Chapter D: Laing Purves (9)

32. A planet, according to the old astrologers, was in “exaltation” when in the sign of the Zodiac in which it exerted its strongest influence; the opposite sign, in which it was weakest, was called its “dejection.” Venus being strongest in Pisces, was weakest in Virgo; but in Virgo Mercury was in “exaltation.”

33. Intermete: interpose; French, “entremettre.”

THE TALE. <1>

In olde dayes of the king Arthour, Of which that Britons speake great honour, All was this land full fill’d of faerie;* *fairies The Elf-queen, with her jolly company, Danced full oft in many a green mead This was the old opinion, as I read; I speak of many hundred years ago; But now can no man see none elves mo’, For now the great charity and prayeres Of limitours,* and other holy freres, *begging friars <2> That search every land and ev’ry stream As thick as motes in the sunne-beam, Blessing halls, chambers, kitchenes, and bowers, Cities and burghes, castles high and towers, Thorpes* and barnes, shepens** and dairies, *villages <3> **stables This makes that there be now no faeries: For *there as* wont to walke was an elf, *where* There walketh now the limitour himself, In undermeles* and in morrowings**, *evenings <4> **mornings And saith his matins and his holy things, As he goes in his limitatioun.* *begging district Women may now go safely up and down, In every bush, and under every tree; There is none other incubus <5> but he; And he will do to them no dishonour.

And so befell it, that this king Arthour Had in his house a lusty bacheler, That on a day came riding from river: <6> And happen’d, that, alone as she was born, He saw a maiden walking him beforn, Of which maiden anon, maugre* her head, *in spite of By very force he reft her maidenhead: For which oppression was such clamour, And such pursuit unto the king Arthour, That damned* was this knight for to be dead *condemned By course of law, and should have lost his head; (Paraventure such was the statute tho),* *then But that the queen and other ladies mo’ So long they prayed the king of his grace, Till he his life him granted in the place, And gave him to the queen, all at her will To choose whether she would him save or spill* *destroy The queen thanked the king with all her might; And, after this, thus spake she to the knight, When that she saw her time upon a day. “Thou standest yet,” quoth she, “in such array,* *a position That of thy life yet hast thou no surety; I grant thee life, if thou canst tell to me What thing is it that women most desiren: Beware, and keep thy neck-bone from the iron* *executioner’s axe And if thou canst not tell it me anon, Yet will I give thee leave for to gon A twelvemonth and a day, to seek and lear* *learn An answer suffisant* in this mattere. *satisfactory And surety will I have, ere that thou pace,* *go Thy body for to yielden in this place.” Woe was the knight, and sorrowfully siked;* *sighed But what? he might not do all as him liked. And at the last he chose him for to wend,* *depart And come again, right at the yeare’s end, With such answer as God would him purvey:* *provide And took his leave, and wended forth his way.

He sought in ev’ry house and ev’ry place, Where as he hoped for to finde grace, To learne what thing women love the most: But he could not arrive in any coast, Where as he mighte find in this mattere Two creatures *according in fere.* *agreeing together* Some said that women loved best richess, Some said honour, and some said jolliness, Some rich array, and some said lust* a-bed, *pleasure And oft time to be widow and be wed. Some said, that we are in our heart most eased When that we are y-flatter’d and y-praised. He *went full nigh the sooth,* I will not lie; *came very near A man shall win us best with flattery; the truth* And with attendance, and with business Be we y-limed,* bothe more and less. *caught with bird-lime And some men said that we do love the best For to be free, and do *right as us lest,* *whatever we please* And that no man reprove us of our vice, But say that we are wise, and nothing nice,* *foolish <7> For truly there is none among us all, If any wight will *claw us on the gall,* *see note <8>* That will not kick, for that he saith us sooth: Assay,* and he shall find it, that so do’th. *try For be we never so vicious within, We will be held both wise and clean of sin. And some men said, that great delight have we For to be held stable and eke secre,* *discreet And in one purpose steadfastly to dwell, And not bewray* a thing that men us tell. *give away But that tale is not worth a rake-stele.* *rake-handle Pardie, we women canne nothing hele,* *hide <9> Witness on Midas; will ye hear the tale? Ovid, amonges other thinges smale* *small Saith, Midas had, under his longe hairs, Growing upon his head two ass’s ears; The whiche vice he hid, as best he might, Full subtlely from every man’s sight, That, save his wife, there knew of it no mo’; He lov’d her most, and trusted her also; He prayed her, that to no creature She woulde tellen of his disfigure. She swore him, nay, for all the world to win, She would not do that villainy or sin, To make her husband have so foul a name: She would not tell it for her owen shame. But natheless her thoughte that she died, That she so longe should a counsel hide; Her thought it swell’d so sore about her heart That needes must some word from her astart And, since she durst not tell it unto man Down to a marish fast thereby she ran, Till she came there, her heart was all afire: And, as a bittern bumbles* in the mire, *makes a humming noise She laid her mouth unto the water down “Bewray me not, thou water, with thy soun’” Quoth she, “to thee I tell it, and no mo’, Mine husband hath long ass’s eares two! Now is mine heart all whole; now is it out; I might no longer keep it, out of doubt.” Here may ye see, though we a time abide, Yet out it must, we can no counsel hide. The remnant of the tale, if ye will hear, Read in Ovid, and there ye may it lear.* *learn

