Chapter IV: Act III: TIME: Evening of the same day

SCENE: The hall of the One Nine-pin.

_At the opening of the act all the Pilgrims are on the
stage, except the following_: MILLER, SHIPMAN, COOK,
MANCIPLE, SUMMONER, KNIGHT, ALISOUN, CHAUCER, _and_
WYCLIFFE.

_Owing to the overcrowding of the little inn, the hall is
arranged, for the night, as a common sleeping-room. Up
stage, right, is a great canopied bedstead, with steps to
climb into it. Along the right wall are truckle-beds. As
the curtain rises, a clear bell is heard ringing outside,
slow and musical. By the light of a single torch, the
Pilgrims are seen, some putting on their cloaks and hoods,
some peering from behind the bed-curtains, others taking
links from a tap-boy, who distributes them. These, as they
are lit, throw an ever stronger light upon the grouped
faces and contrasted garbs of the company. The PARSON is
just waking the PLOUGHMAN, who drowses on a truckle-bed._

PARSON

Up, brother; yon’s the chapel bell.

PLOUGHMAN

It rings
For thee; thou art the parson, Jankin.

PARSON

Nay,
The preacher will be Wycliffe, old good Master
De Wycliffe.

MERCHANT

Old good Master Weak-liver!

PARSON

[_Turns angrily._]

Sir!

MAN-OF-LAW

Old good Master Black-sheep!

PARSON

[_Turns._]

Sir!

MONK

Old Nick!

PARSON

[_Turns._]

Whom name you thus?

MONK

Your preacher. Faugh! The pope
Hath bann’d him with five bulls for heresy.

PLOUGHMAN

The old man hath a good grip, if he can
Hold five bulls by the horns.

MAN-OF-LAW

[_Aside to Priest._]

An ignoramus!

BOTTLEJOHN

Dick, fetch a pint of moist ale from the cellar
For Master Bailey here.

[_Aside._]

A small pint, mind,
And notch his tally.

DICK

[_Takes a stick from wall, notches it with his knife, and shows
it to Bottlejohn._]

Sixpence, sir, three farthings.

[_Dick then goes to the cellar door. As he opens it, he
is grabbed within by the Miller, handed breathlessly to
the Shipman, who claps his hands over the boy’s mouth, and
disappears with him below. The door then is closed, but at
intervals it opens and the Miller’s head is seen cautiously
to emerge._]

MERCHANT

This Wycliffe’s gab hath hurt good trade. ’Twas him,
Six year ago, whose preaching made the poor folk
March up to London-town with Wat the Tyler,
And burn the gentry’s houses.

DYER

Served ’em right!

PLOUGHMAN

God save Wat Tyler!

MONK

Peasant! Spit upon thee!

PARSON

Thou son of Antichrist!

MONK

Thou unhang’d Lollard!

BOTTLEJOHN

Sst! Sst! Good masters! Pray, sweet lordings, here
Comes Master Wycliffe.

[_Enter, in conversation, WYCLIFFE and CHAUCER, followed
by JOHANNA, who seeks to draw WYCLIFFE away. The Pilgrims
greet the last, some with shouts of welcome, others with
hisses._]

WYCLIFFE

[_To Chaucer._]

Certes, sir, it may
Be as you say.--Good folk! good children!--Yet
To me this England is a gorgeous tabard,
Blazon’d with shining arms and kingly shields;
A cloth of gold, blood-dyed with heraldries
Of knightly joustings, presbyterial pomps,
And red-wine revellings; cunningly, i’ the fringe,
Chaced round with little lutes and ladies’ Cupids
To snuggle the horse-hair lining. This brave shirt,
This inward-goading cloth of gaiety,
The poor, starved peasant wears on his bare back--
A ghost, that plays the bridegroom with’s despair.

PLOUGHMAN

[_Amongst sneers and applause._]

Right!

WYCLIFFE

[_To Chaucer._]

Friend, how seems it thee?

CHAUCER

Sir, with your pardon,
To me, our England is still “Merry England!”
Which nature cirqued with its green wall of seas
To be her home and hearth-stone; where no slave,
Though e’er he crept in her lap, was nursed of her;
But the least peasant, bow’d in lonely fief,
Might claim his free share in her dower of grace;
The hush, pied daisy for’s society,
The o’erbubbling birds for mirth, the silly sheep
For innocence.--Mirth, friendship, innocence:
Where nature grants these three, what’s left for envy?
These three, sir, serve for my theology.

MAN-OF-LAW

Parfoi! What is this man--a Papist? Is’t
Some courtier?

FRANKLIN

Naw! He rings true Lollard, him.
They’re friends.

PARDONER

[_Sniffs._]

They say it is a London vintner.

WYCLIFFE

[_Aside, to Johanna, indicating Chaucer._]

Not speak with him?

JOHANNA

On no account.

WYCLIFFE

But--

JOHANNA

’Tis
A villain. Pray, sir, come to chapel.

[_She hurries Wycliffe toward the door, where she is accosted,
beseechingly, by the Squire._]

SQUIRE

Mistress!

JOHANNA

Am I beset?

[_Indicating Chaucer._]

Join your conspirator,
Signore!

[_She sweeps out._]

SQUIRE

[_Following._]

Grace, Madonna, grace!

[_Enter, right, Eglantine, with her priests._]

CHAUCER

[_Aside, sees her._]

My lady!

PARSON

[_To Ploughman._]

Quick, mon, and light the way for Master Wycliffe.

[_Exeunt._]

MERCHANT

[_To Man-of-Law._]

Go you?

MAN-OF-LAW

[_Smiles ironically._]

Hein? When an ass comes out of Oxford,
His braying charms great ears.

[_Lower._]

They say he hath
A patron in John Gaunt.

[_They go out._]

BOTTLEJOHN

[_Calls._]

Dick! Drat thee, Dick!
Ned, fetch Dick from the cellar with that ale
For Master Bailey.

NED

[_Goes slowly._]

Can I ’ave a candle?

[_The Host gives him such a look that he hastens on._]

BOTTLEJOHN

[_To Bailey._]

These ’prentices!

BAILEY

Haw! Haw!

MONK

[_To Pardoner._]

Come, we’ll go twit him.

[_Exeunt toward chapel._]

[_As Ned is about to open the cellar door, a black face looks
out at him._]

NED

[_Running back._]

Ow! Ow! A devil’s head! I seed a spook!

BOTTLEJOHN

[_Seizing a ladle, drives him back._]

Scat! And the devil swallow thee! Skedaddle!
Feared o’ the dark!

NED

[_Goes whimpering._]

’E’ll drub me wi’ his thigh-bones.

