II
Middle English Period (1066-1500)
Introduction
This file contains a small selection of authors from the Middle English period which is
taken to begin with the Norman Conquest of 1066 and to end after the introduction of
printing by William Caxton in 1476. The order here is not chronological. Instead, the
major author of this period, Geoffrey Chaucer, comes first. After that three well-known
works of Middle English, with a general religious orientation, are presented. These are
followed by a group of texts consisting of the private correspondence of a 15th century
family. Such texts are assumed to be much closer to the spoken language of the day than
are the literary works in the first four sections. There are biographical notes on these
authors at the end of this file.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
1.
Geoffrey Chaucer: The Canterbury Tales (Prologue) ................................................ 1
William Langland: Piers Plowman (Prologue)......................................................... 13
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight ............................................................................. 18
John Gower Confessio Amantis (Prologue) .............................................................. 27
A selection of personal correspondence ................................................................... 29
Biographical notes .................................................................................................... 36
Geoffrey Chaucer (1340-1399?) ........................................................................ 36
William Langland (c.1332–c.1400) ................................................................... 37
The Pearl poet (supposed author of Sir Gawain) ............................................... 38
John Gower (c.1308–1408)................................................................................ 38
Geoffrey Chaucer: The Canterbury Tales (Prologue)
Here bygynneth the Book
of the tales of Caunterbury
1: Whan that aprill with his shoures soote
2: The droghte of march hath perced to the roote,
3: And bathed every veyne in swich licour
4: Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
5: Whan zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
6: Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
7: Tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
8: Hath in the ram his halve cours yronne,
9: And smale foweles maken melodye,
10: That slepen al the nyght with open ye
11: (so priketh hem nature in hir corages);
12: Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
13: And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
14: To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
15: And specially from every shires ende
16: Of engelond to caunterbury they wende,
17: The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
18: That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.
19: Bifil that in that seson on a day,
Here begins the Book
of the Tales of Canterbury
When April with his showers sweet with fruit
The drought of March has pierced unto the root
And bathed each vein with liquor that has power
To generate therein and sire the flower;
When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath,
Quickened again, in every holt and heath,
The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun
Into the Ram one half his course has run,
And many little birds make melody
That sleep through all the night with open eye
(So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage)Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage,
And palmers to go seeking out strange strands,
To distant shrines well known in sundry lands.
And specially from every shire's end
Of England they to Canterbury wend,
The holy blessed martyr there to seek
Who helped them when they lay so ill and weal
Befell that, in that season, on a day
20: In southwerk at the tabard as I lay
21: Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage
22: To caunterbury with ful devout corage,
23: At nyght was come into that hostelrye
24: Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye,
25: Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle
26: In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle,
27: That toward caunterbury wolden ryde.
28: The chambres and the stables weren wyde,
29: And wel we weren esed atte beste.
30: And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste,
31: So hadde I spoken with hem everichon
32: That I was of hir felaweshipe anon,
33: And made forward erly for to ryse,
34: To take oure wey ther as I yow devyse.
35: But nathelees, whil I have tyme and space,
36: Er that I ferther in this tale pace,
37: Me thynketh it acordaunt to resoun
38: To telle yow al the condicioun
39: Of ech of hem, so as it semed me,
40: And whiche they weren, and of what degree,
41: And eek in what array that they were inne;
42: And at a knyght than wol I first bigynne.
The Knight's Portrait
43: A knyght ther was, and that a worthy man,
44: That fro the tyme that he first bigan
45: To riden out, he loved chivalrie,
46: Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisie.
47: Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre,
48: And therto hadde he riden, no man ferre,
49: As wel in cristendom as in hethenesse,
50: And evere honoured for his worthynesse.
51: At alisaundre he was whan it was wonne.
52: Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bigonne
53: Aboven alle nacions in pruce;
54: In lettow hadde he reysed and in ruce,
55: No cristen man so ofte of his degree.
56: In gernade at the seege eek hadde he be
57: Of algezir, and riden in belmarye.
58: At lyeys was he and at satalye,
59: Whan they were wonne; and in the grete see
60: At many a noble armee hadde he be.
61: At mortal batailles hadde he been fiftene,
62: And foughten for oure feith at tramyssene
63: In lystes thries, and ay slayn his foo.
64: This ilke worthy knyght hadde been also
65: Somtyme with the lord of palatye
66: Agayn another hethen in turkye.
67: And everemoore he hadde a sovereyn prys;
68: And though that he were worthy, he was wys,
69: And of his port as meeke as is a mayde.
70: He nevere yet no vileynye ne sayde
71: In al his lyf unto no maner wight.
72: He was a verray, parfit gentil knyght.
73: But, for to tellen yow of his array,
74: His hors were goode, but he was nat gay.
75: Of fustian he wered a gypon
76: Al bismotered with his habergeon,
77: For he was late ycome from his viage,
78: And wente for to doon his pilgrymage.
The Squire's Portrait
79: With hym ther was his sone, a yong squier,
80: A lovyere and a lusty bacheler,
81: With lokkes crulle as they were leyd in presse.
82: Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse.
83: Of his stature he was of evene lengthe,
84: And wonderly delyvere, and of greet strengthe.
85: And he hadde been somtyme in chyvachie
86: In flaundres, in artoys, and pycardie,
87: And born hym weel, as of so litel space,
88: In hope to stonden in his lady grace.
89: Embrouded was he, as it were a meede
90: Al ful of fresshe floures, whyte and reede.
91: Syngynge he was, or floytynge, al the day;
In Southwark, at the Tabard, as I lay
Ready to start upon my pilgrimage
To Canterbury, full of devout homage,
There came at nightfall to that hostelry
Some nine and twenty in a company
Of sundry persons who had chanced to fall
In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all
That toward Canterbury town would ride.
The rooms and stables spacious were and wide,
And well we there were eased, and of the best.
And briefly, when the sun had gone to rest,
So had I spoken with them, every one,
That I was of their fellowship anon,
And made agreement that we'd early rise
To take the road, as you I will apprise.
But none the less, whilst I have time and space,
Before yet farther in this tale I pace,
It seems to me accordant with reason
To inform you of the state of every one
Of all of these, as it appeared to me,
And who they were, and what was their degree,
And even how arrayed there at the inn;
And with a knight thus will I first begin.
THE KNIGHT
A knight there was, and he a worthy man,
Who, from the moment that he first began
To ride about the world, loved chivalry,
Truth, honour, freedom and all courtesy.
Full worthy was he in his liege-lord's war,
And therein had he ridden (none more far)
As well in Christendom as heathenesse,
And honoured everywhere for worthiness.
At Alexandria, he, when it was won;
Full oft the table's roster he'd begun
Above all nations' knights in Prussia.
In Latvia raided he, and Russia,
No christened man so oft of his degree.
In far Granada at the siege was he
Of Algeciras, and in Belmarie.
At Ayas was he and at Satalye
When they were won; and on the Middle Sea
At many a noble meeting chanced to be.
Of mortal battles he had fought fifteen,
And he'd fought for our faith at Tramissene
Three times in lists, and each time slain his foe.
This self-same worthy knight had been also
At one time with the lord of Palatye
Against another heathen in Turkey:
And always won he sovereign fame for prize.
Though so illustrious, he was very wise
And bore himself as meekly as a maid.
He never yet had any vileness said,
In all his life, to whatsoever wight.
He was a truly perfect, gentle knight.
But now, to tell you all of his array,
His steeds were good, but yet he was not gay.
Of simple fustian wore he a jupon
Sadly discoloured by his habergeon;
For he had lately come from his voyage
And now was going on this pilgrimage.
THE SQUIRE
With him there was his son, a youthful squire,
A lover and a lusty bachelor,
With locks well curled, as if they'd laid in press.
Some twenty years of age he was, I guess.
In stature he was of an average length,
Wondrously active, aye, and great of strength.
He'd ridden sometime with the cavalry
In Flanders, in Artois, and Picardy,
And borne him well within that little space
In hope to win thereby his lady's grace.
Prinked out he was, as if he were a mead,
All full of fresh-cut flowers white and red.
Singing he was, or fluting, all the day;
92: He was as fressh as is the month of may.
93: Short was his gowne, with sleves longe and wyde.
94: Wel koude he sitte on hors and faire ryde.
95: He koude songes make and wel endite,
96: Juste and eek daunce, and weel purtreye and write.
97: So hoote he lovede that by nyghtertale.
98: He sleep namoore than dooth a nyghtyngale.
99: Curteis he was, lowely, and servysable,
100: And carf biforn his fader at the table.
The Yeoman's Portrait
101: A yeman hadde he and servantz namo
102: At that tyme, for hym liste ride so,
103: And he was clad in cote and hood of grene.
104: A sheef of pecok arwes, bright and kene,
105: Under his belt he bar ful thriftily,
106: (wel koude he dresse his takel yemanly:
107: His arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe)
108: And in his hand he baar a myghty bowe.
109: A not heed hadde he, with a broun visage.
110: Of wodecraft wel koude he al the usage.
111: Upon his arm he baar a gay bracer,
112: And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler,
113: And on that oother syde a gay daggere
114: Harneised wel and sharp as point of spere;
115: A cristopher on his brest of silver sheene.
116: An horn he bar, the bawdryk was of grene;
117: A forster was he, soothly, as I gesse.
The Prioress' Portrait
118: Ther was also a nonne, a prioresse,
119: That of hir smylyng was ful symple and coy;
120: Hire gretteste ooth was but by seinte loy;
121: And she was cleped madame eglentyne.
122: Ful weel she soong the service dyvyne,
123: Entuned in hir nose ful semely,
124: And frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly,
125: After the scole of stratford atte bowe,
126: For frenssh of parys was to hire unknowe.
127: At mete wel ytaught was she with alle:
128: She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle,
129: Ne wette hir fyngres in hir sauce depe;
130: Wel koude she carie a morsel and wel kepe
131: That no drope ne fille upon hire brest.
132: In curteisie was set ful muchel hir lest.
133: Hir over-lippe wyped she so clene
134: That in hir coppe ther was no ferthyng sene
135: Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte.
136: Ful semely after hir mete she raughte.
137: And sikerly she was of greet desport,
138: And ful plesaunt, and amyable of port,
139: And peyned hire to countrefete cheere
140: Of court, and to been estatlich of manere,
141: And to ben holden digne of reverence.
142: But, for to speken of hire conscience,
143: She was so charitable and so pitous
144: She wolde wepe, if that she saugh a mous
145: Kaught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde.
146: Of smale houndes hadde she that she fedde
147: With rosted flessh, or milk and wastel-breed.
148: But soore wepte she if oon of hem were deed,
149: Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte;
150: And al was conscience and tendre herte.
151: Ful semyly hir wympul pynched was,
152: Hir nose tretys, hir eyen greye as glas,
153: Hir mouth ful smal, and therto softe and reed;
154: But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed;
155: It was almoost a spanne brood, I trowe;
156: For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe.
157: Ful fetys was hir cloke, as I was war.
158: Of smal coral aboute hire arm she bar
159: A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene,
160: And theron heng a brooch of gold ful sheene,
161: On which ther was first write a crowned a,
162: And after amor vincit omnia.
The Second Nun's Portrait
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
Short was his gown, with sleeves both long and wide.
Well could be sit on horse, and fairly ride.
He could make songs and words thereto indite,
Joust, and dance too, as well as sketch and write.
So hot he loved that, while night told her tale,
He slept no more than does a nightingale.
Courteous he, and humble, willing and able,
And carved before his father at the table.
THE YEOMAN
A yeoman had he, nor more servants, no,
At that time, for he chose to travel so;
And he was clad in coat and hood of green.
A sheaf of peacock arrows bright and keen
Under his belt he bore right carefully
(Well could he keep his tackle yeomanly:
His arrows had no draggled feathers low),
And in his hand he bore a mighty bow.
A cropped head had he and a sun-browned face.
Of woodcraft knew he all the useful ways.
Upon his arm he bore a bracer gay,
And at one side a sword and buckler, yea,
And at the other side a dagger bright,
Well sheathed and sharp as spear point in the light;
On breast a Christopher of silver sheen.
He bore a horn in baldric all of green;
A forester he truly was, I guess.
THE PRIORESS
There was also a nun, a prioress,
Who, in her smiling, modest was and coy;
Her greatest oath was but "By Saint Eloy!"
And she was known as Madam Eglantine.
Full well she sang the services divine,
Intoning through her nose, becomingly;
And fair she spoke her French, and fluently,
After the school of Stratford-at-the-Bow,
For French of Paris was not hers to know.
At table she had been well taught withal,
And never from her lips let morsels fall,
Nor dipped her fingers deep in sauce, but ate
With so much care the food upon her plate
That never driblet fell upon her breast.
In courtesy she had delight and zest.
Her upper lip was always wiped so clean
That in her cup was no iota seen
Of grease, when she had drunk her draught of wine.
Becomingly she reached for meat to dine.
And certainly delighting in good sport,
She was right pleasant, amiable- in short.
She was at pains to counterfeit the look
Of courtliness, and stately manners took,
And would be held worthy of reverence.
But, to say something of her moral sense,
She was so charitable and piteous
That she would weep if she but saw a mouse
Caught in a trap, though it were dead or bled.
She had some little dogs, too, that she fed
On roasted flesh, or milk and fine white bread.
But sore she'd weep if one of them were dead,
Or if men smote it with a rod to smart:
For pity ruled her, and her tender heart.
Right decorous her pleated wimple was;
Her nose was fine; her eyes were blue as glass;
Her mouth was small and therewith soft and red;
But certainly she had a fair forehead;
It was almost a full span broad, I own,
For, truth to tell, she was not undergrown.
Neat was her cloak, as I was well aware.
Of coral small about her arm she'd bear
A string of beads and gauded all with green;
And therefrom hung a brooch of golden sheen
Whereon there was first written a crowned "A,"
And under, Amor vincit omnia.
THE NUN
163: Another nonne with hire hadde she,
THE THREE PRIESTS
164: That was hir chapeleyne, and preestes thre.
The Monk's Portrait
165: A monk ther was, a fair for the maistrie,
166: An outridere, that lovede venerie,
167: A manly man, to been an abbot able.
168: Ful many a deyntee hors hadde he in stable,
169: And whan he rood, men myghte his brydel heere
170: Gynglen in a whistlynge wynd als cleere
171: And eek as loude as dooth the chapel belle.
172: Ther as this lord was kepere of the celle,
173: The reule of seint maure or of seint beneit,
174: By cause that it was old and somdel streit
175: This ilke monk leet olde thynges pace,
176: And heeld after the newe world the space.
177: He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen,
178: That seith that hunters ben nat hooly men,
179: Ne that a monk, whan he is recchelees,
180: Is likned til a fissh that is waterlees, -181: This is to seyn, a monk out of his cloystre.
182: But thilke text heeld he nat worth an oystre;
183: And I seyde his opinion was good.
184: What sholde he studie and make hymselven wood,
185: Upon a book in cloystre alwey to poure,
186: Or swynken with his handes, and laboure,
187: As austyn bit? how shal the world be served?
188: Lat austyn have his swynk to hym reserved!
189: Therfore he was a prikasour aright:
190: Grehoundes he hadde as swift as fowel in flight;
191: Of prikyng and of huntyng for the hare
192: Was al his lust, for no cost wolde he spare.
193: I seigh his sleves purfiled at the hond
194: With grys, and that the fyneste of a lond;
195: And, for to festne his hood under his chyn,
196: He hadde of gold ywroght a ful curious pyn;
197: A love-knotte in the gretter ende ther was.
198: His heed was balled, that shoon as any glas,
199: And eek his face, as he hadde been enoynt.
200: He was a lord ful fat and in good poynt;
201: His eyen stepe, and rollynge in his heed,
202: That stemed as a forneys of a leed;
203: His bootes souple, his hors in greet estaat.
204: Now certeinly he was a fair prelaat;
205: He was nat pale as a forpyned goost.
206: A fat swan loved he best of any roost.
207: His palfrey was as broun as is a berye.
The Friar's Portrait
208: A frere ther was, a wantowne and a merye,
209: A lymytour, a ful solempne man.
210: In alle the ordres foure is noon that kan
211: So muchel of daliaunce and fair langage.
212: He hadde maad ful many a mariage
213: Of yonge wommen at his owene cost.
214: Unto his ordre he was a noble post.
215: Ful wel biloved and famulier was he
216: With frankeleyns over al in his contree,
217: And eek with worthy wommen of the toun;
218: For he hadde power of confessioun,
219: As seyde hymself, moore than a curat,
220: For of his ordre he was licenciat.
221: Ful swetely herde he confessioun,
222: And plesaunt was his absolucioun:
223: He was an esy man to yeve penaunce,
224: Ther as he wiste to have a good pitaunce.
225: For unto a povre ordre for to yive
226: Is signe that a man is wel yshryve;
227: For if he yaf, he dorste make avaunt,
228: He wiste that a man was repentaunt;
229: For many a man so hard is of his herte,
230: He may nat wepe, althogh hym soore smerte.
231: Therfore in stede of wepynge and preyeres
232: Men moote yeve silver to the povre freres.
233: His typet was ay farsed ful of knyves
Another little nun with her had she,
THE THREE PRIESTS
Who was her chaplain; and of priests she'd three.
THE MONK
A monk there was, one made for mastery,
An outrider, who loved his venery;
A manly man, to be an abbot able.
Full many a blooded horse had he in stable:
And when he rode men might his bridle hear
A-jingling in the whistling wind as clear,
Aye, and as loud as does the chapel bell
Where this brave monk was of the cell.
The rule of Maurus or Saint Benedict,
By reason it was old and somewhat strict,
This said monk let such old things slowly pace
And followed new-world manners in their place.
He cared not for that text a clean-plucked hen
Which holds that hunters are not holy men;
Nor that a monk, when he is cloisterless,
Is like unto a fish that's waterless;
That is to say, a monk out of his cloister.
But this same text he held not worth an oyster;
And I said his opinion was right good.
What? Should he study as a madman would
Upon a book in cloister cell? Or yet
Go labour with his hands and swink and sweat,
As Austin bids? How shall the world be served?
Let Austin have his toil to him reserved.
Therefore he was a rider day and night;
Greyhounds he had, as swift as bird in flight.
Since riding and the hunting of the hare
Were all his love, for no cost would he spare.
I saw his sleeves were purfled at the hand
With fur of grey, the finest in the land;
Also, to fasten hood beneath his chin,
He had of good wrought gold a curious pin:
A love-knot in the larger end there was.
His head was bald and shone like any glass,
And smooth as one anointed was his face.
Fat was this lord, he stood in goodly case.
His bulging eyes he rolled about, and hot
They gleamed and red, like fire beneath a pot;
His boots were soft; his horse of great estate.
Now certainly he was a fine prelate:
He was not pale as some poor wasted ghost.
A fat swan loved he best of any roast.
His palfrey was as brown as is a berry.
THE FRIAR
A friar there was, a wanton and a merry,
A limiter, a very festive man.
In all the Orders Four is none that can
Equal his gossip and his fair language.
He had arranged full many a marriage
Of women young, and this at his own cost.
Unto his order he was a noble post.
Well liked by all and intimate was he
With franklins everywhere in his country,
And with the worthy women of the town:
For at confessing he'd more power in gown
(As he himself said) than it good curate,
For of his order he was licentiate.
He heard confession gently, it was said,
Gently absolved too, leaving naught of dread.
He was an easy man to give penance
When knowing he should gain a good pittance;
For to a begging friar, money given
Is sign that any man has been well shriven.
For if one gave (he dared to boast of this),
He took the man's repentance not amiss.
For many a man there is so hard of heart
He cannot weep however pains may smart.
Therefore, instead of weeping and of prayer,
Men should give silver to poor friars all bare.
His tippet was stuck always full of knives
234: And pynnes, for to yeven faire wyves.
235: And certeinly he hadde a murye note:
236: Wel koude he synge and pleyen on a rote;
237: Of yeddynges he baar outrely the pris.
238: His nekke whit was as the flour-de-lys;
239: Therto he strong was as a champioun.
240: He knew the tavernes wel in every toun
241: And everich hostiler and tappestere
242: Bet than a lazar or a beggestere;
243: For unto swich a worthy man as he
244: Acorded nat, as by his facultee,
245: To have with sike lazars aqueyntaunce.
246: It is nat honest, it may nat avaunce,
247: For to deelen with no swich poraille,
248: But al with riche and selleres of vitaille.
249: And over al, ther as profit sholde arise,
250: Curteis he was and lowely of servyse.
251: Ther nas no man nowher so vertuous.
252: He was the beste beggere in his hous;
252.1: (and yaf a certeyne ferme for the graunt;
252.2: Noon of his bretheren cam ther in his haunt;)
253: For thogh a wydwe hadde noght a sho,
254: So plesaunt was his in principio,
255: Yet wolde he have a ferthyng, er he wente.
256: His purchas was wel bettre than his rente.
257: And rage he koude, as it were right a whelp.
258: In love-dayes ther koude he muchel help,
259: For ther he was nat lyk a cloysterer
260: With a thredbare cope, as is a povre scoler,
261: But he was lyk a maister or a pope.
262: Of double worstede was his semycope,
263: That rounded as a belle out of the presse.
264: Somwhat he lipsed, for his wantownesse,
265: To make his englissh sweete upon his tonge;
266: And in his harpyng, whan that he hadde songe,
267: His eyen twynkled in his heed aryght,
268: As doon the sterres in the frosty nyght.
269: This worthy lymytour was cleped huberd.