This knight, of whom my tale is specially, When that he saw he might not come thereby, That is to say, what women love the most, Within his breast full sorrowful was his ghost.* *spirit But home he went, for he might not sojourn, The day was come, that homeward he must turn. And in his way it happen’d him to ride, In all his care,* under a forest side, *trouble, anxiety Where as he saw upon a dance go Of ladies four-and-twenty, and yet mo’, Toward this ilke* dance he drew full yern,** *same **eagerly <10> The hope that he some wisdom there should learn; But certainly, ere he came fully there, Y-vanish’d was this dance, he knew not where; No creature saw he that bare life, Save on the green he sitting saw a wife, A fouler wight there may no man devise.* *imagine, tell Against* this knight this old wife gan to rise, *to meet And said, “Sir Knight, hereforth* lieth no way. *from here Tell me what ye are seeking, by your fay. Paraventure it may the better be: These olde folk know muche thing.” quoth she. My leve* mother,” quoth this knight, “certain, *dear I am but dead, but if* that I can sayn *unless What thing it is that women most desire: Could ye me wiss,* I would well *quite your hire.”* *instruct <11> “Plight me thy troth here in mine hand,” quoth she, *reward you* “The nexte thing that I require of thee Thou shalt it do, if it be in thy might, And I will tell it thee ere it be night.” “Have here my trothe,” quoth the knight; “I grant.” “Thenne,” quoth she, “I dare me well avaunt,* *boast, affirm Thy life is safe, for I will stand thereby, Upon my life the queen will say as I: Let see, which is the proudest of them all, That wears either a kerchief or a caul, That dare say nay to that I shall you teach. Let us go forth withoute longer speech Then *rowned she a pistel* in his ear, *she whispered a secret* And bade him to be glad, and have no fear.

When they were come unto the court, this knight Said, he had held his day, as he had hight,* *promised And ready was his answer, as he said. Full many a noble wife, and many a maid, And many a widow, for that they be wise, — The queen herself sitting as a justice, — Assembled be, his answer for to hear, And afterward this knight was bid appear. To every wight commanded was silence, And that the knight should tell in audience, What thing that worldly women love the best. This knight he stood not still, as doth a beast, But to this question anon answer’d With manly voice, that all the court it heard, “My liege lady, generally,” quoth he, “Women desire to have the sovereignty As well over their husband as their love And for to be in mast’ry him above. This is your most desire, though ye me kill, Do as you list, I am here at your will.” In all the court there was no wife nor maid Nor widow, that contraried what he said, But said, he worthy was to have his life. And with that word up start that olde wife Which that the knight saw sitting on the green.

“Mercy,” quoth she, “my sovereign lady queen, Ere that your court departe, do me right. I taughte this answer unto this knight, For which he plighted me his trothe there, The firste thing I would of him requere, He would it do, if it lay in his might. Before this court then pray I thee, Sir Knight,” Quoth she, “that thou me take unto thy wife, For well thou know’st that I have kept* thy life. *preserved If I say false, say nay, upon thy fay.”* *faith This knight answer’d, “Alas, and well-away! I know right well that such was my behest.* *promise For Godde’s love choose a new request Take all my good, and let my body go.” “Nay, then,” quoth she, “I shrew* us bothe two, *curse For though that I be old, and foul, and poor, I n’ould* for all the metal nor the ore, *would not That under earth is grave,* or lies above *buried But if thy wife I were and eke thy love.” “My love?” quoth he, “nay, my damnation, Alas! that any of my nation Should ever so foul disparaged be. But all for nought; the end is this, that he Constrained was, that needs he muste wed, And take this olde wife, and go to bed.

