city; and Ilus erected a sanctuary, in which it was preserved with great honour and care, since on its safety was supposed to depend the safety of the city. In later times a Palladium was any statue of the goddess Athena kept for the safeguard of the city that possessed it.

5. “Oh, very god!”: oh true divinity! — addressing Cressida.

6. Ascaunce: as if to say — as much as to say. The word represents “Quasi dicesse” in Boccaccio. See note 5 to the Sompnour’s Tale.

7. Eft: another reading is “oft.”

8. Arten: constrain — Latin, “arceo.”

9. The song is a translation of Petrarch’s 88th Sonnet, which opens thus:

“S’amor non e, che dunque e quel ch’i’sento.”

10. If maugre me: If (I burn) in spite of myself. The usual reading is, “If harm agree me” = if my hurt contents me: but evidently the antithesis is lost which Petrarch intended when, after “s’a mia voglia ardo,” he wrote “s’a mal mio grado” = if against my will; and Urry’s Glossary points out the probability that in transcription the words “If that maugre me” may have gradually changed into “If harm agre me.”

11. The Third of May seems either to have possessed peculiar favour or significance with Chaucer personally, or to have had a special importance in connection with those May observances of which the poet so often speaks. It is on the third night of May that Palamon, in The Knight’s Tale, breaks out of prison, and at early morn encounters in the forest Arcita, who has gone forth to pluck a garland in honour of May; it is on the third night of May that the poet hears the debate of “The Cuckoo and the Nightingale”; and again in the present passage the favoured date recurs.

12. Went: turning; from Anglo-Saxon, “wendan;” German, “wenden.” The turning and tossing of uneasy lovers in bed is, with Chaucer, a favourite symptom of their passion. See the fifth “statute,” in The Court of Love.

13. Procne, daughter of Pandion, king of Attica, was given to wife to Tereus in reward for his aid against an enemy; but Tereus dishonoured Philomela, Procne’s sister; and his wife, in revenge, served up to him the body of his own child by her.

Tereus, infuriated, pursued the two sisters, who prayed the gods to change them into birds. The prayer was granted; Philomela became a nightingale, Procne a swallow, and Tereus a hawk.

14. Fished fair: a proverbial phrase which probably may be best represented by the phrase “done great execution.”

15. The fair gem virtueless: possessing none of the virtues which in the Middle Ages were universally believed to be inherent in precious stones.

16. The crop and root: the most perfect example. See note 29

to the Knight’s Tale.

17. Eme: uncle; the mother’s brother; still used in Lancashire.

Anglo-Saxon, “eame;” German, “Oheim.”

18. Dardanus: the mythical ancestor of the Trojans, after whom the gate is supposed to be called.

19. All the other gates were secured with chains, for better defence against the besiegers.

20. Happy day: good fortune; French, “bonheur;” both “happy day” and “happy hour” are borrowed from the astrological fiction about the influence of the time of birth.

21. Horn, and nerve, and rind: The various layers or materials of the shield — called boagrion in the Iliad — which was made from the hide of the wild bull.

22. His brother: Hector.

23. Who gives me drink?: Who has given me a love-potion, to charm my heart thus away?

24. That plaited she full oft in many a fold: She deliberated carefully, with many arguments this way and that.

25. Through which I mighte stand in worse plight: in a worse position in the city; since she might through his anger lose the protection of his brother Hector.

26. I am not religious: I am not in holy vows. See the complaint of the nuns in “The Court of Love.”

27. The line recalls Milton’s “dark with excessive bright.”

28. No weal is worth, that may no sorrow drien: the meaning is, that whosoever cannot endure sorrow deserves not happiness.

29. French, “verre;” glass.

30. From cast of stones ware him in the werre: let him beware of casting stones in battle. The proverb in its modern form warns those who live in glass houses of the folly of throwing stones.

31. Westren: to west or wester — to decline towards the west; so Milton speaks of the morning star as sloping towards heaven’s descent “his westering wheel.”

32. A pike with ass’s feet etc.: this is merely another version of the well-known example of incongruity that opens the “Ars Poetica” of Horace.

33. Tristre: tryst; a preconcerted spot to which the beaters drove the game, and at which the sportsmen waited with their bows.

34. A kankerdort: a condition or fit of perplexed anxiety; probably connected with the word “kink” meaning in sea phrase a twist in an rope — and, as a verb, to twist or entangle.

35. They feel in times, with vapour etern: they feel in their seasons, by the emission of an eternal breath or inspiration (that God loves, &c.)

36. The idea of this stanza is the same with that developed in the speech of Theseus at the close of The Knight’s Tale; and it is probably derived from the lines of Boethius, quoted in note 91

to that Tale.

37. In this and the following lines reappears the noble doctrine of the exalting and purifying influence of true love, advanced in “The Court of Love,” “The Cuckoo and the Nightingale,” &c.

38. Weir: a trap or enclosed place in a stream, for catching fish.

See note 10 to The Assembly of Fowls.

39. Nor might one word for shame to it say: nor could he answer one word for shame (at the stratagem that brought Cressida to implore his protection)

40. “All n’ere he malapert, nor made avow Nor was so bold to sing a foole’s mass;”

i.e. although he was not over-forward and made no confession (of his love), or was so bold as to be rash and ill-advised in his declarations of love and worship.

41. Pandarus wept as if he would turn to water; so, in The Squire’s Tale, did Canace weep for the woes of the falcon.

42. If I breake your defence: if I transgress in whatever you may forbid; French, “defendre,” to prohibit.

43. These lines and the succeeding stanza are addressed to Pandarus, who had interposed some words of incitement to Cressida.

44. In “The Court of Love,” the poet says of Avaunter, that “his ancestry of kin was to Lier; and the stanza in which that line occurs expresses precisely the same idea as in the text.

Vain boasters of ladies’ favours are also satirised in “The House of Fame”.

45. Nice: silly, stupid; French, “niais.”

46.“Reheating” is read by preference for “richesse,” which stands in the older printed editions; though “richesse” certainly better represents the word used in the original of Boccaccio —

“dovizia,” meaning abundance or wealth.

47. “Depart it so, for widewhere is wist How that there is diversity requer’d Betwixte thinges like, as I have lear’d:”

i.e. make this distinction, for it is universally known that there is a great difference between things that seem the same, as I have learned.

48. Frepe: the set, or company; French, “frappe,” a stamp (on coins), a set (of moulds).

49. To be “in the wind” of noisy magpies, or other birds that might spoil sport by alarming the game, was not less desirable than to be on the “lee-side” of the game itself, that the hunter’s presence might not be betrayed by the scent. “In the wind of,”

thus signifies not to windward of, but to leeward of — that is, in the wind that comes from the object of pursuit.

50. Bothe fremd and tame: both foes and friends — literally, both wild and tame, the sporting metaphor being sustained.

51. The lovers are supposed to say, that nothing is wanting but to know the time at which they should meet.

52. A tale of Wade: see note 5 to the Merchant’s Tale.

53. Saturn, and Jove, in Cancer joined were: a conjunction that imported rain.

54. Smoky rain: An admirably graphic description of dense rain.

55. For the force of “cold,” see note 22 to the Nun’s Priest’s Tale.

56. Goddes seven: The divinities who gave their names to the seven planets, which, in association with the seven metals, are mentioned in The Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale.

57. Assayed: experienced, tasted. See note 6 to the Squire’s Tale.

58. Now is it better than both two were lorn: better this happy issue, than that both two should be lost (through the sorrow of fruitless love).

59. Made him such feast: French, “lui fit fete” — made holiday for him.

60. The cock is called, in “The Assembly of Fowls,” “the horologe of thorpes lite;” [the clock of little villages] and in The Nun’s Priest’s Tale Chanticleer knew by nature each ascension of the equinoctial, and, when the sun had ascended fifteen degrees, “then crew he, that it might not be amended.” Here he is termed the “common astrologer,” as employing for the public advantage his knowledge of astronomy.

61. Fortuna Major: the planet Jupiter.

62. When Jupiter visited Alcmena in the form of her husband Amphitryon, he is said to have prolonged the night to the length of three natural nights. Hercules was the fruit of the union.

63. Chaucer seems to confound Titan, the title of the sun, with Tithonus (or Tithon, as contracted in poetry), whose couch Aurora was wont to share.