The Merchant's Portrait
270: A marchant was ther with a forked berd,
271: In mottelee, and hye on horse he sat;
272: Upon his heed a flaundryssh bever hat,
273: His bootes clasped faire and fetisly.
274: His resons he spak ful solempnely,
275: Sownynge alwey th' encrees of his wynnyng.
276: He wolde the see were kept for any thyng
277: Bitwixe middelburgh and orewelle.
278: Wel koude he in eschaunge sheeldes selle.
279: This worthy man ful wel his wit bisette:
280: Ther wiste no wight that he was in dette,
281: So estatly was he of his governaunce
282: With his bargaynes and with his chevyssaunce.
283: For sothe he was a worthy man with alle,
284: But, sooth to seyn, I noot how men hym calle.
The Clerk's Portrait
285: A clerk ther was of oxenford also,
286: That unto logyk hadde longe ygo.
287: As leene was his hors as is a rake,
288: And he nas nat right fat, I undertake,
289: But looked holwe, and therto sobrely.
290: Ful thredbare was his overeste courtepy;
291: For he hadde geten hym yet no benefice,
292: Ne was so worldly for to have office.
293: For hym was levere have at his beddes heed
294: Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reed,
295: Of aristotle and his philosophie,
296: Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrie.
297: But al be that he was a philosophre,
298: Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre;
299: But al that he myghte of his freendes hente,
300: On bookes and on lernynge he it spente,
301: And bisily gan for the soules preye
302: Of hem that yaf hym wherwith to scoleye.
303: Of studie took he moost cure and moost heede,
And pins, to give to young and pleasing wives.
And certainly he kept a merry note:
Well could he sing and play upon the rote.
At balladry he bore the prize away.
His throat was white as lily of the May;
Yet strong he was as ever champion.
In towns he knew the taverns, every one,
And every good host and each barmaid tooBetter than begging lepers, these he knew.
For unto no such solid man as he
Accorded it, as far as he could see,
To have sick lepers for acquaintances.
There is no honest advantageousness
In dealing with such poverty-stricken curs;
It's with the rich and with big victuallers.
And so, wherever profit might arise,
Courteous he was and humble in men's eyes.
There was no other man so virtuous.
He was the finest beggar of his house;
A certain district being farmed to him,
None of his brethren dared approach its rim;
For though a widow had no shoes to show,
So pleasant was his In principio,
He always got a farthing ere he went.
He lived by pickings, it is evident.
And he could romp as well as any whelp.
On love days could he be of mickle help.
For there he was not like a cloisterer,
With threadbare cope as is the poor scholar,
But he was like a lord or like a pope.
Of double worsted was his semi-cope,
That rounded like a bell, as you may guess.
He lisped a little, out of wantonness,
To make his English soft upon his tongue;
And in his harping, after he had sung,
His two eyes twinkled in his head as bright
As do the stars within the frosty night.
This worthy limiter was named Hubert.
THE MERCHANT
There was a merchant with forked beard, and girt
In motley gown, and high on horse he sat,
Upon his head a Flemish beaver hat;
His boots were fastened rather elegantly.
His spoke his notions out right pompously,
Stressing the times when he had won, not lost.
He would the sea were held at any cost
Across from Middleburgh to Orwell town.
At money-changing he could make a crown.
This worthy man kept all his wits well set;
There was no one could say he was in debt,
So well he governed all his trade affairs
With bargains and with borrowings and with shares.
Indeed, he was a worthy man withal,
But, sooth to say, his name I can't recall.
THE CLERK
A clerk from Oxford was with us also,
Who'd turned to getting knowledge, long ago.
As meagre was his horse as is a rake,
Nor he himself too fat, I'll undertake,
But he looked hollow and went soberly.
Right threadbare was his overcoat; for he
Had got him yet no churchly benefice,
Nor was so worldly as to gain office.
For he would rather have at his bed's head
Some twenty books, all bound in black and red,
Of Aristotle and his philosophy
Than rich robes, fiddle, or gay psaltery.
Yet, and for all he was philosopher,
He had but little gold within his coffer;
But all that he might borrow from a friend
On books and learning he would swiftly spend,
And then he'd pray right busily for the souls
Of those who gave him wherewithal for schools.
Of study took he utmost care and heed.
304: Noght o word spak he moore than was neede,
305: And that was seyd in forme and reverence,
306: And short and quyk and ful of hy sentence;
307: Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche,
308: And gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche.
The The Man of Law's Portrait
309: A sergeant of the lawe, war and wys,
310: That often hadde been at the parvys,
311: Ther was also, ful riche of excellence.
312: Discreet he was and of greet reverence -313: He semed swich, his wordes weren so wise.
314: Justice he was ful often in assise,
315: By patente and by pleyn commissioun.
316: For his science and for his heigh renoun,
317: Of fees and robes hadde he many oon.
318: So greet a purchasour was nowher noon:
319: Al was fee symple to hym in effect;
320: His purchasyng myghte nat been infect.
321: Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas,
322: And yet he semed bisier than he was.
323: In termes hadde he caas and doomes alle
324: That from the tyme of kyng william were falle.
325: Therto he koude endite, and make a thyng,
326: Ther koude no wight pynche at his writyng;
327: And every statut koude he pleyn by rote.
328: He rood but hoomly in a medlee cote.
329: Girt with a ceint of silk, with barres smale;
330: Of his array telle I no lenger tale.
The Franklin's Portrait
331: A frankeleyn was in his compaignye.
332: Whit was his berd as is the dayesye;
333: Of his complexioun he was sangwyn.
334: Wel loved he by the morwe a sop in wyn;
335: To lyven in delit was evere his wone,
336: For he was epicurus owene sone,
337: That heeld opinioun that pleyn delit
338: Was verray felicitee parfit.
339: An housholdere, and that a greet, was he;
340: Seint julian he was in his contree.
341: His breed, his ale, was alweys after oon;
342: A bettre envyned man was nowher noon.
343: Withoute bake mete was nevere his hous
344: Of fissh and flessh, and that so plentevous,
345: It snewed in his hous of mete and drynke,
346: Of alle deyntees that men koude thynke.
347: After the sondry sesons of the yeer,
348: So chaunged he his mete and his soper.
349: Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in muwe,
350: And many a breem and many a luce in stuwe.
351: Wo was his cook but if his sauce were
352: Poynaunt and sharp, and redy al his geere.
353: His table dormant in his halle alway
354: Stood redy covered al the longe day.
355: At sessiouns ther was he lord and sire;
356: Ful ofte tyme he was knyght of the shire.
357: An anlaas and a gipser al of silk
358: Heeng at his girdel, whit as morne milk.
359: A shirreve hadde he been, and a contour.
360: Was nowher swich a worthy vavasour.
The Guildsmen's Portrait
361: An haberdasshere and a carpenter,
362: A webbe, a dyere, and a tapycer, -363: And they were clothed alle in o lyveree
364: Of a solempne and a greet fraternitee.
365: Ful fressh and newe hir geere apiked was;
366: Hir knyves were chaped noght with bras
367: But al with silver; wroght ful clene and weel
368: Hire girdles and hir pouches everydeel.
369: Wel semed ech of hem a fair burgeys
370: To sitten in a yeldehalle on a deys.
371: Everich, for the wisdom that he kan,
372: Was shaply for to been an alderman.
Not one word spoke he more than was his need;
And that was said in fullest reverence
And short and quick and full of high good sense.
Pregnant of moral virtue was his speech;
And gladly would he learn and gladly teach.
THE LAWYER
A sergeant of the law, wary and wise,
Who'd often gone to Paul's walk to advise,
There was also, compact of excellence.
Discreet he was, and of great reverence;
At least he seemed so, his words were so wise.
Often he sat as justice in assize,
By patent or commission from the crown;
Because of learning and his high renown,
He took large fees and many robes could own.
So great a purchaser was never known.
All was fee simple to him, in effect,
Wherefore his claims could never be suspect.
Nowhere a man so busy of his class,
And yet he seemed much busier than he was.
All cases and all judgments could he cite
That from King William's time were apposite.
And he could draw a contract so explicit
Not any man could fault therefrom elicit;
And every statute he'd verbatim quote.
He rode but badly in a medley coat,
Belted in a silken sash, with little bars,
But of his dress no more particulars.
THE FRANKLIN
There was a franklin in his company;
White was his beard as is the white daisy.
Of sanguine temperament by every sign,
He loved right well his morning sop in wine.
Delightful living was the goal he'd won,
For he was Epicurus' very son,
That held opinion that a full delight
Was true felicity, perfect and right.
A householder, and that a great, was he;
Saint Julian he was in his own country.
His bread and ale were always right well done;
A man with better cellars there was none.
Baked meat was never wanting in his house,
Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteous
It seemed to snow therein both food and drink
Of every dainty that a man could think.
According to the season of the year
He changed his diet and his means of cheer.
Full many a fattened partridge did he mew,
And many a bream and pike in fish-pond too.
Woe to his cook, except the sauces were
Poignant and sharp, and ready all his gear.
His table, waiting in his hall alway,
Stood ready covered through the livelong day.
At county sessions was he lord and sire,
And often acted as a knight of shire.
A dagger and a trinket-bag of silk
Hung from his girdle, white as morning milk.
He had been sheriff and been auditor;
And nowhere was a worthier vavasor.
THE HABERDASHER AND THE CARPENTER
THE WEAVER, THE DYER, AND THE ARRASMAKER
A haberdasher and a carpenter,
An arras-maker, dyer, and weaver
Were with us, clothed in similar livery,
All of one sober, great fraternity.
Their gear was new and well adorned it was;
Their weapons were not cheaply trimmed with brass,
But all with silver; chastely made and well
Their girdles and their pouches too, I tell.
Each man of them appeared a proper burges
To sit in guildhall on a high dais.
And each of them, for wisdom he could span,
Was fitted to have been an alderman;
373: For catel hadde they ynogh and rente,
374: And eek hir wyves wolde it wel assente;
375: And elles certeyn were they to blame.
376: It is ful fair to been ycleped madame,
377: And goon to vigilies al bifore,
378: And have a mantel roialliche ybore.
The Cook's Portrait
379: A cook they hadde with hem for the nones
380: To boille the chiknes with the marybones,
381: And poudre-marchant tart and galyngale.
382: Wel koude he knowe a draughte of londoun ale.
383: He koude rooste, and sethe, and broille, and frye,
384: Maken mortreux, and wel bake a pye.
385: But greet harm was it, as it thoughte me,
386: That on his shyne a mormal hadde he.
387: For blankmanger, that made he with the beste
The Shipman's Portrait
388: A shipman was ther, wonynge fer by weste;
389: For aught I woot, he was of dertemouthe.
390: He rood upon a rounce, as he kouthe,
391: In a gowne of faldyng to the knee.
392: A daggere hangynge on a laas hadde he
393: Aboute his nekke, under his arm adoun.
394: The hoote somer hadde maad his hewe al broun;
395: And certeinly he was a good felawe.
396: Ful many a draughte of wyn had he ydrawe
397: Fro burdeux-ward, whil that the chapmen sleep.
398: Of nyce conscience took he no keep.
399: If that he faught, and hadde the hyer hond,
400: By water he sente hem hoom to every lond.
401: But of his craft to rekene wel his tydes,
402: His stremes, and his daungers hym bisides,
403: His herberwe, and his moone, his lodemenage,
404: Ther nas noon swich from hulle to cartage.
405: Hardy he was and wys to undertake;
406: With many a tempest hadde his berd been shake.
407: He knew alle the havenes, as they were,
408: Fro gootlond to the cape of fynystere,
409: And every cryke in britaigne and in spayne.
410: His barge ycleped was the maudelayne.
The Physician's Portrait
411: With us ther was a doctour of phisik;
412: In al this world ne was the noon hym lik,
413: To speke of phisik and of surgerye
414: For he was grounded in astronomye.
415: He kepte his pacient a ful greet deel
416: In houres by his magyk natureel.
417: Wel koude he fortunen the ascendent
418: Of his ymages for his pacient.
419: He knew the cause of everich maladye,
420: Were it of hoot, or coold, or moyste, or drye,
421: And where they engendred, and of what humour.
422: He was a verray, parfit praktisour:
423: The cause yknowe, and of his harm the roote,
424: Anon he yaf the sike man his boote.
425: Ful redy hadde he his apothecaries
426: To sende hym drogges and his letuaries,
427: For ech of hem made oother for to wynne -428: Hir frendshipe nas nat newe to bigynne.
429: Wel knew he the olde esculapius,
430: And deyscorides, and eek rufus,
431: Olde ypocras, haly, and galyen,
432: Serapion, razis, and avycen,
433: Averrois, damascien, and constantyn,
434: Bernard, and gatesden, and gilbertyn.
435: Of his diete mesurable was he,
436: For it was of no superfluitee,
437: But of greet norissyng and digestible.
438: His studie was but litel on the bible.
439: In sangwyn and in pers he clad was al,
440: Lyned with taffata and with sendal;
441: And yet he was but esy of dispence;
442: He kepte that he wan in pestilence.
443: For gold in phisik is a cordial,
For chattels they'd enough, and, too, of rent;
To which their goodwives gave a free assent,
Or else for certain they had been to blame.
It's good to hear "Madam" before one's name,
And go to church when all the world may see,
Having one's mantle borne right royally.
THE COOK
A cook they had with them, just for the nonce,
To boil the chickens with the marrow-bones,
And flavour tartly and with galingale.
Well could he tell a draught of London ale.
And he could roast and seethe and broil and fry,
And make a good thick soup, and bake a pie.
But very ill it was, it seemed to me,
That on his shin a deadly sore had he;
For sweet blanc-mange, he made it with the best.
THE SAILOR
There was a sailor, living far out west;
For aught I know, he was of Dartmouth town.
He sadly rode a hackney, in a gown,
Of thick rough cloth falling to the knee.
A dagger hanging on a cord had he
About his neck, and under arm, and down.
The summer's heat had burned his visage brown;
And certainly he was a good fellow.
Full many a draught of wine he'd drawn, I trow,
Of Bordeaux vintage, while the trader slept.
Nice conscience was a thing he never kept.
If that he fought and got the upper hand,
By water he sent them home to every land.
But as for craft, to reckon well his tides,
His currents and the dangerous watersides,
His harbours, and his moon, his pilotage,
There was none such from Hull to far Carthage.
Hardy. and wise in all things undertaken,
By many a tempest had his beard been shaken.
He knew well all the havens, as they were,
From Gottland to the Cape of Finisterre,
And every creek in Brittany and Spain;
His vessel had been christened Madeleine.
THE PHYSICIAN
With us there was a doctor of physic;
In all this world was none like him to pick
For talk of medicine and surgery;
For he was grounded in astronomy.
He often kept a patient from the pall
By horoscopes and magic natural.
Well could he tell the fortune ascendent
Within the houses for his sick patient.
He knew the cause of every malady,
Were it of hot or cold, of moist or dry,
And where engendered, and of what humour;
He was a very good practitioner.
The cause being known, down to the deepest root,
Anon he gave to the sick man his boot.
Ready he was, with his apothecaries,
To send him drugs and all electuaries;
By mutual aid much gold they'd always wonTheir friendship was a thing not new begun.
Well read was he in Esculapius,
And Deiscorides, and in Rufus,
Hippocrates, and Hali, and Galen,
Serapion, Rhazes, and Avicen,
Averrhoes, Gilbert, and Constantine,
Bernard and Gatisden, and John Damascene.
In diet he was measured as could be,
Including naught of superfluity,
But nourishing and easy. It's no libel
To say he read but little in the Bible.
In blue and scarlet he went clad, withal,
Lined with a taffeta and with sendal;
And yet he was right chary of expense;
He kept the gold he gained from pestilence.
For gold in physic is a fine cordial,
444: Therefore he lovede gold in special.
The Wife of Bath's Portrait
445: A good wif was ther of biside bathe,
446: But she was somdel deef, and that was scathe.
447: Of clooth-makyng she hadde swich an haunt,
448: She passed hem of ypres and of gaunt.
449: In al the parisshe wif ne was ther noon
450: That to the offrynge bifore hire sholde goon;
451: And if ther dide, certeyn so wrooth was she,
452: That she was out of alle charitee.
453: Hir coverchiefs ful fyne weren of ground;
454: I dorste swere they weyeden ten pound
455: That on a sonday weren upon hir heed.
456: Hir hosen weren of fyn scarlet reed,
457: Ful streite yteyd, and shoes ful moyste and newe.
458: Boold was hir face, and fair, and reed of hewe.
459: She was a worthy womman al hir lyve:
460: Housbondes at chirche dore she hadde fyve,
461: Withouten oother compaignye in youthe, -462: But therof nedeth nat to speke as nowthe.
463: And thries hadde she been at jerusalem;
464: She hadde passed many a straunge strem;
465: At rome she hadde been, and at boloigne,
466: In galice at seint-jame, and at coloigne.
467: She koude muchel of wandrynge by the weye.
468: Gat-tothed was she, soothly for to seye.
469: Upon an amblere esily she sat,
470: Ywympled wel, and on hir heed an hat
471: As brood as is a bokeler or a targe;
472: A foot-mantel aboute hir hipes large,
473: And on hir feet a paire of spores sharpe.
474: In felaweshipe wel koude she laughe and carpe.
475: Of remedies of love she knew per chaunce,
476: For she koude of that art the olde daunce.
The Parson's Portrait
477: A good man was ther of religioun,
478: And was a povre persoun of a toun,
479: But riche he was of hooly thoght and werk.
480: He was also a lerned man, a clerk,
481: That cristes gospel trewely wolde preche;
482: His parisshens devoutly wolde he teche.
483: Benygne he was, and wonder diligent,
484: And in adversitee ful pacient,
485: And swich he was ypreved ofte sithes.
486: Ful looth were hym to cursen for his tithes,
487: But rather wolde he yeven, out of doute,
488: Unto his povre parisshens aboute
489: Of his offryng and eek of his substaunce.
490: He koude in litel thyng have suffisaunce.
491: Wyd was his parisshe, and houses fer asonder,
492: But he ne lefte nat, for reyn ne thonder,
493: In siknesse nor in meschief to visite
494: The ferreste in his parisshe, muche and lite,
495: Upon his feet, and in his hand a staf.
496: This noble ensample to his sheep he yaf,
497: That first he wroghte, and afterward he taughte.
498: Out of the gospel he tho wordes caughte,
499: And this figure he added eek therto,
500: That if gold ruste, what shal iren do?
501: For if a preest be foul, on whom we truste,
502: No wonder is a lewed man to ruste;
503: And shame it is, if a prest take keep,
504: A shiten shepherde and a clene sheep.
505: Wel oghte a preest ensample for to yive,
506: By his clennesse, how that his sheep sholde lyve.
507: He sette nat his benefice to hyre
508: And leet his sheep encombred in the myre
509: And ran to londoun unto seinte poules
510: To seken hym a chaunterie for soules,
511: Or with a bretherhed to been withholde;
512: But dwelte at hoom, and kepte wel his folde,
513: So that the wolf ne made it nat myscarie;
514: He was a shepherde and noght a mercenarie.
515: And though he hooly were and vertuous,
And therefore loved he gold exceeding all.
THE WIFE OF BATH
There was a housewife come from Bath, or near,
Who- sad to say- was deaf in either ear.
At making cloth she had so great a bent
She bettered those of Ypres and even of Ghent.
In all the parish there was no goodwife
Should offering make before her, on my life;
And if one did, indeed, so wroth was she
It put her out of all her charity.
Her kerchiefs were of finest weave and ground;
I dare swear that they weighed a full ten pound
Which, of a Sunday, she wore on her head.
Her hose were of the choicest scarlet red,
Close gartered, and her shoes were soft and new.
Bold was her face, and fair, and red of hue.
She'd been respectable throughout her life,
With five churched husbands bringing joy and strife,
Not counting other company in youth;
But thereof there's no need to speak, in truth.
Three times she'd journeyed to Jerusalem;
And many a foreign stream she'd had to stem;
At Rome she'd been, and she'd been in Boulogne,
In Spain at Santiago, and at Cologne.
She could tell much of wandering by the way:
Gap-toothed was she, it is no lie to say.
Upon an ambler easily she sat,
Well wimpled, aye, and over all a hat
As broad as is a buckler or a targe;
A rug was tucked around her buttocks large,
And on her feet a pair of sharpened spurs.
In company well could she laugh her slurs.
The remedies of love she knew, perchance,
For of that art she'd learned the old, old dance.
THE PARSON
There was a good man of religion, too,
A country parson, poor, I warrant you;
But rich he was in holy thought and work.
He was a learned man also, a clerk,
Who Christ's own gospel truly sought to preach;
Devoutly his parishioners would he teach.
Benign he was and wondrous diligent,
Patient in adverse times and well content,
As he was ofttimes proven; always blithe,
He was right loath to curse to get a tithe,
But rather would he give, in case of doubt,
Unto those poor parishioners about,
Part of his income, even of his goods.
Enough with little, coloured all his moods.
Wide was his parish, houses far asunder,
But never did he fail, for rain or thunder,
In sickness, or in sin, or any state,
To visit to the farthest, small and great,
Going afoot, and in his hand, a stave.
This fine example to his flock he gave,
That first he wrought and afterwards he taught;
Out of the gospel then that text he caught,
And this figure he added thereuntoThat, if gold rust, what shall poor iron do?
For if the priest be foul, in whom we trust,
What wonder if a layman yield to lust?
And shame it is, if priest take thought for keep,
A shitty shepherd, shepherding clean sheep.
Well ought a priest example good to give,
By his own cleanness, how his flock should live.