[_Opening the door, he feels his way down. As the door
closes, a faint scream comes from within._]

CHAUCER

[_To Prioress, who, preceded by her three priests, is about to go out._]

Madame, goes she to chapel?

PRIORESS

Paul, Joannes,
Keep close.

CHAUCER

Si chère Madame--if dear my lady
Would vouchsafe but a moment, till--

PRIORESS

[_Pausing, but not looking at Chaucer._]

Eh bien?

CHAUCER

[_Confused._]

The night is very beautiful.

PRIORESS

Joannes!

CHAUCER

That is--I bring you tidings of your brother.

JOANNES

What would Madame?

CHAUCER

The moon--

PRIORESS

[_To Joannes._]

Go, go--to chapel.

JOANNES

But will Madame--

PRIORESS

Va! Va!--

[_Exeunt priests; she turns shyly to Chaucer._]

Alors, Monsieur,
Vous dites mon frère?--

CHAUCER

Your brother--

[_Aside, as they go out._]

Drown her brother!

WEAVER

[_To Dyer._]

Come on!

[_Exeunt omnes._]

BOTTLEJOHN

[_Blowing out a candle._]

This preaching saveth tallow.

[_Calls._]

Dick!
Ned! Slow knaves!

[_Exit right._]

[_Cautiously, the cellar door is opened, and enter the
Miller. He whistles softly; some one within whistles in
answer._]

MILLER

Be all gagged below there?

SHIPMAN

[_His head appearing._]

Aye,
All’s tight beneath the hatches. Is the deck clear?

[_Miller nods; Shipman disappears for an instant. Then the
Miller bows low._]

MILLER

This way, your lordship--

COOK

[_Appearing with Shipman._]

’Save your Worship!

[_Enter SUMMONER, MANCIPLE, and HUBERD, the latter
disguised as a chimney-sweep. Lastly, ALISOUN in the dress
of the Knight._]

ALL THE SWAINS

Hail,
Dan Roderigo!

ALISOUN

[_While the Swains assist in adjusting her disguise._]

Good my squires and henchmen,
I thank you.-- Roger, sweetheart, lace my boot there.--
Our journey hath been perilous and dark--
Bob, chuck, how sits my doublet?--but praise Mary,
I am preserved to greet my virgin sister;--
God send _she_ like the flavour of my beard
Better than me.

FRIAR

Let me amend it, sweet!

[_Kisses her._]

ALISOUN

Avaunt, vile chimney-sweep! Beshrew thee, Huberd
Love, wouldst thou swap complexions?

[_Looks in a pewter plate, while the Cook holds a candle._]

Thy smut nose
Hath blotched the lily pallor of my brow
Like a crushed violet. Some powder, quick,
And touch it off.

FRIAR

[_From his robe and cowl, which the Shipman holds, extracts
a rabbit’s foot and touches up Alisoun’s face, while the
Manciple helps her on with a scarlet-lined mantle._]

Sweet love, how liketh you
This cloak I stole?

ALISOUN

’Twill serve.

FRIAR

[_Bowing._]

Your valet is
Your abject Ethiop slave.

MILLER

[_Kicks him._]

Your nincumpoop!
Scarecat! Thou blacks thy friar’s skin to save it,
Lest the fat vintner and the young squire catch thee
And flay it off.

FRIAR

Even so.

SUMMONER

By quid, let’s blab, then.
He kissed her, and we’ll blab.

COOK, MANCIPLE, AND SHIPMAN

Aye!

ALISOUN

Wo betide ye,
Then! Down! Kneel down--the batch of ye--and swear,
As ye have hopes to win this lily-white hand,
Ye will be brothers, till I win my bet.
Out with your oaths, now. Kiss my foot and say,
By Venus’s lip,
And Alis’s hip,
I swear to keep
This fellowship!

ALL

[_Severally trying to kiss her extended foot._]

By Venus’s lip,
And Alis’s hip,
I swear to keep--

BOTTLEJOHN

[_Calls outside._]

Ned! Dick!

ALISOUN

[_In low voice, to Swains._]

Get out! Back to your cellar; guard
The knight and the two knaves. Whoever enters
Gag ’em and tie.

BOTTLEJOHN

[_Entering._]

Dick! Ned! The devil take
All ’prentices!

ALISOUN

[_Retaining Friar._]

Hist!

[_Staying the Miller._]

Bob!

[_To the others._]

Go! Go!

BOTTLEJOHN

I wonder
Was it a spook he saw! ’Tis dark.

[_Takes up an unlit candle._]

ALISOUN

Mind, when he strikes
A light, I am the devil, and your feet
Are hoofs.

BOTTLEJOHN

Folk say they dwell in cellars.

FRIAR

Soft!
I’ll sprinkle a pinch of this sal volatile
I’ the candle flame.

BOTTLEJOHN

[_Lights candle._]

I’ll take my crucifix.

[_He is about to go toward the priedieu, when the Friar
thrusts his hand over the candle flame. A vivid flash of
light reveals his black face to Bottlejohn._]

FRIAR

Succubus! Incubus!
Praestare omnibus!

BOTTLEJOHN

[_Drops the candle, which goes out._]

Help!

ALISOUN

Silence!

[_On the hearth the Friar lights a dull red flame, which throws
a flickering glow about the room._]

BOTTLEJOHN

[_To Alisoun._]

O! what art thou? Dost thou laugh?
What is thy name?

ALISOUN

My name is Lucifer.
These be my urchins, Belial and Moloch.
Salaam! Salaam!

FRIAR AND MILLER

[_Salaaming._]

Hail, Mephistophilis!

ALISOUN

[_To Host._]

What thing art thou?--Duck!

BOTTLEJOHN

[_Ducks as the Miller pricks him with a dirk._]

I be Bottlejohn,
The host o’ the One Nine-pin.

ALISOUN

Bottlejohn,
Thee and thy One Nine-pin I damn. For know,
Thy cellar is the attic over hell,
And hath been leaking bad ale through my ceiling
This seven year, and made a puddle deep
As Proserpina’s garter in her bridal
Chamber, where thy two knaves--

BOTTLEJOHN

What! Ned and Dick?

ALISOUN

Came plumping through head-downwards into hell
Like bullfrogs in a tarn.

MILLER

And drowned! and drowned!
Shalt _thou_ in thine own ale.

[_Leads him toward cellar._]

BOTTLEJOHN

O Virgin!

FRIAR

[_At door, back._]

Whist!
One comes.

BOTTLEJOHN

Help! help!

ALISOUN

[_To Miller._]

Quick, Belial, lug thine ass
Into his stall. Instruct him with thy whittle
What manner devils we are, and when I clap
My hands thus and cry “Host!” then lead him forth.