64. So, in “Locksley Hall,” Tennyson says that “a sorrow’s crown of sorrow is rememb’ring better things.” The original is in Dante’s words:- –

“Nessun maggior dolore

Che ricordarsi del tempo felice

Nella miseria.” — “Inferno,” v. 121.

(“There is no greater sorrow than to remember happy times when in misery”)

65. As great a craft is to keep weal as win: it needs as much skill to keep prosperity as to attain it.

66. To heap: together. See the reference to Boethius in note 91

to the Knight’s Tale.

67. The smalle beastes let he go beside: a charming touch, indicative of the noble and generous inspiration of his love.

68. Mew: the cage or chamber in which hawks were kept and carefully tended during the moulting season.

69. Love of steel: love as true as steel.

70. Pandarus, as it repeatedly appears, was an unsucsessful lover.

71. “Each for his virtue holden is full dear, Both heroner, and falcon for rivere”:—

That is, each is esteemed for a special virtue or faculty, as the large gerfalcon for the chase of heron, the smaller goshawk for the chase of river fowl.

72. Zausis: An author of whom no record survives.

73. And upon new case lieth new advice: new counsels must be adopted as new circumstances arise.

74. Hid in mew: hidden in a place remote from the world — of which Pandarus thus betrays ignorance.

75. The modern phrase “sixes and sevens,” means “in confusion:” but here the idea of gaming perhaps suits the sense better — “set the world upon a cast of the dice.”

76. The controversy between those who maintained the doctrine of predestination and those who held that of free-will raged with no less animation at Chaucer’s day, and before it, than it has done in the subsequent five centuries; the Dominicans upholding the sterner creed, the Franciscans taking the other side. Chaucer has more briefly, and with the same care not to commit himself, referred to the discussion in The Nun’s Priest’s Tale.

77. That have their top full high and smooth y-shore: that are eminent among the clergy, who wear the tonsure.

78. Athamante: Athamas, son of Aeolus; who, seized with madness, under the wrath of Juno for his neglect of his wife Nephele, slew his son Learchus.

79. Simois: one of the rivers of the Troad, flowing into the Xanthus.

80. Troilus was the son of Priam and Hecuba.

81. The son of Tydeus: Diomedes; far oftener called Tydides, after his father Tydeus, king of Argos.

82. Couthe more than the creed: knew more than the mere elements (of the science of Love).

83. Arache: wrench away, unroot (French, “arracher”); the opposite of “enrace,” to root in, implant.

84. It will be remembered that, at the beginning of the first book, Cressida is introduced to us as a widow.

85. Diomede is called “sudden,” for the unexpectedness of his assault on Cressida’s heart — or, perhaps, for the abrupt abandonment of his indifference to love.

86. Penscel: a pennon or pendant; French, “penoncel.” It was the custom in chivalric times for a knight to wear, on days of tournament or in battle, some such token of his lady’s favour, or badge of his service to her.

87. She has been told that Troilus is deceiving her.

88. The Roman kalends were the first day of the month, when a change of weather was usually expected.

89. Maker, and making, words used in the Middle Ages to signify the composer and the composition of poetry, correspond exactly with the Greek “poietes” and “poiema,” from “poieo,” I make.

90. My rather speech: my earlier, former subject; “rather” is the cormparative of the old adjective “rath,” early.

91. Up to the hollowness of the seventh sphere: passing up through the hollowness or concavity of the spheres, which all revolve round each other and are all contained by God (see note 5 to the Assembly of Fowls), the soul of Troilus, looking downward, beholds the converse or convex side of the spheres which it has traversed.

92. Sorted: allotted; from Latin, “sors,” lot, fortune.

93. Rascaille: rabble; French, “racaille” — a mob or multitude, the riff-raff; so Spencer speaks of the “rascal routs” of inferior combatants.

94. John Gower, the poet, a contemporary and friend of Chaucer’s; author, among other works, of the “Confessio Amantis.” See note 1 to the Man of Law’s Tale.

95. Strode was an eminent scholar of Merton College, Oxford, and tutor to Chaucer’s son Lewis.

96. Explicit Liber Troili et Cresseidis: “The end of the book of Troilus and Cressida.”

THE PROLOGUE TO THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN.

[SOME difference of opinion exists as to the date at which Chaucer wrote “The Legend of Good Women.” Those who would fix that date at a period not long before the poet’s death — who would place the poem, indeed, among his closing labours — support their opinion by the fact that the Prologue recites most of Chaucer’s principal works, and glances, besides, at a long array of other productions, too many to be fully catalogued.

But, on the other hand, it is objected that the “Legend” makes no mention of “The Canterbury Tales” as such; while two of those Tales — the Knight’s and the Second Nun’s — are enumerated by the titles which they bore as separate compositions, before they were incorporated in the great collection: “The Love of Palamon and Arcite,” and “The Life of Saint Cecile” (see note 1

to the Second Nun’s tale). Tyrwhitt seems perfectly justified in placing the composition of the poem immediately before that of Chaucer’s magnum opus, and after the marriage of Richard II to his first queen, Anne of Bohemia. That event took place in 1382; and since it is to Anne that the poet refers when he makes Alcestis bid him give his poem to the queen “at Eltham or at Sheen,” the “Legend” could not have been written earlier. The old editions tell us that “several ladies in the Court took offence at Chaucer’s large speeches against the untruth of women; therefore the queen enjoin’d him to compile this book in the commendation of sundry maidens and wives, who show’d themselves faithful to faithless men. This seems to have been written after The Flower and the Leaf.” Evidently it was, for distinct references to that poem are to be found in the Prologue; but more interesting is the indication which it furnishes, that “Troilus and Cressida” was the work, not of the poet’s youth, but of his maturer age. We could hardly expect the queen — whether of Love or of England — to demand seriously from Chaucer a retractation of sentiments which he had expressed a full generation before, and for which he had made atonement by the splendid praises of true love sung in “The Court of Love,” “The Cuckoo and the Nightingale,” and other poems of youth and middle life. But “Troilus and Cressida” is coupled with “The Romance of the Rose,” as one of the poems which had given offence to the servants and the God of Love; therefore we may suppose it to have more prominently engaged courtly notice at a later period of the poet’s life, than even its undoubted popularity could explain. At whatever date, or in whatever circumstances, undertaken, “The Legend of Good Women” is a fragment. There are several signs that it was designed to contain the stories of twenty-five ladies, although the number of the good women is in the poem itself set down at nineteen; but nine legends only were actually composed, or have come down to us. They are, those of Cleopatra Queen of Egypt (126 lines), Thisbe of Babylon (218), Dido Queen of Carthage (442), Hypsipyle and Medea (312), Lucrece of Rome (206), Ariadne of Athens (340), Phiomela (167), Phyllis (168), and Hypermnestra (162).

Prefixed to these stories, which are translated or imitated from Ovid, is a Prologue containing 579

lines — the only part of the “Legend” given in the present edition. It is by far the most original, the strongest, and most pleasing part of the poem; the description of spring, and of his enjoyment of that season, are in Chaucer’s best manner; and the political philosophy by which Alcestis mitigates the wrath of Cupid, adds another to the abounding proofs that, for his knowledge of the world, Chaucer fairly merits the epithet of “many-sided”

which Shakespeare has won by his knowledge of man.]

A THOUSAND times I have hearde tell,

That there is joy in heav’n, and pain in hell; And I accord* it well that it is so; grant, agree But, natheless, yet wot I well also, *know That there is none dwelling in this country That either hath in heav’n or hell y-be; been Nor may of it no other wayes witten know But as he hath heard said, or found it written; For by assay* there may no man it preve.* practical trial **prove, test But God forbid but that men should believe Well more thing than men have seen with eye!

Men shall not weenen ev’ry thing a lie But if himself it seeth, or else do’th; *unless For, God wot, thing is never the less sooth, true Though ev’ry wighte may it not y-see.

Bernard, the Monke, saw not all, pardie! <1>

Then muste we to bookes that we find

(Through which that olde thinges be in mind), And to the doctrine of these olde wise, Give credence, in ev’ry skilful* wise, reasonable That tellen of these old approved stories, Of holiness, of regnes, of victories, *reigns, kingdoms Of love, of hate, and other sundry things Of which I may not make rehearsings;

And if that olde bookes were away,

Y-lorn were of all remembrance the key.