He never let his benefice for hire,
Leaving his flock to flounder in the mire,
And ran to London, up to old Saint Paul's
To get himself a chantry there for souls,
Nor in some brotherhood did he withhold;
But dwelt at home and kept so well the fold
That never wolf could make his plans miscarry;
He was a shepherd and not mercenary.
And holy though he was, and virtuous,
516: He was to synful men nat despitous,
517: Ne of his speche daungerous ne digne,
518: But in his techyng discreet and benygne.
519: To drawen folk to hevene by fairnesse,
520: By good ensample, this was his bisynesse.
521: But it were any persone obstinat,
522: What so he were, of heigh or lough estat,
523: Hym wolde he snybben sharply for the nonys.
524: A bettre preest I trowe that nowher noon ys.
525: He waited after no pompe and reverence,
526: Ne maked him a spiced conscience,
527: But cristes loore and his apostles twelve
528: He taughte, but first he folwed it hymselve.
The Plowman's Portrait
529: With hym ther was a plowman, was his brother,
530: That hadde ylad of dong ful many a fother;
531: A trewe swynkere and a good was he,
532: Lyvynge in pees and parfit charitee.
533: God loved he best with al his hoole herte
534: At alle tymes, thogh him gamed or smerte,
535: And thanne his neighebor right as hymselve.
536: He wolde thresshe, and therto dyke and delve,
537: For cristes sake, for every povre wight,
538: Withouten hire, if it lay in his myght.
539: His tithes payde he ful faire and wel,
540: Bothe of his propre swynk and his catel.
541: In a tabard he rood upon a mere.
542: Ther was also a reve, and a millere,
543: A somnour, and a pardoner also,
544: A maunciple, and myself -- ther were namo.
The Miller's Portrait
545: The millere was a stout carl for the nones;
546: Ful byg he was of brawn, and eek of bones.
547: That proved wel, for over al ther he cam,
548: At wrastlynge he wolde have alwey the ram.
549: He was short-sholdred, brood, a thikke knarre;
550: Ther was no dore that he nolde heve of harre,
551: Or breke it at a rennyng with his heed.
552: His berd as any sowe or fox was reed,
553: And therto brood, as though it were a spade.
554: Upon the cop right of his nose he hade
555: A werte, and theron stood a toft of herys,
556: Reed as the brustles of a sowes erys;
557: His nosethirles blake were and wyde.
558: A swerd and bokeler bar he by his syde.
559: His mouth as greet was as a greet forneys.
560: He was a janglere and a goliardeys,
561: And that was moost of synne and harlotries.
562: Wel koude he stelen corn and tollen thries;
563: And yet he hadde a thombe of gold, pardee.
564: A whit cote and a blew hood wered he.
565: A baggepipe wel koude he blowe and sowne,
566: And therwithal he broghte us out of towne.
The Manciple's Portrait
567: A gentil maunciple was ther of a temple,
568: Of which achatours myghte take exemple
569: For to be wise in byynge of vitaille;
570: For wheither that he payde or took by taille,
571: Algate he wayted so in his achaat
572: That he was ay biforn and in good staat.
573: Now is nat that of God a ful fair grace
574: That swich a lewed mannes wit shal pace
575: The wisdom of an heep of lerned men?
576: Of maistres hadde he mo than thries ten,
577: That weren of lawe expert and curious,
578: Of which ther were a duszeyne in that hous
579: Worthy to been stywardes of rente and lond
580: Of any lord that is in engelond,
581: To make hym lyve by his propre good
582: In honour dettelees (but if he were wood),
583: Or lyve as scarsly as hym list desire;
584: And able for to helpen al a shire
585: In any caas that myghte falle or happe;
586: And yet this manciple sette hir aller cappe.
To sinners he was not impiteous,
Nor haughty in his speech, nor too divine,
But in all teaching prudent and benign.
To lead folk into Heaven but by stress
Of good example was his busyness.
But if some sinful one proved obstinate,
Be who it might, of high or low estate,
Him he reproved, and sharply, as I know.
There is nowhere a better priest, I trow.
He had no thirst for pomp or reverence,
Nor made himself a special, spiced conscience,
But Christ's own lore, and His apostles' twelve
He taught, but first he followed it himselve.
THE PLOWMAN
With him there was a plowman, was his brother,
That many a load of dung, and many another
Had scattered, for a good true toiler, he,
Living in peace and perfect charity.
He loved God most, and that with his whole heart
At all times, though he played or plied his art,
And next, his neighbour, even as himself.
He'd thresh and dig, with never thought of pelf,
For Christ's own sake, for every poor wight,
All without pay, if it lay in his might.
He paid his taxes, fully, fairly, well,
Both by his own toil and by stuff he'd sell.
In a tabard he rode upon a mare.
There were also a reeve and miller there;
A summoner, manciple and pardoner,
And these, beside myself, made all there were.
THE MILLER
The miller was a stout churl, be it known,
Hardy and big of brawn and big of bone;
Which was well proved, for when he went on lam
At wrestling, never failed he of the ram.
He was a chunky fellow, broad of build;
He'd heave a door from hinges if he willed,
Or break it through, by running, with his head.
His beard, as any sow or fox, was red,
And broad it was as if it were a spade.
Upon the coping of his nose he had
A wart, and thereon stood a tuft of hairs,
Red as the bristles in an old sow's ears;
His nostrils they were black and very wide.
A sword and buckler bore he by his side.
His mouth was like a furnace door for size.
He was a jester and could poetize,
But mostly all of sin and ribaldries.
He could steal corn and full thrice charge his fees;
And yet he had a thumb of gold, begad.
A white coat and blue hood he wore, this lad.
A bagpipe he could blow well, be it known,
And with that same he brought us out of town.
THE MANCIPLE
There was a manciple from an inn of court,
To whom all buyers might quite well resort
To learn the art of buying food and drink;
For whether he paid cash or not, I think
That he so knew the markets, when to buy,
He never found himself left high and dry.
Now is it not of God a full fair grace
That such a vulgar man has wit to pace
The wisdom of a crowd of learned men?
Of masters had he more than three times ten,
Who were in law expert and curious;
Whereof there were a dozen in that house
Fit to be stewards of both rent and land
Of any lord in England who would stand
Upon his own and live in manner good,
In honour, debtless (save his head were wood),
Or live as frugally as he might desire;
These men were able to have helped a shire
In any case that ever might befall;
And yet this manciple outguessed them all.
The Reeve's Portrait
587: The reve was a sclendre colerik man.
588: His berd was shave as ny as ever he kan;
589: His heer was by his erys ful round yshorn;
590: His top was dokked lyk a preest biforn
591: Ful longe were his legges and ful lene,
592: Ylyk a staf, ther was no calf ysene.
593: Wel koude he kepe a gerner and a bynne;
594: Ther was noon auditour koude on him wynne.
595: Wel wiste he by the droghte and by the reyn
596: The yeldynge of his seed and of his greyn.
597: His lordes sheep, his neet, his dayerye,
598: His swyn, his hors, his stoor, and his pultrye
599: Was hoolly in this reves governynge,
600: And by his covenant yaf the rekenynge,
601: Syn that his lord was twenty yeer of age.
602: Ther koude no man brynge hym in arrerage.
603: Ther nas baillif, ne hierde, nor oother hyne,
604: That he ne knew his sleighte and his covyne;
605: They were adrad of hym as of the deeth.
606: His wonyng was ful faire upon an heeth;
607: With grene trees yshadwed was his place.
608: He koude bettre than his lord purchace.
609: Ful riche he was astored pryvely:
610: His lord wel koude he plesen subtilly,
611: To yeve and lene hym of his owene good,
612: And have a thank, and yet a cote and hood.
613: In youthe he hadde lerned a good myster;
614: He was a wel good wrighte, a carpenter.
615: This reve sat upon a ful good stot,
616: That was al pomely grey and highte scot.
617: A long surcote of pers upon he hade,
618: And by his syde he baar a rusty blade.
619: Of northfolk was this reve of which I telle,
620: Biside a toun men clepen baldeswelle.
621: Tukked he was as is a frere aboute,
622: And evere he rood the hyndreste of oure route.
The Summoner's Portrait
623: A somonour was ther with us in that place,
624: That hadde a fyr-reed cherubynnes face,
625: For saucefleem he was, with eyen narwe.
626: As hoot he was and lecherous as a sparwe,
627: With scalled browes blake and piled berd.
628: Of his visage children were aferd.
629: Ther nas quyk-silver, lytarge, ne brymstoon,
630: Boras, ceruce, ne oille of tartre noon;
631: Ne oynement that wolde clense and byte,
632: That hym myghte helpen of his whelkes white,
633: Nor of the knobbes sittynge on his chekes.
634: Wel loved he garleek, oynons, and eek lekes,
635: And for to drynken strong wyn, reed as blood;
636: Thanne wolde he speke and crie as he were wood.
637: And whan that he wel dronken hadde the wyn,
638: Thanne wolde he speke no word but latyn.
639: A fewe termes hadde he, two or thre,
640: That he had lerned out of som decree -641: No wonder is, he herde it al the day;
642: And eek ye knowen wel how that a jay
643: Kan clepen watte as wel as kan the pope.
644: But whoso koude in oother thyng hym grope,
645: Thanne hadde he spent al his philosophie;
646: Ay questio quid iuris wolde he crie.
647: He was a gentil harlot and a kynde;
648: A bettre felawe sholde men noght fynde.
649: He wolde suffre for a quart of wyn
650: A good felawe to have his concubyn
651: A twelf month, and excuse hym atte fulle;
652: Ful prively a fynch eek koude he pulle.
653: And if he foond owher a good felawe,
654: He wolde techen him to have noon awe
655: In swich caas of the ercedekenes curs,
656: But if a mannes soule were in his purs;
657: For in his purs he sholde ypunysshed be.
658: Purs is the ercedekenes helle, seyde he.
THE REEVE
The reeve he was a slender, choleric man
Who shaved his beard as close as razor can.
His hair was cut round even with his ears;
His top was tonsured like a pulpiteer's.
Long were his legs, and they were very lean,
And like a staff, with no calf to be seen.
Well could he manage granary and bin;
No auditor could ever on him win.
He could foretell, by drought and by the rain,
The yielding of his seed and of his grain.
His lord's sheep and his oxen and his dairy,
His swine and horses, all his stores, his poultry,
Were wholly in this steward's managing;
And, by agreement, he'd made reckoning
Since his young lord of age was twenty years;
Yet no man ever found him in arrears.
There was no agent, hind, or herd who'd cheat
But he knew well his cunning and deceit;
They were afraid of him as of the death.
His cottage was a good one, on a heath;
By green trees shaded with this dwelling-place.
Much better than his lord could he purchase.
Right rich he was in his own private right,
Seeing he'd pleased his lord, by day or night,
By giving him, or lending, of his goods,
And so got thanked- but yet got coats and hoods.
In youth he'd learned a good trade, and had been
A carpenter, as fine as could be seen.
This steward sat a horse that well could trot,
And was all dapple-grey, and was named Scot.
A long surcoat of blue did he parade,
And at his side he bore a rusty blade.
Of Norfolk was this reeve of whom I tell,
From near a town that men call Badeswell.
Bundled he was like friar from chin to croup,
And ever he rode hindmost of our troop.
THE SUMMONER
A summoner was with us in that place,
Who had a fiery-red, cherubic face,
For eczema he had; his eyes were narrow
As hot he was, and lecherous, as a sparrow;
With black and scabby brows and scanty beard;
He had a face that little children feared.
There was no mercury, sulphur, or litharge,
No borax, ceruse, tartar, could discharge,
Nor ointment that could cleanse enough, or bite,
To free him of his boils and pimples white,
Nor of the bosses resting on his cheeks.
Well loved he garlic, onions, aye and leeks,
And drinking of strong wine as red as blood.
Then would he talk and shout as madman would.
And when a deal of wine he'd poured within,
Then would. he utter no word save Latin.
Some phrases had he learned, say two or three,
Which he had garnered out of some decree;
No wonder, for he'd heard it all the day;
And all you know right well that even a jay
Can call out "Wat" as well as can the pope.
But when, for aught else, into him you'd grope,
'Twas found he'd spent his whole philosophy;
Just "Questio quid juris" would he cry.
He was a noble rascal, and a kind;
A better comrade 'twould be hard to find.
Why, he would suffer, for a quart of wine,
Some good fellow to have his concubine
A twelve-month, and excuse him to the full
(Between ourselves, though, he could pluck a gull).
And if he chanced upon a good fellow,
He would instruct him never to have awe,
In such a case, of the archdeacon's curse,
Except a man's soul lie within his purse;
For in his purse the man should punished be.
"The purse is the archdeacon's Hell," said he.
659: But wel I woot he lyed right in dede;
660: Of cursyng oghte ech gilty man him drede,
661: For curs wol slee right as assoillyng savith,
662: And also war hym of a significavit.
663: In daunger hadde he at his owene gise
664: The yonge girles of the diocise,
665: And knew hir conseil, and was al hir reed.
666: A gerland hadde he set upon his heed
667: As greet as it were for an ale-stake.
668: A bokeleer hadde he maad hym of a cake.
The Pardoner's Portrait
669: With hym ther rood a gentil pardoner
670: Of rouncivale, his freend and his compeer,
671: That streight was comen fro the court of rome.
672: Ful loude he soong com hider, love, to me!
673: This somonour bar to hym a stif burdoun;
674: Was nevere trompe of half so greet a soun.
675: This pardoner hadde heer as yelow as wex,
676: But smothe it heeng as dooth a strike of flex;
677: By ounces henge his lokkes that he hadde,
678: And therwith he his shuldres overspradde;
679: But thynne it lay, by colpons oon and oon.
680: But hood, for jolitee, wered he noon,
681: For it was trussed up in his walet.
682: Hym thoughte he rood al of the newe jet;
683: Dischevelee, save his cappe, he rood al bare.
684: Swiche glarynge eyen hadde he as an hare.
685: A vernycle hadde he sowed upon his cappe.
686: His walet lay biforn hym in his lappe,
687: Bretful of pardoun, comen from rome al hoot.
688: A voys he hadde as smal as hath a goot.
689: No berd hadde he, ne nevere sholde have;
690: As smothe it was as it were late shave.
691: I trowe he were a geldyng or a mare.
692: But of his craft, fro berwyk into ware,
693: Ne was ther swich another pardoner
694: For in his male he hadde a pilwe-beer,
695: Which that he seyde was oure lady veyl:
696: He seyde he hadde a gobet of the seyl
697: That seint peter hadde, whan that he wente
698: Upon the see, til jhesu crist hym hente.
699: He hadde a croys of latoun ful of stones,
700: And in a glas he hadde pigges bones.
701: But with thise relikes, whan that he fond
702: A povre person dwellynge upon lond,
703: Upon a day he gat hym moore moneye
704: Than that the person gat in monthes tweye;
705: And thus, with feyned flaterye and japes,
706: He made the person and the peple his apes.
707: But trewely to tellen atte laste,
708: He was in chirche a noble ecclesiaste.
709: Wel koude he rede a lessoun or a storie,
710: But alderbest he song an offertorie;
711: For wel he wiste, whan that song was songe,
712: He moste preche and wel affile his tonge
713: To wynne silver, as he ful wel koude;
714: Therefore he song the murierly and loude.
715: Now have I toold you soothly, in a clause,
716: Th' estaat, th' array, the nombre, and eek the cause
717: Why that assembled was this compaignye
718: In southwerk at this gentil hostelrye
719: That highte the tabard, faste by the belle.
720: But now is tyme to yow for to telle
721: How that we baren us that ilke nyght,
722: Whan we were in that hostelrie alyght;
723: And after wol I telle of our viage
724: And al the remenaunt of oure pilgrimage.
725: But first I pray yow, of youre curteisye,
726: That ye n' arette it nat my vileynye,
727: Thogh that I pleynly speke in this mateere,
728: To telle yow hir wordes and hir cheere,
729: Ne thogh I speke hir wordes proprely.
730: For this ye knowen al so wel as I,
But well I know he lied in what he said;
A curse ought every guilty man to dread
(For curse can kill, as absolution save),
And 'ware significavit to the grave.
In his own power had he, and at ease,
The boys and girls of all the diocese,
And knew their secrets, and by counsel led.
A garland had he set upon his head,
Large as a tavern's wine-bush on a stake;
A buckler had he made of bread they bake.
THE PARDONER
With him there rode a gentle pardoner
Of Rouncival, his friend and his compeer;
Straight from the court of Rome had journeyed he.
Loudly he sang "Come hither, love, to me,"
The summoner joining with a burden round;
Was never horn of half so great a sound.
This pardoner had hair as yellow as wax,
But lank it hung as does a strike of flax;
In wisps hung down such locks as he'd on head,
And with them he his shoulders overspread;
But thin they dropped, and stringy, one by one.
But as to hood, for sport of it, he'd none,
Though it was packed in wallet all the while.
It seemed to him he went in latest style,
Dishevelled, save for cap, his head all bare.
As shiny eyes he had as has a hare.
He had a fine veronica sewed to cap.
His wallet lay before him in his lap,
Stuffed full of pardons brought from Rome all hot.
A voice he had that bleated like a goat.
No beard had he, nor ever should he have,
For smooth his face as he'd just had a shave;
I think he was a gelding or a mare.
But in his craft, from Berwick unto Ware,
Was no such pardoner in any place.
For in his bag he had a pillowcase
The which, he said, was Our True Lady's veil:
He said he had a piece of the very sail
That good Saint Peter had, what time he went
Upon the sea, till Jesus changed his bent.
He had a latten cross set full of stones,
And in a bottle had he some pig's bones.
But with these relics, when he came upon
Some simple parson, then this paragon
In that one day more money stood to gain
Than the poor dupe in two months could attain.
And thus, with flattery and suchlike japes,
He made the parson and the rest his apes.
But yet, to tell the whole truth at the last,
He was, in church, a fine ecclesiast.
Well could he read a lesson or a story,
But best of all he sang an offertory;
For well he knew that when that song was sung,
Then might he preach, and all with polished tongue.
To win some silver, as he right well could;
Therefore he sang so merrily and so loud.
PROLOGUE
Now have I told you briefly, in a clause,
The state, the array, the number, and the cause
Of the assembling of this company
In Southwark, at this noble hostelry
Known as the Tabard Inn, hard by the Bell.
But now the time is come wherein to tell
How all we bore ourselves that very night
When at the hostelry we did alight.
And afterward the story I engage
To tell you of our common pilgrimage.
But first, I pray you, of your courtesy,
You'll not ascribe it to vulgarity
Though I speak plainly of this matter here,
Retailing you their words and means of cheer;
Nor though I use their very terms, nor lie.
For this thing do you know as well as I:
731: Whoso shal telle a tale after a man,
732: He moot reherce as ny as evere he kan
733: Everich a word, if it be in his charge,
734: Al speke he never so rudeliche and large,
735: Or ellis he moot telle his tale untrewe,
736: Or feyne thyng, or fynde wordes newe.
737: He may nat spare, althogh he were his brother;
738: He moot as wel seye o word as another.
739: Crist spak hymself ful brode in hooly writ,
740: And wel ye woot no vileynye is it.
741: Eek plato seith, whoso that kan hym rede,
742: The wordes moote be cosyn to the dede.
743: Also I prey yow to foryeve it me,
744: Al have I nat set folk in hir degree
745: Heere in this tale, as that they sholde stonde.
746: My wit is short, ye may wel understonde.
747: Greet chiere made oure hoost us everichon,
748: And to the soper sette he us anon.
749: He served us with vitaille at the beste;
750: Strong was the wyn, and wel to drynke us leste.
751: A semely man oure hooste was withalle
752: For to han been a marchal in an halle.
753: A large man he was with eyen stepe -754: A fairer burgeys is ther noon in chepe -755: Boold of his speche, and wys, and wel ytaught,
756: And of manhod hym lakkede right naught.
757: Eek therto he was right a myrie man,
758: And after soper pleyen he bigan,
759: And spak of myrthe amonges othere thynges,
760: Whan that we hadde maad oure rekenynges,
761: And seyde thus: now, lordynges, trewely,
762: Ye been to me right welcome, hertely;
763: For by my trouthe, if that I shal nat lye,
764: I saugh nat this yeer so myrie a compaignye
765: Atones in this herberwe as is now.
766: Fayn wolde I doon yow myrthe, wiste I how.
767: And of a myrthe I am right now bythoght,
768: To doon yow ese, and it shal coste noght.
769: Ye goon to caunterbury -- God yow speede,
770: The blisful martir quite yow youre meede!
771: And wel I woot, as ye goon by the weye,
772: Ye shapen yow to talen and to pleye;
773: For trewely, confort ne myrthe is noon
774: To ride by the weye doumb as a stoon;
775: And therfore wol I maken yow disport,
776: As I seyde erst, and doon yow som confort.
777: And if yow liketh alle by oon assent
778: For to stonden at my juggement,
779: And for to werken as I shal yow seye,
780: To-morwe, whan ye riden by the weye,
781: Now, by my fader soule that is deed,
782: But ye be myrie, I wol yeve yow myn heed!
783: Hoold up youre hondes, withouten moore speche.
784: Oure conseil was nat longe for to seche.
785: Us thoughte it was noght worth to make it wys,
786: And graunted hym withouten moore avys,
787: And bad him seye his voirdit as hym leste.
788: Lordynges, quod he, now herkneth for the beste;
789: But taak it nought, I prey yow, in desdeyn.
790: This is the poynt, to speken short and pleyn,
791: That ech of yow, to shorte with oure weye,
792: In this viage shal telle tales tweye
793: To caunterbury-ward, I mene it so,
794: And homward he shal tellen othere two,
795: Of aventures that whilom han bifalle.