[_Exeunt Miller and Bottlejohn into cellar. To Friar._]

Meantime, my pixy, hide we here.

FRIAR

Sweet lord--

[_They hide in the cupboard. Enter, left, Chaucer and
Prioress._]

PRIORESS

Parlez toujours, Monsieur!
Parlez toujours!

CHAUCER

How silver falls the night!
The hills lie down like sheep; the young frog flutes;
The yellow-ammer, from his coppice, pipes
Drowsy rehearsals of his matin-song;
The latest swallow dips behind the stack.
What beauty dreams in silence! The white stars,
Like folded daisies in a summer field,
Sleep in their dew, and by yon primrose gap
In darkness’ hedge, St. Ruth hath dropped her sickle.

PRIORESS

Nay, yonder’s the new moon.

CHAUCER

But here’s St. Ruth,
Whose pity hath reprieved a vintner’s son.
Your nephew’s verses--

PRIORESS

Pray speak not of them;
That wicked Friar Huberd was to blame.
But now--

[_Turning to the casement._]

The moon, Monsieur; parlez, Monsieur!

CHAUCER

[_Aside._]

“Parlez, Monsieur.” How shall I trust myself?

[_Aloud._]

I may not, dear Madame. If I should speak,
My heart would run in passages too sweet
For this cloy’d planet.

PRIORESS

[_Pointing through casement to the sky._]

Mais--parlez, Monsieur.

CHAUCER

Yea, if perchance there were some _other_ star--

PRIORESS

Some other star--

CHAUCER

Some star unsurfeited,
Some blessed star, where hot and lyric youth
Pours not swift torment in the veins of age;
Where Passion--gorgeous cenobite--blurs not
With fumid incense of his own hot breath
The hallow’d eyes of sweet Philosophy;
Where body battens not upon the soul,
But both are Reason’s angels, and Love’s self--
Pontifical in daisy-chains--doth hold
High mass at nature’s May-pole;--if such star
There were in all God’s heaven, and such indeed
Were ours, there would I speak and utter, not
“Dear Eglantine, I love you,” but “We love.”

PRIORESS

Monsieur, ’tis true.

CHAUCER

The simple truth, once said,
Is very sweet, Madame.

PRIORESS

Merci, Monsieur.

ALISOUN

Whist, Huberd; are they gone?

FRIAR

Nay.

ALISOUN

Did he kiss her?
Bones! Are they dumb!

FRIAR

Art jealous, dame?

ALISOUN

Shut up!

CHAUCER

[_At the window._]

Some other star! Choose, lady, which is ours?

PRIORESS

Yonder cool star that hides its winking light
Like a maid that weeps--but not for heaviness.

CHAUCER

Ha! If I were Prometheus now, I’d filch it
From out the seventh crystal sphere for you
And ’close it in this locket.

[_Seizes her hand._]

PRIORESS

Nay, that holds
My brother’s hair.

CHAUCER

[_Dropping her hand, looks away into the night._]

We dream.

PRIORESS

Of what, Monsieur?

CHAUCER

We dream that we are back in Eden garden
And that the gates are shut--and sin outside.

PRIORESS

Why, such in truth is love.

CHAUCER

Yes, such in truth
But not in fact, dear lady. Such sweet truth
Grows only on God’s tree; we may behold
And crave immortally, but may not pluck it
Without the angel’s scourge.--“When Adam delved”--
Aye, then he dragged both heaven and earth and hell
Along with him.--O God! this suzerain mansion
Where saints and crown’d philosophers discourse
Familiarly together as thy guests--
This ample palace of poesie, the mind--
Hath trap-doors sunk into a murky vault,
Where passion’s serfs lie sprawling.

PRIORESS

I am afraid!

CHAUCER

Forgive me, O sweet lady! I seem not
All that I am.

PRIORESS

[_Timidly._]

What are you?

CHAUCER

Do you ask?
Why, then, for this dull, English bulk, ’tis true
A London vintner gat it; but for this
My moving soul, I do believe it is
Some changeling sprite, the bastard of a god,
Sprung from Pan’s loins and white Diana’s side,
That, like a fawn, I fain must laugh and love
Where the sap runs; yet, like an anchorite,
Pore on the viewless beauty of a book:
Not more enamoured (when the sun is out)
O’ the convent rose, than of the hoyden milkweed
Bold in my path. Life, in whatever cup,
To me is a love-potion. In one breath,
My heart hath pealed the chimes above St. Paul’s
And rung an ale-wife’s laughter.

ALISOUN

[_Aside to the Friar._]

Bless his heart
And waistband! Heard ye that?

PRIORESS

[_Who has listened, lost._]

To hear you speak
Is sweeter than the psalter. Do not stop.

CHAUCER

[_Aside, smiling._]

Dear Lady Dreams!--

[_Aloud._]

Hark! Footsteps from the chapel.

[_Goes to the door._]

It is your nephew and his lady-love.
Let’s step aside before I introduce you,
And profit by these pangs of “lyric youth.”

[_Chaucer and the Prioress step aside, as enter, left, Johanna
and the Squire._]

SQUIRE

Stay!

JOHANNA

Leave me!

SQUIRE

Hear me!

JOHANNA

Is the house of prayer
No sanctuary that you drag me from it?

SQUIRE

Donna, the cloudy-pillar’d dome o’ the air
Alone can roof a lover’s house of prayer.

JOHANNA

More verses? Send ’em to your lady nun.

SQUIRE

O heartless bosom! Cold concave of pity!
Whet thy disdain upon the heart-shaped stone
Lodged, like a ruby, in that marble breast,
And slay me with the onyx of thine eye.

JOHANNA

Pray, did your Geoffrey write that?

SQUIRE

Do not scorn him.
He named you “Eglantine” because “Johanna”
Was not euphonious.

JOHANNA

Because “Johanna”
Was not--

SQUIRE

Euphonious. But “Eglantine”--

JOHANNA

But “Eglantine” was all symphonious.
“Johanna”--ha?--was not mellifluous
Enough to woo me! So a honeysuckle,
An eglantine, must be my proxy--ha?
Go! go! Hide in the night--Go! Kill thyself!

SQUIRE

[_At the door._]

O sky! thy noon was a broad, glorious mirror,
Which now hath fallen from its frame and shattered;
And little stars, like points of glass, they prick me
That gather back my grains of crushèd joy.

JOHANNA

[_At the window._]

O starry night! thou art Fortune’s playing-card,
All bright emboss’d with little shining hearts
That dash our own with destiny. Oh, false!