Well ought we, then, to honour and believe These bookes, where we have none other preve. proof And as for me, though that I know but lite, little On bookes for to read I me delight,

And to them give I faith and good credence, And in my heart have them in reverence, So heartily, that there is *game none* <2> no amusement

That from my bookes maketh me to go’n, But it be seldom on the holyday;

Save, certainly, when that the month of May Is comen, and I hear the fowles sing,

And that the flowers ginnen for to spring, Farewell my book and my devotion!

Now have I then such a condition,

That, above all the flowers in the mead, Then love I most these flowers white and red, Such that men calle Day’s-eyes in our town; To them have I so great affectioun,

As I said erst, when comen is the May, That in my bed there dawneth me no day That I n’am* up, and walking in the mead, *am not To see this flow’r against the sunne spread, When it upriseth early by the morrow;

That blissful sight softeneth all my sorrow, So glad am I, when that I have presence Of it, to do it alle reverence,

As she that is of alle flowers flow’r, Fulfilled of all virtue and honour,

And ever alike fair, and fresh of hue; As well in winter, as in summer new,

This love I ever, and shall until I die; All* swear I not, of this I will not lie, *although There loved no wight hotter in his life.

And when that it is eve, I runne blife, quickly, eagerly As soon as ever the sun begins to west, decline westward To see this flow’r, how it will go to rest, For fear of night, so hateth she darkness!

Her cheer* is plainly spread in the brightness *countenance Of the sunne, for there it will unclose.

Alas! that I had English, rhyme or prose, Sufficient this flow’r to praise aright!

But help me, ye that have *cunning or might; skill or power*

Ye lovers, that can make of sentiment, In this case ought ye to be diligent

To further me somewhat in my labour,

Whether ye be with the Leaf or the Flow’r; <3>

For well I wot, that ye have herebefore Of making ropen,* and led away the corn; <4> *reaped And I come after, gleaning here and there, And am full glad if I may find an ear

Of any goodly word that you have left.

And though it hap me to rehearsen eft again What ye have in your freshe songes said, Forbeare me, and be not *evil apaid, displeased*

Since that ye see I do it in th’honour Of love, and eke in service of the flow’r Whom that I serve as I have wit or might. <5>

She is the clearness, and the very* light, true That in this darke world me winds and leads; *turns, guides The heart within my sorrowful breast you dreads, And loves so sore, that ye be, verily, The mistress of my wit, and nothing I.

My word, my works, are knit so in your bond, That, as a harp obeyeth to the hand,

That makes it sound after his fingering, Right so may ye out of my hearte bring Such voice, right as you list, to laugh or plain; complain, mourn Be ye my guide, and lady sovereign.

As to mine earthly god, to you I call, Both in this work, and in my sorrows all.

But wherefore that I spake to give credence To old stories, and do them reverence, And that men muste more things believe Than they may see at eye, or elles preve, prove That shall I say, when that I see my time; I may not all at ones speak in rhyme.

My busy ghost,* that thirsteth always new *spirit To see this flow’r so young, so fresh of hue, Constrained me with so greedy desire,

That in my heart I feele yet the fire, That made me to rise ere it were day, —

And this was now the first morrow of May, —

With dreadful heart, and glad devotion, For to be at the resurrection

Of this flower, when that it should unclose Against the sun, that rose as red as rose, That in the breast was of the beast* that day *the sign of the Bull That Agenore’s daughter led away. <6>

And down on knees anon right I me set, And as I could this freshe flow’r I gret, greeted Kneeling alway, till it unclosed was,

Upon the smalle, softe, sweete grass,

That was with flowers sweet embroider’d all, Of such sweetness and such odour *o’er all,* everywhere

That, for to speak of gum, or herb, or tree, Comparison may none y-maked be;

For it surmounteth plainly all odours, And for rich beauty the most gay of flow’rs.

Forgotten had the earth his poor estate Of winter, that him naked made and mate, dejected, lifeless And with his sword of cold so sore grieved; Now hath th’attemper* sun all that releaved* temperate **furnished That naked was, and clad it new again. anew with leaves The smalle fowles, of the season fain, glad That of the panter* and the net be scap’d, *draw-net Upon the fowler, that them made awhap’d terrified, confounded In winter, and destroyed had their brood, In his despite them thought it did them good To sing of him, and in their song despise The foule churl, that, for his covetise, greed Had them betrayed with his sophistry deceptions This was their song: “The fowler we defy, And all his craft:” and some sunge clear Layes of love, that joy it was to hear, In worshipping* and praising of their make;* honouring **mate And for the blissful newe summer’s sake, Upon the branches full of blossoms soft, In their delight they turned them full oft, And sunge, “Blessed be Saint Valentine! <7>

For on his day I chose you to be mine, Withoute repenting, my hearte sweet.”

And therewithal their heals began to meet, Yielding honour, and humble obeisances, To love, and did their other observances That longen unto Love and to Nature;

Construe that as you list, I *do no cure. care nothing*

And those that hadde *done unkindeness, committed offence As doth the tidife, <8> for newfangleness, against natural laws*

Besoughte mercy for their trespassing

And humblely sange their repenting,

And swore upon the blossoms to be true; So that their mates would upon them rue, take pity And at the laste made their accord. reconciliation All* found they Danger** for a time a lord, although *disdain Yet Pity, through her stronge gentle might, Forgave, and made mercy pass aright

Through Innocence, and ruled Courtesy.

But I ne call not innocence folly

Nor false pity, for virtue is the mean, As Ethic <9> saith, in such manner I mean.

And thus these fowles, void of all malice, Accorded unto Love, and lefte vice

Of hate, and sangen all of one accord, “Welcome, Summer, our governor and lord!”

And Zephyrus and Flora gentilly

Gave to the flowers, soft and tenderly, Their sweete breath, and made them for to spread, As god and goddess of the flow’ry mead; In which me thought I mighte, day by day, Dwellen alway, the jolly month of May, Withoute sleep, withoute meat or drink.

Adown full softly I began to sink,

And, leaning on mine elbow and my side The longe day I shope* to abide, *resolved, prepared For nothing elles, and I shall not lie But for to look upon the daisy;

That men by reason well it calle may

The Daye’s-eye, or else the Eye of Day, The empress and the flow’r of flowers all I pray to God that faire may she fall!

And all that love flowers, for her sake: But, nathelesse, *ween not that I make do not fancy that I In praising of the Flow’r against the Leaf, write this poem*

No more than of the corn against the sheaf; For as to me is lever none nor lother, I n’am withholden yet with neither n’other.<10>

Nor I n’ot who serves Leaf, nor who the Flow’r; nor do I know

Well brooke they their service or labour! may they profit by

For this thing is all of another tun, <11>

Of old story, ere such thing was begun.

When that the sun out of the south gan west, And that this flow’r gan close, and go to rest, For darkness of the night, the which she dread; dreaded Home to my house full swiftly I me sped, To go to rest, and early for to rise,

To see this flower spread, as I devise. describe And in a little arbour that I have,

That benched was of turfes fresh y-grave,* <12> *cut out I bade men shoulde me my couche make;

For dainty* of the newe summer’s sake, *pleasure I bade them strowe flowers on my bed.

When I was laid, and had mine eyen hid, I fell asleep; within an hour or two,

Me mette* how I lay in the meadow tho,* dreamed **then To see this flow’r that I love so and dread.

And from afar came walking in the mead The God of Love, and in his hand a queen; And she was clad in royal habit green; A fret* of gold she hadde next her hair, band And upon that a white corown she bare, With flowrons small, and, as I shall not lie, *florets <13>

For all the world right as a daisy

Y-crowned is, with white leaves lite, small So were the flowrons of her crowne white.

For of one pearle, fine, oriential,

Her white crowne was y-maked all,

For which the white crown above the green Made her like a daisy for to see’n, look upon Consider’d eke her fret of gold above.

Y-clothed was this mighty God of Love

In silk embroider’d, full of greene greves, boughs In which there was a fret of red rose leaves, The freshest since the world was first begun.

His gilt hair was y-crowned with a sun, lnstead of gold, for* heaviness and weight; to avoid Therewith me thought his face shone so bright, That well unnethes might I him behold; And in his hand me thought I saw him hold Two fiery dartes, as the gledes red; *glowing coals And angel-like his winges saw I spread.