Now woulde some men say paraventure That for my negligence I do no cure* *take no pains To tell you all the joy and all th’ array That at the feast was made that ilke* day. *same To which thing shortly answeren I shall: I say there was no joy nor feast at all, There was but heaviness and muche sorrow: For privily he wed her on the morrow; And all day after hid him as an owl, So woe was him, his wife look’d so foul Great was the woe the knight had in his thought When he was with his wife to bed y-brought; He wallow’d, and he turned to and fro. This olde wife lay smiling evermo’, And said, “Dear husband, benedicite, Fares every knight thus with his wife as ye? Is this the law of king Arthoures house? Is every knight of his thus dangerous?* *fastidious, niggardly I am your owen love, and eke your wife I am she, which that saved hath your life And certes yet did I you ne’er unright. Why fare ye thus with me this firste night? Ye fare like a man had lost his wit. What is my guilt? for God’s love tell me it, And it shall be amended, if I may.” “Amended!” quoth this knight; “alas, nay, nay, It will not be amended, never mo’; Thou art so loathly, and so old also, And thereto* comest of so low a kind, *in addition That little wonder though I wallow and wind;* *writhe, turn about So woulde God, mine hearte woulde brest!”* *burst “Is this,” quoth she, “the cause of your unrest?” “Yea, certainly,” quoth he; “no wonder is.” “Now, Sir,” quoth she, “I could amend all this, If that me list, ere it were dayes three, *So well ye mighte bear you unto me.* *if you could conduct But, for ye speaken of such gentleness yourself well As is descended out of old richess, towards me* That therefore shalle ye be gentlemen; Such arrogancy is *not worth a hen.* *worth nothing Look who that is most virtuous alway, *Prive and apert,* and most intendeth aye *in private and public* To do the gentle deedes that he can; And take him for the greatest gentleman. Christ will,* we claim of him our gentleness, *wills, requires Not of our elders* for their old richess. *ancestors For though they gave us all their heritage, For which we claim to be of high parage,* *birth, descent Yet may they not bequeathe, for no thing, To none of us, their virtuous living That made them gentlemen called to be, And bade us follow them in such degree. Well can the wise poet of Florence, That highte Dante, speak of this sentence:* *sentiment Lo, in such manner* rhyme is Dante’s tale. *kind of ‘Full seld’* upriseth by his branches smale *seldom Prowess of man, for God of his goodness Wills that we claim of him our gentleness;’ <12> For of our elders may we nothing claim But temp’ral things that man may hurt and maim. Eke every wight knows this as well as I, If gentleness were planted naturally Unto a certain lineage down the line, Prive and apert, then would they never fine* *cease To do of gentleness the fair office Then might they do no villainy nor vice. Take fire, and bear it to the darkest house Betwixt this and the mount of Caucasus, And let men shut the doores, and go thenne,* *thence Yet will the fire as fair and lighte brenne* *burn As twenty thousand men might it behold; *Its office natural aye will it hold,* *it will perform its On peril of my life, till that it die. natural duty* Here may ye see well how that gentery* *gentility, nobility Is not annexed to possession, Since folk do not their operation Alway, as doth the fire, lo, *in its kind* *from its very nature* For, God it wot, men may full often find A lorde’s son do shame and villainy. And he that will have price* of his gent’ry, *esteem, honour For* he was boren of a gentle house, *because And had his elders noble and virtuous, And will himselfe do no gentle deedes, Nor follow his gentle ancestry, that dead is, He is not gentle, be he duke or earl; For villain sinful deedes make a churl. For gentleness is but the renomee* *renown Of thine ancestors, for their high bounte,* *goodness, worth Which is a strange thing to thy person: Thy gentleness cometh from God alone. Then comes our very* gentleness of grace; *true It was no thing bequeath’d us with our place. Think how noble, as saith Valerius, Was thilke* Tullius Hostilius, *that That out of povert’ rose to high Read in Senec, and read eke in Boece, There shall ye see express, that it no drede* is, *doubt That he is gentle that doth gentle deedes. And therefore, leve* husband, I conclude, *dear Albeit that mine ancestors were rude, Yet may the highe God, — and so hope I, — Grant me His grace to live virtuously: Then am I gentle when that I begin To live virtuously, and waive* sin. *forsake

“And whereas ye of povert’ me repreve,* *reproach The highe God, on whom that we believe, In wilful povert’ chose to lead his life: And certes, every man, maiden, or wife May understand that Jesus, heaven’s king, Ne would not choose a virtuous living. *Glad povert’* is an honest thing, certain; *poverty cheerfully This will Senec and other clerkes sayn endured* Whoso that *holds him paid of* his povert’, *is satisfied with* I hold him rich though he hath not a shirt. He that coveteth is a poore wight For he would have what is not in his might But he that nought hath, nor coveteth to have, Is rich, although ye hold him but a knave.* *slave, abject wretch *Very povert’ is sinne,* properly. *the only true poverty is sin* Juvenal saith of povert’ merrily: The poore man, when he goes by the way Before the thieves he may sing and play <13> Povert’ is hateful good,<14> and, as I guess, A full great *bringer out of business;* *deliver from trouble* A great amender eke of sapience To him that taketh it in patience. Povert’ is this, although it seem elenge* *strange <15> Possession that no wight will challenge Povert’ full often, when a man is low, Makes him his God and eke himself to know Povert’ a spectacle* is, as thinketh me *a pair of spectacles Through which he may his very* friendes see. *true And, therefore, Sir, since that I you not grieve, Of my povert’ no more me repreve.* *reproach “Now, Sir, of elde* ye repreve me: *age And certes, Sir, though none authority* *text, dictum Were in no book, ye gentles of honour Say, that men should an olde wight honour, And call him father, for your gentleness; And authors shall I finden, as I guess. Now there ye say that I am foul and old, Then dread ye not to be a cokewold.* *cuckold For filth, and elde, all so may I the,* *thrive Be greate wardens upon chastity. But natheless, since I know your delight, I shall fulfil your wordly appetite. Choose now,” quoth she, “one of these thinges tway, To have me foul and old till that I dey,* *die And be to you a true humble wife, And never you displease in all my life: Or elles will ye have me young and fair, And take your aventure of the repair* *resort That shall be to your house because of me, — Or in some other place, it may well be? Now choose yourselfe whether that you liketh.

This knight adviseth* him and sore he siketh,** *considered **sighed But at the last he said in this mannere; “My lady and my love, and wife so dear, I put me in your wise governance, Choose for yourself which may be most pleasance And most honour to you and me also; I *do no force* the whether of the two: *care not For as you liketh, it sufficeth me.” “Then have I got the mastery,” quoth she, “Since I may choose and govern as me lest.”* *pleases “Yea, certes wife,” quoth he, “I hold it best.” “Kiss me,” quoth she, “we are no longer wroth,* *at variance For by my troth I will be to you both; This is to say, yea, bothe fair and good. I pray to God that I may *sterve wood,* *die mad* But* I to you be all so good and true, *unless As ever was wife since the world was new; And but* I be to-morrow as fair to seen, *unless As any lady, emperess or queen, That is betwixt the East and eke the West Do with my life and death right as you lest.* *please Cast up the curtain, and look how it is.”

And when the knight saw verily all this, That she so fair was, and so young thereto, For joy he hent* her in his armes two: *took His hearte bathed in a bath of bliss, A thousand times *on row* he gan her kiss: *in succession* And she obeyed him in every thing That mighte do him pleasance or liking. And thus they live unto their lives’ end In perfect joy; and Jesus Christ us send Husbandes meek and young, and fresh in bed, And grace to overlive them that we wed. And eke I pray Jesus to short their lives, That will not be governed by their wives. And old and angry niggards of dispence,* *expense God send them soon a very pestilence!