[_Turns._]

Go!--to your Eglantine!

SQUIRE

Johanna!

CHAUCER

[_Speaks from the darkness._]

Hide, Cleopatra, thy Egyptian hair!

JOHANNA

Hark!

CHAUCER

Esther, let melt thy meekness as the snow.--

JOHANNA

[_Draws nearer to Squire._]

What is’t?

CHAUCER

Hide, Ariadne, all thy beauties bare!

SQUIRE

Who speaks?

CHAUCER

Penelope and Marcia Cato,
Drown all your wifely virtues in the Po.--

JOHANNA

Good Aubrey, strike a light.

CHAUCER

Isold and Helen, veil your starlit eyes--
_Johanna_ comes, that doth you jeopardise!

[_The Squire lights a candle, revealing Chaucer._]

JOHANNA

O monster! It is he.

[_Chaucer takes the candle from the Squire’s hand, and,
holding it high, approaches Johanna, thereby throwing the
Prioress into his own shadow._]

SQUIRE

Nay, gentle sir!

CHAUCER

Laodamia, Hero, and Dido,
And Phyllis, dying for thy Demophon,
And Canace, betroth’d of Cambalo,--
Polixena, that made for love such moan,
Let envy gnaw your beauties to the bone;
Yea, Hypermnestra, swoon in envious sighs--
_Johanna_ comes, that doth you jeopardise!

JOHANNA

Oh, thank you--both. Squire, I congratulate
Your cunning chivalry on luring me
From church to bait me in this bear-trap.

SQUIRE

Lady,
Upon my honour--

[_To Chaucer._]

Good sir--

[_To Johanna._]

Nay, fear nothing.
Indeed, if you but knew--

JOHANNA

[_Catching sight of Prioress._]

If I but knew!
St. Ann! I know too much.

SQUIRE

You would be proud
To have him rhyme your name. Sir, I protest
Had I conceived how fair “Johanna” sounds
In verse--

CHAUCER

[_Sternly._]

Hold, signorino! Was it thus
You bade me sonnetise your Eglantine?
You said yourself--

SQUIRE

In sooth, that “Eglantine”
Is sweeter.

JOHANNA

Ugh!

CHAUCER

There you were false. For know
As ocean-shells give back the mermaid’s sigh,
The conches of a lover’s ears should hold
Eternal murmurs of his mistress’ name.
“Johanna” should have been thy conjure-word
To raise all spirits; thy muses’ _nom de plume_;
“Johanna” should have learnt thy brook to purl,
Thy pine to sorrow, and thy lark to soar;
And nightingales, forswearing Tereus’ name,
Have charmed thy wakeful midnight with “Johanna.”

JOHANNA

[_To Chaucer._]

Roland of Champions! Ringrazio!
Now, pray, what says the other lady?

SQUIRE

The other?

JOHANNA

[_To Prioress._]

Dame Eglantine, your most obsequious.

PRIORESS

Votre servante.--I also, Mademoiselle,
Have been at court.

JOHANNA

Does not Madame applaud, then,
This vintner’s courtly eloquence?

PRIORESS

I think
Monsieur will soon explain how this good youth
And I are dearly tied unto each other.

SQUIRE

What! I--and you, Madame?

JOHANNA

It seems the trap
Hath caught the hunters.

[_Aside._]

Oh, my heart!

SQUIRE

I swear
I do not know this lady.

JOHANNA

What! you swear!

[_Aside._]

Not perjury?

SQUIRE

I swear that we are strangers;
Of no relationship, and least of love.

JOHANNA

Oh, Aubrey, is this true?

SQUIRE

Why, Mistress--

CHAUCER

[_Aside to Squire._]

Soft!
Walk with this nun a moment.

SQUIRE

Sir?

CHAUCER

Dost trust me?

SQUIRE

Yes, but--

CHAUCER

[_Indicating Johanna._]

I’ll reconcile her.

[_Aside to Prioress._]

Tell him all,
Madame. Leave us alone a moment.

SQUIRE

But--

CHAUCER

[_Aloud._]

I will not play the hypocrite.

PRIORESS

[_To Squire, as they go out._]

Dear Aubrey--

JOHANNA

“Dear Aubrey!” Gone! gone! and with her. O base
Conspiracy!--To leave me!

[_To Chaucer._]

Stand aside!

CHAUCER

Nay, do not follow.

JOHANNA

I? I follow _her_?
Follow the lost Francesca into Limbo!
She’s damned. I seek my ward, De Wycliffe.

CHAUCER

Stay!

JOHANNA

St. Winifred! You’ll force--?

CHAUCER

Donna, my heart
Bleeds tears for you.

JOHANNA

Stand by!

CHAUCER

That one so young,
So seeming virtuous--

JOHANNA

“So seeming”--thanks!

CHAUCER

As this young squire should, at one look from his--
Should, at one look, forsake your ladyship
For his--alas! But such is man! The bonds
Which nature forges chain us to the flesh,
Though angels pry the links.

JOHANNA

The bonds which nature?--

CHAUCER

Yes, nature: ’tis not love. Had it been love,
Would he have turned, even in his vows of truth,
And left you with his--ah! it chokes me. Nay,
Go, go, great marchioness, seek out your ward;
I crave your pardon.

[_Bowing, he steps aside. Johanna, passing disdainfully to
the door, there pauses, and turns to Chaucer, as though he
had spoken._]

JOHANNA

Well?

[_Chaucer retires right._]

’Tis very dark.

[_Returning._]

I will wait here.

CHAUCER

In sadness, honoured lady,
I take my leave.

[_He goes to the door; Johanna rises uneasily._]

Yet I beseech your grace
Will never hint to that poor youth, my friend,
The secret I let slip.

JOHANNA

[_Aside._]

“Let slip!” The booby!--
He thinks he’s told me who she is. Soft! _now_
I’ll worm it out.

[_Aloud._]

Wait; if I promise never
To hint the thing we know--you understand.

CHAUCER

That’s it.

JOHANNA

One moment, Master Geoffrey. I
Have rallied you somewhat on your paternal
Vintage.

CHAUCER

To be hit by your Grace’s wit
Is to die smiling.

JOHANNA

[_Aside._]

How the big fish bites!

[_Aloud, effusively._]

But you’ll forgive me? ’Tis my nature, those
To banter whom I best adore.

[_Detaching a knot of ribbon from her gown, she offers it to
Chaucer._]

Pray, sir,--

CHAUCER

For me?--A love-knot! By your Grace’s favours
I am bewildered.