And *all be* that men say that blind is he, although

Algate* me thoughte that he might well see; *at all events For sternly upon me he gan behold,

So that his looking *did my hearte cold. made my heart And by the hand he held this noble queen, grow cold*

Crowned with white, and clothed all in green, So womanly, so benign, and so meek,

That in this worlde, though that men would seek.

Half of her beauty shoulde they not find In creature that formed is by Kind; Nature And therefore may I say, as thinketh me, This song in praising of this lady free: “Hide, Absolon, thy gilte* tresses clear; *golden Esther, lay thou thy meekness all adown; Hide, Jonathan, all thy friendly mannere, Penelope, and Marcia Catoun,<14>

Make of your wifehood no comparisoun;

Hide ye your beauties, Isoude <15> and Helene; My lady comes, that all this may distain. outdo, obscure “Thy faire body let it not appear,

Lavine; <16> and thou, Lucrece of Rome town; And Polyxene, <17> that boughte love so dear, And Cleopatra, with all thy passioun,

Hide ye your truth of love, and your renown; And thou, Thisbe, that hadst of love such pain My lady comes, that all this may distain.

“Hero, Dido, Laodamia, y-fere, together And Phyllis, hanging for Demophoon,

And Canace, espied by thy cheer,

Hypsipyle, betrayed by Jasoun,

Make of your truthe neither boast nor soun’; Nor Hypermnestr’ nor Ariadne, ye twain; My lady comes, that all this may distain.”

This ballad may full well y-sungen be, As I have said erst, by my lady free;

For, certainly, all these may not suffice *T’appaire with* my lady in no wise; surpass in beauty For, as the sunne will the fire distain, or honour

So passeth all my lady sovereign,

That is so good, so fair, so debonair, I pray to God that ever fall her fair!

For n’hadde comfort been of her presence, had I not the I had been dead, without any defence, comfort of

For dread of Love’s wordes, and his cheer; As, when time is, hereafter ye shall hear.

Behind this God of Love, upon the green, I saw coming of Ladies nineteen,

In royal habit, a full easy pace;

And after them of women such a trace, train That, since that God Adam had made of earth, The thirde part of mankind, or the ferth, fourth *Ne ween’d I not* by possibility, I never fancied

Had ever in this wide world y-be; been And true of love these women were each one.

Now whether was that a wonder thing, or non, not That, right anon as that they gan espy This flow’r, which that I call the daisy, Full suddenly they stenten* all at once, stopped And kneeled down, as it were for the nonce, And sange with one voice, “Heal and honour To truth of womanhead, and to this flow’r, That bears our aller prize in figuring; that in its figure bears Her white crowne bears the witnessing!” the prize from us all*

And with that word, *a-compass enviroun all around in a ring*

They sette them full softely adown.

First sat the God of Love, and since* his queen, afterwards With the white corowne, clad in green; And sithen all the remnant by and by, then As they were of estate, full courteously; And not a word was spoken in the place, The mountance of a furlong way of space. *extent <18>

I, kneeling by this flow’r, in good intent Abode, to knowe what this people meant, As still as any stone, till, at the last, The God of Love on me his eyen cast,

And said, “Who kneeleth there? “and I answer’d Unto his asking, when that I it heard, And said, “It am I,” and came to him near, And salued* him. Quoth he, “What dost thou here, *saluted So nigh mine owen flow’r, so boldely?

It were better worthy, truely,

A worm to nighe* near my flow’r than thou.” *approach, draw nigh “And why, Sir,” quoth I, “an’ it liketh you?”

“For thou,” quoth he, “art thereto nothing able, It is my relic,* dign** and delectable, emblem <19> *worthy And thou my foe, and all my folk warrayest, molestest, censurest And of mine olde servants thou missayest, And hind’rest them, with thy translation, And lettest* folk from their devotion *preventest To serve me, and holdest it folly

To serve Love; thou may’st it not deny; For in plain text, withoute need of glose, comment, gloss Thu hast translated the Romance of the Rose, That is a heresy against my law,

And maketh wise folk from me withdraw; And of Cresside thou hast said as thee list, That maketh men to women less to trust, That be as true as e’er was any steel.

Of thine answer *advise thee right weel; consider right well*

For though that thou *renied hast my lay, abjured my law As other wretches have done many a day, or religion*

By Sainte Venus, that my mother is,

If that thou live, thou shalt repente this, So cruelly, that it shall well be seen.”

Then spake this Lady, clothed all in green, And saide, “God, right of your courtesy, Ye mighte hearken if he can reply

Against all this, that ye have *to him meved; advanced against him*

A godde shoulde not be thus aggrieved, But of his deity he shall be stable,

And thereto gracious and merciable. merciful And if ye n’ere* a god, that knoweth all, *were not Then might it be, as I you telle shall, This man to you may falsely be accused, Whereas by right him ought to be excused; For in your court is many a losengeour, deceiver <20>

And many a *quaint toteler accusour, strange prating accuser <21>*

That tabour* in your eares many a soun’, *drum Right after their imaginatioun,

To have your dalliance,* and for envy; pleasant conversation, These be the causes, and I shall not lie, company Envy is lavender of the Court alway, *laundress For she departeth neither night nor day <22>

Out of the house of Caesar, thus saith Dant’; Whoso that go’th, algate* she shall not want. at all events And eke, parauntre, for this man is nice,* peradventure **foolish He mighte do it guessing* no malice; *thinking For he useth thinges for to make; compose poetry Him *recketh naught of what mattere he take; cares nothing for*

Or he was bidden *make thilke tway compose those two*

Of* some person, and durst it not withsay; by **refuse, deny Or him repenteth utterly of this.

He hath not done so grievously amiss,

To translate what olde clerkes write,

As though that he of malice would endite, write down *Despite of* Love, and had himself it wrought. contempt for

This should a righteous lord have in his thought, And not be like tyrants of Lombardy,

That have no regard but at tyranny.

For he that king or lord is naturel,

Him oughte not be tyrant or cruel, <23>

As is a farmer, <24> to do the harm he can; He muste think, it is his liegeman,

And is his treasure, and his gold in coffer; This is the sentence* of the philosopher: *opinion, sentiment A king to keep his lieges in justice,

Withoute doubte that is his office.

All* will he keep his lords in their degree, — although As it is right and skilful that they be, *reasonable Enhanced and honoured, and most dear,

For they be halfe* in this world here, — *demigods Yet must he do both right to poor and rich, All be that their estate be not y-lich; alike And have of poore folk compassion.

For lo! the gentle kind of the lion;

For when a fly offendeth him, or biteth, He with his tail away the flye smiteth, All easily; for of his gentery nobleness Him deigneth not to wreak him on a fly, As doth a cur, or else another beast.

*In noble corage ought to be arrest, in a noble nature ought And weighen ev’rything by equity, to be self-restraint*

And ever have regard to his degree.

For, Sir, it is no mastery for a lord

To damn* a man, without answer of word; condemn And for a lord, that is full foul to use. most infamous practice*

And it be so he* may him not excuse, the offender But asketh mercy with a dreadful heart, *fearing, timid And proffereth him, right in his bare shirt, To be right at your owen judgement,

Then ought a god, by short advisement, deliberation Consider his own honour, and his trespass; For since no pow’r of death lies in this case, You ought to be the lighter merciable; Lette* your ire, and be somewhat tractable! *restrain This man hath served you of his cunning, ability, skill And further’d well your law in his making. composing poetry Albeit that he cannot well endite,

Yet hath he made lewed* folk delight *ignorant To serve you, in praising of your name.

He made the book that hight the House of Fame, And eke the Death of Blanche the Duchess, And the Parliament of Fowles, as I guess, And all the Love of Palamon and Arcite, <25>

Of Thebes, though the story is known lite; little And many a hymne for your holydays,

That highte ballads, roundels, virelays.

And, for to speak of other holiness,

He hath in prose translated Boece, <26>

And made the Life also of Saint Cecile; He made also, gone is a greate while,

Origenes upon the Magdalene. <27>

Him oughte now to have the lesse pain; penalty He hath made many a lay, and many a thing.

Now as ye be a god, and eke a king,

I your Alcestis, <28> whilom queen of Thrace, I aske you this man, right of your grace, That ye him never hurt in all his life; And he shall sweare to you, and that blife, quickly He shall no more aguilten* in this wise, *offend But shall maken, as ye will him devise, Of women true in loving all their life, Whereso ye will, of maiden or of wife, And further you as much as he missaid

Or* in the Rose, or elles in Cresseide.” *either The God of Love answered her anon:

“Madame,” quoth he, “it is so long agone That I you knew, so charitable and true, That never yet, since that the world was new, To me ne found I better none than ye;

If that I woulde save my degree,

I may nor will not warne* your request; *refuse All lies in you, do with him as you lest.