796: And which of yow that bereth hym best of alle,
797: That is to seyn, that telleth in this caas
798: Tales of best sentence and moost solaas,
799: Shal have a soper at oure aller cost
800: Heere in this place, sittynge by this post,
801: Whan that we come agayn fro caunterbury.
802: And for to make yow the moore mury,
803: I wol myselven goodly with yow ryde,
804: Right at myn owene cost, and be youre gyde,
When one repeats a tale told by a man,
He must report, as nearly as he can,
Every least word, if he remember it,
However rude it be, or how unfit;
Or else he may be telling what's untrue,
Embellishing and fictionizing too.
He may not spare, although it were his brother;
He must as well say one word as another.
Christ spoke right broadly out, in holy writ,
And, you know well, there's nothing low in it.
And Plato says, to those able to read:
"The word should be the cousin to the deed."
Also, I pray that you'll forgive it me
If I have not set folk, in their degree
Here in this tale, by rank as they should stand.
My wits are not the best, you'll understand.
Great cheer our host gave to us, every one,
And to the supper set us all anon;
And served us then with victuals of the best.
Strong was the wine and pleasant to each guest.
A seemly man our good host was, withal,
Fit to have been a marshal in some hall;
He was a large man, with protruding eyes,
As fine a burgher as in Cheapside lies;
Bold in his speech, and wise, and right well taught,
And as to manhood, lacking there in naught.
Also, he was a very merry man,
And after meat, at playing he began,
Speaking of mirth among some other things,
When all of us had paid our reckonings;
And saying thus: "Now masters, verily
You are all welcome here, and heartily:
For by my truth, and telling you no lie,
I have not seen, this year, a company
Here in this inn, fitter for sport than now.
Fain would I make you happy, knew I how.
And of a game have I this moment thought
To give you joy, and it shall cost you naught.
"You go to Canterbury; may God speed
And the blest martyr soon requite your meed.
And well I know, as you go on your way,
You'll tell good tales and shape yourselves to play;
For truly there's no mirth nor comfort, none,
Riding the roads as dumb as is a stone;
And therefore will I furnish you a sport,
As I just said, to give you some comfort.
And if you like it, all, by one assent,
And will be ruled by me, of my judgment,
And will so do as I'll proceed to say,
Tomorrow, when you ride upon your way,
Then, by my father's spirit, who is dead,
If you're not gay, I'll give you up my head.
Hold up your hands, nor more about it speak."
Our full assenting was not far to seek;
We thought there was no reason to think twice,
And granted him his way without advice,
And bade him tell his verdict just and wise,
"Masters," quoth he, "here now is my advice;
But take it not, I pray you, in disdain;
This is the point, to put it short and plain,
That each of you, beguiling the long day,
Shall tell two stories as you wend your way
To Canterbury town; and each of you
On coming home, shall tell another two,
All of adventures he has known befall.
And he who plays his part the best of all,
That is to say, who tells upon the road
Tales of best sense, in most amusing mode,
Shall have a supper at the others' cost
Here in this room and sitting by this post,
When we come back again from Canterbury.
And now, the more to warrant you'll be merry,
I will myself, and gladly, with you ride
At my own cost, and I will be your guide.
805: And whoso wole my juggement withseye
806: Shal paye al that we spenden by the weye.
807: And if ye vouche sauf that it be so,
808: Tel me anon, withouten wordes mo,
809: And I wol erly shape me therfore.
810: This thyng was graunted, and oure othes swore
811: With ful glad herte, and preyden hym also
812: That he wolde vouche sauf for to do so,
813: And that he wolde been oure governour,
814: And oure tales juge and reportour,
815: And sette a soper at a certeyn pris,
816: And we wol reuled been at his devys
817: In heigh and lough; and thus by oon assent
818: We been acorded to his juggement.
819: And therupon the wyn was fet anon;
820: We dronken, and to reste wente echon,
821: Withouten any lenger taryynge.
822: Amorwe, whan that day bigan to sprynge,
823: Up roos oure hoost, and was oure aller cok,
824: And gradrede us togidre alle in a flok,
825: And forth we riden a litel moore than paas
826: Unto the wateryng of seint thomas;
827: And there oure hoost bigan his hors areste
828: And seyde, lordynges, herkneth, if yow leste.
829: Ye woot youre foreward, and I it yow recorde.
830: If even-song and morwe-song accorde,
831: Lat se now who shal telle the firste tale.
832: As evere mote I drynke wyn or ale,
833: Whoso be rebel to my juggement
834: Shal paye for al that by the wey is spent.
835: Now draweth cut, er that we ferrer twynne;
836: He which that hath the shorteste shal bigynne.
837: Sire knyght, quod he, my mayster and my lord,
838: Now draweth cut, for that is myn accord.
839: Cometh neer, quod he, my lady prioresse.
840: And ye, sire clerk, lat be youre shamefastnesse,
841: Ne studieth noght; ley hond to, every man!
842: Anon to drawen every wight bigan,
843: And shortly for to tellen as it was,
844: Were it by aventure, or sort, or cas,
845: The sothe is this, the cut fil to the knyght,
846: Of which ful blithe and glad was every wyght,
847: And telle he moste his tale, as was resoun,
848: By foreward and by composicioun,
849: As ye han herd; what nedeth wordes mo?
850: And whan this goode man saugh that it was so,
851: As he that wys was and obedient
852: To kepe his foreward by his free assent,
853: He seyde, syn I shal bigynne the game,
854: What, welcome be the cut, a goddes name!
855: Now lat us ryde, and herkneth what I seye.
856: And with that word we ryden forth oure weye,
857: And he bigan with right a myrie cheere
858: His tale anon, and seyde as ye may heere.
2.
But whosoever shall my rule gainsay
Shall pay for all that's bought along the way.
And if you are agreed that it be so,
Tell me at once, or if not, tell me no,
And I will act accordingly. No more."
This thing was granted, and our oaths we swore,
With right glad hearts, and prayed of him, also,
That he would take the office, nor forgo
The place of governor of all of us,
Judging our tales; and by his wisdom thus
Arrange that supper at a certain price,
We to be ruled, each one, by his advice
In things both great and small; by one assent,
We stood committed to his government.
And thereupon, the wine was fetched anon;
We drank, and then to rest went every one,
And that without a longer tarrying.
Next morning, when the day began to spring,
Up rose our host, and acting as our cock,
He gathered us together in a flock,
And forth we rode, a jog-trot being the pace,
Until we reached Saint Thomas' watering-place.
And there our host pulled horse up to a walk,
And said: "Now, masters, listen while I talk.
You know what you agreed at set of sun.
If even-song and morning-song are one,
Let's here decide who first shall tell a tale.
And as I hope to drink more wine and ale,
Whoso proves rebel to my government
Shall pay for all that by the way is spent.
Come now, draw cuts, before we farther win,
And he that draws the shortest shall begin.
Sir knight," said he, "my master and my lord,
You shall draw first as you have pledged your word.
Come near," quoth he, "my lady prioress:
And you, sir clerk, put by your bashfulness,
Nor ponder more; out hands, flow, every man!"
At once to draw a cut each one began,
And, to make short the matter, as it was,
Whether by chance or whatsoever cause,
The truth is, that the cut fell to the knight,
At which right happy then was every wight.
Thus that his story first of all he'd tell,
According to the compact, it befell,
As you have heard. Why argue to and fro?
And when this good man saw that it was so,
Being a wise man and obedient
To plighted word, given by free assent,
He slid: "Since I must then begin the game,
Why, welcome be the cut, and in God's name!
Now let us ride, and hearken what I say."
And at that word we rode forth on our way;
And he began to speak, with right good cheer,
His tale anon, as it is written here.
William Langland: Piers Plowman (Prologue)
1: In a somer seson, whan softe was the sonne,
2: I shoop me into shroudes as I a sheep were,
3: In habite as an heremite unholy of werkes,
4: Wente wide in this world wondres to here.
5: Ac on a May morwenynge on Malverne hilles
6: Me bifel a ferly, of Fairye me thoghte.
7: I was wery forwandred and wente me to reste
8: Under a brood bank by a bourne syde;
9: And as I lay and lenede and loked on the watres,
10: I slombred into a slepyng, it sweyed so murye.
In a summer season · when soft was the sun,
I clothed myself in a cloak as I shepherd were,
Habit like a hermit's · unholy in works,
And went wide in the world · wonders to hear.
But on a May morning · on Malvern hills,
A marvel befell me · of fairy, methought.
I was weary with wandering · and went me to rest
Under a broad bank · by a brook's side,
And as I lay and leaned over · and looked into the
waters
11: Thanne gan I meten a merveillous swevene –
12: That I was in a wildernesse, wiste I nevere where.
13: A[c] as I biheeld into the eest an heigh to the sonne,
14: I seigh a tour on a toft trieliche ymaked,
15: A deep dale bynethe, a dongeon therinne,
16: With depe diches and derke and dredfulle of sighte.
17: A fair feeld ful of folk fond I ther bitwene –
18: Of alle manere of men, the meene and the riche,
19: Werchynge and wandrynge as the world asketh.
20: Somme putten hem to the plough, pleiden ful selde,
21: In settynge and sowynge swonken ful harde,
22: And wonnen that thise wastours with glotonye
destruyeth
23: And somme putten hem to pride, apparailed hem
therafter,
24: In contenaunce of clothynge comen disgised25: In preieres and penaunce putten hem manye,
26: Al for the love of Oure Lord lyveden ful streyte
27: In hope to have heveneriche blisse –
28: As ancres and heremites that holden hem in hire
selles,
29: Coveiten noght in contree to cairen aboute
30: For no likerous liflode hire likame to plese.
31: And somme chosen chaffare; they cheveden the bettre
–
32: As it semeth to oure sight that swiche men thryveth;
33: And somme murthes to make as mynstralles konne,
34: And geten gold with hire glee – [gilt]lees, I leeve35: Ac japeres and jangeleres, Judas children,
36: Feynen hem fantasies, and fooles hem maketh –
37: And han wit at wille to werken if they wolde.
38: That Poul precheth of hem I wol nat preve it here:
39: Qui loquitur turpiloquium is Luciferes hyne40: Bidderes and beggeres faste aboute yede
41: [Til] hire bely and hire bagge [were] bredful
ycrammed,
42: Faiteden for hire foode, foughten at the ale.
43: In glotonye, God woot, go thei to bedde,
44: And risen with ribaudie, tho Roberdes knaves;
45: Sleep and sory sleuthe seweth hem evere.
46: Pilgrymes and palmeres plighten hem togidere
47: For to seken Seint Jame and seintes at Rome;
48: Wenten forth in hire wey with many wise tales,
49: And hadden leve to lyen al hire lif after.
50: I seigh somme that seiden thei hadde ysought seintes:
51: To ech a tale that thei tolde hire tonge was tempred to
lye
52: Moore than to seye sooth, it semed bi hire speche.
53: Heremytes on an heep with hoked staves ,
54: Wenten to Walsyngham – and hire wenches after:
55: Grete lobies and longe that lothe were to swynke
56: Clothed hem in copes to ben knowen from othere,
57: And shopen hem heremytes hire ese to have.
58: I fond there freres, alle the foure ordres,
59: Prechynge the peple for profit of [the wombe]:
60: Glosed the gospel as hem good liked;
61: For coveitise of copes construwed it as thei wolde.
62: Manye of thise maistres mowe clothen hem at likyng
63: For hire moneie and hire marchaundise marchen
togideres.
64: Sith charite hath ben chapman and chief to shryve
lordes
I fell into a sleep · for it sounded so merry.
Then began I to dream · a marvellous dream,
That I was in a wilderness · wist I not where.
As I looked to the east · right into the sun,
I saw a tower on a toft · worthily built;
A deep dale beneath · a dungeon therein,
With deep ditches and dark · and dreadful of sight
A fair field full of folk · found I in between,
Of all manner of men · the rich and the poor,
Working and wandering · as the world asketh.
Some put them to plow · and played little enough,
At setting and sowing · they sweated right hard
And won that which wasters · by gluttony destroy.
Some put them to pride · and apparelled themselves
so
In a display of clothing · they came disguised.
To prayer and penance · put themselves many,
All for love of our Lord · living hard lives,
In hope for to have · heavenly bliss.
Such as anchorites and hermits · that kept them in
their cells,
And desired not the country · around to roam;
Nor with luxurious living · their body to please.
And some chose trade · they fared the better,
As it seemeth to our sight · that such men thrive.
And some to make mirth · as minstrels know how,
And get gold with their glees · guiltlessly, I hold.
But jesters and janglers · children of Judas,
Feigning their fancies · and making folk fools,
They have wit at will · to work, if they would;
Paul preacheth of them · I'll not prove it here -Qui turpiloquium loquitur · is Lucifer's hind.
Tramps and beggars · went quickly about,
Their bellies and their bags · with bread well
crammed;
Cadging for their food · fighting at ale;
In gluttony, God knows · going to bed,
And getting up with ribaldry · the thieving knaves!
Sleep and sorry sloth · ever pursue them.
Pilgrims and palmers · pledged them together
To seek Saint James · and saints in Rome.
They went forth on their way · with many wise tales,
And had leave to lie · all their life after -I saw some that said · they had sought saints:
Yet in each tale that they told · their tongue turned to
lies
More than to tell truth · it seemed by their speech.
Hermits, a heap of them · with hooked staves,
Were going to Walsingham · and their wenches too;
Big loafers and tall · that loth were to work,
Dressed up in capes · to be known from others;
And so clad as hermits · their ease to have.
I found there friars · of all the four orders,
Preaching to the people · for profit to themselves,
Explaining the Gospel · just as they liked,
To get clothes for themselves · they construed it as
they would.
Many of these master friars · may dress as they will,
For money and their preaching · both go together.
For since charity hath been chapman · and chief to
shrive lords,
Many miracles have happened · within a few years.
65: Manye ferlies han fallen in a fewe yeres.
66: But Holy Chirche and hii holde bettre togidres
67: The mooste meschief on molde is mountynge up faste.
68: Ther preched a pardoner as he a preest were:
69: Broughte forth a bulle with bisshopes seles,
70: And seide that hymself myghte assoillen hem alle
71: Of falshede of fastynge, of avowes ybroken. 72: Lewed men leved hym wel and liked hise wordes,
73: Comen up knelynge to kissen his bulle.
74: He bonched hem with his brevet and blered hire
eighen,
75: And raughte with his rageman rynges and broches.
76: – Thus ye gyven youre gold glotons to helpe,
77: And leneth it losels that leccherie haunten’
78: Were the bisshop yblessed and worth bothe his eris,
79: His seel sholde noght be sent to deceyve the peple.
80: Ac it is noght by the bisshop that the boy precheth –
81: For the parisshe preest and the pardoner parten the
silver
82: That the povere [peple] of the parissche sholde have if
they ne were.
83: Persons and parisshe preestes pleyned hem to the
bisshop
84: That hire parisshes weren povere sith the pestilence
tyme,
85: To have a licence and leve at London to dwelle,
86: And syngen ther for symonie, for silver is swete.
87: Bisshopes and bachelers, bothe maistres and doctours
–
88: That han cure under Crist, and crownynge in tokene
89: And signe that thei sholden shryven hire parisshens,
90: Prechen and praye for hem, and the povere fede –
91: Liggen at Londoun in Lenten and ellis.
92: Somme serven the King and his silver tellen,
93: In Cheker and in Chauncelrie chalangen his dettes
94: Of wardes and of wardemotes, weyves and streyves.
95: And somme serven as servaunts lordes and ladies,
96: And in stede of stywardes sitten and demen.
97: Hire messe and hire matyns and many of hire houres
98: Arn doone undevoutliche; drede is at the laste
99: Lest Crist in Consistorie acorse ful manye’
100: I parceyved of the power that Peter hadde to kepe –
101: To bynden and unbynden, as the Book telleth –
102: How he it lefte with love as Oure Lord highte
103: Amonges foure vertues, most vertuous of alle
vertues,
104: That cardinals ben called and closynge yates
105: There Crist is in kyngdom, to close and to shette,
106: And to opene it to hem and hevene blisse shewe.
107: Ac of the Cardinals at court that kaughte of that
name
108: And power presumed in hem a Pope to make
109: To han the power that Peter hadde. impugnen I nelle
–
110: For in love and in lettrure the eleccion bilongeth;
111: Forthi I kan and kan naught of court speke moore.
112: Thanne kam ther a Kyng: Knyghthod hym ladde;
113: Might of the communes made hym to regne.
114: And thanne cam Kynde Wit and clerkes he made,
115: For to counseillen the Kyng and the Commune save.
116: The Kyng and Knyghthod and Clergie bothe
117: Casten that the Commune sholde hem [communes]
Except Holy Church and they · agree better together,
Great mischief on earth · is mounting up fast.
There preached a pardoner · as if he priest were:
He brought forth a brief · with bishops' seals thereon,
And said that himself · might absolve them all
From falseness in fasting and of broken vows.
Laymen believed him · welcomed his words,
And came up on their knees · to kiss his seals;
He cozened them with his brevet · dimmed their
eyes,
And with his parchment · got his rings and brooches:
Thus they gave their gold · gluttons to keep.
And lend it to such louts · as follow lechery.
If the bishop were holy · and worth both his ears,
His seal should not be sent · to deceive the people.
But a word 'gainst bishop · the knave never
preacheth.
Parish priest and pardoner · share all the silver
That the parish poor would have · if he were not
there.
Parsons and parish priests · complained to the bishop
That their parishes were poor · since the pestilence
time,
And asked leave and licence · in London to dwell
And sing requiems for stipends · for silver is sweet.
Bishops and bachelors · both masters and doctors,
That have charge under Christ · and the tonsure as
token
And sign that they should · shrive their parishioners,
Preach and pray for them · and feed the poor,
These lodge in London in Lent · and at other times
too.
Some serve the king · and his silver count
In Chequer and Chancery courts · making claim for
his debts
Of wards and of wardmotes · waifs and estrays.
And some serve as servants · to lords and ladies,
And instead of stewards · sit in session to judge.
Their mass and their matins · their canonical hours,
Are said undevoutly · I fear at the last
Lest Christ in his council · accurse will full many.
I perceived of the power · that Peter had to keep,
To bind and to unbind · as the Book telleth,
How he left it with love · as our Lord ordained,
Amongst four virtues · the best of all virtues,
That cardinal are called · for they hinge the gates
Where Christ is in glory · to close and to shut
And to open it to them · and show heavenly bliss.
But of cardinals at Rome · that received that name
And power presumed in them · a pope to make,
That they have Peter's power · deny it I will not;
For to love and learning · that election belongeth,
Therefore I can, and yet cannot · of that court speak
more.
Then came there a king · with knighthood before
him,
The might of the commons · made him to reign;
Then came Mother-Wit · and he made wise clerks
For to counsel the king · and the commons save.
The king and the knighthood · the clergy as well,
Planned that the commons · should provide for
themselves.
fynde.
118: The Commune contreved of Kynde Wit craftes,
119: And for profit of al the peple plowmen ordeyned
120: To tilie and to travaille as trewe lif asketh.
121: The Kyng and the Commune and Kynde Wit the
thridde
122: Shopen lawe and leaute – eeh lif to knowe his
owene.
123: Thanne loked up a lunatik, a leene thyng withalle,
124: And knelynge to the Kyng clergially he seide,
125: ‘Crist kepe thee, sire Kyng, and thi kyngryche,
126: And lene thee lede thi lond so leaute thee lovye,
127: And for thi rightful rulyng be rewarded in hevene’’
128: And sithen in the eyr on heigh an aungel of hevene
129: Lowed to speke in Latyn – for lewed men ne koude
130: Jangle ne jugge that justifie hem sholde,
131: But suffren and serven – forthi seide the aungel:
132: ‘Sum Rex, sum Princeps’,-neutrum fortasse deinceps
‘
132: O qui iura regis Christi specialia regis,
132: Hoc quod agas melius – iustus es, esto pius ‘
135: Nudum ius a te vestiri vult pietate.
135: Qualia vis metere, talia grana sere:
135: Si ius nudatur, nudo de iure metatur;
135: Si seritur pietas, de pietate metas’.
136: Thanne greved hym a goliardeis, a gloton of wordes,
140: And to the aungel an heigh answerde after:
141: ‘Dum rex’ a ‘ regere’ dicatur nomen habere,
141: Nomen habet sine re nisi studet iura tenere’.
142: Thanne [c]an al the commune crye in vers of Latyn
143: To the Kynges counseil – construe whoso wolde –
143: ‘Precepta Regis sunt nobis vincula legis’’
144: With that ran ther a route of ratons at ones
145: And smale mees myd hem: mo than a thousand
146: Comen to a counseil for the commune profit;
147: For a cat of a court cam whan hym liked
150: And overleep hem lightliche and laughte hem at his
wille,
151: And pleide with hem perillousli and possed aboute.
152: ‘For doute of diverse dredes we dar noght wel loke’
153: And if we grucche of his gamen he wol greven us
alle –
154: Cracchen us or clawen us and in hise clouches holde.
155: That us lotheth the lif er he late us passe.
156: Mighte we with any wit his wille withstonde,
157: We myghte be lordes olofte and lyven at oure ese’.
158: A raton of renoun, moost renable of tonge,
159: Seide for a sovereyn [salve] to hem alle,
160: ‘I have yseyen segges’, quod he, ‘in the Cite of
Londoun
161: Beren beighes ful brighte abouten hire nekkes,
162: And somme colers of crafty work; uncoupled they
wenden
163: Bothe in wareyne and in waast where hem leve
liketh,
164: And outher while thei arn elliswhere, as I here telle.