Notes to the Wife of Bath’s Tale

1. It is not clear whence Chaucer derived this tale. Tyrwhitt thinks it was taken from the story of Florent, in the first book of Gower’s “Confessio Amantis;” or perhaps from an older narrative from which Gower himself borrowed. Chaucer has condensed and otherwise improved the fable, especially by laying the scene, not in Sicily, but at the court of our own King Arthur.

2. Limitours: begging friars. See note 18 to the prologue to the Tales.

3. Thorpes: villages. Compare German, “Dorf,”; Dutch, “Dorp.”

4. Undermeles: evening-tides, afternoons; “undern” signifies the evening; and “mele,” corresponds to the German “Mal” or “Mahl,” time.

5. Incubus: an evil spirit supposed to do violence to women; a nightmare.

6. Where he had been hawking after waterfowl. Froissart says that any one engaged in this sport “alloit en riviere.”

7. Nice: foolish; French, “niais.”

8. Claw us on the gall: Scratch us on the sore place. Compare, “Let the galled jade wince.” Hamlet iii. 2.

9. Hele: hide; from Anglo-Saxon, “helan,” to hide, conceal.

10. Yern: eagerly; German, “gern.”

11. Wiss: instruct; German, “weisen,” to show or counsel.

12. Dante, “Purgatorio”, vii. 121.

13. “Cantabit vacuus coram latrone viator” — “Satires,” x. 22.

14. In a fabulous conference between the Emperor Adrian and the philosopher Secundus, reported by Vincent of Beauvais, occurs the passage which Chaucer here paraphrases: — “Quid est Paupertas? Odibile bonum; sanitas mater; remotio Curarum; sapientae repertrix; negotium sine damno; possessio absque calumnia; sine sollicitudinae felicitas.” (What is Poverty? A hateful good; a mother of health; a putting away of cares; a discoverer of wisdom; business without injury; ownership without calumny; happiness without anxiety)

15. Elenge: strange; from French “eloigner,” to remove.

THE FRIAR’S TALE.

THE PROLOGUE.<1>

This worthy limitour, this noble Frere, He made always a manner louring cheer* *countenance Upon the Sompnour; but for honesty* *courtesy No villain word as yet to him spake he: But at the last he said unto the Wife: “Dame,” quoth he, “God give you right good life, Ye have here touched, all so may I the,* *thrive In school matter a greate difficulty. Ye have said muche thing right well, I say; But, Dame, here as we ride by the way, Us needeth not but for to speak of game, And leave authorities, in Godde’s name, To preaching, and to school eke of clergy. But if it like unto this company, I will you of a Sompnour tell a game; Pardie, ye may well knowe by the name, That of a Sompnour may no good be said; I pray that none of you be *evil paid;* *dissatisfied* A Sompnour is a runner up and down With mandements* for fornicatioun, *mandates, summonses* And is y-beat at every towne’s end.” Then spake our Host; “Ah, sir, ye should be hend* *civil, gentle And courteous, as a man of your estate; In company we will have no debate: Tell us your tale, and let the Sompnour be.” “Nay,” quoth the Sompnour, “let him say by me What so him list; when it comes to my lot, By God, I shall him quiten* every groat! *pay him off I shall him telle what a great honour It is to be a flattering limitour And his office I shall him tell y-wis”. Our Host answered, “Peace, no more of this.” And afterward he said unto the frere, “Tell forth your tale, mine owen master dear.”

Notes to the Prologue to the Friar’s tale

1. On the Tale of the Friar, and that of the Sompnour which follows, Tyrwhitt has remarked that they “are well engrafted upon that of the Wife of Bath. The ill-humour which shows itself between these two characters is quite natural, as no two professions at that time were at more constant variance. The regular clergy, and particularly the mendicant friars, affected a total exemption from all ecclesiastical jurisdiction, except that of the Pope, which made them exceedingly obnoxious to the bishops and of course to all the inferior officers of the national hierarchy.” Both tales, whatever their origin, are bitter satires on the greed and worldliness of the Romish clergy.

THE TALE.

Whilom* there was dwelling in my country *once on a time An archdeacon, a man of high degree, That boldely did execution, In punishing of fornication, Of witchecraft, and eke of bawdery, Of defamation, and adultery, Of churche-reeves,* and of testaments, *churchwardens Of contracts, and of lack of sacraments, And eke of many another manner* crime, *sort of Which needeth not rehearsen at this time, Of usury, and simony also; But, certes, lechours did he greatest woe; They shoulde singen, if that they were hent;* *caught And smale tithers<1> were foul y-shent,* *troubled, put to shame If any person would on them complain; There might astert them no pecunial pain.<2> For smalle tithes, and small offering, He made the people piteously to sing; For ere the bishop caught them with his crook, They weren in the archedeacon’s book; Then had he, through his jurisdiction, Power to do on them correction.

He had a Sompnour ready to his hand, A slier boy was none in Engleland; For subtlely he had his espiaille,* *espionage That taught him well where it might aught avail. He coulde spare of lechours one or two, To teache him to four and twenty mo’. For, — though this Sompnour wood* be as a hare, — *furious, mad To tell his harlotry I will not spare, For we be out of their correction, They have of us no jurisdiction, Ne never shall have, term of all their lives.