I all forgive withoute longer space; delay For he who gives a gift, or doth a grace, Do it betimes, his thank is well the more; <29>

And deeme* ye what he shall do therefor. *adjudge Go thanke now my Lady here,” quoth he.

I rose, and down I set me on my knee,

And saide thus; “Madame, the God above Foryielde* you that ye the God of Love *reward Have made me his wrathe to forgive;

And grace* so longe for to live, *give me grace That I may knowe soothly what ye be,

That have me help’d, and put in this degree!

But truely I ween’d, as in this case,

Naught t’ have aguilt,* nor done to Love trespass;* offended For why? a true man, withoute dread, **offence Hath not to parte with a thieve’s deed. any share in

Nor a true lover oughte me to blame,

Though that I spoke a false lover some shame.

They oughte rather with me for to hold, For that I of Cressida wrote or told,

Or of the Rose, *what so mine author meant; made a true translation*

Algate, God wot, it was mine intent *by all ways To further truth in love, and it cherice, cherish And to beware from falseness and from vice, By such example; this was my meaning.”

And she answer’d; “Let be thine arguing, For Love will not counterpleaded be <30>

In right nor wrong, and learne that of me; Thou hast thy grace, and hold thee right thereto.

Now will I say what penance thou shalt do For thy trespass;* and understand it here: *offence Thou shalt, while that thou livest, year by year, The moste partie of thy time spend

In making of a glorious Legend

Of Goode Women, maidenes and wives,

That were true in loving all their lives; And tell of false men that them betray, That all their life do naught but assay How many women they may do a shame;

For in your world that is now *held a game. considered a sport*

And though thou like not a lover be, <31>

Speak well of love; this penance give I thee.

And to the God of Love I shall so pray, That he shall charge his servants, by any way, To further thee, and well thy labour quite: requite Go now thy way, thy penance is but lite.

And, when this book ye make, give it the queen On my behalf, at Eltham, or at Sheen.”

The God of Love gan smile, and then he said: “Know’st thou,” quoth he, “whether this be wife or maid, Or queen, or countess, or of what degree, That hath so little penance given thee, That hath deserved sorely for to smart?

But pity runneth soon in gentle* heart; <32> nobly born That may’st thou see, she kitheth what she is. *showeth And I answer’d: “Nay, Sir, so have I bliss, No more but that I see well she is good.”

“That is a true tale, by my hood,”

Quoth Love; “and that thou knowest well, pardie!

If it be so that thou advise* thee. bethink Hast thou not in a book, li’th in thy chest, *(that) lies The greate goodness of the queen Alceste, That turned was into a daisy

She that for her husbande chose to die, And eke to go to hell rather than he;

And Hercules rescued her, pardie!

And brought her out of hell again to bliss?”

And I answer’d again, and saide; “Yes, Now know I her; and is this good Alceste, The daisy, and mine own hearte’s rest?

Now feel I well the goodness of this wife, That both after her death, and in her life, Her greate bounty* doubleth her renown. virtue Well hath she quit me mine affectioun *recompensed That I have to her flow’r the daisy;

No wonder is though Jove her stellify, <33>

As telleth Agathon, <34> for her goodness; Her white crowne bears of it witness;

For all so many virtues hadde she

As smalle flowrons in her crowne be.

In remembrance of her, and in honour,

Cybele made the daisy, and the flow’r, Y-crowned all with white, as men may see, And Mars gave her a crowne red, pardie!

Instead of rubies set among the white.”

Therewith this queen wax’d red for shame a lite When she was praised so in her presence.

Then saide Love: “A full great negligence Was it to thee, that ilke* time thou made that same ‘Hide Absolon thy tresses,’ in ballade, That thou forgot her in thy song to set, Since that thou art so greatly in her debt, And knowest well that calendar is she *guide, example To any woman that will lover be:

For she taught all the craft of true loving, And namely* of wifehood the living, especially And all the boundes that she ought to keep: Thy little wit was thilke time asleep. *that But now I charge thee, upon thy life,

That in thy Legend thou make* of this wife, *poetise, compose When thou hast other small y-made before; And fare now well, I charge thee no more.

But ere I go, thus much I will thee tell, —

Never shall no true lover come in hell.

These other ladies, sitting here a-row, Be in my ballad, if thou canst them know, And in thy bookes all thou shalt them find; Have them in thy Legend now all in mind; I mean of them that be in thy knowing.

For here be twenty thousand more sitting Than that thou knowest, goode women all, And true of love, for aught that may befall; Make the metres of them as thee lest;

I must go home, — the sunne draweth west, —

To Paradise, with all this company:

And serve alway the freshe daisy.

At Cleopatra I will that thou begin,

And so forth, and my love so shalt thou win; For let see now what man, that lover be, Will do so strong a pain for love as she.

I wot well that thou may’st not all it rhyme, That suche lovers didden in their time; It were too long to readen and to hear; Suffice me thou make in this mannere,

That thou rehearse of all their life the great, substance After* these old authors list for to treat; *according as For whoso shall so many a story tell,

Say shortly, or he shall too longe dwell.”

And with that word my bookes gan I take, And right thus on my Legend gan I make.

Thus endeth the Prologue.

Notes to The prologue to The Legend of Good Women

1. Bernard, the Monke, saw not all, pardie!: a proverbial saying, signifying that even the wisest, or those who claim to be the wisest, cannot know everything. Saint Bernard, who was the last, or among the last, of the Fathers, lived in the first half of the twelfth century.

2. Compare Chaucer’s account of his habits, in “The House of Fame.”

3. See introductory note to “The Flower and the Leaf.”

4. “ye have herebefore Of making ropen, and led away the corn”

The meaning is, that the “lovers” have long ago said all that can be said, by way of poetry, or “making” on the subject. See note 89 to “Troilus and Cressida” for the etymology of “making”

meaning “writing poetry.”

5. The poet glides here into an address to his lady.

6. Europa was the daughter of Agenores, king of Phrygia. She was carried away to Crete by Jupiter, disguised as a lovely and tame bull, on whose back Europa mounted as she was sporting with her maidens by the sea-shore. The story is beautifully told in Horace, Odes, iii. 27.

7. See “The Assembly of Fowls,” which was supposed to happen on St. Valentine’s day.

8. The tidife: The titmouse, or any other small bird, which sometimes brings up the cuckoo’s young when its own have been destroyed. See note 44 to “The Assembly of Fowls.”

9. Ethic: the “Ethics” of Aristotle.

10. “For as to me is lever none nor lother, I n’am withholden yet with neither n’other.”

i.e For as neither is more liked or disliked by me, I am not bound by, holden to, either the one or the other.

11. All of another tun i.e. wine of another tun — a quite different matter.

12. Compare the description of the arbour in “The Flower and the Leaf.”

13. Flowrons: florets; little flowers on the disk of the main flower; French “fleuron.”

14. Mr Bell thinks that Chaucer here praises the complaisance of Marcia, the wife of Cato, in complying with his will when he made her over to his friend Hortensius. It would be in better keeping with the spirit of the poet’s praise, to believe that we should read “Porcia Catoun” — Porcia the daughter of Cato, who was married to Brutus, and whose perfect wifehood has been celebrated in The Franklin’s Tale. See note 25 to the Franklin’s Tale.

15. Isoude: See note 21 to “The Assembly of Fowls”.

16. Lavine: Lavinia, the heroine of the Aeneid, who became the wife of Aeneas.

17. Polyxena, daughter of Priam, king of Troy, fell in love with Achilles, and, when he was killed, she fled to the Greek camp, and slew herself on the tomb of her hero-lover.

18. Mountance: extent, duration. See note 84 to “The House of Fame”.

19. Relic: emblem; or cherished treasure; like the relics at the shrines of saints.

20. Losengeour: deceiver. See note 31 to the Nun’s Priest’s Tale.

21. “Toteler” is an old form of the word “tatler,” from the Anglo-Saxon, “totaelan,” to talk much, to tattle.