165: Were ther a belle on hire beighe, by Jesus, as me
thynketh,
166: Men myghte witen wher thei wente and awey renne.
167: And right so’, quod that raton, ‘reson me sheweth
168: To bugge a belle of bras or of bright silver
169: And knytten it on a coler for oure commune profit
The commons contrived · of Mother-Wit crafts,
And for profit of all · they plowmen ordained
To till and travail · as true life asketh.
The king and the commons · and Mother-Wit too
Cause by law and loyalty · each man to know his
own.
Then looked up a lunatic · a lean thing withal,
And kneeling before the king well speaking said:
`Christ keep thee sir King · and thy kingdom,
And grant thee to rule the realm · so Loyalty may
love thee,
And for thy rightful ruling · be rewarded in heaven.'
Then in the air on high · an angel of heaven
Stooped and spoke in Latin · for simple men could
not
Discuss nor judge · that which should justify them,
But should suffer and serve · therefore said the
angel:
`Sum Rex, sum Princeps: neutram fortasse
deinceps;
O qui jura regis Christi specialia regis, hoc
quod agas melius Justus es,
esto pius!
Nudum jus a te vestiri vult pietate; qualia vis
metere talia grand sere.
Si jus nudatur nudo de jure metatur; si seritur
pietas de pietate
metas.'
Then an angry buffoon · a glutton of words,
To the angel on high · answered after:
`Dum rex a regere dicatur nomen habere,
Nomen habet sine re nisi studet jura tenere.'
Then began all the commons · to cry out in Latin,
For counsel of the king · construe how-so he would:
`Praecepta regis sunt nobis vincula legis.'
With that there ran a rout of rats at once,
And small mice with them · more than thousand,
And came to a council · for their common profit;
For a cat from the Court · came when he liked
And o'er leaped them lightly · and caught them at
will,
Played with them perilously · and pushed them
about.
`For dread of divers dangers · we dare not look
about;
If we grumble at his game · he will attack us all,
Scratch us or clutch us · and in his claws hold us,
So that we loathe life · ere he lets us go.
Could we with any wit · his will withstand
We might be lords above him · and live at our ease.'
A rat of renown · most ready of tongue
Said, as a sovereign · help to himself:
`I have seen men,' quoth he · `in the city of London
Bearing bright necklaces · about their necks,
Some with collars of skilful work · uncoupled they
wander
Both in warrens and wastes · wherever they like;
And otherwhile they are elsewhere · as I tell you.
Were there a bell on their collars · by Jesus, I think
Men might know where they went · and get out of
their way!
And right so,' quoth that rat · `reason me showeth
170: And hangen it upon the cattes hals – thanne here we
mowen
171: Wher he ryt or rest or rometh to pleye;
172: And if hym list for to laike, thanne loke we mowen
173: And peeren in his presence the while hym pleye
liketh,
174: And if hym wratheth, be war and his wey shonye’.
175: Al the route of ratons to this reson assented;
176: Ac tho the belle was ybrought and on the beighe
hanged
177: Ther ne was raton in al the route, for al the reaume of
France,
178: That dorste have bounden the belle aboute the cattes
nekke,
179: Ne hangen it aboute his hals al Engelond to wynne,
180: [Ac] helden hem unhardy and hir counseil feble,
181: And leten hire laboure lost and al hire longe studie.
182: A mous that muche good kouthe, as me tho thoughte,
183: Strook forth sternely and stood bifore hem alle,
184: And to the route of ratons reherced thise wordes:
185: ‘Though we hadde ykilled the cat, yet sholde ther
come another
186: To cracchen us and al oure kynde, though we cropen
under benches.
187: Forthi I counseille al the commune to late the cat
worthe,
188: And be we nevere so bolde the belle hym to shewe.
189: The while he caccheth conynges he coveiteth noght
oure caroyne,
190: But fedeth hym al with venyson; defame we hym
nevere.
191: For bettre is a litel los than a long sorwe:
192: The maze among us alle, theigh we mysse a
sherewe!
193: For I herde my sire seyn, is seven yeer ypassed,
194: ‘Ther the cat is a kitoun, the court is ful elenge’.
195: That witnesseth Holy Writ, whoso wole it rede –
196: Ve terre ubi puer rex est, &c.
197: For may no renk ther reste have for ratons by nyghte.
198: For many mennes malt we mees wolde destruye,
199: And also ye route of ratons rende mennes clothes,
200: Nere the cat of the court that kan you overlepe;
201: For hadde ye rattes youre [raik] ye kouthe noght rule
yowselve.
202: ‘I seye for me’, quod the mous, ‘ I se so muchel
after,
203: Shal nevere the cat ne the kiton by my counseil be
greved,
204: Ne carpynge of this coler that costed me nevere.
205: And though it costned me catel, biknowen it I nolde,
206: But suffren as hymself wolde [s]o doon as hym
liketh –
207: Coupled and uncoupled to cacche what thei mowe.
208: Forthi ech a wis wight I warne – wite wel his
owene!’
209: (What this metels bymeneth, ye men that ben murye,
210: Devyne ye – for I ne dar, by deere God in hevene)!
211: Yet hoved ther an hundred in howves of selk –
212: Sergeants, it semed, that serveden at the Barre,
213: Pleteden for penyes and pounded the lawe,
214: And noght for love of Oure Lord unlose hire lippes
ones.
To buy a brass bell · or one of bright silver
Make it fast to a collar · for our common profit,
And hang it on the cat's neck · then we may hear
When he romps or rests · or runneth to play.
And if he wants play · then we may look out
And appear in his presence · the while he play liketh,
And if he gets angry, · beware and shun all his
paths.'
All this rout of rats · to this plan assented.
But though the bell was bought · and on the collar
hanged,
There was not a rat in the rout · for all the realm of
France
That dare bind on the bell · about the cat's neck,
Nor hang it round her ears · all England to win;
They held themselves not bold · and their counsel
feeble,
Esteemed their labour as lost · and all their long
plotting.
A mouse that knew much more · as it seemed to me,
Ran forth determined · and stood before them all,
And to the rout of rats · rehearsed these words:
`Though we killed the cat · yet there would come
another,
To scratch us and all our kind · though we creep
under benches.
Therefore I counsel all the commons · to let the cat
be,
And be we never so bold · to show to him the bell;
For I heard my sire say · now seven years ago,
"When the cat is a kitten · the Court is right
wretched,"
As witnesseth Holy Writ · whoso will it read:
"Vae tibi, terra, cujus rex puer est."
No man can have rest there · for the rats by night;
While the cat catcheth conies · he covets not our
carrion,
But feeds himself on venison · may we never defame
him!
For better is a little loss · than a long sorrow;
He's the fear among us all · whereby we miss worse
things.
For many men's malt · we mice would destroy,
And the riot of rats · would rend men's clothes,
Were it not for that Court cat · that can leap in
among you;
For had ye rats your will · ye could not rule
yourselves.
As for me,' quoth the mouse · 'I see so much to come
That cat nor kitten never shall · by my counsel be
harmed,
Nor carping of this collar · that cost me nothing.
Though it had cost me full dear · I would not own to
it
But suffer him to live · and do just as he liketh:
Coupled and uncoupled · to catch what they can.
Therefore each wise wight I warn · to watch well his
own.'
What this dream meaneth · ye men that be merry,
Divine ye, for I never dare · by dear God in heaven!
There hovered an hundred · in caps of silk,
Serjeants they seemed · who practised at Bar,
215: Thow myghtest bettre meete myst on Malverne
Hilles
216: Than get a ‘mom’ of hire mouth til moneie be
shewed!
217: Barins and burgeises and bondemen als
218: I seigh in this assemblee, as ye shul here after;
219: Baksteres and brewesteres and bochiers manye,
220: Wollen webbesters and weveres of lynnen,
221: Taillours and tynkers and tollers in markettes,
222: Masons and mynours and many othere craftes:
223: Of alle kynne lybbynge laborers lopen forth somme224: As dykeres and delveres that doon hire dedes ille
225: And dryveth forth the longe day with ‘Dieu save
Dame Emme!’
226: Cokes and hire knaves cryden, ‘ Hote pies, hote!
227: Goode gees and grys! Go we dyne, go we!’
228: Taverners until hem tolden the same:
229: ‘Whit wyn of Oseye and wyn of Gascoigne,
230: Of the Ryn and of the Rochel, the roost to defie!’
231: – Al this I seigh slepyng, and sevene sythes more.
3.
Pleading the law · for pennies and pounds,
And never for love of our Lord · unloosing their lips.
You might better measure the mist · on the Malvern
hills,
Than get a sound out of their mouth · unless money
were showed.
Barons and burgesses · and bondmen also
I saw in this crowd · as you shall hear later.
Bakers and brewers · and butchers a-many,
Woollen-websters · and weavers of linen,
Tailors and tinkers · toll-takers in markets,
Masons and miners · and men of all crafts.
Of all kinds of labourers · there stood forth some;
Ditchers and diggers · that do their work ill
And spend all the day singing · `Dieu vous sauve,
dame Emme!'
Cooks and their knaves · cried 'Pies, hot pies!
Good pork and good goose! · Come, dine! Come,
dine!'
Taverners unto them · told the same tale:
`White wine of Alsace · red wine of Gascony,
Wine of the Rhine, of Rochelle · to help settle your meat!'
All this I saw sleeping · and seven times more.
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
Prologue
Prologue
SIÞEN þe sege and þe assaut watz sesed at Troye,
Þe bor3 brittened and brent to bronde3 and askez,
Þe tulk þat þe trammes of tresoun þer wro3t
Watz tried for his tricherie, þe trewest on erthe:
Hit watz Ennias þe athel, and his highe kynde,
Þat siþen depreced prouinces, and patrounes bicome
Welne3e of al þe wele in þe west iles.
Fro riche Romulus to Rome ricchis hym swyþe,
With gret bobbaunce þat bur3e he biges vpon fyrst,
And neuenes hit his aune nome, as hit now hat;
Tirius to Tuskan and teldes bigynnes,
Langaberde in Lumbardie lyftes vp homes,
And fer ouer þe French flod Felix Brutus
On mony bonkkes ful brode Bretayn he settez
wyth wynne,
Where werre and wrake and wonder
Bi syþez hatz wont þerinne,
And oft boþe blysse and blunder
Ful skete hatz skyfted synne.
The siege and assault having ceased at Troy
as its blazing battlements blackened to ash,
the man who had planned and plotted that treason
had trial enough for the truest traitor!
Then Aeneas the prince and his honored line
plundered provinces and held in their power
nearly all the wealth of the western isles.
Thus Romulus swiftly arriving at Rome
sets up that city and in swelling pride
gives it his name, the name it now bears;
and in Tuscany Tirius raises up towns,
and in Lombardy Langoberde settles the land,
and far past the French coast Felix Brutus
founds Britain on broad hills, and so bright hopes
begin,
where wonders, wars, misfortune
and troubled times have been,
where bliss and blind confusion
have come and gone again.
Ande quen þis Bretayn watz bigged bi þis burn rych,
Bolde bredden þerinne, baret þat lofden,
In mony turned tyme tene þat wro3ten.
Mo ferlyes on þis folde han fallen here oft
Þen in any oþer þat I wot, syn þat ilk tyme.
Bot of alle þat here bult, of Bretaygne kynges,
Ay watz Arthur þe hendest, as I haf herde telle.
From the founding of Britain by this brave prince,
bold men have bred there, burning for war,
stirring up turmoil through the turning years.
More wonders in the world have been witnessed here
than anywhere else from that age forward.
But of all who were crowned kings over Britain
the most honor was Arthur’s, as old tales tell.
So I mean to make known a marvel on earth,
an astonishing sight, as some men would call it,
Forþi an aunter in erde I attle to schawe,
Þat a selly in si3t summe men hit holden,
And an outtrage awenture of Arthurez wonderez.
If 3e wyl lysten þis laye bot on littel quile,
I schal telle hit as-tit, as I in toun herde,
with tonge,
As hit is stad and stoken
In stori stif and stronge,
With lel letteres loken,
In londe so hatz ben longe.
Book I: Christmas in Camelot
Þis kyng lay at Camylot vpon Krystmasse
With mony luflych lorde, ledez of þe best,
Rekenly of þe Rounde Table alle þo rich breþer,
With rych reuel ory3t and rechles merþes.
Þer tournayed tulkes by tymez ful mony,
Justed ful jolilé þise gentyle kni3tes,
Syþen kayred to þe court caroles to make.
For þer þe fest watz ilyche ful fiften dayes,
With alle þe mete and þe mirþe þat men couþe avyse;
Such glaum ande gle glorious to here,
Dere dyn vpon day, daunsyng on ny3tes,
Al watz hap vpon he3e in hallez and chambrez
With lordez and ladies, as leuest him þo3t.
With all þe wele of þe worlde þay woned þer samen,
Þe most kyd kny3tez vnder Krystes seluen,
And þe louelokkest ladies þat euer lif haden,
And he þe comlokest kyng þat þe court haldes;
For al watz þis fayre folk in her first age, on sille,
Þe hapnest vnder heuen,
Kyng hy3est mon of wylle;
Hit were now gret nye to neuen
So hardy a here on hille.
Wyle Nw 3er watz so 3ep þat hit watz nwe cummen,
Þat day doubble on þe dece watz þe douth serued.
Fro þe kyng watz cummen with kny3tes into þe halle,
Þe chauntré of þe chapel cheued to an ende,
Loude crye watz þer kest of clerkez and oþer,
Nowel nayted onewe, neuened ful ofte;
And syþen riche forth runnen to reche hondeselle,
3e3ed 3eres-3iftes on hi3, 3elde hem bi hond,
Debated busyly aboute þo giftes;
Ladies la3ed ful loude, þo3 þay lost haden,
And he þat wan watz not wrothe, þat may 3e wel trawe.
Alle þis mirþe þay maden to þe mete tyme;
When þay had waschen worþyly þay wenten to sete,
Þe best burne ay abof, as hit best semed,
Whene Guenore, ful gay, grayþed in þe myddes,
Dressed on þe dere des, dubbed al aboute,
Smal sendal bisides, a selure hir ouer
Of tryed tolouse, and tars tapites innoghe,
Þat were enbrawded and beten wyth þe best gemmes
Þat my3t be preued of prys wyth penyes to bye, in daye.
Þe comlokest to discrye
Þer glent with y3en gray,
A semloker þat euer he sy3e
Soth mo3t no mon say.
an extraordinary exploit among Arthur’s wonders.
Listen to this lay for a little while
and as townsmen tell it, so this tale will trip
along,
a story pinned in patterns
steadfast, steady, strong:
aligned in linking letters
as folk have loved so long.
Book I: Christmas in Camelot
One Christmas in Camelot King Arthur sat
at ease with his lords and loyal liegemen
arranged as brothers round the Round Table.
Their reckless jokes rang about that rich hall
till they turned from the table to the tournament field
and jousted like gentlemen with lances and laughs,
then trooped to court in a carolling crowd.
For the feast lasted a full fifteen days
of meals and merriment (as much as could fit.)
Such gay glee must gladden the ear –
by day what a din, and dancing by night!
The halls and chambers were heaped with happy
lords and ladies as high as you like!
There they were gathered with all the world’s goodness:
knights as kind as Christ himself,
ladies as lovely as ever have lived,
and the noblest king our nation has known.
They were yet in the pride, in the prime of their youth,
and filled
as full of heaven’s blessing
as the king had strength of will.
And mighty men surpassing
all were gathered on that hill.
While the year was as young as New Years can be
the dais was prepared for a double feast.
The king and his company came in together
when mass had been chanted; and the chapel emptied
as clergy and commons alike cried out,
”Noel! Noel!” again and again.
And the lords ran around loaded with parcels,
palms extended to pass out presents,
or crowded together comparing gifts.
The ladies laughed when they lost at a game
(that the winner was willing, you may well believe!)
Round they milled in a merry mob till the meal was ready,
washed themselves well, and walked to their places
(the best for the best on seats raised above.)
Then Guinevere moved gaily among them,
took her place on the dais, which was dearly adorned
with sides of fine silk and a canopied ceiling
of sheer stuff: and behind her shimmering tapestries from
far Tarsus,
embroidered, bedecked with bright gems
that the jewelers would pay a pretty price for
any day,
but the finest gem in the field of sight
looked back: her eyes were grey.
That a lovelier’s lived to delight
Bot Arthure wolde not ete til al were serued,
He watz so joly of his joyfnes, and sumquat childgered:
His lif liked hym ly3t, he louied þe lasse
Auþer to longe lye or to longe sitte,
So bisied him his 3onge blod and his brayn wylde.
And also an oþer maner meued him eke
Þat he þur3 nobelay had nomen, he wolde neuer ete
Vpon such a dere day er hym deuised were
Of sum auenturus þyng an vncouþe tale,
Of sum mayn meruayle, þat he my3t trawe,
Of alderes, of armes, of oþer auenturus,
Oþer sum segg hym biso3t of sum siker kny3t
To joyne wyth hym in iustyng, in jopardé to lay,
Lede, lif for lyf, leue vchon oþer,
As fortune wolde fulsun hom, þe fayrer to haue.
Þis watz þe kynges countenaunce where he in court were,
At vch farand fest among his fre meny in halle.
Þerfore of face so fere
He sti3tlez stif in stalle,
Ful 3ep in þat Nw 3ere
Much mirthe he mas withalle.
Thus þer stondes in stale þe stif kyng hisseluen,
Talkkande bifore þe hy3e table of trifles ful hende.
There gode Gawan watz grayþed Gwenore bisyde,
And Agrauayn a la dure mayn on þat oþer syde sittes,
Boþe þe kynges sistersunes and ful siker kni3tes;
Bischop Bawdewyn abof biginez þe table,
And Ywan, Vryn son, ette with hymseluen.
Þise were di3t on þe des and derworþly serued,
And siþen mony siker segge at þe sidbordez.
Þen þe first cors come with crakkyng of trumpes,
Wyth mony baner ful bry3t þat þerbi henged;
Nwe nakryn noyse with þe noble pipes,
Wylde werbles and wy3t wakned lote,
Þat mony hert ful hi3e hef at her towches.
Dayntés dryuen þerwyth of ful dere metes,
Foysoun of þe fresche, and on so fele disches
Þat pine to fynde þe place þe peple biforne
For to sette þe sylueren þat sere sewes halden on clothe.
Iche lede as he loued hymselue
Þer laght withouten loþe;
Ay two had disches twelue,
Good ber and bry3t wyn boþe.
Now wyl I of hor seruise say yow no more,
For vch wy3e may wel wit no wont þat þer were.
An oþer noyse ful newe ne3ed biliue,
Þat þe lude my3t haf leue liflode to cach;
For vneþe watz þe noyce not a whyle sesed,
And þe fyrst cource in þe court kyndely serued,
Þer hales in at þe halle dor an aghlich mayster,
On þe most on þe molde on mesure hyghe;
Fro þe swyre to þe swange so sware and so þik,
And his lyndes and his lymes so longe and so grete,
Half etayn in erde I hope þat he were,
Bot mon most I algate mynn hym to bene,
the gaze - is a lie, I’d say!
But Arthur would not eat till all were served.
He bubbled to the brim with boyish spirits:
liked his life light, and loathed the thought
of lazing for long or sitting still longer.
So his young blood boiled and his brain ran wild,
and in many ways moved him still more
as a point of honor never to eat
on a high holiday till he should have heard
a strange story of stirring adventures,
of mighty marvels to make the mind wonder,
of princes, prowess, or perilous deeds.
Or someone might come, seeking a knight
to join him in jousting, enjoying the risk
of laying their lives on the line like men
leaving to fortune the choice of her favor.
This was the king’s custom at court,
the practice he followed at pleasant feasts held
in his hall;
therefore with bold face
he stood there straight and tall.
As New Years proceeded apace
he meant to have mirth with them all.
So he stood there stock-still, a king standing tall,
talking of courtly trifles before the high table.
By Guinevere sat Gawain the Good,
and Agravaine of the Heavy Hand on the other side:
knights of great worth, and nephews to the king.
Baldwin, the bishop, was above, by the head,
with Ywain, Urien’s son, sitting across.
These sat at the dais and were served with due honor;
and many mighty men were seated on either side.
Then the first course came with a clamor of trumpets
whose banners billowed bright to the eye,
while kettledrums rolled and the cry of the pipes
wakened a wild, warbling music
whose touch made the heart tremble and skip.
Delicious dishes were rushed in, fine delicacies
fresh and plentiful, piled so high on so many platters
they had problems finding places to set down
their silver bowls of steaming soup: no spot
was clear.
Each lord dug in with pleasure,
and grabbed at what lay near:
twelve platters piled past measure,
bright wine, and foaming beer.
I need say no more how they served the food,
for what fool would fancy their feast was a famine?
But a new noise announced itself quickly enough
to grant the high lord leave to have dinner.
The music had finished but a moment before,
the first course just served, and set before the court,
when a horrible horseman hurtled through the doors,
his body as brawny as any can be,
so bull-necked, big-thighed, bulky and square,
so long-legged, large-limbed, looming so tall
I can hardly tell if he were half troll,
or merely as large as living man can be –
a handsome one too; as hearty a hulk as ever rode horse.