“Peter; so be the women of the stives,”* *stews Quoth this Sompnour, “y-put out of our cure.”* *care

“Peace, with mischance and with misaventure,” Our Hoste said, “and let him tell his tale. Now telle forth, and let the Sompnour gale,* *whistle; bawl Nor spare not, mine owen master dear.”

This false thief, the Sompnour (quoth the Frere), Had always bawdes ready to his hand, As any hawk to lure in Engleland, That told him all the secrets that they knew, — For their acquaintance was not come of new; They were his approvers* privily. *informers He took himself at great profit thereby: His master knew not always what he wan.* *won Withoute mandement, a lewed* man *ignorant He could summon, on pain of Christe’s curse, And they were inly glad to fill his purse, And make him greate feastes at the nale.* *alehouse And right as Judas hadde purses smale,* *small And was a thief, right such a thief was he, His master had but half *his duety.* *what was owing him* He was (if I shall give him his laud) A thief, and eke a Sompnour, and a bawd. And he had wenches at his retinue, That whether that Sir Robert or Sir Hugh, Or Jack, or Ralph, or whoso that it were That lay by them, they told it in his ear. Thus were the wench and he of one assent; And he would fetch a feigned mandement, And to the chapter summon them both two, And pill* the man, and let the wenche go. *plunder, pluck Then would he say, “Friend, I shall for thy sake Do strike thee out of oure letters blake;* *black Thee thar* no more as in this case travail; *need I am thy friend where I may thee avail.” Certain he knew of bribers many mo’ Than possible is to tell in yeare’s two: For in this world is no dog for the bow,<3> That can a hurt deer from a whole know, Bet* than this Sompnour knew a sly lechour, *better Or an adult’rer, or a paramour: And, for that was the fruit of all his rent, Therefore on it he set all his intent.

And so befell, that once upon a day. This Sompnour, waiting ever on his prey, Rode forth to summon a widow, an old ribibe,<4> Feigning a cause, for he would have a bribe. And happen’d that he saw before him ride A gay yeoman under a forest side: A bow he bare, and arrows bright and keen, He had upon a courtepy* of green, *short doublet A hat upon his head with fringes blake.* *black “Sir,” quoth this Sompnour, “hail, and well o’ertake.” “Welcome,” quoth he, “and every good fellaw; Whither ridest thou under this green shaw?”* shade Saide this yeoman; “wilt thou far to-day?” This Sompnour answer’d him, and saide, “Nay. Here faste by,” quoth he, “is mine intent To ride, for to raisen up a rent, That longeth to my lorde’s duety.” “Ah! art thou then a bailiff?” “Yea,” quoth he. He durste not for very filth and shame Say that he was a Sompnour, for the name. “De par dieux,” <5> quoth this yeoman, “leve* brother, *dear Thou art a bailiff, and I am another. I am unknowen, as in this country. Of thine acquaintance I will praye thee, And eke of brotherhood, if that thee list.* *please I have gold and silver lying in my chest; If that thee hap to come into our shire, All shall be thine, right as thou wilt desire.” “Grand mercy,”* quoth this Sompnour, “by my faith.” *great thanks Each in the other’s hand his trothe lay’th, For to be sworne brethren till they dey.* *die<6> In dalliance they ride forth and play.

This Sompnour, which that was as full of jangles,* *chattering As full of venom be those wariangles,* * butcher-birds <7> And ev’r inquiring upon every thing, “Brother,” quoth he, “where is now your dwelling, Another day if that I should you seech?”* *seek, visit This yeoman him answered in soft speech; Brother,” quoth he, “far in the North country,<8> Where as I hope some time I shall thee see Ere we depart I shall thee so well wiss,* *inform That of mine house shalt thou never miss.” Now, brother,” quoth this Sompnour, “I you pray, Teach me, while that we ride by the way, (Since that ye be a bailiff as am I,) Some subtilty, and tell me faithfully For mine office how that I most may win. And *spare not* for conscience or for sin, *conceal nothing* But, as my brother, tell me how do ye.” Now by my trothe, brother mine,” said he, As I shall tell to thee a faithful tale: My wages be full strait and eke full smale; My lord is hard to me and dangerous,* *niggardly And mine office is full laborious; And therefore by extortion I live, Forsooth I take all that men will me give. Algate* by sleighte, or by violence, *whether From year to year I win all my dispence; I can no better tell thee faithfully.” Now certes,” quoth this Sompnour, “so fare* I; *do I spare not to take, God it wot, *But if* it be too heavy or too hot. *unless* What I may get in counsel privily, No manner conscience of that have I. N’ere* mine extortion, I might not live, *were it not for For of such japes* will I not be shrive.** *tricks **confessed Stomach nor conscience know I none; I shrew* these shrifte-fathers** every one. *curse **confessors Well be we met, by God and by St Jame. But, leve brother, tell me then thy name,” Quoth this Sompnour. Right in this meane while This yeoman gan a little for to smile.

“Brother,” quoth he, “wilt thou that I thee tell? I am a fiend, my dwelling is in hell, And here I ride about my purchasing, To know where men will give me any thing. *My purchase is th’ effect of all my rent* *what I can gain is my Look how thou ridest for the same intent sole revenue* To winne good, thou reckest never how, Right so fare I, for ride will I now Into the worlde’s ende for a prey.”