22. Envy is lavender of the court alway: a “lavender” is a washerwoman or laundress; the word represents “meretrice”in Dante’s original — meaning a courtezan; but we can well understand that Chaucer thought it prudent, and at the same time more true to the moral state of the English Court, to change the character assigned to Envy. He means that Envy is perpetually at Court, like some garrulous, bitter old woman employed there in the most servile offices, who remains at her post through all the changes among the courtiers. The passage cited from Dante will be found in the “Inferno,” canto xiii. 64 —

69.

23. Chaucer says that the usurping lords who seized on the government of the free Lombard cities, had no regard for any rule of government save sheer tyranny — but a natural lord, and no usurper, ought not to be a tyrant.

24. Farmer: one who merely farms power or revenue for his own purposes and his own gain.

25. This was the first version of the Knight’s tale. See the introductory note, above

26. Boece: Boethius’ “De Consolatione Philosophiae;” to which frequent reference is made in The Canterbury Tales. See, for instances, note 91 to the Knight’s Tale; and note 34 to the Squire’s Tale.

27. A poem entitled “The Lamentation of Mary Magdalene,”

said to have been “taken out of St Origen,” is included in the editions of Chaucer; but its authenticity, and consequently its identity with the poem here mentioned, are doubted.

28. For the story of Alcestis, see note 11 to “The Court of Love.”

29. “For he who gives a gift, or doth a grace, Do it betimes, his thank is well the more”

A paraphrase of the well-known proverb, “Bis dat qui cito dat.”

(“He gives twice who gives promptly”)

30. The same prohibition occurs in the Fifteenth Statute of “The Court of Love.”

31. Chaucer is always careful to allege his abstinence from the pursuits of gallantry; he does so prominently in “The Court of Love,” “The Assembly of Fowls,” and “The House of Fame.”

32. Pity runneth soon in gentle heart: the same is said of Theseus, in The Knight’s Tale, and of Canace, by the falcon, in The Squire’s Tale.

33. Stellify: assign to a place among the stars; as Jupiter did to Andromeda and Cassiopeia.

34. Agathon: there was an Athenian dramatist of this name, who might have made the virtues and fortunes of Alcestis his theme; but the reference is too vague for the author to be identified with any confidence.

CHAUCER’S A. B. C. <1>

CALLED

LA PRIERE DE NOSTRE DAME <2>

A.

ALMIGHTY and all-merciable* Queen, *all-merciful To whom all this world fleeth for succour, To have release of sin, of sorrow, of teen! affliction Glorious Virgin! of all flowers flow’r, To thee I flee, confounded in errour!

Help and relieve, almighty debonair, gracious, gentle Have mercy of my perilous languour!

Vanquish’d me hath my cruel adversair.

B.

Bounty* so fix’d hath in thy heart his tent, goodness, charity That well I wot thou wilt my succour be; Thou canst not warne that* with good intent refuse he who

Asketh thy help, thy heart is ay so free!

Thou art largess* of plein** felicity, liberal bestower *full Haven and refuge of quiet and rest!

Lo! how that thieves seven <3> chase me!

Help, Lady bright, ere that my ship to-brest! be broken to pieces C.

Comfort is none, but in you, Lady dear!

For lo! my sin and my confusion,

Which ought not in thy presence to appear, Have ta’en on me a grievous action, control Of very right and desperation!

And, as by right, they mighte well sustene That I were worthy my damnation,

Ne were it mercy of you, blissful Queen!

D.

Doubt is there none, Queen of misericorde, compassion That thou art cause of grace and mercy here; God vouchesaf’d, through thee, with us t’accord; to be reconciled For, certes, Christe’s blissful mother dear!

Were now the bow y-bent, in such mannere As it was first, of justice and of ire, The rightful God would of no mercy hear; But through thee have we grace as we desire.

E.

Ever hath my hope of refuge in thee be’; For herebefore full oft in many a wise Unto mercy hast thou received me.

But mercy, Lady! at the great assize,

When we shall come before the high Justice!

So little fruit shall then in me be found, That,* thou ere that day correcte me, *unless Of very right my work will me confound.

F.

Flying, I flee for succour to thy tent, Me for to hide from tempest full of dread; Beseeching you, that ye you not absent, Though I be wick’. O help yet at this need!

All* have I been a beast in wit and deed, although Yet, Lady! thou me close in with thy grace; Thine enemy and mine,* — Lady, take heed! — the devil

Unto my death in point is me to chase.

G.

Gracious Maid and Mother! which that never Wert bitter nor in earthe nor in sea, <4>

But full of sweetness and of mercy ever, Help, that my Father be not wroth with me!

Speak thou, for I ne dare Him not see; So have I done in earth, alas the while!

That, certes, but if thou my succour be, To sink etern He will my ghost exile.

H.

He vouchesaf’d, tell Him, as was His will, Become a man, *as for our alliance, to ally us with god*

And with His blood He wrote that blissful bill Upon the cross, as general acquittance To ev’ry penitent in full creance; belief And therefore, Lady bright! thou for us pray; Then shalt thou stenten* alle His grievance, *put an end to And make our foe to failen of his prey.

I.

I wote well thou wilt be our succour,

Thou art so full of bounty in certain; For, when a soule falleth in errour,

Thy pity go’th, and haleth* him again; draweth Then makest thou his peace with his Sov’reign, And bringest him out of the crooked street: Whoso thee loveth shall not love in vain, That shall he find as he the life shall lete. when he leaves life*

K.

Kalendares illumined be they brilliant exemplars

That in this world be lighted with thy name; And whoso goeth with thee the right way, Him shall not dread in soule to be lame; Now, Queen of comfort! since thou art the same To whom I seeke for my medicine,

Let not my foe no more my wound entame; injure, molest My heal into thy hand all I resign.

L.

Lady, thy sorrow can I not portray

Under that cross, nor his grievous penance; But, for your bothe’s pain, I you do pray, Let not our *aller foe* make his boastance, *the foe of us all —

That he hath in his listes, with mischance, Satan*

Convicte that ye both have bought so dear; ensnared that which

As I said erst, thou ground of all substance!

Continue on us thy piteous eyen clear.

M.

Moses, that saw the bush of flames red Burning, of which then never a stick brenn’d, burned Was sign of thine unwemmed* maidenhead. *unblemished Thou art the bush, on which there gan descend The Holy Ghost, the which that Moses wend weened, supposed Had been on fire; and this was in figure. <5>

Now, Lady! from the fire us do defend, Which that in hell eternally shall dure.

N.

Noble Princess! that never haddest peer; Certes if any comfort in us be,

That cometh of thee, Christe’s mother dear!

We have none other melody nor glee, pleasure Us to rejoice in our adversity;

Nor advocate, that will and dare so pray For us, and for as little hire as ye,

That helpe for an Ave-Mary or tway.

O.

O very light of eyen that be blind!

O very lust* of labour and distress! *relief, pleasure O treasurer of bounty to mankind!

The whom God chose to mother for humbless!

From his ancill* <6> he made thee mistress handmaid Of heav’n and earth, our billes up to bede; offer up our petitions*

This world awaiteth ever on thy goodness; For thou ne failedst never wight at need.

P.

Purpose I have sometime for to enquere Wherefore and why the Holy Ghost thee sought, When Gabrielis voice came to thine ear; He not to war* us such a wonder wrought, *afflict But for to save us, that sithens us bought: Then needeth us no weapon us to save,

But only, where we did not as we ought, Do penitence, and mercy ask and have.

Q.

Queen of comfort, right when I me bethink That I aguilt* have bothe Him and thee, *offended And that my soul is worthy for to sink, Alas! I, caitiff, whither shall I flee?

Who shall unto thy Son my meane* be? *medium of approach Who, but thyself, that art of pity well? fountain Thou hast more ruth on our adversity

Than in this world might any tongue tell!

R.

Redress me, Mother, and eke me chastise!

For certainly my Father’s chastising

I dare not abiden in no wise,

So hideous is his full reckoning.

Mother! of whom our joy began to spring, Be ye my judge, and eke my soule’s leach; physician For ay in you is pity abounding

To each that will of pity you beseech.

S.

Sooth is it that He granteth no pity

Withoute thee; for God of his goodness Forgiveth none, *but it like unto thee; unless it please He hath thee made vicar and mistress thee*

Of all this world, and eke governess

Of heaven; and represseth his justice

After* thy will; and therefore in witness *according to He hath thee crowned in so royal wise.