JOHANNA

Keep it as a pledge--
For you are Aubrey’s friend, my Aubrey’s friend--
As pledge that I will never, so help me Heaven,
Reveal to him my knowledge of his secret,
How Eglantine is his--oh, word it for me,
For I am heartsick.

CHAUCER

Trust me, honoured lady,
You have done bravely. For did he suspect
That I have even whispered to you how
That nun, whose sensuous name he bade me rhyme
In verses meant for you, that Prioress,
Whose cloistral hand even now, lock’d in his palm,
Leads here your Aubrey, how that vestal maid
Hath lived for months, nay years, your lover’s--oh!

JOHANNA

[_Seizes Chaucer’s arm._]

His _what_? In God’s name, speak it! His--

CHAUCER

His aunt!

[_Blows out the candle._]

JOHANNA

His _aunt_?

CHAUCER

[_Going off in the dark._]

O shire of Kent! thou shire of Kent!
To sit with thee in parliament
Doth not content
Me, verayment,
Like laughing at lovers after Lent.
Haha! Hahaha!

[_Exit._]

Ho! Shire of Kent!

JOHANNA

So--Kent? He mocks my title, doth he?
O gall! If he have made a fool of me--
Yet, if he’ve made a fool of me, O sweet,
Sweet gall!

SQUIRE

[_Outside._]

Johanna!

JOHANNA

Aubrey!

SQUIRE

[_Returning with Prioress._]

He hath told thee?

JOHANNA

Nay, hath he told me _true_?

SQUIRE

This is my aunt,
Dame Eglantine, my father’s sister.

ALISOUN

[_Aside._]

Death!
We must be quick.

FRIAR

[_Aside._]

I’ll win thy wager for thee.

[_Exit Friar at door, front left._]

PRIORESS

[_Extending her hand to Johanna._]

My nephew tells me you and he--

JOHANNA

Madame,
I blush to think of my late rudeness; ’twas
My jealousy. Yet you should pardon it;
For you that wear St. Chastity’s safe veil
Can never know how blind St. Cupid plagues
The eyes of worldlings.

PRIORESS

No?

SQUIRE

Love, you forgive me?

[_Reënter Chaucer._]

JOHANNA

Forgive you? By my heart--I’ll think about it.
Here comes our fool. Come hither, What’s-your-name.

CHAUCER

[_Coming forward with the love-knot._]

Your Grace’s secret-monger.

JOHANNA

Tut! tut!

[_Embarrassed, motions him to put it away._]

Rhymester,
If thou wilt come to court, I’ll have thee made
Court-fool.

SQUIRE

[_Aside._]

O mistress, hush!

JOHANNA

A cask of thy
Diameter should keep King Richard drunk
With laughter for a twelvemonth. Cask, I swear it,
Thou shalt be made court-fool.

SQUIRE

[_Aside to Chaucer._]

She doth not mean it.

PRIORESS

[_Aside to Squire._]

Nephew, I cannot quite approve your choice.

JOHANNA

Nay, keep my knot; my favour is renewed.
I’ll sue the king myself at Canterbury
To swaddle thee in motley.

[_Chaucer laughs aside._]

--Well, no thanks?

CHAUCER

Lady, pray God I live to see that day.

JOHANNA

Amen. Now, Aubrey, where’s your father? Let’s
Make merry all together.

PRIORESS

True, my brother;
Went he to chapel?

SQUIRE

Ladies, I am ’shamed
To make confession of my selfishness:
To-day, all day, in the sweet day and night
Of my own thoughts I have been wandering.
I have not seen my father since this morning.
I’ll go and seek him now.

CHAUCER

Nay, boy, remain.
Doubtless he’s gone to chapel. I will find him
And bring him to you here. First, though, let me
Anticipate my fool’s prerogative
And play the father to another’s bairns,
This vixen girl and boy.

[_With an affectionate smile he draws Johanna and Aubrey
together and kisses them._]

God bless ’em both!

PRIORESS

[_Aside._]

St. Loy! No more?

JOHANNA

Dear fool, thou’rt not so old.
Come now, how old?

CHAUCER

Ah, lass, my crop is rowen.
When grey hairs creep like yarrow into clover,
Farewell, green June! Thy growing days be over.

[_Aside._]

Bewitching Eglantine!

[_Exit left._]

PRIORESS

[_At the casement, aside._]

Some other star!

[_Aloud._]

Nephew!

[_The Squire and Johanna stand absorbed in their own whisperings._]

Nephew!

SQUIRE

Madame!

PRIORESS

I pray you, tell
Your father, when he comes, I am retired
A moment to my room.

SQUIRE

I will, Madame.

[_Exit Prioress, right._]

My lady, we’re alone.

JOHANNA

Alas, then come,
Sit and be sad.

[_She sits in the niche by the fireplace._]

SQUIRE

Sad? Must I wear a mask, then?
Mistress! Mistress, masks fall away from love
Like husks from buds in April. By love’s light
Lovers can look through mountains to their joy
As through these black beams I see heaven. Nay,
Hear me! When I have won my spurs--

FRIAR

[_Sings within._]

What, ho! What, ho!
Dan Cupido!
A spurless knight usurps thy halls.--

JOHANNA

What’s that?

SQUIRE

The friar! ’Tis his voice.

FRIAR

[_Sings within._]

Thy fortress falls,
And all her rosèd charms--

JOHANNA

Is’t in the cellar?

SQUIRE

Or the wall?

[_They look up the chimney._]

FRIAR

[_Sings within._]

To arms, Dan Cupido! To arms,
Dan Cupido!

[_With a rush of soot, he falls into the fireplace._]

Bon soir!

JOHANNA

’Od’s fiends!

SQUIRE

[_Seizing Friar, drags him forth._]

Sneak thief, at last I have thee--What!
A chimney-sweep?

FRIAR

Did scare the ladykin?

SQUIRE

Was’t thou that sung?

FRIAR

Sung-la?

JOHANNA

[_Brushing herself off._]

My taffeta!

SQUIRE

Sing! Didst thou sing?

FRIAR

Oh, sing! You mean the friar, sir.

SQUIRE

[_Peremptorily._]

Where?

FRIAR

In the cellar. He’s a-hiding, sir.

SQUIRE

I warrant him. Here--

[_Gives Friar a coin._]

Come, show me the scoundrel.

FRIAR

[_Examining coin._]

A noble!

[_Sings._]

Oh, rare
Sweet miller,
Lady-killer,
Not there, not there!

SQUIRE

[_Eyeing Friar with suspicion._]

What?

[_The Miller slips stealthily from the cellar door and
joins Alisoun in the cupboard._]

FRIAR

Was’t so he sung, sir?

SQUIRE

Yes.