“Ah,” quoth this Sompnour, “benedicite! what say y’? I weened ye were a yeoman truly. *thought Ye have a manne’s shape as well as I Have ye then a figure determinate In helle, where ye be in your estate?”* *at home “Nay, certainly,” quoth he, there have we none, But when us liketh we can take us one, Or elles make you seem* that we be shape *believe Sometime like a man, or like an ape; Or like an angel can I ride or go; It is no wondrous thing though it be so, A lousy juggler can deceive thee. And pardie, yet can I more craft* than he.” *skill, cunning “Why,” quoth the Sompnour, “ride ye then or gon In sundry shapes and not always in one?” “For we,” quoth he, “will us in such form make. As most is able our prey for to take.” “What maketh you to have all this labour?” “Full many a cause, leve Sir Sompnour,” Saide this fiend. “But all thing hath a time; The day is short and it is passed prime, And yet have I won nothing in this day; I will intend* to winning, if I may, *apply myself And not intend our thinges to declare: For, brother mine, thy wit is all too bare To understand, although I told them thee. *But for* thou askest why laboure we: *because* For sometimes we be Godde’s instruments And meanes to do his commandements, When that him list, upon his creatures, In divers acts and in divers figures: Withoute him we have no might certain, If that him list to stande thereagain.* *against it And sometimes, at our prayer have we leave Only the body, not the soul, to grieve: Witness on Job, whom that we did full woe, And sometimes have we might on both the two, — This is to say, on soul and body eke, And sometimes be we suffer’d for to seek Upon a man and do his soul unrest And not his body, and all is for the best, When he withstandeth our temptation, It is a cause of his salvation, Albeit that it was not our intent He should be safe, but that we would him hent.* *catch And sometimes be we servants unto man, As to the archbishop Saint Dunstan, And to th’apostle servant eke was I.” “Yet tell me,” quoth this Sompnour, “faithfully, Make ye you newe bodies thus alway Of th’ elements?” The fiend answered, “Nay: Sometimes we feign, and sometimes we arise With deade bodies, in full sundry wise, And speak as reas’nably, and fair, and well, As to the Pythoness<9> did Samuel: And yet will some men say it was not he. I *do no force of* your divinity. *set no value upon* But one thing warn I thee, I will not jape,* jest Thou wilt *algates weet* how we be shape: *assuredly know* Thou shalt hereafterward, my brother dear, Come, where thee needeth not of me to lear.* *learn For thou shalt by thine own experience *Conne in a chair to rede of this sentence,* *learn to understand Better than Virgil, while he was alive, what I have said* Or Dante also. <10> Now let us ride blive,* *briskly For I will holde company with thee, Till it be so that thou forsake me.” “Nay,” quoth this Sompnour, “that shall ne’er betide. I am a yeoman, that is known full wide; My trothe will I hold, as in this case; For though thou wert the devil Satanas, My trothe will I hold to thee, my brother, As I have sworn, and each of us to other, For to be true brethren in this case, And both we go *abouten our purchase.* *seeking what we Take thou thy part, what that men will thee give, may pick up* And I shall mine, thus may we bothe live. And if that any of us have more than other, Let him be true, and part it with his brother.” “I grante,” quoth the devil, “by my fay.” And with that word they rode forth their way, And right at th’ent’ring of the towne’s end, To which this Sompnour shope* him for to wend,** *shaped **go They saw a cart, that charged was with hay, Which that a carter drove forth on his way. Deep was the way, for which the carte stood: The carter smote, and cried as he were wood,* *mad “Heit Scot! heit Brok! what, spare ye for the stones? The fiend (quoth he) you fetch body and bones, As farforthly* as ever ye were foal’d, *sure So muche woe as I have with you tholed.* *endured <11> The devil have all, horses, and cart, and hay.” The Sompnour said, “Here shall we have a prey,” And near the fiend he drew, *as nought ne were,* *as if nothing Full privily, and rowned* in his ear: were the matter* “Hearken, my brother, hearken, by thy faith, *whispered Hearest thou not, how that the carter saith? Hent* it anon, for he hath giv’n it thee, *seize Both hay and cart, and eke his capels* three.” *horses <12> “Nay,” quoth the devil, “God wot, never a deal,* whit It is not his intent, trust thou me well; Ask him thyself, if thou not trowest* me, *believest Or elles stint* a while and thou shalt see.” *stop The carter thwack’d his horses on the croup, And they began to drawen and to stoop. “Heit now,” quoth he; “there, Jesus Christ you bless, And all his handiwork, both more and less! That was well twight,* mine owen liart,** boy, *pulled **grey<13> I pray God save thy body, and Saint Loy! Now is my cart out of the slough, pardie.” “Lo, brother,” quoth the fiend, “what told I thee? Here may ye see, mine owen deare brother, The churl spake one thing, but he thought another. Let us go forth abouten our voyage; Here win I nothing upon this carriage.”

When that they came somewhat out of the town, This Sompnour to his brother gan to rown; “Brother,” quoth he, “here wons* an old rebeck,<14> *dwells That had almost as lief to lose her neck. As for to give a penny of her good. I will have twelvepence, though that she be wood,* *mad Or I will summon her to our office; And yet, God wot, of her know I no vice. But for thou canst not, as in this country, Winne thy cost, take here example of me.” This Sompnour clapped at the widow’s gate: “Come out,” he said, “thou olde very trate;* *trot <15> I trow thou hast some friar or priest with thee.” “Who clappeth?” said this wife; “benedicite, God save you, Sir, what is your sweete will?” “I have,” quoth he, “of summons here a bill. Up* pain of cursing, looke that thou be *upon To-morrow before our archdeacon’s knee, To answer to the court of certain things.” “Now Lord,” quoth she, “Christ Jesus, king of kings, So wis1y* helpe me, *as I not may.* *surely *as I cannot* I have been sick, and that full many a day. I may not go so far,” quoth she, “nor ride, But I be dead, so pricketh it my side. May I not ask a libel, Sir Sompnour, And answer there by my procuratour To such thing as men would appose* me?” *accuse “Yes,” quoth this Sompnour, “pay anon, let see, Twelvepence to me, and I will thee acquit. I shall no profit have thereby but lit:* *little My master hath the profit and not I. Come off, and let me ride hastily; Give me twelvepence, I may no longer tarry.”