T.
Temple devout! where God chose his wonning,
abode From which, these misbeliev’d deprived be,
To you my soule penitent I bring;
Receive me, for I can no farther flee.
With thornes venomous, O Heaven’s Queen!
For which the earth accursed was full yore,
I am so wounded, as ye may well see,
That I am lost almost, it smart so sore!

V.
Virgin! that art so noble of apparail,
aspect That leadest us into the highe tow’r
Of Paradise, thou me *wiss and counsail direct and counsel*
How I may have thy grace and thy succour;
All have I been in filth and in errour,
Lady! *on that country thou me adjourn, take me to that place*
That called is thy bench of freshe flow’r,
There as that mercy ever shall sojourn.

X.
Xpe <7> thy Son, that in this world alight,
Upon a cross to suffer his passioun,
And suffer’d eke that Longeus his heart pight,*
<8> *pierced And made his hearte-blood to run adown;
And all this was for my salvatioun:
And I to him am false and eke unkind,
And yet he wills not my damnation;
*This thank I you,* succour of all mankind!
for this I am indebted to you

Y.
Ysaac was figure of His death certain,
That so farforth his father would obey,
That him ne raughte nothing to be slain; he cared not
Right so thy Son list as a lamb to dey: die
Now, Lady full of mercy! I you pray,
Since he his mercy ‘sured me so large,
Be ye not scant, for all we sing and say,
That ye be from vengeance alway our targe. shield, defence

Z.
Zachary you calleth the open well <9>
That washed sinful soul out of his guilt;
Therefore this lesson out I will to tell,
That, n’ere* thy tender hearte, we were spilt.* were it not for
Now, Lady brighte! since thou canst and wilt, *destroyed, undone*
Be to the seed of Adam merciable; merciful
Bring us unto that palace that is built
To penitents that be *to mercy able! fit to receive mercy*

Explicit. The end Notes to Chaucer’s A. B. C.

1. Chaucer’s A. B. C. — a prayer to the Virgin, in twenty three verses, beginning with the letters of the alphabet in their order — is said to have been written “at the request of Blanche, Duchess of Lancaster, as a prayer for her private use, being a woman in her religion very devout.” It was first printed in Speght’s edition of 1597.
2. La Priere De Nostre Dame: French, “The Prayer of Our Lady.”
3. Thieves seven: i.e. the seven deadly sins 4. Mary’s name recalls the waters of “Marah” or bitterness (Exod. xv. 23), or the prayer of Naomi in her grief that she might be called not Naomi, but “Mara” (Ruth i. 20). Mary, however, is understood to mean “exalted.”
5. A typical representation. See The Prioress’s Tale, third stanza.
6. The reference evidently is to Luke i. 38 — “Ecce ancilla Domini,” (“Behold the handmaid of the Lord”) the Virgin’s humble answer to Gabriel at the Annunciation.
7. “Xpe” represents the Greek letters chi rho epsilon, and is a contraction for “Christe.”
8. According to tradition, the soldier who struck the Saviour to the heart with his spear was named Longeus, and was blind; but, touching his eyes by chance with the mingled blood and water that flowed down the shaft upon his hands, he was instantly restored to sight.
9. “In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house of David and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem for sin and for uncleanness” (Zech. xiii. 1).

A GOODLY BALLAD OF CHAUCER.<1>

MOTHER of nurture, best belov’d of all, And freshe flow’r, to whom good thrift God send Your child, if it lust* you me so to call, please All be I* unable myself so to pretend, *although I be To your discretion I recommend

My heart and all, with ev’ry circumstance, All wholly to be under your governance.

Most desire I, and have and ever shall, Thinge which might your hearte’s ease amend Have me excus’d, my power is but small; Nathless, of right, ye oughte to commend My goode will, which fame would entend attend, strive To do you service; for my suffisance contentment Is wholly to be under your governance.

Mieux un in heart which never shall apall, <2>

Ay fresh and new, and right glad to dispend My time in your service, what so befall, Beseeching your excellence to defend

My simpleness, if ignorance offend

In any wise; since that mine affiance

Is wholly to be under your governance.

Daisy of light, very ground of comfort, The sunne’s daughter ye light, as I read; For when he west’reth, farewell your disport!

By your nature alone, right for pure dread Of the rude night, that with his *boistous weed rude garment*

Of darkness shadoweth our hemisphere,

Then close ye, my life’s lady dear!

Dawneth the day unto his kind resort,

And Phoebus your father, with his streames red, Adorns the morrow, consuming the sort crowd Of misty cloudes, that would overlade

True humble heartes with their mistihead. dimness, mistiness New comfort adaws,* when your eyen clear *dawns, awakens Disclose and spread, my life’s lady dear.

Je voudrais* — but the greate God disposeth, *I would wish And maketh casual, by his Providence,

Such thing as manne’s fraile wit purposeth, All for the best, if that your conscience Not grudge it, but in humble patience

It receive; for God saith, withoute fable, A faithful heart ever is acceptable.

Cauteles* whoso useth gladly, gloseth;* cautious speeches To eschew such it is right high prudence; **deceiveth What ye said ones mine heart opposeth, That my writing japes* in your absence *jests, coarse stories Pleased you much better than my presence: Yet can I more; ye be not excusable;

A faithful heart is ever acceptable.

Quaketh my pen; my spirit supposeth

That in my writing ye will find offence; Mine hearte welketh* thus; anon it riseth; *withers, faints Now hot, now cold, and after in fervence; That is amiss, is caus’d of negligence, And not of malice; therefore be merciable; A faithful heart is ever acceptable.

L’Envoy.

Forthe, complaint! forth, lacking eloquence; Forth little letter, of enditing lame!

I have besought my lady’s sapience

On thy behalfe, to accept in game

Thine inability; do thou the same.

Abide! have more yet! *Je serve Joyesse! I serve Joy*

Now forth, I close thee in holy Venus’ name!

Thee shall unclose my hearte’s governess.

Notes To a Goodly Ballad Of Chaucer

1. This elegant little poem is believed to have been addressed to Margaret, Countess of Pembroke, in whose name Chaucer found one of those opportunities of praising the daisy he never lost. (Transcriber’s note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer was not the author of this poem)

2. Mieux un in heart which never shall apall: better one who in heart shall never pall — whose love will never weary.

A BALLAD SENT TO KING RICHARD.

SOMETIME this world was so steadfast and stable, That man’s word was held obligation;

And now it is so false and deceivable, deceitful That word and work, as in conclusion,

Be nothing one; for turned up so down

Is all this world, through meed* and wilfulness, *bribery That all is lost for lack of steadfastness.

What makes this world to be so variable, But lust* that folk have in dissension? *pleasure For now-a-days a man is held unable fit for nothing But if he can, by some collusion,** unless *fraud, trick Do his neighbour wrong or oppression.

What causeth this but wilful wretchedness, That all is lost for lack of steadfastness?

Truth is put down, reason is holden fable; Virtue hath now no domination;

Pity exil’d, no wight is merciable;

Through covetise is blent* discretion; *blinded The worlde hath made permutation

From right to wrong, from truth to fickleness, That all is lost for lack of steadfastness.

L’Envoy.

O Prince! desire to be honourable;

Cherish thy folk, and hate extortion;

Suffer nothing that may be reprovable a subject of reproach To thine estate, done in thy region; kingdom Show forth the sword of castigation;

Dread God, do law, love thorough worthiness, And wed thy folk again to steadfastness!

L’ENVOY OF CHAUCER TO BUKTON. <1>

My Master Bukton, when of Christ our King Was asked, What is truth or soothfastness?

He not a word answer’d to that asking, As who saith, no man is all true, I guess; And therefore, though I highte* to express *promised The sorrow and woe that is in marriage, I dare not write of it no wickedness,

Lest I myself fall eft* in such dotage.* again **folly I will not say how that it is the chain Of Satanas, on which he gnaweth ever;

But I dare say, were he out of his pain, As by his will he would be bounden never.

But thilke* doated fool that eft had lever *that Y-chained be, than out of prison creep, God let him never from his woe dissever, Nor no man him bewaile though he weep!

But yet, lest thou do worse, take a wife; Bet is to wed than burn in worse wise; <2>

But thou shalt have sorrow on thy flesh *thy life, all thy life*

And be thy wife’s thrall, as say these wise.