JOHANNA

[_Still brushing her gown._]

Ruined!

FRIAR

Sir, follow, sir. I know him well.
A begging friar?

SQUIRE

Yes.--One moment, Mistress.--
I’ll flay the beggar. Now!

FRIAR

[_The Friar opens cellar door; Squire snatches his candle
and precedes him._]

A sneaking friar--
A noble!--a swindling, skulking, lying friar.

[_Aside to Bob Miller, who joins him from the cupboard._]

O rare Bob-up-and-down!

[_Exeunt; Alisoun leaves the cupboard and exit stealthily at
door, left front._]

JOHANNA

Stay; are they gone?
Mass! mass! I’m spotted worse than ink. And kneel
In Canterbury kirk in such a gown!
I’ll eat it first. Oh, Lord! Lord, now who comes?

[_Enter, left back, the Canon’s Yeoman and the Carpenter;
after whom the Wife of Bath, disguised._]

ALISOUN

Good fellow, you there, can you propagate
Unto my vision--a young prioress?

CANON’S YEOMAN

No, sir, I cannot.

ALISOUN

Or a marchioness?

[_The pilgrims pass on._]

JOHANNA

[_Aside._]

A marchioness!

ALISOUN

[_Twirling her sword-scabbard._]

Hum! Hum!

CARPENTER

How went the sermon?

CANON’S YEOMAN

God’s blood! Old Wycliffe hammered the pope flat.
The pulpit rang like a hot anvil.

CARPENTER

Aye,
There’ll be skulls cracked yet.

[_Exeunt right._]

ALISOUN

[_To Johanna._]

Amorous Minerva!

JOHANNA

Signor!

[_Aside._]

My left sleeve’s clean.

ALISOUN

I have a son,
Whose aunt--

JOHANNA

Are you the Knight of Algezir?

ALISOUN

I am--Dan Roderigo d’Algezir.

JOHANNA

My Aubrey’s father.

ALISOUN

Bones! Are you Johanna?

JOHANNA

[_Aside._]

Bones!

ALISOUN

Corpus arms! it sticks me to the heart
To gaze on your sweet face, my dear.

JOHANNA

[_Aside._]

My dear!

ALISOUN

Ah! the fat rogue! He said your face was worth
Unbuckling an off eye to pop it in;
But such a pretty finch!

JOHANNA

Finch! Sir, perhaps
You are deceived in me.--Who sent you here?

ALISOUN

Yon chum of that sweet spindle-shanks, my son--
Yon rhymester, Master Geoffrey.

JOHANNA

Yes; ’twas he.

[_Aside._]

Saints! is _this_ Aubrey’s father?

[_Aloud._]

Doubtless, sir,
There’s no mistake. Your sister left you word--

ALISOUN

O villain! Aye, though I ha’ bred him! What
Though ’tis my own son--villain! God’s teeth!

JOHANNA

Sir!

ALISOUN

Your pardon, dainty dame. Before I speak
I do not rinse my mouth in oleander.
I am a blunt knight. Nay, I cannot sigh
A simoon hot with sonnets like my son.
I am a blunt knight who, on Satan’s heel,
Hath rode it and strode it, wenched it, wived it, and knived it,
Booted and footed ’t, till--by Venus’ shoestring,
I be a blunt and rough but honest soldier.

JOHANNA

Signore, I believe it.

ALISOUN

Blunt’s the word, then;
And here’s the blunt point. You’re deceived.

JOHANNA

By whom?

ALISOUN

By Aubrey.

JOHANNA

What!

ALISOUN

Aye, by my smiling son
Wi’ the pretty curls. Where is he now?

JOHANNA

Why, he--
He’s gone to find the friar.

ALISOUN

Aye.

JOHANNA

Good Heaven!
Can he have harmed him?

ALISOUN

Who--the friar? The friar’s
His pal--his pal; and so is Geoffrey; aye,
And that lascivious, Latin-singing nun--

JOHANNA

What! Eglantine?

ALISOUN

Yes, she; those four! Child, child,
Wouldst not believe it, how they’ve sneaked and schemed,
Plotted my life, aye, for my money. But
’Twas lust, lust egged him on. Oh God! my son!
And ’twas a cherub ’fore this Geoffrey warped him!

JOHANNA

[_To herself._]

They whispered here: and there she said “Dear Aubrey.”

ALISOUN

And their disguises; oh, you’d not believe it!
That devil friar plays the chimney-sweep.
And--

JOHANNA

Chimney-sweep! ’Twas he, then, sung? Oh, come;
Help!

ALISOUN

Where?

JOHANNA

They’re in the cellar.

ALISOUN

Like enough;
They’re plotting, plotting. God’s wounds! ’Tis a trap.
Where be they all? Geoffrey to send me here--
My son to leave you with the friar--Ha!
They’re with that sly, deceptive Prioress;
’Tis she--

JOHANNA

Why, she’s your sister.

ALISOUN

[_As if taken back._]

What--my sister!
Is _she_ the Prioress? _She_ Eglantine?

JOHANNA

Yes, yes; and she, too, left upon a pretext.
Sir Roderigo, say, what shall we do?

ALISOUN

My sister--and my son!

JOHANNA

[_Calls._]

Aubrey!--no answer?
Aubrey!

ALISOUN

My son and sister!

JOHANNA

Oh, poor soldier!

ALISOUN

Oh, monstrous brood, hatched in a vampire’s nest!
But I will be revenged. Go to your room;
Lock fast the door; but when I call, “A brooch,
A brooch!” come forth and raise the house.

JOHANNA

Why “brooch”?

ALISOUN

A watchword. Quick; go! I hear footsteps. Go!

[_Urges her toward door, right back._]

Blunt is the word; your presence dangers me--
Your room. No, no, I fear not.

JOHANNA

Poor Sir Roderick!

[_Exit; Alisoun shuts door; voices outside, left._]

ALISOUN

A miss is as good’s a mile.

REEVE

[_Outside._]

Where went your knight?

[_Enter Reeve, Doctor, and Chaucer._]

CHAUCER

To chapel.

REEVE

Na, na, na; I saw him not.

CHAUCER

[_To Doctor._]

Nor you?

DOCTOR

A knight, say you, from the Holy Land?

CHAUCER

Yes, a crusader.

DOCTOR

[_Points at Alisoun._]

Is that he?

CHAUCER

Ah, thank you;

[_Starts forward, but sees he is mistaken._]

Nay, ’tis another man.

DOCTOR

Good even, sir.

REEVE

[_To Doctor._]

’Twas the first time I heard the devil preach
In chapel.

DOCTOR

Wycliffe?

REEVE

[_Nods._]

Curse him and his Lollards!