“Twelvepence!” quoth she; “now lady Sainte Mary So wisly* help me out of care and sin, *surely This wide world though that I should it win, No have I not twelvepence within my hold. Ye know full well that I am poor and old; *Kithe your almes* upon me poor wretch.” *show your charity* “Nay then,” quoth he, “the foule fiend me fetch, If I excuse thee, though thou should’st be spilt.”* *ruined “Alas!” quoth she, “God wot, I have no guilt.” “Pay me,” quoth he, “or, by the sweet Saint Anne, As I will bear away thy newe pan For debte, which thou owest me of old, — When that thou madest thine husband cuckold, — I paid at home for thy correction.” “Thou liest,” quoth she, “by my salvation; Never was I ere now, widow or wife, Summon’d unto your court in all my life; Nor never I was but of my body true. Unto the devil rough and black of hue Give I thy body and my pan also.” And when the devil heard her curse so Upon her knees, he said in this mannere; “Now, Mabily, mine owen mother dear, Is this your will in earnest that ye say?” “The devil,” quoth she, “so fetch him ere he dey,* *die And pan and all, but* he will him repent.” *unless “Nay, olde stoat,* that is not mine intent,” *polecat Quoth this Sompnour, “for to repente me For any thing that I have had of thee; I would I had thy smock and every cloth.” “Now, brother,” quoth the devil, “be not wroth; Thy body and this pan be mine by right. Thou shalt with me to helle yet tonight, Where thou shalt knowen of our privity* *secrets More than a master of divinity.”

And with that word the foule fiend him hent.* *seized Body and soul, he with the devil went, Where as the Sompnours have their heritage; And God, that maked after his image Mankinde, save and guide us all and some, And let this Sompnour a good man become. Lordings, I could have told you (quoth this Frere), Had I had leisure for this Sompnour here, After the text of Christ, and Paul, and John, And of our other doctors many a one, Such paines, that your heartes might agrise,* *be horrified Albeit so, that no tongue may devise,* — *relate Though that I might a thousand winters tell, — The pains of thilke* cursed house of hell *that But for to keep us from that cursed place Wake we, and pray we Jesus, of his grace, So keep us from the tempter, Satanas. Hearken this word, beware as in this case. The lion sits *in his await* alway *on the watch* <16> To slay the innocent, if that he may. Disposen aye your heartes to withstond The fiend that would you make thrall and bond; He may not tempte you over your might, For Christ will be your champion and your knight; And pray, that this our Sompnour him repent Of his misdeeds ere that the fiend him hent.* *seize

Notes to the Friar’s Tale

1. Small tithers: people who did not pay their full tithes. Mr Wright remarks that “the sermons of the friars in the fourteenth century were most frequently designed to impress the ahsolute duty of paying full tithes and offerings”.

2. There might astert them no pecunial pain: they got off with no mere pecuniary punishment. (Transcriber’s note: “Astert” means “escape”. An alternative reading of this line is “there might astert him no pecunial pain” i.e. no fine ever escaped him (the archdeacon))

3. A dog for the bow: a dog attending a huntsman with bow and arrow.

4. Ribibe: the name of a musical instrument; applied to an old woman because of the shrillness of her voice.

5. De par dieux: by the gods.

6. See note 12 to the Knight’s Tale.

7. Wariangles: butcher-birds; which are very noisy and ravenous, and tear in pieces the birds on which they prey; the thorn on which they do this was said to become poisonous.

8. Medieval legends located hell in the North.

9. The Pythoness: the witch, or woman, possesed with a prophesying spirit; from the Greek, “Pythia.” Chaucer of course refers to the raising of Samuel’s spirit by the witch of Endor.

10. Dante and Virgil were both poets who had in fancy visited Hell.

11. Tholed: suffered, endured; “thole” is still used in Scotland in the same sense.

12. Capels: horses. See note 14 to the Reeve’s Tale.

13. Liart: grey; elsewhere applied by Chaucer to the hairs of an old man. So Burns, in the “Cotter’s Saturday Night,” speaks of the gray temples of “the sire” — “His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare.”

14. Rebeck: a kind of fiddle; used like “ribibe,” as a nickname for a shrill old scold.

15. Trot; a contemptuous term for an old woman who has trotted about much, or who moves with quick short steps.

16. In his await: on the watch; French, “aux aguets.”

THE SOMPNOUR’S TALE.

THE PROLOGUE.