And if that Holy Writ may not suffice, Experience shall thee teache, so may hap, That thee were lever to be taken in Frise, <3>

Than eft* to fall of wedding in the trap. again This little writ, proverbes, or figure, I sende you; take keep of it, I read! heed “Unwise is he that can no weal endure; If thou be sicker, put thee not in dread.”* in security **danger The Wife of Bath I pray you that you read, Of this mattere which that we have on hand.

God grante you your life freely to lead In freedom, for full hard is to be bond.

Notes to L’Envoy of Chaucer to Bukton.

1. Tyrwhitt, founding on the reference to the Wife of Bath, places this among Chaucer’s latest compositions; and states that one Peter de Bukton held the office of king’s escheator for Yorkshire in 1397. In some of the old editions, the verses were made the Envoy to the Book of the Duchess Blanche — in very bad taste, when we consider that the object of that poem was to console John of Gaunt under the loss of his wife.

2. “But if they cannot contain, let them marry: for it is better to marry than to burn.” 1 Cor. vii. 9

3. Lever to be taken in Frise: better to be taken prisoner in Friesland — where probably some conflict was raging at the time.

A BALLAD OF GENTLENESS.

THE firste stock-father of gentleness, <1>

What man desireth gentle for to be,

Must follow his trace, and all his wittes dress, apply Virtue to love, and vices for to flee; For unto virtue longeth dignity,

And not the reverse, safely dare I deem, *All wear he* mitre, crown, or diademe. whether he wear

This firste stock was full of righteousness, True of his word, sober, pious, and free, Clean of his ghost, and loved business, pure of spirit

Against the vice of sloth, in honesty; And, but his heir love virtue as did he, He is not gentle, though he riche seem, All wear he mitre, crown, or diademe.

Vice may well be heir to old richess,

But there may no man, as men may well see, Bequeath his heir his virtuous nobless; That is appropried* to no degree, *specially reserved But to the first Father in majesty,

Which makes his heire him that doth him queme, please All wear he mitre, crown, or diademe.

Notes to A Ballad of Gentleness

1. The firste stock-father of gentleness: Christ THE COMPLAINT OF CHAUCER TO HIS PURSE.

To you, my purse, and to none other wight, Complain I, for ye be my lady dear!

I am sorry now that ye be so light,

For certes ye now make me heavy cheer; Me were as lief be laid upon my bier.

For which unto your mercy thus I cry,

Be heavy again, or elles must I die!

Now vouchesafe this day, ere it be night, That I of you the blissful sound may hear, Or see your colour like the sunne bright, That of yellowness hadde peer.

Ye be my life! Ye be my hearte’s steer! rudder Queen of comfort and of good company!

Be heavy again, or elles must I die!

Now, purse! that art to me my life’s light And savour, as down in this worlde here, Out of this towne help me through your might, Since that you will not be my treasurere; For I am shave as nigh as any frere. <1>

But now I pray unto your courtesy,

Be heavy again, or elles must I die!

Chaucer’s Envoy to the King.

O conqueror of Brute’s Albion, <2>

Which by lineage and free election

Be very king, this song to you I send; And ye which may all mine harm amend,

Have mind upon my supplication!

Notes to The Complaint of Chaucer to his Purse 1. “I am shave as nigh as any frere” i.e. “I am as bare of coin as a friar’s tonsure of hair.”

2. Brute, or Brutus, was the legendary first king of Britain.

GOOD COUNSEL OF CHAUCER. <1>

FLEE from the press, and dwell with soothfastness; Suffice thee thy good, though it be small; For hoard hath hate, and climbing tickleness, instability Press hath envy, and *weal is blent* o’er all, prosperity is blinded

Savour* no more than thee behove shall; have a taste for Read well thyself, that other folk canst read; *counsel And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread. doubt Paine thee not each crooked to redress, In trust of her that turneth as a ball; <2>

Great rest standeth in little business: Beware also to spurn against a nail; <3>

Strive not as doth a crocke* with a wall; earthen pot Deeme thyself that deemest others’ deed, *judge And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread.

What thee is sent, receive in buxomness; submission The wrestling of this world asketh a fall; Here is no home, here is but wilderness.

Forth, pilgrim! Forthe beast, out of thy stall!

Look up on high, and thank thy God of all!

*Weive thy lust,* and let thy ghost* thee lead, forsake thy And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread. inclinations

*spirit Notes to Good Counsel of Chaucer

1. This poem is said to have been composed by Chaucer “upon his deathbed, lying in anguish.”

2. Her that turneth as a ball: Fortune.

3. To spurn against a nail; “against the pricks.”

PROVERBS OF CHAUCER. <1>

WHAT should these clothes thus manifold, Lo! this hot summer’s day?

After great heate cometh cold;

No man cast his pilche* away. *pelisse, furred cloak Of all this world the large compass

Will not in mine arms twain;

Who so muche will embrace,

Little thereof he shall distrain. grasp The world so wide, the air so remuable, unstable The silly man so little of stature;

The green of ground and clothing so mutable, The fire so hot and subtile of nature; The water *never in one* — what creature never the same

That made is of these foure <2> thus flitting, May steadfast be, as here, in his living?

The more I go, the farther I am behind; The farther behind, the nearer my war’s end; The more I seek, the worse can I find; The lighter leave, the lother for to wend; <3>

The better I live, the more out of mind; Is this fortune, n’ot I, or infortune; I know not misfortune Though I go loose, tied am I with a loigne. line, tether Notes to Proverbs of Chaucer

1. (Transcriber’s Note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer’s may have been the author of the first stanza of this poem, but was not the author of the second and third).

2. These foure: that is, the four elements, of which man was believed to be composed.

3. The lighter leave, the lother for to wend: The more easy (through age) for me to depart, the less willing I am to go.

VIRELAY. <1>

ALONE walking

In thought plaining,

And sore sighing;

All desolate,

Me rememb’ring

Of my living;

My death wishing

Both early and late.

Infortunate

Is so my fate,

That, wot ye what?

Out of measure

My life I hate;

Thus desperate,

In such poor estate,

Do I endure.

Of other cure

Am I not sure;

Thus to endure

Is hard, certain;

Such is my ure, destiny <2>

I you ensure;

What creature

May have more pain?

My truth so plain

Is taken in vain,

And great disdain

In remembrance;

Yet I full fain

Would me complain,

Me to abstain

From this penance.

But, in substance,

None alleggeance alleviation Of my grievance

Can I not find;

Right so my chance,

With displeasance,

Doth me advance;

And thus an end.

Notes to Virelay

1. (Transcriber’s note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer was not the author of this poem)

2. Ure: “heur,” or destiny; the same word that enters into “bonheur” and “malheur.” (French: happiness & unhappiness) “SINCE I FROM LOVE.” <1>

SINCE I from Love escaped am so fat,

I ne’er think to be in his prison ta’en; Since I am free, I count him not a bean.

He may answer, and saye this and that; I *do no force,* I speak right as I mean; care not

Since I from Love escaped am so fat.

Love hath my name struck out of his slat, slate, list And he is struck out of my bookes clean, For ever more; there is none other mean; Since I from Love escaped am so fat.

Notes to “Since I from Love”

1. (Transcriber’s note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer was not the author of this poem)

CHAUCER’S WORDS TO HIS SCRIVENER.

ADAM Scrivener, if ever it thee befall Boece or Troilus for to write anew,

Under thy long locks thou may’st have the scall scab But *after my making* thou write more true! according to my So oft a day I must thy work renew, composing

It to correct, and eke to rub and scrape; And all is through thy negligence and rape. haste CHAUCER’S PROPHECY. <1>

WHEN priestes *failen in their saws, come short of their And lordes turne Godde’s laws profession*

Against the right; And lechery is holden as *privy solace, secret delight*

And robbery as free purchase,

Beware then of ill!

Then shall the Land of Albion

Turne to confusion,

As sometime it befell.

Ora pro Anglia Sancta Maria, quod

Thomas Cantuaria. <2>

Sweet Jesus, heaven’s King,

Fair and best of all thing,

You bring us out of this mourning,

To come to thee at our ending!

Notes to Chaucer’s Prophecy.

1. (Transcriber’s note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer was not the author of this poem)

2. “Holy Mary, pray for England, as does Thomas of Canterbury” (i.e. St Thomas a Beckett) The end of the Project Gutenberg e-text of The Canterbury Tales and Other Poems by Geoffrey Chaucer.