And þat þe myriest in his muckel þat my3t ride;
For of bak and of brest al were his bodi sturne,
Both his wombe and his wast were worthily smale,
And alle his fetures fol3ande, in forme þat he hade, ful
clene;
For wonder of his hwe men hade,
Set in his semblaunt sene;
He ferde as freke were fade,
And oueral enker-grene.
His back and chest were broad as a barrel,
but he slimmed at the waist, with a slender stomach,
and his face was well formed, with features sharp
and clean –
Men sat there gaping, gasping
at his strange, unearthly sheen,
as if a ghost were passing,
for every inch was green.
To þe gome he watz ful gayn.
He was got up in green from head to heel:
a tunic worn tight, tucked to his ribs;
and a rich cloak cast over it, covered inside
with a fine fur lining, fitted and sewn
with ermine trim that stood out in contrast
from his hair where his hood lay folded flat;
and handsome hose of the same green hue
which clung to his calves, with clustered spurs
of bright gold; beneath them striped embroidered silk
above his bare shanks, for he rode shoeless.
His clothes were all kindled with a clear light like
emeralds:
His belt buckles sparkled, and bright stones were set
in rich rows arranged up and down
himself and his saddle. Worked in the silk
were too many trifles to tell the half of:
embroidered birds, butterflies, and other things
in a gaudy glory of green and inlaid gold.
And the bit and bridle, the breastplate on the horse,
and all its tackle were trimmed with green enamel,
even the saddlestraps, the stirrups on which he stood,
and the bows of his saddle with its billowing skirts
which glimmered and glinted with green jewels.
The stallion that bore him was the best of its breed
it was plain,
a green horse great and strong,
that sidled, danced and strained,
but the bridle-braid led it along,
turning as it was trained.
Wel gay watz þis gome gered in grene,
And þe here of his hed of his hors swete.
Fayre fannand fax vmbefoldes his schulderes;
A much berd as a busk ouer his brest henges,
Þat wyth his hi3lich here þat of his hed reches
Watz euesed al vmbetorne abof his elbowes,
Þat half his armes þer-vnder were halched in þe wyse
Of a kyngez capados þat closes his swyre;
Þe mane of þat mayn hors much to hit lyke,
Wel cresped and cemmed, wyth knottes ful mony
Folden in wyth fildore aboute þe fayre grene,
Ay a herle of þe here, an oþer of golde;
Þe tayl and his toppyng twynnen of a sute,
And bounden boþe wyth a bande of a bry3t grene,
Dubbed wyth ful dere stonez, as þe dok lasted,
Syþen þrawen wyth a þwong a þwarle knot alofte,
Þer mony bellez ful bry3t of brende golde rungen.
Such a fole vpon folde, ne freke þat hym rydes,
Watz neuer sene in þat sale wyth sy3t er þat tyme, with
y3e.
He loked as layt so ly3t,
So sayd al þat hym sy3e;
Hit semed as no mon my3t
He was a fine fellow fitted in green –
And the hair on his head and his horse’s matched.
It fanned out freely enfolding his shoulders,
and his beard hung below as big as a bush,
all mixed with the marvelous mane on his head,
which was cut off in curls cascading to his elbows,
wrapping round the rest of him
like a king’s cape clasped to his neck.
And the mane of his mount was much the same,
but curled up and combed in crisp knots,
in braids of bright gold thread and brilliant green
criss-crossed hair by hair.
And the tossing tail was twin to the mane,
for both were bound with bright green ribbons,
strung to the end with long strands of precious stones,
and turned back tight in a twisted knot
bright with tinkling bells of burnished gold.
No such horse on hoof had been seen in that hall,
nor horseman half so strange as their eyes now held
in sight.
He looked a lightning flash,
they say: he seemed so bright;
and who would dare to clash
Ande al grayþed in grene þis gome and his wedes:
A strayte cote ful stre3t, þat stek on his sides,
A meré mantile abof, mensked withinne
With pelure pured apert, þe pane ful clene
With blyþe blaunner ful bry3t, and his hod boþe,
Þat watz la3t fro his lokkez and layde on his schulderes;
Heme wel-haled hose of þat same,
Þat spenet on his sparlyr, and clene spures vnder
Of bry3t golde, vpon silk bordes barred ful ryche,
And scholes vnder schankes þere þe schalk rides;
And alle his vesture uerayly watz clene verdure,
Boþe þe barres of his belt and oþer blyþe stones,
Þat were richely rayled in his aray clene
Aboutte hymself and his sadel, vpon silk werkez.
Þat were to tor for to telle of tryfles þe halue
Þat were enbrauded abof, wyth bryddes and fly3es,
With gay gaudi of grene, þe golde ay inmyddes.
Þe pendauntes of his payttrure, þe proude cropure,
His molaynes, and alle þe metail anamayld was þenne,
Þe steropes þat he stod on stayned of þe same,
And his arsounz al after and his aþel skyrtes,
Þat euer glemered and glent al of grene stones;
Þe fole þat he ferkkes on fyn of þat ilke, sertayn,
A grene hors gret and þikke,
A stede ful stif to strayne,
In brawden brydel quik–
Vnder his dynttez dry3e.
in melee with such might?
Wheþer hade he no helme ne hawbergh nauþer,
Ne no pysan ne no plate þat pented to armes,
Ne no schafte ne no schelde to schwue ne to smyte,
Bot in his on honde he hade a holyn bobbe,
Yet he had on no hauberk, nor a helmet for his head,
neither neck-guard nor breastplate to break heavy blows,
neither shaft nor shield for the shock of combat.
But he held in one hand a sprig of holly
that bursts out greenest when branches are bare;
and his other hand hefted a huge and awful ax,
a broad battleax with a bit to tell (take it who can)
with a large head four feet long:
the green steel down the grain etched with gold,
its broad edge burnished and bright,
shaped razor-sharp to sheer through steel,
and held high on a heavy staff
which was bound at the base with iron bands
gracefully engraved in bright green patterns.
A strap was strung through the steel head, running
loop after loop down the length of the handle,
which was tied with tassels in abundance, attaching
by rich braids onto bright green buttons.
This rider reined in as he rode through the doors
direct to the high dais without a word,
giving no greeting, gazing down on them all.
His first word came when he stopped. “Where,” he said,
”is the master of these men? I’ve a mind to see
his face and would fancy a chat with the fellow who
wears
the crown.”
To each lord he turned
and glancing up and down
he fixed each face to learn
which knight held most renown.
Þat is grattest in grene when greuez ar bare,
And an ax in his oþer, a hoge and vnmete,
A spetos sparþe to expoun in spelle, quoso my3t.
Þe lenkþe of an eln3erde þe large hede hade,
Þe grayn al of grene stele and of golde hewen,
Þe bit burnyst bry3t, with a brod egge
As wel schapen to schere as scharp rasores,
Þe stele of a stif staf þe sturne hit bi grypte,
Þat watz wounden wyth yrn to þe wandez ende,
And al bigrauen with grene in gracios werkes;
A lace lapped aboute, þat louked at þe hede,
And so after þe halme halched ful ofte,
Wyth tryed tasselez þerto tacched innoghe
On botounz of þe bry3t grene brayden ful ryche.
Þis haþel heldez hym in and þe halle entres,
Driuande to þe he3e dece, dut he no woþe,
Haylsed he neuer one, bot he3e he ouer loked.
Þe fyrst word þat he warp, ‘Wher is’, he sayd,
’Þe gouernour of þis gyng? Gladly I wolde
Se þat segg in sy3t, and with hymself speke raysoun.’
To kny3tez he kest his y3e,
And reled hym vp and doun;
He stemmed, and con studie
Quo walt þer most renoun.
Ther watz lokyng on lenþe þe lude to beholde,
For vch mon had meruayle quat hit mene my3t
Þat a haþel and a horse my3t such a hwe lach,
As growe grene as þe gres and grener hit semed,
Þen grene aumayl on golde glowande bry3ter.
Al studied þat þer stod, and stalked hym nerre
Wyth al þe wonder of þe worlde what he worch schulde.
For fele sellyez had þay sen, bot such neuer are;
Forþi for fantoum and fayry3e þe folk þere hit demed.
Þerfore to answare watz ar3e mony aþel freke,
And al stouned at his steuen and stonstil seten
In a swoghe sylence þur3 þe sale riche;
As al were slypped vpon slepe so slaked hor lotez in
hy3e–
I deme hit not al for doute,
Bot sum for cortaysye–
Bot let hym þat al schulde loute
Cast vnto þat wy3e.
Þenn Arþour bifore þe hi3 dece þat auenture byholdez,
And rekenly hym reuerenced, for rad was he neuer,
And sayde, ‘Wy3e, welcum iwys to þis place,
Þe hede of þis ostel Arthour I hat;
Li3t luflych adoun and lenge, I þe praye,
And quat-so þy wylle is we schal wyt after.’
’Nay, as help me,’ quoþ þe haþel, ‘he þat on hy3e syttes,
To wone any quyle in þis won, hit watz not myn ernde;
Bot for þe los of þe, lede, is lyft vp so hy3e,
They stared at the stranger, stunned, a very long time.
For each man wondered what it might mean
that man and mount both shone a shade
as green as the grass, and greener even
than green enamel glows when gold makes it brighter.
All eyes were on him, and some edged closer,
wondering what in the world he would do.
They had seen enough strange sights to know how seldom
they are real;
therefore they feared him for a phantom, a sending from
the Unseen Realm.
So of all those noble knights, none dared answer
but sat there stupefied by the strength of his voice.
A silence fell filling that rich hall as if they’d all fainted
or suddenly slept: their voices just vanished
at their height.
Some, I suppose, were not floored,
but chose to be polite,
letting their leader and lord
be first to speak to that knight.
Arthur stood watching adventure advance
and answered quickly as honor bid, neither awed nor
afraid,
saying, “Wanderer, know you are welcome here.
dismount, if you may; make merry as you wish,
and we may learn in a little while what you would like.”
”So help me God who sits on high,” he said, “No.”
”It is not my purpose to pass any time in this place.
And þy bur3 and þy burnes best ar holden,
Stifest vnder stel-gere on stedes to ryde,
Þe wy3test and þe worþyest of þe worldes kynde,
Preue for to play wyth in oþer pure laykez,
And here is kydde cortaysye, as I haf herd carp,
And þat hatz wayned me hider, iwyis, at þis tyme.
3e may be seker bi þis braunch þat I bere here
Þat I passe as in pes, and no ply3t seche;
For had I founded in fere in fe3tyng wyse,
I haue a hauberghe at home and a helme boþe,
A schelde and a scharp spere, schinande bry3t,
Ande oþer weppenes to welde, I wene wel, als;
Bot for I wolde no were, my wedez ar softer.
Bot if þou be so bold as alle burnez tellen,
Þou wyl grant me godly þe gomen þat I ask
bi ry3t.’
Arthour con onsware,
And sayd, ‘Sir cortays kny3t,
If þou craue batayl bare,
Here faylez þou not to fy3t.’
But I have been told that your reputation towers to
heaven:
that your court and castle are accounted the finest,
your knights and their steeds as the sturdiest in steel,
the best, the boldest, the bravest on earth,
and as fitting foes in any fine sport.
True knighthood is known here, or so the tale runs,
which is why I have come calling today.
You may be sure by this branch that I bear
that I come in peace, with no plans for battle.
I have a hauberk at home, and a helmet too,
and other weapons I know well how to wield.
Yet as war is not my wish I am wearing soft silk,
but, if you are as bold as men believe you to be,
you will be glad to grant me the game that is mine
by right.”
Then Arthur said, “I swear,”
”most courteous, noble knight,
if you’d like to battle bare,
you’ll not fail to find a fight.”
’Nay, frayst I no fy3t, in fayth I þe telle,
Hit arn aboute on þis bench bot berdlez chylder.
If I were hasped in armes on a he3e stede,
Here is no mon me to mach, for my3tez so wayke.
Forþy I craue in þis court a Crystemas gomen,
For hit is 3ol and Nwe 3er, and here ar 3ep mony:
If any so hardy in þis hous holdez hymseluen,
Be so bolde in his blod, brayn in hys hede,
Þat dar stifly strike a strok for an oþer,
I schal gif hym of my gyft þys giserne ryche,
Þis ax, þat is heué innogh, to hondele as hym lykes,
”Never fear,” he said, “I’m not fishing for a fight
with the beardless children on the benches all about.
If I were strapped on steel on a sturdy horse
no man here has might to match me.
No, I have come to this court for a bit of Christmas fun
fitting for Yuletide and New Years with such a fine
crowd.
Who here in this house thinks he has what it takes,
has bold blood and a brash head,
and dares to stand his ground, giving stroke for stroke?
Here! I shall give him this gilded blade as my gift;
this heavy ax shall be his, to handle as he likes.
and I shall stand here bare of armor, and brave the first
blow.
If anyone’s tough enough to try out my game,
let him come here quickly and claim his weapon!
I give up all rights; he will get it for keeps.
I’ll stand like a tree trunk – he can strike at me once,
if you’ll grant me the right to give as good as I get
in play.
But later is soon enough,
a full year and a day.
Get up, if you think you’re rough,
let’s see what you dare to say!”
And I schal bide þe fyrst bur as bare as I sitte.
If any freke be so felle to fonde þat I telle,
Lepe ly3tly me to, and lach þis weppen,
I quit-clayme hit for euer, kepe hit as his auen,
And I schal stonde hym a strok, stif on þis flet,
Ellez þou wyl di3t me þe dom to dele hym an oþer barlay,
And 3et gif hym respite,
A twelmonyth and a day;
Now hy3e, and let se tite
Dar any herinne o3t say.’
If he hem stowned vpon fyrst, stiller were þanne
Alle þe heredmen in halle, þe hy3 and þe lo3e.
Þe renk on his rouncé hym ruched in his sadel,
And runischly his rede y3en he reled aboute,
Bende his bresed bro3ez, blycande grene,
Wayued his berde for to wayte quo-so wolde ryse.
When non wolde kepe hym with carp he co3ed ful hy3e,
Ande rimed hym ful richly, and ry3t hym to speke:
’What, is þis Arthures hous,’ quoþ þe haþel þenne,
’Þat al þe rous rennes of þur3 ryalmes so mony?
Where is now your sourquydrye and your conquestes,
Your gryndellayk and your greme, and your grete
wordes?
Now is þe reuel and þe renoun of þe Rounde Table
Ouerwalt wyth a worde of on wy3es speche,
For al dares for drede withoute dynt schewed!’
Wyth þis he la3es so loude þat þe lorde greued;
If at first he had stunned them, now they sat stone-still:
the whole hall, both high and low.
The mounted man moved in his saddle,
glared a red glance grimly about,
arched his bushy brows, all brilliant and green,
his beard waving as he waited for one man to rise,
to call or came forward. He coughed loudly,
stretched slowly, and straightened to speak.
”Hah! They call this King Arthur’s house,
a living legend in land after land?
Where have your pride and your power gone,
your bragging boasts, your big words?
The glories and triumphs of the Round Table
have toppled at the touch of one man’s words!
What? Fainting with fear, when no fight is offered?”
He let out a laugh so loud that Arthur winced
Þe blod schot for scham into his schyre face
and lere;
He wex as wroth as wynde,
So did alle þat þer were.
Þe kyng as kene bi kynde
Þen stod þat stif mon nere,
Ande sayde, ‘Haþel, by heuen, þyn askyng is nys,
And as þou foly hatz frayst, fynde þe behoues.
I know no gome þat is gast of þy grete wordes;
Gif me now þy geserne, vpon Godez halue,
And I schal bayþen þy bone þat þou boden habbes.’
Ly3tly lepez he hym to, and la3t at his honde.
Þen feersly þat oþer freke vpon fote ly3tis.
Now hatz Arthure his axe, and þe halme grypez,
And sturnely sturez hit aboute, þat stryke wyth hit þo3t.
Þe stif mon hym bifore stod vpon hy3t,
Herre þen ani in þe hous by þe hede and more.
Wyth sturne schere þer he stod he stroked his berde,
And wyth a countenaunce dry3e he dro3 doun his cote,
No more mate ne dismayd for hys mayn dintez
Þen any burne vpon bench hade bro3t hym to drynk of
wyne.
Gawan, þat sate bi þe quene,
To þe kyng he can enclyne:
’I beseche now with sa3ez sene
Þis melly mot be myne.
’Wolde 3e, worþilych lorde,’ quoþ Wawan to þe kyng,
’Bid me bo3e fro þis benche, and stonde by yow þere,
Þat I wythoute vylanye my3t voyde þis table,
And þat my legge lady lyked not ille,
I wolde com to your counseyl bifore your cort ryche.
For me þink hit not semly, as hit is soþ knawen,
Þer such an askyng is heuened so hy3e in your sale,
Þa3 3e 3ourself be talenttyf, to take hit to yourseluen,
Whil mony so bolde yow aboute vpon bench sytten,
Þat vnder heuen I hope non ha3erer of wylle,
Ne better bodyes on bent þer baret is rered.
I am þe wakkest, I wot, and of wyt feblest,
And lest lur of my lyf, quo laytes þe soþe–
Bot for as much as 3e ar myn em I am only to prayse,
No bounté bot your blod I in my bodé knowe;
And syþen þis note is so nys þat no3t hit yow falles,
And I haue frayned hit at yow fyrst, foldez hit to me;
And if I carp not comlyly, let alle þis cort rych bout
blame.’
Ryche togeder con roun,
And syþen þay redden alle same
To ryd þe kyng wyth croun,
And gif Gawan þe game.
Þen comaunded þe kyng þe kny3t for to ryse;
And he ful radly vpros, and ruchched hym fayre,
Kneled doun bifore þe kyng, and cachez þat weppen;
And he luflyly hit hym laft, and lyfte vp his honde,
And gef hym Goddez blessyng, and gladly hym biddes
Þat his hert and his honde schulde hardi be boþe.
’Kepe þe, cosyn,’ quoþ þe kyng, ‘þat þou on kyrf sette,
And if þou redez hym ry3t, redly I trowe
with shame; the blood shot to his flushed face
and churned
with rage and raised a storm
until their hearts all burned.
All king in face and form,
he reached that rider, turned,
and said, “Look here, by heaven! Have you lost your
mind?
If you want to be mad, I will make you welcome!
Nobody I know is bowled over by your big words,
so help me God! Hand me that ax –
I will grant you the gift you beg me to give!”
He leaped lightly up and lifted it from his hand.
Then the man dismounted, moving proudly,
while Arthur held the ax, both hands on the haft,
hefted it sternly, considered his stroke.
That burly man bulked big and tall,
a head higher than anyone in the house.
He stood there hard-faced, stroking his beard,
impassively watching as he pulled off his coat,
no more moved or dismayed by his mighty swings
than anybody would be if somebody brought him a bottle
of wine.
Gawain, sitting by the queen,
could tell the king his mind:
”Lord, hear well what I mean,
and let this match be mine.”
”Grant leave, good lord,” said Gawain to the king,
”to stir from my seat and stand by your side;
that I might rise without rudeness from this table
without fear of offending your fair queen,
and come before your court as a counselor should.
It is plainly improper, as people know well,
to point this proposal at the prince himself.
Though you may be eager to act for yourself,
there are so many bold knights on the benches all about,
none more masterful in mind maybe than move move
under heaven,
nor many built better for the field of battle.
Of all your men of war I am the weakest and least wise,
and my life little enough to lose, if you look at it clearly.
My only honor is that you are my uncle;
my only boast is that my body carries your blood.
Since this whole matter is such a mockery, it is not meant
for you;
and I am first on the field: let this folly be mine.
If my claim is uncalled-for let the court judge; I will bear
the blame.”
They huddled hushed around
and all advised the same:
respect the royal crown,
and give Gawain the game.
Then the king commanded him to rise and come forward,
and he stood quickly, walked with stately steps
to kneel before the king and claim his weapon.
Arthur handed it over and held up his hand
to give him God’s blessing. With a glad smile
he charged him to be hardy in heart.
”Cousin, careful,” he said, “cut him but once.
Þat þou schal byden þe bur þat he schal bede after.’
Gawan gotz to þe gome with giserne in honde,
And he baldly hym bydez, he bayst neuer þe helder.
Þen carppez to Sir Gawan þe kny3t in þe grene,
’Refourme we oure forwardes, er we fyrre passe.
Fyrst I eþe þe, haþel, how þat þou hattes
Þat þou me telle truly, as I tryst may.’
’In god fayth,’ quoþ þe goode kny3t, ‘Gawan I hatte,
Þat bede þe þis buffet, quat-so bifallez after,
And at þis tyme twelmonyth take at þe an oþer
Wyth what weppen so þou wylt, and wyth no wy3 ellez
on lyue.’
Þat oþer onswarez agayn,
’Sir Gawan, so mot I þryue
As I am ferly fayn
Þis dint þat þou schal dryue.
’Bigog,’ quoþ þe grene kny3t, ‘Sir Gawan, me lykes
Þat I schal fange at þy fust þat I haf frayst here.
And þou hatz redily rehersed, bi resoun ful trwe,
Clanly al þe couenaunt þat I þe kynge asked,
Saf þat þou schal siker me, segge, bi þi trawþe,
Þat þou schal seche me þiself, where-so þou hopes
I may be funde vpon folde, and foch þe such wages
As þou deles me to-day bifore þis douþe ryche.’
’Where schulde I wale þe,’ quoþ Gauan, ‘where is þy
place?
I wot neuer where þou wonyes, bi hym þat me wro3t,
Ne I know not þe, kny3t, by cort ne þi name.
Bot teche me truly þerto, and telle me how þou hattes,
And I schal ware alle my wyt to wynne me þeder,
And þat I swere þe for soþe, and by my seker traweþ.’