The Sompnour in his stirrups high he stood, Upon this Friar his hearte was so wood,* *furious That like an aspen leaf he quoke* for ire: *quaked, trembled “Lordings,” quoth he, “but one thing I desire; I you beseech, that of your courtesy, Since ye have heard this false Friar lie, As suffer me I may my tale tell This Friar boasteth that he knoweth hell, And, God it wot, that is but little wonder, Friars and fiends be but little asunder. For, pardie, ye have often time heard tell, How that a friar ravish’d was to hell In spirit ones by a visioun, And, as an angel led him up and down, To shew him all the paines that there were, In all the place saw he not a frere; Of other folk he saw enough in woe. Unto the angel spake the friar tho;* *then ‘Now, Sir,’ quoth he, ‘have friars such a grace, That none of them shall come into this place?’ ‘Yes’ quoth the angel; ‘many a millioun:’ And unto Satanas he led him down. ‘And now hath Satanas,’ said he, ‘a tail Broader than of a carrack<1> is the sail. Hold up thy tail, thou Satanas,’ quoth he, ‘Shew forth thine erse, and let the friar see Where is the nest of friars in this place.’ And *less than half a furlong way of space* *immediately* <2> Right so as bees swarmen out of a hive, Out of the devil’s erse there gan to drive A twenty thousand friars *on a rout.* *in a crowd* And throughout hell they swarmed all about, And came again, as fast as they may gon, And in his erse they creeped every one: He clapt his tail again, and lay full still. This friar, when he looked had his fill Upon the torments of that sorry place, His spirit God restored of his grace Into his body again, and he awoke; But natheless for feare yet he quoke, So was the devil’s erse aye in his mind; That is his heritage, *of very kind* *by his very nature* God save you alle, save this cursed Frere; My prologue will I end in this mannere.

Notes to the Prologue to the Sompnour’s Tale

1. Carrack: A great ship of burden used by the Portuguese; the name is from the Italian, “cargare,” to load

2. In less than half a furlong way of space: immediately; literally, in less time than it takes to walk half a furlong (110 yards).

THE TALE.

Lordings, there is in Yorkshire, as I guess, A marshy country called Holderness, In which there went a limitour about To preach, and eke to beg, it is no doubt. And so befell that on a day this frere Had preached at a church in his mannere, And specially, above every thing, Excited he the people in his preaching To trentals, <1> and to give, for Godde’s sake, Wherewith men mighte holy houses make, There as divine service is honour’d, Not there as it is wasted and devour’d, Nor where it needeth not for to be given, As to possessioners, <2> that may liven, Thanked be God, in wealth and abundance. “Trentals,” said he, “deliver from penance Their friendes’ soules, as well old as young, Yea, when that they be hastily y-sung, — Not for to hold a priest jolly and gay, He singeth not but one mass in a day. “Deliver out,” quoth he, “anon the souls. Full hard it is, with flesh-hook or with owls* *awls To be y-clawed, or to burn or bake: <3> Now speed you hastily, for Christe’s sake.” And when this friar had said all his intent, With qui cum patre<4> forth his way he went, When folk in church had giv’n him what them lest;* *pleased He went his way, no longer would he rest, With scrip and tipped staff, *y-tucked high:* *with his robe tucked In every house he gan to pore* and pry, up high* *peer And begged meal and cheese, or elles corn. His fellow had a staff tipped with horn, A pair of tables* all of ivory, *writing tablets And a pointel* y-polish’d fetisly,** *pencil **daintily And wrote alway the names, as he stood; Of all the folk that gave them any good, Askaunce* that he woulde for them pray. *see note <5> “Give us a bushel wheat, or malt, or rey,* *rye A Godde’s kichel,* or a trip** of cheese, *little cake<6> **scrap Or elles what you list, we may not chese;* *choose A Godde’s halfpenny, <6> or a mass penny; Or give us of your brawn, if ye have any; A dagon* of your blanket, leve dame, *remnant Our sister dear, — lo, here I write your name,— Bacon or beef, or such thing as ye find.” A sturdy harlot* went them aye behind, *manservant <7> That was their hoste’s man, and bare a sack, And what men gave them, laid it on his back And when that he was out at door, anon He *planed away* the names every one, *rubbed out* That he before had written in his tables: He served them with nifles* and with fables. — *silly tales

“Nay, there thou liest, thou Sompnour,” quoth the Frere. “Peace,” quoth our Host, “for Christe’s mother dear; Tell forth thy tale, and spare it not at all.” “So thrive I,” quoth this Sompnour, “so I shall.” —

So long he went from house to house, till he Came to a house, where he was wont to be Refreshed more than in a hundred places Sick lay the husband man, whose that the place is, Bed-rid upon a couche low he lay: *“Deus hic,”* quoth he; “O Thomas friend, good day,” *God be here* Said this friar, all courteously and soft. “Thomas,” quoth he, “God *yield it you,* full oft *reward you for* Have I upon this bench fared full well, Here have I eaten many a merry meal.” And from the bench he drove away the cat, And laid adown his potent* and his hat, *staff <8> And eke his scrip, and sat himself adown: His fellow was y-walked into town Forth with his knave,* into that hostelry *servant Where as he shope* him that night to lie. *shaped, purposed

“O deare master,” quoth this sicke man, “How have ye fared since that March began? I saw you not this fortenight and more.” “God wot,” quoth he, “labour’d have I full sore; And specially for thy salvation Have I said many a precious orison, And for mine other friendes, God them bless. I have this day been at your church at mess,* *mass And said sermon after my simple wit, Not all after the text of Holy Writ; For it is hard to you, as I suppose, And therefore will I teach you aye the glose.* *gloss, comment Glosing is a full glorious thing certain, For letter slayeth, as we clerkes* sayn. *scholars There have I taught them to be charitable, And spend their good where it is reasonable. And there I saw our dame; where is she?” “Yonder I trow that in the yard she be,” Saide this man; “and she will come anon.” “Hey master, welcome be ye by Saint John,” Saide this wife; “how fare ye heartily?”