[_Exeunt, right front._]

CHAUCER

[_Follows them to door, and calls._]

Aubrey!

ALISOUN

[_Claps her hands._]

Host!

CHAUCER

Signorino!

ALISOUN

Host here!

[_Enter from cellar the Miller and Bottlejohn. As the door
is closing, the chink is filled with the faces of the
Swains, threatening Bottlejohn._]

MILLER

[_His dagger drawn, aside to Bottlejohn._]

Mum!
Quick! Be thy ribs good whetstones?

BOTTLEJOHN

[_Ducking to Alisoun._]

Here, sweet lording.

ALISOUN

Thou’rt slow.

MILLER

[_Aside._]

Ribs!

BOTTLEJOHN

Slow, sweet lording.

ALISOUN

Tell me, host,
Hast thou residing in this hostelry
A gentle prioress?

CHAUCER

[_Aside._]

What?

MILLER

[_Aside to Bottlejohn, sharpening his dagger on an ale mug._]

Whetstones!

BOTTLEJOHN

Aye,
Sweet lording.

ALISOUN

Good; go tell her that her brother
Awaits her here.

CHAUCER

[_Aside._]

Her brother!

[_Draws nearer._]

HOST

Aye, sweet lording.

[_Starts for door, right back, Miller following._]

ALISOUN

Her brother, say--Dan Roderigo.

BOTTLEJOHN

Aye,
Sweet lording.

MILLER

Host, hast thou a whetstone in
Thy pocket?

BOTTLEJOHN

Aye, sweet lording.

MILLER

[_Winking at Alisoun._]

“Aye, sweet lording.”

[_Exeunt Bottlejohn and Miller._]

[_Alisoun ignores Chaucer’s presence._]

CHAUCER

[_Approaching her._]

Your pardon, sir, I trespass. By your cross
You come--

ALISOUN

From Palestine. Well met. You, friend?

CHAUCER

Nay, I’m a door-mouse, sir; a doze-at-home.
My home’s near by at Greenwich. You have friends--
Friends at the inn?

ALISOUN

A friend, sir; a fair friend;
By Jupiter, a sweet friend.

CHAUCER

Ah!

ALISOUN

A sister.
She is a nun.

CHAUCER

Good God!

ALISOUN

A prioress.

CHAUCER

It cannot be!

ALISOUN

Signor!

CHAUCER

Her name? Her name?

ALISOUN

What’s that to you--her name?

CHAUCER

[_Disconcerted._]

It may be--

ALISOUN

Ah!
Perhaps you know her--what? ’Tis Eglantine.

CHAUCER

Impossible!--Sir, pardon me; I must
Have made some strange mistake.

ALISOUN

Nay, friend; I guess
’Tis I have made the blunder.

CHAUCER

You, sir?

ALISOUN

Sooth,
I might as well stick both feet in the mire
And wade across my blushes. We old lads
With beards, who sees our blushes, what? So, then,
This prioress, she is not just my sister.

CHAUCER

No?

ALISOUN

No.

CHAUCER

What then?

ALISOUN

Vous savez bien, these nuns,
When they would have a friend, they clepe him “brother.”
Especially on holy pilgrimage
It hath a proper sound: “My _brother_ meets me;
My _brother_ is a knight.” You cannot blame ’em;
’Tis more discreet; we men must humour ’em.
Therefore this little honeysuckle nun
Doth take delight to call me _brother_.

CHAUCER

Liar!

[_As Chaucer lifts his hand about to strike Alisoun, she
raises hers to guard; seizing it, he beholds her ring._]

What!--“Amor vincit omnia.”--Even her!

ALISOUN

Take back your lie!

CHAUCER

That ring--tell me--that ring!

ALISOUN

St. Madrian! It is my love-ring. She,
My sweet nun, gave it me. She wears a brooch
To match it, on her wrist.

[_Enter, right, Bottlejohn and Miller._]

BOTTLEJOHN

The Prioress,
Sweet lording.

[_Enter the Prioress._]

PRIORESS

Brother! Welcome, brother!

CHAUCER

No!
God! God! I’ll not believe it. Aubrey! Aubrey!

[_Exit, left._]

ALISOUN

My pretty virgin sister!

PRIORESS

[_Gives her hand, reticently._]

Roderigo!

[_Looking after Chaucer._]

He need not, sure, have gone.

ALISOUN

Put up thy chin,
My snow-white dove. Aha, but thou art grown!
The silver slip o’ girlhood that I kissed
Good-by when I set out for Palestine
Hath mellowed into golden womanhood.
Give me thy lips.

PRIORESS

Nay, brother, nay; my vows!
I may not kiss a man.

ALISOUN

Toot! never fear, then;
Thou shalt not break thy vows against _my_ beard.
What, I’m thy brother; come!

PRIORESS

Adieu, mon frère.

ALISOUN

Soft, soft, my startled fawn. You need not jump
Because your brother is a true crusader.
Or didst thou fancy I was cut in stone,
With my cold gauntlets crossed above my breast,
Like a dumb, marble knight upon a tomb?
Art not thou glad to see me, sister?

PRIORESS

Yes,
Mon frère. Forgive me, I had thought--You see,
My nephew--’tis a pretty mannered youth;
You’re not alike, are you?

ALISOUN

[_Laughing._]

By Peter’s toe,
I hope not. Saints deliver me from being
A new-hatched chicken’s feather.

PRIORESS

What! your son?

ALISOUN

Next, thou’ll be wishing I were like that fellow
That fetched me here--yon what’s-his-name, yon Geoffrey.

PRIORESS

Why, ’tis a noble gentleman.

[_Enter, from cellar door, Summoner, Shipman, Cook, Friar,
and Manciple; they look on._]

ALISOUN

Hoho!
Your noble gentleman! Why, harkee, sweet;
He told me he’s betrothèd to an ale-wife.

PRIORESS

He told you--when?

ALISOUN

Just now, coming from chapel.

PRIORESS

Her name?

ALISOUN

[_Ruminating, winks at the Swains._]

What was her name, now?--Alisoun,
The Wife of Bath, they call her.

PRIORESS

O gran Dieu!
That _person_!

ALISOUN

Person! God wot, ’twas not so
Your Geoffrey called her. “Alisoun,” quoth he;
“My lily Alisoun, my fresh wild-rose,
My cowslip in the slough of womankind,
Bright Alisoun shall be my bride.”

PRIORESS

[_Throwing herself into Alisoun’s arms._]

Mon frère!
Oh, keep me safe, mon frère!

[_She hides her face._]

MILLER

[_Laughing._]

By Corpus bones!