’Þat is innogh in Nwe 3er, hit nedes no more’,
Quoþ þe gome in þe grene to Gawan þe hende;
’3if I þe telle trwly, quen I þe tape haue
And þou me smoþely hatz smyten, smartly I þe teche
Of my hous and my home and myn owen nome,
Þen may þou frayst my fare and forwardez holde;
And if I spende no speche, þenne spedez þou þe better,
For þou may leng in þy londe and layt no fyrre–bot
slokes!
Ta now þy grymme tole to þe,
And let se how þou cnokez.’
’Gladly, sir, for soþe’,
Quoþ Gawan; his ax he strokes.
Þe grene kny3t vpon grounde grayþely hym dresses,
A littel lut with þe hede, þe lere he discouerez,
His longe louelych lokkez he layd ouer his croun,
Let þe naked nec to þe note schewe.
Gauan gripped to his ax, and gederes hit on hy3t,
Þe kay fot on þe folde he before sette,
Let him doun ly3tly ly3t on þe naked,
Þat þe scharp of þe schalk schyndered þe bones,
And schrank þur3 þe schyire grece, and schade hit in
twynne,
Þat þe bit of þe broun stel bot on þe grounde.
and if you teach him truly, I trust you will find
you can bear the blow that he brings you later.”
Gawain went to the warrior, weapon in hand,
not the least bit bashful, as bold as can be.
Then the Green Knight said to Gawain,
”We should go over our agreement before we begin.
First, knight, I would know your name,
told truly as one I can trust.”
”My name is Gawain,” he said, “I give it in good faith,
as I will give you a blow and bear what comes after.
At this time in twelve months I will take a blow back
from what weapon you wish, but from no other knight
alive.”
The other answering spoke,
”Sir Gawain: good. I derive
great pleasure from the stroke
your hardy hands will drive.”
”Gad!” the Green Knight said. “Sir Gawain, I am glad
that your fist will fetch me the fun I hoped to find.
You have quickly retold in trustworthy words
a correct account of the contract I asked of the king,
save one stipulation that I must state: let it stand as your
oath
that you will seek me yourself, and search anywhere
you feel I may be found to fetch back the same wages
I am paid today before this proud court.”
”Where should I look?” Gawain asked, “Where do you
live?”
”By Him that made me, your house is not known to me,
neither do I know you, knight, nor your court nor your
name.
But teach me truly, tell me where to find you
and I shall work my wits out to win my way there.
I give my plain promise; I pledge you my word.”
”That is enough for a New Year’s pledge; you need say
no more,”
– So the green man answered gracious Gawain –
”If I’m telling the truth, why, when I’ve taken your tap,
and you’ve lopped me lovingly, you’ll learn at once
of my house and my home and how I am named.
Then you can try my hospitality and be true to our
compact.
Or I’ll have no words to waste, which would be well for
you:
you’d relax in this land, and not look for me further.
But stop!
Take up the grim tool you need,
and show me how you chop.”
”Gladly, sir,” he said, “Indeed,”
and gave the ax a strop.
The green knight got ready, feet firm on the ground;
leaned his head a little to let the cheek show,
and raised the rich riot of his hair
so the nape of his neck was naked and exposed.
Gawain held the ax high overhead,
his left foot set before him on the floor,
swung swiftly at the soft flesh
so the bit of the blade broke through the bones,
crashed through the clear fat and cut it in two,
and the brightly burnished edge bit into the earth.
Þe fayre hede fro þe halce hit to þe erþe,
Þat fele hit foyned wyth her fete, þere hit forth roled;
Þe blod brayd fro þe body, þat blykked on þe grene;
And nawþer faltered ne fel þe freke neuer þe helder,
Bot styþly he start forth vpon styf schonkes,
And runyschly he ra3t out, þere as renkkez stoden,
La3t to his lufly hed, and lyft hit vp sone;
And syþen bo3ez to his blonk, þe brydel he cachchez,
Steppez into stelbawe and strydez alofte,
And his hede by þe here in his honde haldez;
And as sadly þe segge hym in his sadel sette
As non vnhap had hym ayled, þa3 hedlez he were
in stedde.
He brayde his bulk aboute,
Þat vgly bodi þat bledde;
Moni on of hym had doute,
Bi þat his resounz were redde.
For þe hede in his honde he haldez vp euen,
Toward þe derrest on þe dece he dressez þe face,
And hit lyfte vp þe y3e-lyddez and loked ful brode,
And meled þus much with his muthe, as 3e may now
here:
’Loke, Gawan, þou be grayþe to go as þou hettez,
And layte as lelly til þou me, lude, fynde,
As þou hatz hette in þis halle, herande þise kny3tes;
To þe grene chapel þou chose, I charge þe, to fotte
Such a dunt as þou hatz dalt–disserued þou habbez
To be 3ederly 3olden on Nw 3eres morn.
Þe kny3t of þe grene chapel men knowen me mony;
Forþi me for to fynde if þou fraystez, faylez þou neuer.
Þerfore com, oþer recreaunt be calde þe behoues.’
With a runisch rout þe raynez he tornez,
Halled out at þe hal dor, his hed in his hande,
Þat þe fyr of þe flynt fla3e fro fole houes.
To quat kyth he becom knwe non þere,
Neuer more þen þay wyste from queþen he watz wonnen.
What þenne?
Þe kyng and Gawen þare
At þat grene þay la3e and grenne,
3et breued watz hit ful bare
A meruayl among þo menne.
Þa3 Arþer þe hende kyng at hert hade wonder,
He let no semblaunt be sene, bot sayde ful hy3e.
To þe comlych quene wyth cortays speche,
’Dere dame, to-day demay yow neuer;
Wel bycommes such craft vpon Cristmasse,
Laykyng of enterludez, to la3e and to syng,
Among þise kynde caroles of kny3tez and ladyez.
Neuer þe lece to my mete I may me wel dres,
For I haf sen a selly, I may not forsake.’
He glent vpon Sir Gawen, and gaynly he sayde,
’Now, sir, heng vp þyn ax, þat hatz innogh hewen’;
And hit watz don abof þe dece on doser to henge,
Þer alle men for meruayl my3t on hit loke,
And bi trwe tytel þerof to telle þe wonder.
Þenne þay bo3ed to a borde þise burnes togeder,
Þe kyng and þe gode kny3t, and kene men hem serued
The handsome head fell, hit the ground,
and rolled forward; they fended it off with their feet.
The red blood burst bright from the green body,
yet the fellow neither faltered nor fell
but stepped strongly out on sturdy thighs,
reached roughly right through their legs,
grabbed his graceful head and lifted it from the ground,
ran to his horse, caught hold of the reins,
stepped in the stirrup, strode into the saddle,
the head dangling by the hair from his hand,
and seated himself as firmly in the saddle
as if he were unhurt, though he sat on his horse without
a head.
He swiveled his bulk about;
the ugly stump still bled.
They gaped in fear and doubt
because of the words he said.
For he held the head up evenly in his hand,
turned the face toward the top of the high table,
and the eyelids lifted and looked on them all
while the mouth moved, making these words:
”Gawain, get ready to go as you have promised,
Seek me out, sir; search till you find me
as sworn here in this hall where all these knights heard.
I charge you, come as you chose to the Green Chapel to
get
as good as you gave – you’ve got it coming
and will be paid promptly when another year has passed.
Many men know me as the Knight of the Green Chapel,
so search faithfully and you’ll not fail to find me.
Come, or be called a faithless coward!”
He roared like a raging bull, turned the reins,
and drove for the door, still dangling the head,
while fire flashed from the horse’s feet as if its hooves
were flints.
Where he went no one knew,
nor could they name the country he came from nor his
kin.
What then?
The king and Gawain grinned
and laughed at the Green Knight when
they knew full well it had been
a portent to their men.
Though High King Arthur’s heart was heavy with wonder
he let no sign of it be seen, but said aloud
with a king’s courtesy to his lovely queen:
”Beloved lady, never let this dismay you.
It is good to get such games at Christmas,
light interludes, laughter and song,
or the whole court singing carols in chorus.
But truly, I can turn now to my table and feast;
as my word is good, I have witnessed a wonder.”
He turned to Sir Gawain and tactfully said,
”Hang up your ax; it has cut all it can.”
It was attached to a tapestry above the high table
for all men to marvel on who might see it there,
as a true token of a tale of wonder.
Then they sat in their seats to resume their feast,
Gawain and the king together, while good men served
them
Of alle dayntyez double, as derrest my3t falle;
Wyth alle maner of mete and mynstralcie boþe,
Wyth wele walt þay þat day, til worþed an ende
in londe.
Now þenk wel, Sir Gawan,
For woþe þat þou ne wonde
Þis auenture for to frayn
Þat þou hatz tan on honde.
4.
the rarest, dearest delicacies in double portions,
with whole batteries of the best foods, and the singing of
bards.
The day finished, and their feast was filled with joy
and zest.
Sir Gawain, have a care
to keep your courage for the test,
and do the deed you’ve dared.
You’ve begun: now brave the rest.
John Gower Confessio Amantis (Prologue)
Of hem that writen ous tofore
The bokes duelle, and we therfore
Ben tawht of that was write tho:
Forthi good is that we also
In oure tyme among ous hiere
Do wryte of newe som matiere,
Essampled of these olde wyse
So that it myhte in such a wyse,
Whan we ben dede and elleswhere,
Beleve to the worldes eere
In tyme comende after this.
Bot for men sein, and soth it is,
That who that al of wisdom writ
It dulleth ofte a mannes wit
To him that schal it aldai rede,
For thilke cause, if that ye rede,
I wolde go the middel weie
And wryte a bok betwen the tweie,
Somwhat of lust, somewhat of lore,
That of the lasse or of the more
Som man mai lyke of that I wryte:
And for that fewe men endite
In oure englissh, I thenke make
A bok for king Richardes sake,
To whom belongeth my ligeance
With al myn hertes obeissance
In al that evere a liege man
Unto his king may doon or can:
So ferforth I me recomande
To him which al me may comande,
then, at that time
so advise (i.e., agree)
Preyende unto the hihe regne
Which causeth every king to regne,
That his corone longe stonde.
I thenke and have it understonde,
As it bifel upon a tyde,
As thing which scholde tho betyde, -Under the toun of newe Troye,
Which tok of Brut his ferste joye,
Brutus (founder of Britain)
In Temse whan it was flowende
As I be bote cam rowende,
So as fortune hir tyme sette,
My liege lord par chaunce I mette;
And so befel, as I cam nyh,
Out of my bot, whan he me syh,
He bad me come in_to his barge.
And whan I was with him at large,
Amonges othre thinges seid
He hath this charge unto me leid,
And bad me doo my besynesse
That to his hihe worthinesse,
Som newe thing I sholde boke,
That he himself it mihte loke
After the forme of my writynge,
And thus upon his comandynge
Myn herte is wel the more glad
To write so as he me bad;
And eek my fere is wel the lasse
That non envye schal compasse
Withoute a resonable wite
To feyne and blame that I write.
A gentil herte his tunge stilleth,
That it malice non distilleth,
But preyseth that is to be preised;
But he that hath his word unpeysed
And handleth [onwrong] every thing, wrongly
I preye un_to the hevene king
Fro suche tunges he me schilde.
And natheles this world is wilde
Of such jangling, and what befalle,
My kinges heste schal nought falle,
command
That I, in hope to deserve
His thonk, ne schal his wil observe;
And elles were I nought excused,
For that thing may nought be refused
Which that a king himselve bit.
Forthi the symplesce of my wit
I thenke if that it might avayle
In his service to travaile:
Though I seknesse have upon honde,
And longe have had, yit wol I fonde,
So as I made my beheste,
To make a bok after his heste,
And write in such a maner wise,
Which may be wisdom to the wise
And pley to hem that lust to pleye.
desire to play
But in proverbe I have herd seye
That who that wel his werk begynneth
The rather a good ende he wynneth; more quickly
And thus the prologe of my bok
After the world that whilom tok,
And eek somdel after the newe,
I wol begynne for to newe.
5.
A selection of personal correspondence
The letters of the Paston family (early 15th century)
TO WILLIAM PASTON I 1440, 04, 20?
To my worshepefull housbond W. Paston be þis lettere takyn.
Dere housbond, I recomaunde me to yow, &c. Blyssyd be God, I sende yow gode
tydynggys of þe comyng and þe brynggyn hoom of þe gentylwomman þat ye wetyn of
fro Redham þis same nyght, acordyng to poyntmen þat ye made þer-for yowre-self. And
as for þe furste aqweyntaunce be-twhen John Paston and þe seyde gentilwomman, she
made hym gentil chere in gyntyl wyse and seyde he was verrayly yowre son. And so I
hope þer shal nede no gret treté be-twyxe hym. þe parson of Stocton toold me yif ye
wolde byin here a goune, here moder wolde yeue ther-to a godely furre. þe goune nedyth
for to be had, and of coloure it wolde be a godely blew or ellys a bryghte sanggueyn. I
prey yow do byen for me ij pypys of gold. Yowre stewes do weel. The Holy Trinité have
yow in gouernaunce. Wretyn at Paston in hast þe Wednesday next after Deus qui
errantibus, for defaute of a good secretarye, &c. Yowres, Agnes Paston.
To Edmond Paston of Clyffordis Inne in London be this lettre take.
To myn welbelouid sone I grete yow wel, and avyse yow to thynkke onis of the daie of
yowre fadris counseyle to lerne the lawe; for he seyde manie tymis that ho so euer schuld
dwelle at Paston schulde have nede to conne defende hymselfe.
The vikarie of Paston and yowre fadre, in Lenttyn laste was, wher thorwe and acordidde,
and doolis sette howe broode the weye schuld ben; and nowe he hathe pullid vppe the
doolis and seithe he wolle makyn a dyche fro the cornere of his walle ry3ht overe the
weye to the newe diche of the grete cloose. And there is a man in Truntche hy3ht Palmere
to, þat hadde of yowre fadre certein londe in Truntche on vij yere ore viij yere agoone for
corn, and trwli hathe paide all the yeris; and now he hathe suffrid the corne to ben withsette for viij s. of rentte to Gymmyngham, wich yowre fadre paide nevere. Geffreie axid
Palmere why the rentte was notte axid in myn husbonddis tyme, and Palmere seyde, for
he was a grete man and a wyse man of the lawe, and that was the cawse men wolde not
axe hym the rentte. I sende yow the namis of the men that kaste down the pittis that was
Gynnis Close wretyn in a bille closid in this lettre. I sendde yow not this lettre to make
yow wery of Paston, for I leve in hoope; and ye wolle lerne that they schulle be made
werye of here werke, fore in good feyth I dare wel seyne it was yowre fadris laste wille to
have do ry3ht wel to that plase, and that can I schewe of good prefe, thowe men wolde
seye naye. God make yow ry3ht a good man, and sende Goddis blessyng and myn.
Wrettyn in haste at Norwich the Thorsdaie aftir Candelmasse Daie. Wetith of yowre
brothere John how manie gystis wolle serve the parlour and the chapelle at Paston, and
what lenghthe they moste be and what brede and thykkenesse thei moste be; for yowre
fadris wille was, as I weene veryli, that thei schuld be ix enchis on wey and vij another
weye, and pourveiithe therfore that thei mow be squarid there and sentte hedre, for here
can non soche be hadde in this conttré. And seye to yowre brothir John it weere wel don
to thinkke on Stansted chirche; and I praye yow to sende me tydynggis from be-yond see,
for here thei arn aferde to telle soche as be reportid. By yowre modre Angneis Paston
To John Paston be þis letter delyueryd.
Soon, I grete 3ow wel wyth Goddys blyssyng and myn; and I latte 3ow wette þat my
cosyn Clere wrytted to me þat sche spake wyth Schrowpe aftyre þat he had byen wyth me
at Norwyche, and tolde here what chere þat I had made hym; and he seyde to here he
lyked wel by þe chere þat I made hym. He had swyche wordys to my cosyn Clere þat
lesse þan 3e made hym good chere and 3af hym wordys of conforth at London he wolde
no more speke of þe matyre. My cosyn Clere thynkyth þat it were a foly to forsake hym
lesse þan 3e knew of on owdyre as good ore bettere, and I haue assayde 3owre sustere
and I fonde here neuer so wylly to noon as sche is to hym, 3yf it be so þat his londe
stande cleere. I sent 3ow a letter by Brawnton fore sylke and fore þis matyre be-fore my
cosyn Clere wrote to me, þe qwyche was wrytten on þe Wednysday nex3t aftyre
Mydsomere Day. Ser Herry Ynglows is ry3th besy a-bowt Schrowpe fore on of his
do3thteres. I prey 3ow fore-3ette no3th to brynge me my mony fro Horwelbery as 3e com
fro London, edyre all ore a grete parte. þe dew dette was at Crystemesse last paste, no
thynge a-lowyd, vij li. xiiij s. viij d., and at þis Mydsomere it is v li. more; and thow I alow hym all his askyng it is but xxvj s. vj d. lesse, but I am no3th so avysyth 3ytt. As fore
þe frere, he hath byen at Sent Benettys and at Norwyche, and made grete bowste of þe
sewte þat he hath a-3ens me, and bow3the many boxes, to what jntent I wett neuer. It is
well doen to be ware at London in drede 3yf he bryng ony syse at Sent Margaretys tyme.
I kan no more, but Almy3ty God be owre good lorde, who have 3ow euer in kepyng.
Wryten at Oxnede in grete hast on þe Satyr-[day] next aftyre Mydsomere. By 3owre
modyre A. P.
To John Paston at London be this delyuerd jn hast.
I grete you welle, and lete you wete that this day Bertholomew Elys of Paston come to
Norwych to me and shewyt me a rentall for the terme of Seynt Michel the yere of Kyng
H. vixxxixti , and jn the ende of the seyd rentall, of Waryn Kynges hand, is wretyn Agnes
Paston vij d. ob. Item, the same Agnes for v acre lond xx d.
Item, Aleyn Bayfeld askyth the same rent for the yere last past at Michelmas.
Item, I haue knowlech be a trew man that whan Sharpe the reseyuore was at Gemyngham
last Waryn Herman was dyuers dayes wyth hym, and put hym in mynde þat þe
mercyment for makyng of the walle chuld be askyd ageyn and be distreynyd þer-fore.
Item, I sent you be Doctore Aleyns man the rescew of Waryn Herman and seche names
as Cullynge and Sammys putt in of her owyn fre wylle be-fore John Northales, shereue of
Norwyche, vnder her selis. God be wyth you and send you his blyssyng and myn. Wretyn
at
Norwych
the
Tuisday
next
after
Seynt
Andrew.
Item, the seyd Bertholomew Elis seyth that þe seyd reseyuore wold not alowe the rent in
Trunche nor the mercymentys for my sute to þe curt. Gonnore wold suffyr no man to
answere for me. Be youre moder Agnes Paston
Tho my wele be-louyd son John Paston be þis delyuered in haste.
Sonne, I grete 3ow wele and lete 3ow wete þat, for as myche as 3oure broþir Clement
leteth me wete þat 3e desyre feythfully my blyssyng, þat blyssyng þat I prayed 3oure
fadir to gyffe 3ow þe laste day þat euer he spakke, and þe blyssyng of all seyntes vndir
heven, and myn, mote come to 3ow all dayes and tymes. And thynke veryly non oþer but
þat 3e haue it, and shal haue it wyth þat þat I fynde 3ow kynde and wyllyng to þe wele of
3oure fadres soule and to þe welfare of 3oure breþeren. Be my counseyle, dyspose 3oureselfe as myche as 3e may to haue lesse to do in þe worlde, 3oure fadyr sayde, 'In lityl
bysynes lyeth myche reste.' þis worlde is but a þorugh-fare and ful of woo, and whan we
departe þer-fro, ri3th nou3ght bere wyth vs but oure good dedys and ylle. And þer
knoweth no man how soon God woll clepe hym, and þer-for it is good for euery creature
to be redy. Qhom God vysyteth, him he louyth. And as for 3oure breþeren, þei wylle I
knowe certeynly laboren all þat in hem lyeth for 3ow. Oure Lorde haue 3ow in his
blyssed kepyng, body and soule. Writen at Norwyche þe xxix day of Octobyr.
TO MARGARET PASTON 1461, 07, 12
To my cosyn Margaret Paston
I recomaund me to yow, letyng yow wete þat the vndershreve doughtyth hym of John
Berney; wherfore I pray yow bryng hem to-gedyr and set hem acord if ye can, so þat the
seyd vndershreve be sure þat he shall not be hurt be hym ner of hys cuntrymen. And yf he
woll not, lete hym verely vndyrstonde þat he shall be compellyd to fynd hym suerté of
the pes, magry in hys heed; and þat shall nowther be profitabyll ner worchepfull. And lete
hym wete þat there have be many compleyntes of hym be þat knavyssh knyght Ser Miles
Stapilton, as I sent yow word before; but he shall come to hys excuse wele jnow so he
have a mannys hert, and the seyd Stapylton shall be vndyrstand as he ys, a fals shrewe.
And he and hys wyfe and other have blaveryd here of my kynred in hodermoder, but be
þat tyme we have rekned of old dayes and late dayes myn shall be found more
worchepfull thanne hys and hys wyfes, or ellys I woll not for hys gilt gypcer. Also telle
the seyd Berney þat the shreve ys in a dought whedyr he shall make a newe eleccion of
knyghtes of the shyre be-cause of hym and Grey, where-in it were bettyr for hym to have
the
shreves
good
wyll.