SUMMONER

Look!

SHIPMAN

Hold me up!

BOTTLEJOHN

[_Whispers._]

Lady, beware!

MILLER

Mum!

PRIORESS

What
Are these?

ALISOUN

Begone, you varlets!

COOK

[_Bowing._]

Yes, sweet lord.

SUMMONER

We know our betters.

[_They withdraw a little._]

ALISOUN

Come, what cheer, my girl?
Hath that churl Geoffrey wronged thee?

PRIORESS

No, no, no!

ALISOUN

Nay, if the churl hath wronged thee, by this locket--

PRIORESS

Swear not by that. _He_ swore by that.

ALISOUN

O vile!
He swore by this--the brooch that holds my hair,
Thy brother’s hair?

PRIORESS

But, Roderigo--

ALISOUN

What!
Give’t here! Or maybe thou hast promised it
To him?

PRIORESS

No, no, mon frère. Here, take it--keep it.

ALISOUN

So! By this brooch--

[_Aside._]

Now, lads, learn how to woo!
Now, by this golden brooch of Eglantine,
And by this little, slender wrist of pearl,
Where once it hung; and by the limpid eyes
Of Eglantine, and by her ripe, red mouth,
Yea, by the warm white doves which are her breasts
And flutter at the heart of Eglantine,
I swear I will be ever Eglantine’s
And lacerate the foes of Eglantine.

PRIORESS

Brother, such words--

ALISOUN

Call me not brother, sweet;
A brother’s blood is lukewarm in his limbs,
But mine for thee is lightning. Look at me!
Was Jove a finer figure of a man
Than me? Had Agamemnon such an arm,
Or Hector such a leg?

PRIORESS

Forbear! Forbear!

ALISOUN

Alack, she scorns me. Stay, Venus of virgins!
Why dost thou wimple all the lovely dawn
Of thy young body in this veil of night?
Why wilt thou cork thy sweetness up, and, like
A mummy, wrapped in rose and ivory,
Store all thy beauty till the judgment-day?
God did not paint thee on a window-glass.
Step down from thy cold chapel, rosy saint,
And take thy true-knight in thine arms.

PRIORESS

Help! help!

BOTTLEJOHN

Pray, lady, pray! It is Satanas! They
Be devils all!

ALISOUN

Love--Eglantine--I kneel.

PRIORESS

Joannes! Marcus!

[_Seizing her crucifix._]

Tibi, Domine!

[_Enter, right, Joannes, Marcus, and Paulus. They are
immediately driven back by the Summoner, Shipman, and
Cook._]

JOANNES

Madame.

SHIPMAN

Come on!

PRIORESS

Help! Save me!

[_Enter Chaucer, left._]

ALISOUN

[_To Prioress._]

Lovely nymph,
Come to my arms--

CHAUCER

[_To Alisoun, with his sword drawn._]

Embrace me.

PRIORESS

[_Goes to his protection._]

Cher monsieur!

ALISOUN

God save you, Master Geoffrey.

CHAUCER

Draw!

FRIAR

[_Aside._]

Lord! Lord!
The pot boils. Now to add the salt and pepper.

[_Exit down cellar._]

[_Enter, left back, in quick succession, all the pilgrims, returning with their links from chapel._]

PRIORESS

[_To Chaucer._]

Monsieur--

CHAUCER

[_To Alisoun._]

Draw!

PRIORESS

Do not fight, Monsieur!

CHAUCER

Wilt draw, I say?

ALISOUN

Draw what? Draw _you_? Merci,
I’m not a dray-horse.

CHAUCER

Is this man your brother?

PRIORESS

Oh, sir, I know not; but he hath insulted--

CHAUCER

Insulted you? Enough. By all the devils,
Defend yourself!

ALISOUN

[_Drawing._]

To arms then, sweet Achilles.

[_They fight. Re-enter right, Shipman, Summoner, and Cook.
They rush to Alisoun’s aid._]

SHIPMAN

Boardside the fat churl.

PILGRIMS

Come! A fight!

FRANKLIN

[_Entering._]

Who are they?

MERCHANT

A Lollard and Papist.

PRIORESS

Stay them! Stop them!

PILGRIMS

Down with the Papists!

PRIORESS

Oh, St. Loy!

CHAUCER

[_To the crowd._]

Stand off!

PILGRIMS

Down with the Lollards!

[_They close in and fight confusedly with staves._]

ALISOUN

[_Holding up the locket._]

Hold! A brooch! A brooch!

CHAUCER

I’ll make thee yield it, ruffian.

[_From the cellar enter the Friar and the Squire, the
latter sword in hand, fragments of cut ropes still clinging
to him._]

SQUIRE

[_To Chaucer--plunging at Alisoun._]

Sir, I’m with you.

[_Enter, right, Johanna._]

ALISOUN

[_To Squire._]

Unnatural son!

JOHANNA

Help!

[_Throws herself between them._]

Brave Sir Roderick!

[_To Squire._]

Shame! Shame! Your father’s blood?

SQUIRE

You, lady?

[_Enter, left, Wycliffe._]

WYCLIFFE

[_To the pilgrims._]

Peace!

CHAUCER

You, marchioness! What does this mean?

ALISOUN

[_Stripping off her beard and wig--her own hair falling
over her shoulders--snatches a warming-pan from the
chimney, and confronts Chaucer._]

Sweet Geoffrey,
It means this pan shall warm our wedding sheets.

MILLER

What devil!

CHAUCER

Alisoun!--My bet is lost.

FRANKLIN

The Wife of Bath!

[_The pilgrims crowd round and laugh._]

JOHANNA

[_Turning away._]

Impostors!

ALISOUN

[_To Chaucer._]

Come, sweet chuck,
And kiss the brooch that hath betrothed our hearts.

PRIORESS

M’sieur, is this true?

[_As Chaucer turns to the Prioress in a kind of blank
dismay, enter, from the cellar, swathed in a long gown, the
real Knight and the Friar._]

KNIGHT

[_To Friar._]

Where?

[_Friar points to Prioress; he advances._]

Eglantine!

PRIORESS

[_Aghast at this apparition, runs to the priedieu._]

No more!

CHAUCER

[_Struck, at a flash, by this medley of incongruities, bursts into
laughter, and seizing an ale mug, lifts it high._]

Alis, I drink to thee and woman’s wit.

FRIAR

God save the vintner and the Wife of Bath!

PILGRIMS

[_Shout._]

God save the vintner and the Wife of Bath!

ALISOUN

[_Sharing the ale mug with Chaucer._]

Sweetheart!

Explicit pars tertia.

ACT FOURTH

“And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martyr for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seke.”