Item, me thynkyth for quiete of the cuntré it were most worchepfull þat as wele Berney as
Grey shuld get a record of all suche þat myght spend xl s. a yere þat were at the day of
eleccion, whech of them þat had fewest to geve it vp as reson wold. Wretyn at London on
Relyk
Sonday.
Item, þat ye send a-bought for syluer acordyng to the old bylle þat I sent yow from
Lynne. John Paston
TO MARGARET PASTON 1461, 08, 01
To my mastres Paston and Richard Calle.
j. First, that Richard Calle fynde the meane that a distresse may be taken of such bestes as
occupie the ground at Stratton, and that cleyme and contynuan[[s]] be made of my
possession in any wise and that thei be not suffrid to occupie with-owt thei compoune
with me; and that aftir the distresse taken the vndirshreve be spoke with-all that he make
no replevyn with-out agrement or a-poyntement taken, that the right of the lond may be
vndirstand. ij. Item, I here sey the peple is disposed to be at the shire at Norwich on Sen
Lauerauns Day for th' affermyng of that thei have do afore, wherof I hold me wele
content if thei do it of her owne disposicion; but I woll not be the cause of the labour of
hem ner ber no cost of hem at this tyme, for be þe lawe I am suer befor, but I am wel apayed it shall be on han halyday for lettyng of the peples werk. I vndirstand ther shall be
labour for a coroner that day, for ther is labour made to me for my good wyll here, and I
wyll no thyng graunt with-owt the vnder-shreves assent, for he and I thought that Richard
Bloumvyle were good to that occupacion. Item, ye shall vndirstand that the vndirshreve
was some-what flekeryng whill he was here, for he informyd the Kyng that the last
eleccion was not peasibill, but the peple was iakkyd and saletted and riottously disposid,
and put hym in fere of his lyfe; wherefore I gate of hym the writte whech I send yow
herwith, to that entent thow any fals shrewe wold labour he shuld not be sure of the writ.
And therfore ye most se that the vndirshreve have the writ at the day in case the peple be
gadered, and thanne lete th' endentures be made vp or er they departe. iij. Item, that ye
remembyr Thomas Denys wyfe that her husbond had diuers billes of extorcion don be
Heydon and other, whech that he told me that his seid wyfe beryid whan the rumour was,
so that thei were ny roten. Bidde her loke hem vp and take hem yow. iiij. Item, as for the
seyd distreynyng at Stratton, I wold that Dawbeney and Thomas Bon shuld knowe the
closes and the ground, that thei myght attende ther-to that Richard were not lettyd of
other occupacions; and I wold this were do as sone as is possibill or I come home. Not
withstandyng I trowe I shall come home or the shire, but I woll nat it be knowe till the
same day, for I woll not come there with-owt I be sent fore be the peple to Heylisdoune.
Not withstandyng, and the peple were wele auertised at that day they shuld be the more
redy to shewe the oribyll extorcions and briborys that hath be do vpon hem to the Kyng at
his comyng, desyring hym that he shuld not have in fauour the seyd extorcioners but
compelle hem to make amendes and sethe to the pore peple. v.Item, that Berney and
Richard Wright geve such folkys warnyng as wyll compleyne to be redy with her billes if
thei list to have any remedy. vj. vij. Item, that the maters ayens Ser Miles Stapilton at
Aylesham may be remembyrd. Also if ye can be any craft get a copy of the bille that Ser
Miles Stapilton hath of the corte rolles of Gemyngham, that ye fayle not but assay and do
yowre devyr, for that shuld preve some men shamefully fals. Master Braklé seyd he shuld
a get oon of Freston. I wold he shuld assay, or ellys parauenture Skypwith or ellys Master
Sloley, for if Stapilton were boren in hande that he shuld be founde fals and ontrewe and
first founder of that mater, he wold bothe shewe the bille and where he had it. viij. Item, I
wold the prestis of Caster wer content for Midsomer term. ix. Item, ther is a whith box
with evidens of Stratton in on of the canvas baggis jn the gret cofir or in the spruse chesttRichard Call knowith it well; and therin is a ded of feffement and a letter of atorné mad
of þe seyd londis in Stratton to John Dam, W. Lomnour, Richard Call, and John Russe. I
wold a new dede and letter of atorn[é] were mad owth theroff be tho feffees of þe same
land to Thome Grene, Th[o]me Playter, þe p[ar]son of Heylisdon, Jacobo Gloys, klerk,
Joh[ann]i Pampi[n]g, and that the ded ber date nowh and þat it be selid at þe next shire;
for than I suppose þe seyd feffés will be there, if it may not be don er that tym. I wold
haue þe seyd dedis leyd in a box, both old and new, and left secretly at Richard Thornis
hows at Stratton, þat whan I com homwar[d] I migh[t] fynd it ther and mak seson and stat
to be take whil I wer there. Wret at London on Lammes Day.
TO JOHN PASTON I 1441, 12, 14
To my ryth reuerent and worscheful husbond John Paston.
Ryth reuerent and worscheful husbond, I recomav[n]de me to yow, desyryng hertyly to
here of yowre wylfare, thankyng yow for þe tokyn þat ye sent me be Edmunde Perys,
preyng yow to wete þat my modyr sent to my fadyr to London for a govne cloth of
mvstyrddevyllers to make of a govne for me; and he tolde my modyr and me wanne he
was comme hom þat he cargeyt yow to bey it aftyr þat he were come ovte of London. I
pre yow, yf it be not bowt, þat ye wyl wechesaf to by it and send yt hom as sone as ye
may, for I haue no govne to werre þis wyntyr but my blake and my grene a Lyere, and þat
ys so comerus þat I ham wery to wer yt. As for þe gyrdyl þat my fadyr be-hestyt me, I
spake to hym þer-of a lytyl be-fore he 3ede to London last, and he seyde to me þat þe
favte was in yow þat 3e wolde not thynke þer-vppe-on to do mak yt; but i sopose þat ys
not so=he seyd yt but for a skevsacion. I pre yow, yf ye dor tak yt vppe-on yow, þat ye
wyl weche-safe to do mak yt a-yens ye come hom; for I hadde neuer more nede þer-of
þan I haue now, for I ham waxse so fetys þat I may not be gyrte in no barre of no gyrdyl
þat I haue but of on. Elysabet Peverel hath leye seke xv or xvj wekys of þe seyetyka, but
sche sent my modyr word be Kate þat sche xuld come hedyr wanne God sent tyme, þoov
sche xuld be crod in a barwe. Jon of Dam was here, and my modyr dyskevwyrd me to
hym, and he seyde be hys trovth þat he was not gladder of no thyng þat he harde thys
towlmonyth þan he was þer-of. I may no le[n]ger leve be my crafte, i am dysscevwyrd of
alle men þat se me. Of alle odyr thyngys þat ye deseyreyd þat I xuld sende yow word of I
haue sent yow word of in a letter þat I dede wryte on Ovwyr Ladyis Day laste was. þe
Holy Trenyté haue yow in hese kepyng. Wretyn at Oxnede in ryth gret hast on þe
Thrusday next be-fore Seynt Tomas Day. I pre yow þat ye wyl were þe reyng wyth þe
emage of Seynt Margrete þat I sent yow for a rememrav[n]se tyl ye come hom. Ye haue
lefte me sweche a rememrav[n]se þat makyth me to thynke vppe-on yow bothe day and
nyth wanne I wold sclepe. Yowre ys, M. P.
TO JOHN PASTON I 1443, 09, 28
To my rygth worchepful husbond Jhon Paston, dwellyng in þe Innere Temple at London,
in hast.
Ryth worchipful hosbon, I recomande me to yow, desyryng hertely to here of your
wilfare, thanckyng God of your a-mendyng of þe grete dysese þat ye have hade; and I
thancke yow for þe letter þat ye sent me, for be my trowthe my moder and I were nowth
in hertys es fro þe tyme þat we woste of your sekenesse tyl we woste verely of your amendyng. My moder hat be-hestyd a-nodyr ymmage of wax of þe weytte of yow to Oyur
Lady of Walsyngham, and sche sent iiij nobelys to þe iiij orderys of frerys at Norweche
to pray for yow; and I have be-hestyd to gon on pylgreymmays to Walsyngham and to
Sent Levenardys for yow. Be my trowth, I had neuer so hevy a sesyn as I had fro þe tyme
þat I woste of your sekenesse tyl I woste of your a-mendyng, and 3yth myn hert is in no
grete esse, ne nowth xal be tyl I wott þat 3e ben very hol. Your fader and myn was dys
day sevenyth at Bekelys for a matyr of the Pryor of Bromholme, and he lay at Gerlyston
þat nyth and was þer tyl it was ix of þe cloke and þe toder day. And I sentte thedyr for a
gounne, and my moder seyde þat I xulde non have dens tyl I had be þer a-3en; and so þei
cowde non gete. My fader Garneyss sentte me worde þat he xulde ben here þe nexth
weke, and myn emme also, and pleyn hem here wyth herre hawkys; and þei xulde have
me hom wyth hem. And, so God help me, I xal exscusse me of myn goyng dedyr yf I
may, for I sopose þat I xal redelyer have tydyngys from yow herre dan i xulde have þer. I
xal sende my moder a tokyn þat sche toke me, for I sopose þe tyme is cum þat I xulde
sendeth here yf I kepe þe be-hest þat I have made-I sopose I have tolde yow wat it was. I
pray yow hertely þat [ye] wol wochesaf to sende me a letter as hastely as 3e may, yf
wrytyn be non dysesse to yow, and þat ye wollen wochesaf to sende me worde quowe
your sor dott. Yf I mythe have hade my wylle I xulde a seyne yow er dys tyme. I wolde
3e wern at hom, yf it were your ese and your sor myth ben as wyl lokyth to here as it tys
þer 3e ben now, lever dan a new gounne, þow it were of scarlette. I pray yow, yf your sor
be hol and so þat 3e may indure to ryde, wan my fader com to London þat 3e wol askyn
leve and com hom wan þe hors xul be sentte hom a-3eyn; for I hope 3e xulde be kepte as
tenderly herre as 3e ben at London. I may non leyser have to do wrytyn half a quarter so
meche as I xulde seyn to yow yf I myth speke wyth yow. I xal sende yow a-nothyr letter
as hastely as I may. I thanke yow þat 3e wolde wochesaffe to remember my gyrdyl, and
þat 3e wolde wryte to me at þis tyme, for I sopose þe wrytyng was non esse to yow. Allmyth God have yow in hys kepyn and sende yow helth. Wretyn at Oxenede in ryth grete
hast on Sent Mihyllys Evyn. Yourrys, M. Paston My modyr gretit 3ow wel and sendyt
3ow Goddys blyssyng and here, and sche prayith 3ow, and I pray 3ow also, þat 3e be wel
dyetyd of mete and dryngke, for þat is þe grettest helpe þat 3e may haue now to your
helthe ward. Your sone faryth wel, blyssyd be God.
6.
Biographical notes
Geoffrey Chaucer (1340-1399?)
The known facts of Chaucer's life are fragmentary and are based almost entirely on
official records. He was born in London between 1340 and 1344, the son of John
Chaucer, a vintner. In 1357 he was a page in the household of Prince Lionel, later duke of
Clarence, whom he served for many years. In 1359–60 he was with the army of Edward
III in France, where he was captured by the French but ransomed.
By 1366 he had married Philippa Roet, who was probably the sister of John of
Gaunt's third wife; she was a lady-in-waiting to Edward III's queen. During the years
1370 to 1378, Chaucer was frequently employed on diplomatic missions to the Continent,
visiting Italy in 1372–73 and in 1378. From 1374 on he held a number of official
positions, among them comptroller of customs on furs, skins, and hides for the port of
London (1374–86) and clerk of the king's works (1389–91). The official date of
Chaucer's death is Oct. 25, 1400. He was buried in Westminster Abbey.
Chaucer's literary activity is often divided into three periods. The first period
includes his early work (to 1370), which is based largely on French models, especially
the Roman de la Rose and the poems of Guillaume de Machaut. Chaucer's chief works
during this time are the Book of the Duchess, an allegorical lament written in 1369 on the
death of Blanche, wife of John of Gaunt, and a partial translation of the Roman de la
Rose.
Chaucer's second period (up to c.1387) is called his Italian period because during
this time his works were modeled primarily on Dante and Boccaccio. Major works of the
second period include The House of Fame, recounting the adventures of Aeneas after the
fall of Troy; The Parliament of Fowls, which tells of the mating of fowls on St.
Valentine's Day and is thought to celebrate the betrothal of Richard II to Anne of
Bohemia; and a prose translation of Boethius' De consolatione philosophiae.
Also among the works of this period are the unfinished Legend of Good Women, a
poem telling of nine classical heroines, which introduced the heroic couplet (two rhyming
lines of iambic pentameter) into English verse; the prose fragment The Treatise on the
Astrolabe, written for his son Lewis; and Troilus and Criseyde, based on Boccaccio's
Filostrato, one of the great love poems in the English language. In Troilus and Criseyde,
Chaucer perfected the seven-line stanza later called rhyme royal.
To Chaucer's final period, in which he achieved his fullest artistic power, belongs his
masterpiece, The Canterbury Tales (written mostly after 1387). This unfinished poem,
about 17,000 lines, is one of the most brilliant works in all literature. The poem
introduces a group of pilgrims journeying from London to the shrine of St. Thomas à
Becket at Canterbury. To help pass the time they decide to tell stories. Together, the
pilgrims represent a wide cross section of 14th-century English life.
The pilgrims' tales include a variety of medieval genres from the humorous fabliau to the
serious homily, and they vividly indicate medieval attitudes and customs in such areas as
love, marriage, and religion. Through Chaucer's superb powers of characterization the
pilgrims - such as the earthy wife of Bath, the gentle knight, the worldly prioress, the evil
summoner - come intensely alive. Chaucer was a master storyteller and craftsman, but
because of a change in the language after 1400, his metrical technique was not fully
appreciated until the 18th cent. Only in Scotland in the 15th and 16th cent. did his
imitators understand his versification.
The best editions of Chaucer's works are those of F. N. Robinson (1933) and W.
W. Skeat (7 vol., 1894–97); of The Canterbury Tales, that of J. M. Manly and E. Rickert
(8 vol., 1940); of Troilus and Criseyde, that of R. K. Root (1926).
Bibliography
C. Muscatine, Chaucer and the French Tradition (1960); G. G. Coulton, Chaucer and
His England (1950, repr. 1963); M. A. Bowden, A Reader's Guide to Geoffrey Chaucer
(1964); G. G. Williams, A New View of Chaucer (1965); M. Hussey et al., Introduction to
Chaucer (1965); D. W. Robertson, Jr., Chaucer's London (1968); G. L. Kittredge,
Chaucer and His Poetry (1915, repr. 1970); I. Robinson, Chaucer's Prosody (1971) and
Chaucer and the English Tradition (1972); P. M. Kean, Chaucer and the Making of
English Poetry (2 vol., 1972); D. Brewer, ed., Chaucer: The Critical Heritage (2 vol.,
1978); B. Rowland, ed., Companion to Chaucer Studies (1979); D. R. Howard, Chaucer:
His Life, His Works, His World (1989). Bibliographies for 1908 to 1953 by D. D. Griffith
(rev. ed. 1954) and for 1954 to 1963 by W. R. Crawford (1967).
William Langland (c.1332–c.1400)
Putative author of Piers Plowman. He was born probably at Ledbury near the Welsh
marshes and may have gone to school at Great Malvern Priory. Although he took minor
orders he never became a priest. Later in London he apparently eked out his living by
singing masses and copying documents. His great work, Piers Plowman, or, more
precisely, The Vision of William concerning Piers the Plowman, is an allegorical poem in
unrhymed alliterative verse, regarded as the greatest Middle English poem prior to
Chaucer. It is both a social satire and a vision of the simple Christian life. The poem
consists of three dream visions: (1) in which Holy Church and Lady Meed (representing
the temptation of riches) woo the dreamer; (2) in which Piers leads a crowd of penitents
in search of St. Truth; and (3) the vision of Do-well (the practice of the virtues), Do-bet
(in which Piers becomes the Good Samaritan practicing charity), and Do-best (in which
the simple plowman is identified with Jesus himself). The 47 extant manuscripts of the
poem fall into three groups: the A-text (2,567 lines, c.1362); the B-text, which greatly
expands the third vision (7,242 lines, c.1376–77); the C-text, a revision of B (7,357 lines,
between 1393 and 1398). Most scholars now believe that at least the A- and B-texts are
the work of William Langland, whose biography has been deduced from passages in the
poem. However, some still hold that the poem is the work of two or even five authors.
The popularity of the poem is attested to by the large number of surviving manuscripts
and by its many imitators. The 19th-century edition of W. W. Skeat (new ed. 1954) is still
standard; the best modern versions are those of Donald Attwater (1930) and H. W. Wells
(1935).
Bibliography
E. T. Donaldson (1955; and 1949, repr. 1966), M. W. Bloomfield (1962), E. D. Kirk
(1972), J. M. Bowers (1986), and A. V. Schmidt (1987); critical writings, ed. by S. S.
Hussey (1969).
The Pearl poet (supposed author of Sir Gawain)
Written in the late fourteenth century, Sir Gawain is made up of two stories, one (the
testing at Bercilak’s castle) set inside the other (the beheading of the Green Knight at the
beginning and the return blow at the end). That is not to say it is a cut-and-paste job; it is
thought by many to be the finest literary work of the Middle Ages. It is also the rarest of
tales: a love story that isn’t, really, as well as one of the funniest tales of the Middle
Ages, rivalling anything written by the anonymous poet’s more famous contemporary,
Geoffrey Chaucer. (The author also wrote a fine religious poem in the form of a dream
vision, which we call Pearl.)
In the first episode at King Arthur’s castle, you must bear in mind that no one
knows what is going on. Like Grendel, the Green Knight is a sort of creature never seen
before by men. Sir Gawain is, throughout the poem, marked by absolute courtliness, that
is to say, the is always courageous, honorable (he keeps his word), devout, loyal, and
gracious toward all men and (especially) women (pay special attention to the pentangle).
He thinks it is his courage that is being tested. He does not realize that the incidents in his
bedroom at Bercilak’s castle, which parallel the hunting scenes are actually another kind
of test. Thus, when he arrives to face his test at the end, he discovers that he has already
been tested - that his test is, in fact, over.
The Green Knight is probably not to be seen as evil. He is a shape-shifter, and
Bercilak seems to say that the Bercilak-persona is the ‘real’ one. However, don’t give too
much credence to his ‘explanation’ of his motivations at the end of the poem, which is
pretty preposterous and doesn’t really explain anything.
John Gower (c.1308–1408)
John Gower, poet and friend of Chaucer, was born around 1330, into a prominent
Yorkshire family which held properties in Kent, Yorkshire, Norfolk and Suffolk. Gower's
coat of arms is identical to those of Sir Robert Gower of Brabourne. Nothing is known of
his education, though it has been speculated that he was trained in law. Gower himself
held properties in Suffolk and Kent, where he seems to have resided until taking up
residence in the priory of St. Mary Overies in Southwark, London, around 1377.
Gower's first work was Mirour de l'Omme (i.e. Mirror of Man) (written 1376-79),
an allegorical poem in French meditating on the fall of man and the effect of sin on the
world. Gower later latinized the title to Speculum Hominis, and later changed it to
Speculum Meditantis to fit with the titles of his later works. Around 1377, Gower began
work on Vox Clamantis (i.e. The Voice of One Crying), an essay in Latin elegiac verse.
Like the Speculum Meditantis, it too treats of sinfulness, and criticizes the corruption of
the society. It also provides a contemporary view of the Peasants' Revolt of 1381.
Gower's moral and philosophical writings were highly praised by his peers. In 1385,
Gower's good friend, Geoffrey Chaucer, dedicated the Troilus and Criseyde to him,
giving him the epithet "moral Gower."
In 1386, Gower began work on his most acclaimed work, Confessio Amantis (i.e.
Lover's Confession). Unlike his previous works, Gower wrote the Confessio in English at
the request of Richard II who was concerned that so little was being written in English. It
is a collection of tales and exempla treating of courtly love. The framework is that of a
lover complaining first to Venus, and later in the work, confessing to her priest, Genius.
The Confessio, completed around 1390, is an important contribution to courtly love
literature in English. Some of the stories have their counterparts in Chaucer's Canterbury
Tales, and one of the stories later served as the source for Shakespeare's Pericles, in
which Shakespeare had Gower appear in the Chorus. Gower revised Confessio Amantis
in 1393, replacing the praise of King Richard II with a dedication to Henry of Lancaster.
In return, Henry presented Gower with an ornamented collar.
Next, Gower composed a series of Latin poems, as well as Traitié, a sequence of
French ballads in rhyme royal. In 1397, Gower married Agnes Groundolf, probably his
second wife. By this time Gower was nearly blind, so the marriage may have been one of
convenience. King Richard II was finally deposed by parliament in 1399, replaced by
Henry Lancaster as King Henry IV. Soon afterwards, Gower composed a sequel to Vox
Clamantis, the Cronica tripertita (i.e. Tripartite Chronicle), in which he condemned the
vices of King Richard II and his court. At this time, Gower also wrote Latin verses in
praise of the new King, as well as his last English work, "To King Henry, in Praise of
Peace". In 1400, Gower dedicated and presented his French work Cinkante Balades
(Fifty Ballads), which some attribute to his younger days, to King Henry. Old and blind,
John Gower died in 1408, leaving a considerable estate. He was buried in St. Mary
Overies, now the cathedral of St. Saviour's, in Southwark, where his tomb can still be
seen today.